sakuatsu_shipper:3

sukuna scoffed at your ridiculous sentiment, “and have more insolent brats taking up my space?”

you hummed softly, “i dunno… i think our babies would be cute.” 

‘our babies’. sukuna almost laughed at your self-assuredness, he tsked and returned his attention to the bright action sequence displayed on the tv,

“how amusing of you to assume you would be the one to carry my children, little wife. let alone harbor the idea of me ever having devil spawns of my own.” sukuna glanced back down to your face illuminated by the glow of the tv, awaiting a cheeky remark or your usual scolding, but it never came. 

instead you yawned and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, “yeah… we probably wouldn’t make good parents anyway.” your voice was just above whisper, fading slowly as you spoke yourself into a slumber. 

sukuna watched as your eyes slowly fluttered shut again, allowing yourself to fully give into your sleep.

thats it? no argument at his crude remark? no frown or a whine? not even a pout? you just accepted his answer like… you expected nothing more from him. and not to mention the ‘wouldn’t be good parents’ comment, the hell was up with that? you would be an astounding mother. if you were willing to put up with his shit, you could deal with anything. not that he would ever willingly admit that to your face, he isn’t that pathetic. 

whatever. 

sukuna didn’t care, shit he should be fucking ecstatic that you aren’t one of those girls with baby fever who shove the idea of kids down their husbands throats.

so why wasn’t he? 

the brute sighed, shutting off the tv as his eyes flicked back down to your sleeping state, the sounds of your slow breaths filling the room. he glanced over the way your hand gripped onto the blanket that wrapped around your stomach, and for a split second, sukuna imagined you with a swollen belly. 

the way you would waddle around the house in your his kimono, because it was ‘comfortable’ and the only thing that would fit around your pregnant belly. how you would demand him to go out and buy you food for your outlandish pregnancy cravings in the middle of the night, and then scold him for trying to wake up uraume to do it instead. what would you have, a boy or a girl? hopefully a girl. 

he wouldn’t want to raise a son to be like him. 

would they have his hair or yours? what about your eyes? would they have his temper or be a sensitive thing like you? maybe it would look just like you. a little carbon copy, your eyes, hair, nose, even the same evil little smile you always gave him when you got your way. he imagined a little mini you running around the garden buzzing with energy like you always did. 

fuck. did he want a kid? 

nah. 

maybe just to prove you wrong. to show you how good of a mother you would be, hell maybe he would even make a less than mediocre father. maybe sukuna just wanted to see the look on your face when you realized how wrong you were about the whole thing. 

your husband lifted you up from the couch and carried you into your shared chambers, setting you down on the silk sheets, he watched as you curled up under the silk covers. 

he eyed your birth control pills on the nightstand, maybe they would go missing and fate would decide if you should have a child. 

sukuna snarled at the thought and shook his head before joining you in bed, you latched on to him instinctively, arm slung over his torso, while your head found its spot on his bare chest, still asleep. how pathetic his little wife was. 

and what a fool he was, to actually believe he could ever be a father.

II.

“Why did you go through with it?”

Gojo blinks. Being ambushed in broad daylight by his new fianceé is the last thing he expected to happen — but there you are, blocking his way in the courtyard of his own estate as the warm afternoon air envelops the two of you.

Your eyes burns more fiercely than the summer sun.

“What?” Gojo can’t stop the question that tumbles from his mouth, “You mean the engagement?” Anyone would be honored to stand by his side. Did you truly prefer the Zenin clan’s childish, misogynistic Naoya over him?

You shake your head in frustration, as if reading his mind. “You don’t like me,” the tight smile on your features hardly hides your impatience over his cluelessness, “so why?”

Not many people can render Gojo speechless, but right now his mind is drawing a blank. One of the perks of being the era’s strongest sorcerer (second only to a four-eyed, sneering menace who couldn’t care less about the matters of the jujutsu world) was the ability to do things simply because ‘he likes it’ or ‘it feels right’.

He fears what you will do to him if he gives you such a poorly thought out answer. You already look like you’re going to flay his dumb ass and eat him alive from how hard you were glaring at him.

“Why... not?” he winces at the sentence that finally comes out from his mouth.

“Are you insane? We’re not even acquainted, not before yesterday!”

Gojo wonders if it’s your naïveté speaking. It shouldn’t come off as a surprise for a sheltered young woman to dream of true love, and an arranged marriage is the farthest thing from romantic.

“That may be true, but... we can always start to get to know each other.” Gojo offers, smiling, “We can take it slow. I do like you, but I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want.”

Your face falls at the irony. You know that Gojo thinks of you as ingenious. It’s not hard to guess when he gazes at you like he’s looking at a child, even though he’s only a few years older than you. What you don’t know what he sees in you that causes him to accept such a hastily thrown engagement.

You wanted to refute him, to argue with him. But you knew that from the very start, your opinion matters not.

III.

The last time you saw your fiancé was two weeks ago.

As you sit alone in the bench of your courtyard, you realize that autumn is steadily approaching, the leaves starting to fade into gold. You realize now that you’re in deep, deep shit, for Gojo has yet to retract your engagement. If any, he has started to send you flowers and little gifts, making the elders of your clan swoon in approval and your life even more of a living hell.

You’ve successfully avoided being engaged to that loser Zenin Naoya, the man who keeps trailing you glances during clan parties, but being courted by the celebrity of the jujutsu world? Same shit, different day. You really should’ve given Gojo Satoru a piece of your mind.

“You’re not even going to greet me?”

You heard the voice first, teasing and playful behind you. The hug comes almost immediately, two wrists ringed in black ink circling your body firmly.

Gasping, you jump from your seat and turn towards Sukuna’s waiting arms. He chuckles at your unashamed eagerness, tightening his hold on your waist, letting you nuzzle your cheek against his chest.

“Calm down, woman. Did you really miss me that much?”

His voice drips with arrogance, but the hand caressing the top of your head is gentle, as if you’d break if he wasn’t being careful enough.

And you do miss him. Terribly.

“Mm-hmm.”

Sukuna watches you with an indescirnable expression as you burrow your face deeper into his haori, small hands pulling him tighter against you.

This is not how it was supposed to go.

When he storms into your estate this morning, Sukuna originally wanted to grip your shoulders and demand for an answer, an explanation.

First: Was it not you who stubbornly clung to him, forcing him to look at you, giving him all your undivided attention until he finds himself yearning for more?

Second: You were the first person, the only person, who treated him like a human being. And when he finally relents, placing his heart into your hands and trusting you not to leave it an even more mangled mess than it already was, what did you do?

You got yourself engaged with the head of another clan.

So yes, he wanted to lash out at you, to take out his anger at you for easily promising yourself to another man, but then — then, he saw the sadness in your face. And despite himself, the fiery rage in his chest falters.

“’kuna,” your voice is weak, muffled and uncharacteristically feeble, “‘miss you.”

With that, the rest of his anger flickers out like it never existed in the first place. Sukuna sighs, running a hand down the slope of your back before letting it rest on top of your hips, for the first time in his life feeling something akin to defeat.

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you the first time.”

So you got yourself engaged, big deal. Such puny concepts are beneath him — for what good does a diamond ring do, when the arms that encompasses your body belongs to him?

IV.

One thing Gojo learned about you is that you’re someone who feels and says things very clearly, leaving no stones unturned in conveying how you feel about him — or rather, how little you feel for him.

Yet, even with that knowledge, even if he could’ve changed his mind with the engagement and no one would fault him for it —

he couldn’t.

As twisted as it was, your aloofness makes him want you more. It was curiosity at first. What kind of person you are, what are the things you like, what makes you tick.

You are a challenge. There are only a few things Gojo can’t do and making people like him is not one of them. He rethinks that, because every time he seeks out your attention, you look at him like he’s a piece of garbage.

“Are you free this weekend?” he’d ask, and you’d reply with a curt nod, not bothering to say anything else. “Do you want to grab a bite?” he’d suggest, and you’d look at your manicured nails and sigh a decline.

Was it his looks? Do you not think of him as handsome?

Your indifference made him so, so curious that he spent thirty minutes styling his hair one day, discarding his blindfold in favor of brand new designer sunglasses that costs way more than what it’s worth.

When he crossed paths with you that same day to ask you for a date, you merely throw him a haphazard glance before walking away with your retainers.

But Gojo won’t let that stop him: he calls out after you, finally getting your attention as you wave a dismissive hand, your unbothered “Yes, yes, whatever you want,” echoing back to him.

With you, Gojo feels like a schoolboy trying to get his crush’s attention, but he can’t say he hates the feeling (and he did get that date he wanted).

So here he is, strolling down the long corridors, the layout of your estate already imprinted in his head after one too many unfruitful visits that always ends with you ignoring him.

Gojo pauses.

Something is different today, he can feel it in his bones. There’s a distant chill in the air, one that he can’t quite place, one that he blames on his own nervousness.

Stopping in front of the door, he chuckles to himself. He can already see your resigned expression once you see him walking through the doors, your dejected sigh of “You again?” followed by the rustling of papers as you continue working despite his efforts to make you notice him.

“Dearest fianceé, I have arrived!”

There’s a distant chill in the air, one that the can place now, — the thick, overwhelming pressure of cursed energy, blanketing the air in a haze, shuddering in anger when he steps inside the room.

Gojo chokes, barely managing to stop the bouquet of flowers from slipping down.

What Gojo couldn’t foresee — not even with his Six Eyes, — was that he would see you wrapped in the embrace of Sukuna Ryōmen.

V.

Three weeks have passed since then.

Any sane person would think that after witnessing his fiancé with another man, Gojo would surely retract the engagement. Did it not anger him — or at the very least, wound his pride?

Wrong.

The long streams of flowers continue to come, his handwriting always filling up the card that comes with it. He doesn’t need to burst through your door, not when the flowers are a constant reminder of his presence: silent, tender, yet unwavering.

Then Gojo shows up the following week, all smiles as he runs a hand through his tousled white hair. Reappearing like nothing ever happened — like one week was all it took for him to decide that he will still shamelessly chase after you.

Without a word, he keeps you company. Sometimes he even brings his goddamn teaching materials — who would’ve believed that he’s a teacher? — and tell you stories about the clown school he works at and the shenanigans of his three beloved students.

One day, he shows up and takes your hand in his. When you stare at him in confusion and horror, Gojo just laughs. “You did promise me a date all those weeks ago.”

What else could you do, other than let him lead you away out to the streets? All your protests die in your throat when he turns back to grin at you, his eyes shining brighter than the sunlight.

Now, Gojo’s pouting in front of you, lifting up the corners of his blindfold — as if he and his Six Eyes couldn’t discern your obvious restlessness.

“Hey, you’re not listening, aren’t you?”

You only grumble in reply.

He laughs, unbothered by your distress, “You’re not the tiniest bit interested in me, huh?”

In your annoyance, you almost dropped your cup of tea. “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to, Gojo Satoru.”

“I told you to call me Satoru. Sa–to–ru!” he enunciates. Even your stubborn refusal to address him informally, he finds absolutely endearing. He knows that hell will freeze over before you call him “Gojo-sama” like most people do, and since you don’t want to give off the impression that the two of you were close, you always call him by his full name.

“Whatever.”

There’s a long silence that follows before you glance up at him.

“So... what were you doing yesterday?” You regret those words as soon as it came out your mouth, wincing when Gojo immediately snaps his head in your direction.

“Yesterday? Oh, I was busy saving my three students from a Semi-Grade 1 curse!” Gojo leans forward, raising an eyebrow in interest, “Why, were you waiting for me?”

Your face burns.

You have grown so accustomed to his regular visits that when he fails to show up, you can’t help but wonder if he’s alright — wonder if he’s finally tired of chasing you around. “No.” you huff, looking away.

It was hard to be mean to Gojo. As indifferent as you try to act, you can’t ignore the fact that he is a kind and charming man, the warmth of his presence bringing you comfort as he stubbornly hover along the edges of your peripheral vision.

He was irritating — lovably so.

“Liar,” the grin on Gojo’s face is blindingly bright, “you’re all shy and bothered around me now.”

You can only glare at him in silence, knowing that your fiancé’s quiet determination has started to cause ripples in your heart.

VI.

If Gojo’s affection is a constant warm breeze that soothes you, then Sukuna Ryōmen’s love is like a blazing tornado: fierce, unrestrained, intense.

At first, you hated him just like everyone else in the jujutsu world — and how could you not? Sukuna is a tyrant who stands above everyone, taking whatever he wants with the strength that he know he has.

Perhaps it was more envy than hatred — for never having to bow down to other people, unlike you. And for that injustice, you hated him even more.

That was, until his gaze falls on you.

Now, the two of you are tangled up in your sofa, the light streaming in from the windows and casting a warm glow over his face. His head dips lower and lower, his nose buried in the crook of your neck, his touch always needy and possessive.

“Sukuna, not here—”

Sukuna marvels at how easily you rouse his desire. Even just sitting there, he finds you utterly exquisite. It would simply be incorrect to think that your love is one-sided — for when Sukuna meets your gaze, you look so divine that he thinks no matter what you asked of him, he would do it without hesitation.

“What’s wrong, brat?” he chuckles, slipping his hand behind your head to tug on your hair playfully, exposing more of your neck, “have you gotten bored of me?”

“There are people,” you gasp out when his teeth grazes your skin with intent, “they’ll see—”

“People,” Sukuna purrs, “or Gojo Satoru?”

The look of sheer terror on your face is magnificent.

“Sukuna—”

“What was he like?” he smirks and leans back against the couch, the collar of his kimono parting slightly to reveal his toned chest. “Have you had your fun with him?”

“Don’t say that..” you tried to sound angry but your voice comes out more as a whimper. Unsatisfied, you shuffle away from him.

Sukuna seizes your wrist, “Don’t be angry with me,” he says, impossibly soft, —“looking back, I should’ve expected that those maggots would try to make you do something dumb,” he’s sneering now, irritation and jealousy evident in his voice, “like marrying a scrawny guy that I beat twice in a fight.”

Sighing, you let Sukuna pull you back to his embrace. He chuckles when you snuggle up to him, tracing circles on his chest.

“You just need to say the word.” Sukuna starts in a drawl, “and I’ll exterminate them. Just stay quiet and let me handle things.”

You grip his kimono tighter. It was foolish to think that your measly engagement to another clan head would deter Sukuna Ryōmen when the entirety of the jujutsu world trembles before him. If anything, it would only enrage him.

But did you truly wish to see their demise (and along with it, the fall of civilization)?

When Sukuna sees the conflict in your eyes, he decides to push it no further. Instead, he wraps his arms around you and relents. “Alright, no need to give me the puppy dog eyes, little one.”

You smile and move forward to peck him on the cheek, but Sukuna sneakily angles his face to meet your lips in a devouring kiss, his hand cradling the back of your head, for the first time feeling a mild fear of losing you. Mild, but it was there nonetheless.

‘No matter. Once she runs out of patience, I’ll kill him and wipe out his clan.’ was what Sukuna thought as a way to appease himself.

But even Sukuna is oblivious that there has been a change in your heart — the heart he thought was wholly his, — for Gojo Satoru has now taken a part of it under siege.

VII.

“Does it not bother you?” you tried one day, the afternoon sun bleeding through the curtains as you close your book softly.

The unspoken meaning hangs in the air. Does knowing that I am in love with another man bother you?

Gojo’s sight zeroes on you, like he’s just been caught off guard. He straightens his posture and retracts his long arm from the back of the sofa, bringing it to rest on his lap. He then takes a deep breath and turns his head,

“Does it bother you?”

You blink as you think about his question. No, his presence doesn’t bother you. No, his kindness doesn’t bother you. Your engagement with him? If you try not to think about Sukuna’s inevitable rage and jealousy of biblical proportions...

“No,” you admit, not missing the way Gojo’s eyes widen, “does that make me a bad person?”

For a moment, he was silent. You were starting to wonder if you’ve finally pissed him off. Then Gojo — that madman, — he laughs.

“Come here.” He says, challenges, leaning back against the sofa in that stupidly charming smirk of his.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“Oh, come on. Are you afraid your grumpy gargoyle is going to find out and rip me in two?” Blue luminous eyes dance in mirth and mischief, a combination that looks deadly on Gojo.

Oh, fuck it. Sukuna’s devastating wrath pushed to the back of your mind, you allow yourself to sink into Gojo, feeling his hands immediately catching you. Unlike Sukuna grounding embrace, Gojo’s arms makes you feel a tingle in your stomach, the smell of his expensive and crisp cologne enveloping you pleasantly.

Gojo’s light chuckle makes your nerves tremble. “I’m not the person you think I am,” he sighs, “I don’t care how many lovers you have, how many men you hold in your heart,” he rests a chin on your shoulder, taking a peek at your expression, “as long as I am one of them.”

His confession is so alarmingly raw that it seizes the breath from your lungs.

“Am I one of them?” he murmurs, subdued.

Entranced; you were entranced. It was as if the room has suddenly gone still when you crane your head to meet his gaze, leaning daringly deeper until his shaky breath ghosts your lips. When you look at his endless pool of blue, you realize that the magic is not cast on you alone — Gojo’s cheeks is dusted in a blush, his eyes unable to hide the longing within them, searching for your approval to close the gap between the two of you.

With him this close, you can feel the beat of his jujutsu, so clear and potently powerful — then, you felt it shift in the air. Your eyes widen, finally registering what he has just done. For the first time, there was no barrier between the two of you, no Infinity layering his being.

Gojo smiles when you set your sight back at him, his hands bravely finding their way to your hips and tugging you forward.

You felt frustration prick on the corner of your eyes. This reckless, stupid man and the reckless, stupid things he does — it was unfair, the kindness and devotion in his gaze was so unfair.

With one last shaky breath, you press your lips to his. Gojo hums, his touch firm. But he didn’t push you, or pull you deeper — he just lets you set the pace, gently returning your kiss. Yet, it still makes your heart hammer.

At your slight shift, Gojo pulls away, smiling in victory. “So I am one of them.”

You glare at him, unable to muster up a response. Ensnared.

VIII.

Not long after the jaw-dropping realization that you were also in love with Gojo Satoru, you sought out Sukuna to tell him the truth. And hopefully, not get killed in the process.

You’ve prepared yourself for the tornado of rage, the consuming jealousy, the devastating wrath — but Sukuna just stares at you blankly.

“Why would I care about that?”

The way Sukuna said those words made you feel like the idiot.

“What?”

“I like you, you dumb brat. And no one else in this crumbling, repulsive world has the honor of receiving my affection. So why should I care what other maggots hold yours?”

Sukuna says that, but you can see the anger deep in his eyes. Even Uraume have carefully removed themselves from the room, disappearing far elsewhere, seemingly aware of their lord’s oncoming wrath.

“‘kuna, you can get angry with me.” you droop your head. The fact that Sukuna can still professes his affection for you is incredible, and it only made you feel more undeserving.

“Is that what you want?”

You look at him. Now, now, he looks terrifying. His four eyes are shining in unadulterated anger, arms crossed rigidly. It was at that moment you felt how imposing his stature actually is.

“Do you want to provoke my ire?” he claws at your arm, tugging it hard, “to find your new lover and murder him? Raze the entirety of the clans in the process?” his voice is raised now, the boundless cursed energy he usually suppresses when he’s near you unraveling, blooming around him like poisonous vines, “Because you just need to say the word and I will do it.”

The vision suddenly blurs, droplets of your own tears staining the ground. You’re mortified of him, but even more at yourself.

“Do you want me to punish you for your betrayal?” Sukuna’s voice booms impatiently, the hum of his powers getting louder now, crackling like electricity.

You shake your head, fearing your words will come out as a sob.

“Then I won’t.”

Just as fast as it had appeared, Sukuna’s oppressive power evaporates into thin air, the immense energy returning to him in a controlled stillness. His grip on you relaxes.

Relief floods over you, then disbelief — just like that?

Sukuna sighs, like he has just finished chiding a child. “Do you love me?”

You immediately nod frantically, then faltering — did he really want to hear that from someone who just flat out cheated on him?

“Good, then we have no problem.”

“Don’t you,” voice finally returning, you manage to choke out, “want to monopolize me?”

“Yes. But is that what you want?”

Mouth parting in surprise, you can stare at him. You’ve always known that Sukuna has a soft spot for you, but this is —

Sukuna shrugs. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure that weakling will croak before me, so...”

Relief floods over you once more. “‘kuna,” you breathe out, looping your arms around his neck, no longer knowing what to say to him.

“You love me? I’m the best?” Sukuna lazily drapes an arm over your back, bringing you closer in one swift motion, “What a handful. Woman, your greediness knows no bounds.”

You kiss him fully on the lips, “Yes, to both.” planting more kisses down his neck, “I never knew Sukuna-sama to be such a magnanimous man.”

Sukuna lets out a low growl. With a flick of his wrist, all the doors slam shut, leaving the two of you illuminated slightly by the dim afternoon sun from beyond the windows.

“Who said that? You’re not walking out here anytime soon.”

IX.

To say your wedding was the biggest event of the century would be an understatement. Because it was, most definitely, the grandest, messiest event that was both incredible and utterly chaotic.

The union between your clan and the Gojo’s is already a festive affair. Held on a big piece of land overlooking the sea, the venue was decorated in white, blue, and red — a sight so breathtaking the painters would’ve cried while doing their job.

The guests, impressive. Long lines of revered jujutsu clans, important politicians, royals, even the Jujutsu Inspector General dropped by — the myth, the legend, who sadly had to leave after a couple glasses of wine.

Heck, even the teachers from Gojo’s clown school and his idiot students came to the party with their Kyoto friends in tow. (Yes, including the talking panda.)

Gojo? Cried the moment he saw you. One moment he looks radiant in his suit and tie, so dashingly handsome he blinds everyone on sight, the next moment he’s all snot and tears, even his students shot him exasperated looks from their seats.

“Crybaby,” you mutter under your breath, smiling. He’d stopped crying and just looked at you unblinkingly with that electric blue eyes.

The vows, absolutely magical. The look on Gojo’s eyes as he recites his vows borders on reverence, you think he might just drop to his knees. The crowd goes absolutely feral after the kiss.

The dance — well, you never quite got to that part. Not when Sukuna Ryōmen, strongest of all the clans and elders combined, decides to grace your wedding with his presence.

“Is the boring stuff over?” he’d said, gruffly, before leading you away to a more secluded part. On the horizon, the sun has just started to set.

You smiled at him and Sukuna thought you looked absolutely radiant, the I-will-burn-this-world-down-for-you kind of beautiful. He was just about to ask you for a dance when your new husband popped out.

“Can’t you wait until tomorrow to show your ass around?” Gojo has a knack for provoking one’s wrath, you had to give him that. One sentence from him was enough to make Sukuna’s energy crackle in the air.

But Gojo — that idiot — lets his own energy flare, a clear challenge for the status quo, “Let’s settle our score, shall we?”

The two monsters are unaware that the other average sorcerers are slowly losing their ability to breathe at their obnoxious display of power, their clashing energies both domineering and repressive. Blue against red — the choice of your wedding flowers seem so comically matched for this duel.

The giants of the jujutsu world has discovered one piece of vital information that day: who was truly the strongest sorcerer? Was it Gojo Satoru, or was it Sukuna Ryōmen?

Neither. It was you, slamming down your wine glass so hard that the table clatters. At that moment, both men winced, quietly retracted their energy, and went back to your side.

Marrying you to keep them in check was the correct decision. Although, with the two strongest sorcerers alive flanking your sides, maybe you’ve been the biggest threat all along.

With a false annoyed growl, you fix the gun and press it harder against his head, right between his eyes. “Shut up,” you demand, forcing your voice to sound stern even while you’re fighting against slutting yourself out on his cock.

“Yes, miss.. mmph! You j-just… gods, how do you feel so good?” he’s blabbering, completely at a loss when it comes to the slick gummy walls of your cunt. His dick twitches and jumps as he crosses his eyes, imagining what would happen if you pulled the trigger.

His infinity is at war with itself. The warmth from your cunt is too good to block out, but his cursed energy also recognizes the gun as a threat. He’s on the edge of fear and ecstasy. It was pure fucking bliss.

You let out a gasp as his hips jut forward, knocking against your cervix clumsily. “St-stop moving…” you’re losing your resolve.

“I’m sorry, miss…” he pants, hands reaching up to grab your hips. “I’m mmm soo sorry.. so fucking sorry—“ his voice slurs as his oversized hands seize control over your body. he’s so easily able to throw you up and down along his cock, making you take every sinful inch.

“So. Fucking. Sorry.” He slams you down, punctuating each word with a ruthless slam inside you. Your cervix feels like a punching bag, but you continue to bounce. It’s a real wonder who’s fucking who now.

“Sato-ru~” You choke out, using your other hand to brace against his shoulder for support. The gun bobs with every brutal thrust. Your hips meet his in a slippery escapade. Both of you are chasing new heights.

“Make me sorry— Oh! Fuck, make me beg to fill up this pretty pussy. I-I need… shiiit. I need to cum. Please, miss.”

You can feel every ridge and vein of his needy cock hilting itself over and over inside you, bullying and molding you in his image. His bulbous tip is leaking copious amounts of pre inside you, only adding to how slippery and warm it is.

You’re so close. Thighs are twitching, toes are clenching, your walls are constricting. “Beg,” you pant, looking into his pitiful gaze. “Beg me to let you have the priv… privilege of putting your cum inside me.”

Your finger slowly caresses the trigger, and a switch flips in Satoru. “Please, fuck me— Puh…Please, I need to cum inside you, miss. Shit! I’ll be good! I’ll b-be a good boy. I swear.”

His eyes are teary as if he might cry if you don’t let him paint your insides white. His cock is sweltering, balls drawn up almost painfully tight.

You bounce harder and grind your hips forward, your clit rubbing against his pelvic bone, and you finally find your high. “Gods—cum.. Satoru.” You barely manage to get out in the heat of the moment.

But he was already cumming, shooting rope after rope inside you, letting out the most pathetic whines as his eyes were lazily crossed, staring at the gun against him.

“Sooo good, miss… ‘m so sorry,” he mumbles, cradling his muscled arms around your body to help you come down.

You carefully pull the gun away and set it on the ground next to you two. Your body slumps against his as you attempt to catch your breath. Your eyes are still seeing stars as Satoru speaks up once more.

“I am sorry, but… I don’t think I learned my lesson yet. You think we can go again?” he asks, giving you a wild grin with a happy glimmer in his eyes. Your boyfriend is a certified freak.