Ignore the username

you don’t stop. your thumb drags across his tip, spreading the sticky warmth already beading there, and his breath hitches despite his best efforts to look put out. gojo satoru, the strongest, reduced to a mess of slow-burning want before the sun has even fully risen, and you haven’t even said a word yet.

“you’re not gonna move, are you,” he says. it’s not a question. he knows you. knows that when you wake up like this—all heavy-lidded and needy, pressed against his side with your thigh hooked over his hip—you have exactly one thing on your mind, and absolutely zero intention of doing anything about it besides using him.

you hum, soft and affirmative, and your grip tightens just slightly, a silent you know what i want that makes him sigh through his nose.

“unbelievable,” he breathes, but he’s already shifting, already rolling toward you, because gojo has never been able to say no to you. not really. not when you look at him like that, all sleepy and demanding, your lips still puffy from sleep and your hair a mess against the pillow. “you’re gonna make me do everything. like always.”

you don’t deny it. you just pull your hand out of his boxers—slowly, deliberately, dragging your fingertips along his length one last time—and push at his shoulder until he’s on his back. then you’re climbing over him, straddling his hips, and he lets you, because what else is he supposed to do? throw you off? pleaseeee.

his hands find your waist on instinct, thumbs pressing into the soft skin above your hip bones, and he feels the damp heat of you through the thin fabric of your underwear as you settle against him. his cock twitches where it’s trapped between you, and he groans again, tipping his head back into the pillow.

“you’re not even gonna take these off yourself?” he asks, tugging at the waistband of your underwear, and you shake your head, pressing a lazy kiss to his jaw.

“you do it,” you murmur against his skin, and he laughs—a breathless, disbelieving sound.

“of course. of course i do it.” but his hands are already pushing the fabric down your thighs, already guiding you to lift your hips so he can pull them off and toss them somewhere on the floor. he doesn’t bother taking off his own boxers, just hooks his thumb in the elastic and shoves them down just enough to free himself, his cock curving up against his stomach, flushed and heavy and already leaking at the tip.

you reach down to guide him, but he catches your wrist, lacing his fingers through yours and pressing your hand into the pillow beside your head instead. “no. you wanted me to do it, so i’m doing it. just sit there and look pretty.”

you pout at him, but it’s halfhearted, your eyes already glazing over as he shifts beneath you, one hand leaving your waist to wrap around his own cock, slicking the head through your folds. you’re already wet—embarrassingly wet, a testament to how long you’d been touching him before he even woke up—and he groans at the feel of it, at the way your body welcomes him without any resistance.

“fuck,” he breathes, and then he’s pushing inside, slow, so slow, because even when he’s complaining, even when he’s playing the part of the put-upon boyfriend, gojo can’t bring himself to rush this. not with you. not when you make that sound—that soft, broken little “ah” that falls from your lips as he sinks into you inch by inch, your walls fluttering around him like you’ve been waiting for this all night.

he bottoms out and stops, both of you just breathing, just feeling. his hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, and he watches your face, the way your eyes slip half-closed, the way your lips part around a shaky exhale.

“you gonna do any work, or…?” he asks, and you shake your head again, a tiny, lazy movement that makes him laugh even as his hips twitch up into you.

“didn’t think so.” he starts to move, pulling out slow and pushing back in even slower, a rhythm that’s barely more than a deep, grinding rock. it’s not meant to be fast. it’s not meant to be rough. it’s morning sex when neither of you is fully awake, when the sun is just starting to filter through the curtains and the sheets are tangled around your ankles and every sensation is muffled and warm and thick like honey.

you moan, low and quiet, and your hands come up to brace against his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his sleep shirt. he’s still wearing it—of course he is, because you didn’t even give him time to take it off before you were climbing on top of him—and you tug at the collar, pulling it down just enough to press your mouth to the hollow of his throat.

“mmnh… satoru,” you breathe against his skin, and his grip on your hips tightens, his rhythm stuttering for just a second before he finds it again.

“don’t ‘satoru’ me,” he says, but his voice is softer now, the annoyance bleeding away into something warmer, something almost tender. “you’re the one who woke me up. you’re the one who—” he cuts himself off with a groan as you clench around him, deliberately, just to hear that sound. “cheater.”

you smile against his neck, and he feels it, feels the curve of your lips, and he hates how much he loves this. loves the way you use him, loves the way you take and take and take and give nothing back except these soft, sleepy sounds and the occasional bite of your teeth against his collarbone.

the room is quiet except for the wet sound of him moving inside you, the rustle of sheets, your shared breath. it’s slow. so slow. each thrust takes forever, a lazy drag of his cock against your walls, and you can feel everything—every ridge, every pulse, the way he fills you so completely you can barely think.

“you could at least… nngh… you could at least move your hips or something,” he tries, his hands sliding around to cup your ass, guiding you in a small circle that makes you both gasp. “i’m doing all the work here.”

“you’re stronger,” you mumble, and it’s such a non-answer, such a blatant excuse, that he laughs again, breathless and a little wrecked.

“that’s—ah—that’s not how this works.” but he doesn’t stop. he doesn’t even slow down. if anything, his hips press up a little harder, a little deeper, and you feel the stretch of him, the sweet ache of being filled over and over again.

you kiss him then, not because you want to help, but because you want to shut him up. your mouths meet in a lazy slide, lips barely parting, tongues just brushing, and he tastes like sleep and something sweet, like the toothpaste you forgot to use last night. it’s messy and imperfect and so, so good.

he pulls back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath warm on your lips. “you’re so lazy. you know that? you’re the laziest person i’ve ever—mmph—” you kiss him again, and he makes a sound like a whine, high in his throat, and you feel it in your chest.

the pace doesn’t change. it can’t change. you’re both too far gone into this slow, syrupy haze to do anything but rock together, hips meeting in a rhythm that’s more instinct than thought. gojo’s hands wander—up your back, down your thighs, everywhere and nowhere—and every few seconds he lets out a soft, punched-out noise that’s barely louder than a whisper.

“you’re not gonna cum,” he says eventually, and it’s not a question. “you’re just gonna—ah—you’re just gonna make me do this until one of us falls back asleep.”

you nod against his shoulder, and he groans, long and loud, his head falling back against the pillow.

“i hate you,” he says, but his hips keep moving, and his hands keep holding, and his cock keeps pressing into that spot inside you that makes your toes curl. “i hate you so much.”

you don’t believe him. you’ve never believed him. not when he says it like that, all soft and breathy, not when he keeps fucking you with that lazy, devastating precision, not when he turns his head to press a kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.

“move,” he tries again, giving your hip a little push. “come on. just a little. just—nngh—just once.”

you shake your head, burying your face in the crook of his neck, and you feel his laugh more than you hear it, a shudder that runs through his whole body.

“you’re impossible,” he says, but he’s smiling. you can hear it in his voice. “absolutely impossible.”

the sun gets brighter. the birds outside get louder. neither of you speeds up. neither of you finishes. it’s just this—this endless, gentle push and pull, this lazy morning ritual that could last for hours or minutes, you can’t tell anymore. time doesn’t exist here, in the warm cocoon of tangled sheets and shared breath, of gojo’s hands on your body and his cock buried inside you and the soft, constant sound of his moans in your ear.

“i’m gonna stop,” he warns, but his hips rock up again, deeper, and you whimper, and he doesn’t stop. he never stops. “i mean it. i’m gonna… i’m gonna push you off and go back to sleep and you can just… handle it yourself.”

you lift your head just enough to look at him, and he’s beautiful like this—flushed and disheveled, his blindfold long since discarded on the nightstand, his eyes bright and blue and so, so soft. he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world, even as he complains, even as he pretends he wants to be anywhere else.

“please,” you say, and it’s the first real word you’ve spoken since you woke him up, and it breaks something in him, some last thread of resistance.

“fuck,” he whispers, and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours, and his hips finally, finally pick up the pace—just a little, just enough to make you gasp into his mouth. “fuck, okay. okay. i’ll do it. i’ll do everything. just stay right there.”

you do. you stay right there, limp and pliant in his arms, while he fucks you slow and sweet and endless, while the morning stretches on around you, while his moans fill the room like a prayer.

it’s lazy. it’s perfect. it’s exactly what you wanted.

and when he finally stops, minutes or hours later, both of you still trembling and neither of you any closer to the edge, he pulls out slowly and wraps himself around you and mumbles “next time, you’re doing it” into your hair.

you’re already asleep. you don’t hear him.

his hands slide up from your hips to your waist, palms warm and slightly sweaty. he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read—hunger and wonder and something softer mixed in.

"okay?" he asks.

you nod, swallowing. "okay."

"good." he shifts beneath you, and you feel him twitch inside you, making you gasp. his lips curl into a smirk, but it's strained, his composure crumbling at the edges. "now move when you're ready. however you want. i've got you."

you start slow. experimental rolls of your hips, testing the angle, the friction. each movement sends sparks through your nerves, makes your breath stutter. his hands guide but don't push, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"like that," he says, voice rough. "just like that."

you find a rhythm. rocking forward, grinding down, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the quiet room. his head falls back again, eyes fluttering shut, and you watch his throat work as he swallows.

"you feel incredible," he rasps. "god, you have no idea how good you feel."

you pick up the pace, bracing your hands on his chest. the new angle makes him hit deeper, and you moan, head dropping forward. he takes the opportunity to lean up, catching your mouth in a kiss that's all tongue and teeth and desperation.

when he pulls back, he's breathing hard. his bangs are plastered to his forehead. there's a flush spreading across his chest.

"you're doing so well," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "fucking—perfect. you're perfect."

you roll your hips harder, chasing the friction, the pressure building low in your belly. his hands grip your waist tighter, and you can feel him fighting the urge to take over, to flip you and fuck you into the mattress.

"close?" he asks.

you nod, too breathless for words.

"me too." he laughs, shaky. "fuck, me too. you're gonna make me—"

he cuts himself off with a groan, his hips bucking up into you despite himself. you gasp at the sudden depth, your walls clenching around him.

"sorry," he grits out. "sorry, i just—you feel too good. i can't—"

his composure is crumbling. the infuriatingly cocky sorcerer is falling apart beneath you, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking where they hold you. he's babbling now, half-words and broken praises, telling you how good you are, how tight, how perfect.

"come for me," he gasps. "please. i need to feel you—"

you do. the command, the desperation in his voice, the way he's barely holding himself together—it pushes you over the edge. you clench around him, a broken moan falling from your lips as pleasure rips through you.

he follows a second later, with a groan that sounds almost pained, his hips thrusting up as he spills inside you. you feel every pulse, every hot rush of him filling you, and it draws your own orgasm out until you're trembling and spent.

you collapse against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, breathing hard. his arms wrap around you, pulling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"holy shit," he mutters.

you laugh weakly. "good?"

he tilts your chin up, kissing you slow and deep.

"perfect."

his hands slide up from your hips to your waist, palms warm and slightly sweaty. he's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read—hunger and wonder and something softer mixed in.

"okay?" he asks.

you nod, swallowing. "okay."

"good." he shifts beneath you, and you feel him twitch inside you, making you gasp. his lips curl into a smirk, but it's strained, his composure crumbling at the edges. "now move when you're ready. however you want. i've got you."

you start slow. experimental rolls of your hips, testing the angle, the friction. each movement sends sparks through your nerves, makes your breath stutter. his hands guide but don't push, his thumbs tracing lazy circles on your skin.

"like that," he says, voice rough. "just like that."

you find a rhythm. rocking forward, grinding down, the wet sound of your bodies meeting filling the quiet room. his head falls back again, eyes fluttering shut, and you watch his throat work as he swallows.

"you feel incredible," he rasps. "god, you have no idea how good you feel."

you pick up the pace, bracing your hands on his chest. the new angle makes him hit deeper, and you moan, head dropping forward. he takes the opportunity to lean up, catching your mouth in a kiss that's all tongue and teeth and desperation.

when he pulls back, he's breathing hard. his bangs are plastered to his forehead. there's a flush spreading across his chest.

"you're doing so well," he says, and his voice cracks on the last word. "fucking—perfect. you're perfect."

you roll your hips harder, chasing the friction, the pressure building low in your belly. his hands grip your waist tighter, and you can feel him fighting the urge to take over, to flip you and fuck you into the mattress.

"close?" he asks.

you nod, too breathless for words.

"me too." he laughs, shaky. "fuck, me too. you're gonna make me—"

he cuts himself off with a groan, his hips bucking up into you despite himself. you gasp at the sudden depth, your walls clenching around him.

"sorry," he grits out. "sorry, i just—you feel too good. i can't—"

his composure is crumbling. the infuriatingly cocky sorcerer is falling apart beneath you, his breathing ragged, his hands shaking where they hold you. he's babbling now, half-words and broken praises, telling you how good you are, how tight, how perfect.

"come for me," he gasps. "please. i need to feel you—"

you do. the command, the desperation in his voice, the way he's barely holding himself together—it pushes you over the edge. you clench around him, a broken moan falling from your lips as pleasure rips through you.

he follows a second later, with a groan that sounds almost pained, his hips thrusting up as he spills inside you. you feel every pulse, every hot rush of him filling you, and it draws your own orgasm out until you're trembling and spent.

you collapse against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, breathing hard. his arms wrap around you, pulling you close, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"holy shit," he mutters.

you laugh weakly. "good?"

he tilts your chin up, kissing you slow and deep.

"perfect."

satoru knows well enough that he adores your voice when it’s wrapped around his name.

but he’s decided that he loves it best when it’s completely breaking, paired with the gorgeously suffocating feeling of the skin of your thighs pressed into his fingertips and wrapped around his lips.

he loves when his name is exhaled, high-pitched and whiny like sugar, while his tongue paints a stripe across the wetness coating your lips, swirling circles around your pretty clit.

maybe he liked it the most because it’s how he’s always wanted to hear you say his name — it’s just that you’d always been too fucking stubborn, so insistent on hating him that you’d never stop to think how good you’d taste coating his mouth with your slick.

“sa-ah-toru,” you keen as satoru’s tongue dips past the edge of your soaked hole, curling inwards deliciously, moving slow like he’s savoring every fucking drop.

god, he’s hungry — but he’ll die if he goes too quick and can’t taste you ever again.

and if he grips the back of your thighs just a little bit harder when you sing his name like that? he simply can’t help it. he waited too long for this.

sa-to-ru.

you taste just as sweet as you sound.

you’d burst into his office this morning, bemoaning the fact that satoru hadn’t showed up to the previous briefing with principal yaga, of which ended with yaga blaming it on you. you’re bursting with rage, all up in his face, and it’s all a blur from there until your panties are hooked over your ankle, he’s getting on his knees in front of your office chair, wrapping your thighs over his shoulders, and lapping at your pretty cunt.

he hasn't gasped for air; he’s been too enveloped in your scent to care about breathing. he’ll devour you until no one else can. until all that pretty voice of yours knows how to sound out is sa-to-ru.

satoru narrows his tongue, bullying the muscle deep and slow, down to where you couldn’t have thought possible to reach. his eyes are hazy, half-lidded as you tug at his winter locks, shoving him further into your weeping pussy.

“mmph— fuck,” you pant out, eyes screwed shut as he thrusts his tongue in and out of you at a torturous pace. “fuck— gojo, ‘re going too slow—”

“hmm?” he hums into your clit, sending shockwaves straight up from your core. the sorcerer’s gaze meets yours from under the glimpse of your tits beneath your unbuttoned polo.

he loves you composed, he really does — but you look perfect when you’re all messy, just for him.

his lips glisten with your wetness as he grins. “i'll go faster if you say my name properly, beautiful.”

“h—huh?” your words trail off into a candied whine as he pads his finger just against your entrance, smearing the wetness that covers your folds and popping it into his mouth.

you’re so sweet. fuck, why are you so sweet?

“say my name.” he repeats, his voice cheerful yet rough, the tiniest bit of grit around the edge. “remind me how much you love me, gorgeous.”

your eyes still manage to narrow, even as they glitter with needy frustration. “fuck you— mmh!”

satoru simply frowns against the inside of your thigh as he abruptly bullies the first inch of his finger past your entrance, hissing at how tightly your walls were clamping down on him. his mind goes blurry, swirling with thoughts of how delectable you’d look with your thighs around his hips, bullied open and clamping like a vice down on his cock—

he pulls his finger out with a shudder, cooing at the little pout that forms on your lips. “poor baby. if you can’t handle it, you know, we can stop here. if you want.”

“w— what?” you breathe out, eyes wide and glossy like the thought was insulting. “no, please — please, need you, satoru…”

sa-to-ru.

and you’ve drawn out that last syllable like you want him dead.

“again, sorry?”

“satoru!” you squeal impatiently, and he obliged, simply because he’d never say no to you when you sound like that.

the white-haired man groans, biting down on the inside of your thigh and relishing in the way it makes you whine, all high-pitched and finally sweet on him.

his fingers thrust roughly into your aching pussy, stretching you out and moulding you to shape around his skin. you’re dripping down his palm, and satoru’s mesmerized by the sheen of slick that coats his hand as he pounds his fingers in and out of you steadily.

“shit— so pretty here for me, huh?” satoru whispers reverently, as if speaking directly to your pussy and not to you. “just as sweet as that mouth of yours. just as tight too.”

your hands are making a home for themselves in his hair, hips chasing his thick fingers, grinding yourself further into them like he wasn’t deep enough already. your perfect fucking voice isn’t helping the sorcerer’s case either — he swears he loses every semblance of control he has, bit by bit, at each breath of his name leaving your lips, garbled and slurred and destroyed.

“s’toru, satoru,” your mouth drops open, eyes screwing shut as he curls his fingers right into that spongy spot, office chair creaking as your body slumps back into it. “it’s so— fuck, ‘ts so—”

he laughs breathlessly. “yes, gorgeous?”

“it’s so— oh!”

satoru cherishes everything you have to say, he swears he does.

but he also cherishes the way your lips look, all glossed with drool pooling at the corners, when he leans forward and circles his tongue over your clit in mean little motions, lapping at the sensitive skin in tandem with the rhythm of his fingers. you’re a whining, squirming mess — struggling to stay upright, thoroughly desecrated on the office chair you’d chewed him out just weeks ago for stealing.

satoru hisses as your fingertips tug at his locks, so fucking drunk on the taste of your soaked cunt amidst the lewd sound of his fingers slapping against your sex.

“listen to that,” he rasps out, pausing to let the squelch of your pussy speak for itself before laughing dazedly against your clit. “she’s screaming my name too, isn’t she? so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

your bleary gaze peeks down at him, eyes questioning amidst the pleasure. “s—satoru, you asshole, stop talking to my— mmh!”

before you can protest, his mouth is diving back in. soft lips latch around your clit, and satoru’s painfully hard at the sound of your voice cracking around the syllables of his name, your throat thick with pleasure at the overstimulation. he doesn’t let up; the white-haired man sucks harder at the sensitive bud, all while scissoring his fingers deep inside of you as if mapping you out.

for when his dick goes inside you, of course.

“it’s t—too much,” you complain in a mewl, eyes blurry with forming tears, “satoru, please, please, ‘m so—”

“fuck, take it, gorgeous,” satoru gasps out against your pussy, lips drenched in your taste. “keep talking to me — shit, you’re tight — let it all out for me, okay?”

satoru’s mind had blanked out a long time ago. between the way your lips form his name in one strung out moan, and the way you taste sweeter than any candy he could’ve ever asked for, he’s starting to wonder if he’d died and gone to heaven.

your voice tangles with the filthy squelches that resound through the cramped space of your office, and he swears nothing could ever be better than this.

except for the way you sound saying his name while you cum.

“i’m— i’m—” you gasp, and satoru takes that as a sign to clamp his lips around your clit and suck, curling his fingers up against your g-spot until — “satoru!”

he’s never heard anything so perfect before. his gaze flicks upwards as you orgasm, watching the way your face scrunches up as your cunt tightens unbearably around every inch of his fingers. satoru’s transfixed by your stupid voice, something out of a porno curated by an angel, and if he’s hoping he’s ruined you with his fingers alone, you’ve ruined him with just the sound of your voice breaking.

your breaths are heavy as you come down from the high; soft and warm, sound waves radiating off of you like sunlight. satoru presses a soft kiss to your inner thigh, and you finally peer down at him.

“still mad at me?” the sorcerer grins.

your eyes narrow as soon as you’re back to life. “yes. yaga chewed me out for something that wasn’t even my fault, satoru.”

sa-to-ru. the white-haired man pauses against your inner thigh, raising an eyebrow up at you with something hungry in his eyes. because as soon as you say his name, he decides he’s not fucking done with you yet.

“i’m sorry, gorgeous,” satoru mumbles, giving you a faux-apologetic glance before mischievously pressing a kiss to your clit, watching how your eyes widen. “i guess I’ll just keep going until you forgive me.”

“w—wait!”

satoru gojo really likes the way you say his name.

and he’ll keep making you say it until you know it too.

@ ttakdoll, 2026

Clark got back from a long stressful day at the Daily Planet. A long. Long day. Thinking all about you, how he left you that morning for work and you were wearing his shirt and a pretty little thong. He spent all day trying to focus on his work. Like he should. But how could he when you were at home.

As soon as he got through the door you were in the kitchen making a drink, Wasting no time whatsoever he walks over and you feel two arms wrap around your waist pulling you even closer to his chest and he dives kisses on your neck inhaling your scent. A soft giggle leaves your lips and you tilt your head back to kiss him, he returns the kiss deeply turning you around to face him and lifting you off the ground slightly.

He set you down gently looking at you like you hung the moon and has a boyish grin on his face and you just beam at him taking a sip of your icy drink and offer it to him, he smiles taking a sip and passes it back. "How was your day baby... get any good stories?" You asked gently always eager to hear his work stories.

"It was good , though I think I need to have another interview with superman, How was your day honey?" he puts quotes around the word superman using his fingers and you roll your eyes at him at the irony and sip your drink again before speaking up again.

"I'm sure he'll find time for you, my day was good thanks Clark..just.. rotted .. watched tv.. the usual for a day off" He leaned over and kissed your forehead still with a glint of something else in his eyes.

"Did my girl eat today?" He brushes a hand through your hair almost cooing at you gently.

"I did baby.. got something small before ... have you eaten?" You return the question knowing exactly how much he dove into his work and forgot to eat. He nods softly grinning even more "I had something small too. But I'm starving baby.. worked up an awful appetite."

Your face fell instantly. You loved taking care of your man and he was starving??? That just wasn't okay. Not happening. "Oh! Clark I'll make you something up baby , what do you feel like?" You frowned darting to the fridge and he let out a deep chuckle at how sweet you were sometimes.

"Come here sweetheart." His voice was a deep tone that immediately caused a heat between your legs. Who would refuse that. You walked over and he leaned down slightly cupping your face and kissing you deeply. Almost starved. It took your breath away as his tongue slides into your mouth dancing with your own. The taste of coffee and something minty lingered on his tongue.

He pulls away voice smug and proud "wanna eat you up baby... s'that okay?" The answer got stuck in your throat within seconds. He tilts his head sweetly almost taunting you.

"Superman got your tongue baby?" He chuckled again.

"Yes baby.. s'more than okay!" The second the words leave your mouth he's already scooping you up and placing you on the counter and taking your soaked thong off placing it in his pocket , lifting his shirt you were wearing and looking at your dripping wet folds with a proud grin. He coos tauntingly and drags his index finger up your folds coaxing his fingers and giving them a quick lick to try you.

"Awe she's soaked f'me baby.. all ready.. ..." He kneels down ever so slightly to be level with your pussy.

"Oh I missed you sweet little thing" He coos playfully at your pussy biting your thigh before looking up at you "and you honey!" He dips his head between your legs making you gasp softly as he laps at your wet folds kissing your clit. His glasses getting nudged in thr process , But my god he didn't even care. He started lapping like a starved man and humming against your pussy and throwing your legs over his shoulder, his hands gripping onto your thighs hard Enough to bruise.

He was achingly hard. He loved your pussy. Could live between your thighs for days. “She tastes so good baby" He whimpered against your clit sucking more and lapping his tongue rapidly. He brings two fingers towards your sopping wet hole and pushes them in gently making you yank at his hair and he looks up, glasses crooked and fogged up , you could feel him smile against your pussy as he fucks his fingers into you rapidly working in tandem with his tongue flicking at your clit. And he was getting harder. You were getting closer whimpering rutting against his mouth knocking your drink over from before. The cold icy liquid hitting you makes you gasp and arch your back more pushing him deeper into your pussy.

"Oh fuck!" You squeal water splashing everywhere and he pulls off tutting making you whine from the loss of contact and how close you were.

"you're makin such a mess baby... don't worry I'll take care of it." He scoops you up so your legs wrap around his waist definitely getting your juices soaked on his shirt and kisses you deeply , you can taste yourself on his tongue and feel how hard he is. His glasses beyond crooked and he quickly fixed them.

He lays you down on the dining table and you shriek at him. "Clark! We fucking eat on this table." You scold him and once again he leans down with a proud boyish unbothered grin. He needed you more.

"That's exactly what I'm doing baby.. I'm eating." He slams his mouth back between your thighs with more hunger than before and you shriek yanking on his hair throwing your legs around him to get him closer and he whimpers against your pussy. his air getting cut off slightly. But this is exactly what he wanted. His dick throbbing painfully already forming a dark wet patch in his pants.

For a moment he reaches his hand down to palm himself through his pants only groaning more as he laps up your juices and curlinghis tongue in and out of your hole making you whimper and thrash. You were a fucking mess. Dripping all over his face. He jerks himself off harder tugging on your clit slightly. He groans so hard and you squirm, he rapidly holds your legs down more not stopping for a moment to breathe.

"Can I try something for her baby? Think she'd like it" he coos waiting for your reply. You nod close to tears and suddenly you feel a sharp cooling sensation on your clit as he uses his freeze breath gently. You shriek louder thrashing and he reaches a hand up pushing your stomach down so you can't move.

He returns his fingers to your sopping hole and fucks you rapidly with them stretching your gummy walls out and letting you soak him and clamp around him even more still using the freeze breath and switching between that and his tongue, "HOLY FUCK CLARK" You belt out sobbing yanking on his hair even harder. He groans and whimpers against you as he completely comes undone in his pants.

The coil grew tighter and you can feel it in the pit of your stomach almost making you light headed.

"Clark! Wait ! No.. I'm gonna - " Before you can even finish you feel a gushing sensation as you squirt harshly onto his face , some of it splattering onto his glasses and all over the dining table and his pants had a massive wet patch from his own orgasm. He laps it all up. "She did so good baby.. you're so good for me"

You gasp breathing heavily and he lifts his head. His glasses fogged up and covered in your juices. He chuckles taking off his glasses and wiping them on his shirt before helping you sit up and kissing you softly wiping your tears away shushing you gently , the other hand at the back of your head.

"Fixed your appetite?" You ask sweetly and he chuckles nodding "best meal ever ,still could eat though, unfortunately eating you out isn't a balanced diet." He guides you to the bedroom and you both get changed, him in plaid pants and a white shirt and you his shirt and cozy shorts.

When you get back to the kitchen he grabs paper towels and cleaning up the kitchen counter and then the dining table. Throwing it away before turning to you.

"You feel like takeout? Everyone loves eating out" He grins smugly and you roll your eyes at him and smile.

"Takeout sounds good baby"

"Atta girl honey.. I'll pay for it" he leans over and kisses you deeply and lovingly. "Least I could do" He coos stroking your hair gently and then leaning down to rub your back as he always did.

☆👓 ☆💋 ☆👓 ☆👓 ☆💋 ☆👓 ☆👓 ☆💋 ☆👓 ☆

HII BEAUTIFUL SOULS.

How is everyone????

Thank you for reading this (if you made it this far!)

Thank you for the support as always :)) drop a follow (please have age in bio)

And feel free to send requests

I am literally on my way to go write the Scott one LMAO

THANK YOU!

@soggywhore @davidcoresnwet

Unlike now- bright red swim trunks sinfully low on his carved hips, official “lifeguard” emblazoned vest slung somewhere inside the tower to allow his gorgeously sculpted chest to be on full show.

His arms are thick from all the time he spends lugging weights around in the home gym you pretend not to spy on when you’re at Yuji’s, his face devastatingly, unfairly beautiful.

Cut sharply, his features are enviously perfect. Dark ink bands around his skin like he was born with it, like he’s existed forever as the wall of muscle and tattoos you know him to be.

You aren’t usually the type to throw yourself tooooo headfirst into things- especially when they concern Yuji’s uncle- but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of your mind that wouldn’t mind drowning in the pools of crimson that make up his irises.

“Don’t make me whistle again!” He shouts, head of pink hair sticking out from the secluded lifeguard tower, “I need to talk to you.” The whistle rests delicately on his lips, his tongue just wetting the shiny red plastic as it dangles from the cord around his tattooed neck.

“About what?” Nobara yells back, “I’m tanning, idiot-“

“Nah, not you.” Sukuna says dismissively, “her.”

You’re puzzled as you rise from the patterned towel, brushing the remnants of beach away from your sandals; Nobara shrugs when you look back at her, just as confused as you.

His eyes don’t leave your body once as you pad across the sand, feet leaving indents behind you. You feel exposed; your bikini is skimpy enough, sure, but Sukuna’s gaze feels like he’s stripping you bare and running his hands along each swelteringly hot curve.

Your thighs almost squeeze together as you walk, an urge that’s only made worse as you climb the steps and he keeps staring at you. What you don’t know is why he’s staring- Sukuna’s almost affronted at how much of your tits you’re casually offering to him with your choice of bikini.

Of course, he’s seen your cleavage before, as you chat drunkenly with his nephew in the backseat, bottle still clutched forgotten in your palm; but it’s different like this, when he can really see the supple flesh you hide behind fabric.

When it’s not past midnight on the lawn of somebody’s house, your limbs splayed out and tangled with Nobara’s as you laugh at absolute nothing and giggle when he pulls you to your feet. It’s sunny now, the rays lighting the beads of sweat clinging to your nape.

But you don’t notice the way his eyes curve on your bare skin, too busy opening the door to the lifeguard tower.

“You’re gonna get sunstroke.” He deadpans when you step inside, “not even a fucking hat.”

Bypassing the comment, you muse, “huh. I didn’t think anybody actually worked here.”

He kisses his teeth before continuing, playing with the whistle between two thick fingers. “I like it that way.”

You scoff. “Yeah, sure- it’s not because you get to perv on all the girls?” You’re only joking- obviously, Yuji’s uncle isn’t a perv- but Sukuna knows otherwise.

Only on you, he thinks briefly, teeth clacking into a little grin.

“Nah. But you see a lot if you’re quiet enough.”

You stare at him and the way he’s started to knowingly cock his head like he knows something incredibly funny. “Like what?”

Sukuna grins, lazily tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear; suddenly, you become aware of just how cold it is in here and just how thin the material of your bikini is. His eyes drift to your chest and his mouth quirks, but he doesn’t comment.

“Had a shift a few nights ago. And one the day before that, around noon.”

“So?” You say, affronted, “if I wanted to know your schedule I would’ve just asked-“

“Oh, you don’t get it, do you?” He grins devilishly, the feeling of his calloused palms suddenly gripping your arms enough to make your head spin. “Look.”

You squint against the sun through the glassy window, past where Nobara is lolling about on her beach towel and reaching for the cooler, and to- oh.

The lifeguard tower, especially from the angle Sukuna has you held at, provides a perfectly clear, perfectly elevated and, above all else, perfectly hidden view straight down to the smooth gap behind a certain rock you’ve become accustomed to.

Oops.

“Okay…” you say, feigning calmness like he didn’t just admit to being a willing voyeur to your coastal escapades, “what’re you gonna do? Ban me from the beach? It wasn’t public indecency, there was nobody else around-“

“Maybe I could file a noise complaint.” Sukuna murmurs, his voice low in your attentive ear. “All those pretty noises, I had to sit in here and fuck my hand so I could think straight about rules and regulations instead of how your face would look when you cum.”

You gasp sharply. “I knew you were a perv.” The insult carries no bite, the insult whispered breathlessly through your lips as a big palm gently travels over your bare collarbones and down to cup your chest.

He grins against your cheek, tongue licking a flat stripe across the skin. “You wouldn’t believe it, baby.”

Now, you knew Sukuna was strong- as does everybody else- but the sheer pliability he manages to work into your flesh is almost unreal. Thighs spread out easily, the thick muscles of his forearms tensed as he holds you, the toned ridges of his chest pressed flat to your curved spine-

Ryomen Sukuna has you in a full nelson, and you’ve never felt more stuffed.

“Oh-“ you splutter, “oh, fuck-“

“Yeahhh, feels good, doesn’t it?” He breathes gruffly into your ear, cock swiping across something devastatingly soft inside you. Teeth nip sharply at your skin and you keen. “Knew you could take it f’me.”

The curve of your spine struggles to fully come into alignment, your movements hazy and sluggish as two of his fingers work to rub across your clit. “Better than the beach?”

“Huh?” You slur, eyes half lidded and your swimsuit completely discarded somewhere, waterproof strings and patterned fabric strewn into a corner alongside Sukuna’s trunks.

He laughs meanly, tightly rolling the little ball of nerves between his finger and thumb; your back arches away on instinct, the sudden burst of pleasure too much- but Sukuna moves first, clamping you down and pressing your reeling body to his.

“Shit!” You wail, shuddering in his grip as his cock relentlessly drags over your most sensitive patches. “Kuna-“

“That’s new.” He notes casually like he’s observing a magazine instead of fucking you filthily on the floor of his lifeguard tower, “I thought it was ‘Sukuna’ or maybe ‘Yuji’s uncle’, right?”

You sob, a nasty guttural heave that makes him grin and dig his canines into your shoulder. “Sukuna-“

“Nah, keep saying Kuna.” Any word that could’ve protested blanks totally from your melty brain, “s’cute.”

It’s mocking, you know that- the noises being expelled from your mouth are downright needy and pathetic, mewls pitched octaves above Sukuna’s low groans.

You try so hard to stay quiet, to not give him the satisfaction. But Sukuna’s fucking you with the pent up sexual frustration of a man who’s been forced to watch you fuck two separate guys right in front of him while he’s left to his fist.

I mean, you can’t blame him, you guess.

Your mind, as hazy and fucked-out as it is, manages to drift to what he said earlier. He’d got off to your noises, to the mere imagination of your bare skin; had he moaned into his palm to muffle it? Had he brushed his thumb over the tip and gasped, big pearls of pre slipping down his length to the patch of hair you're soaking?

You’re more interested in how he’d looked, if his cheeks had blushed furiously while he worked his cock and hid himself from straggling beachgoers to fantasise about his nephew’s pretty little friend.

You bet he looks gorgeous right now, strands of salmon hair sticking in damp tufts to his forehead, black tattoos glistening with sweat as the muscles in his back, arms and thighs flex to hold you hostage.

He’s so deep like this it should be illegal, his hips jostling you however he wants to the point of tears; tears you don’t even register falling from your eyes until they’re being swiped away by Sukuna’s tongue.

“You’re so pretty like this.” He hisses, a thumb rolling over your peaked nipples and circling the buds until you’re whining out even louder. The stimulation in this position is everywhere- inside, outside, your ears, your kiss-bitten mouth, and it’s blindingly good.

Tears well up in your eyes, pinpricks of water that trickle across your brightened cheeks and get lapped up by Sukuna’s tongue. He’s so nasty it makes you feel squirmy, pressed against his chest as slick drips down between your spread legs.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moan desperately, “please-“

Sukuna doesn’t respond, only speeds up the fingers between your painfully spread thighs and thrusts in deeper. The pressure is suffocating, instant and delicious; he’s spurting constant little coatings of pre inside your tensing pussy you can’t wriggle away from.

“Do it then.” He demands, voice lilting into a slight tone of need at the end. Sukuna desires your orgasm just as much as you do, since he saw you throw a thigh over Gojo’s shoulder or drop to your sandy knees for Geto.

And, on a deeper level- maybe he’s wanted this for as long as you have, since the first time Yuji spontaneously introduced you both last summer on this very beach, your tits spilling out of your swimsuit and your hair splayed out over the towel.

You cum almost violently, body twitching as Sukuna’s palms keep slamming you down onto his cock even after the orgasm subsides and you’re weakly lolling against him.

“Justttt a lil’ more, baby.” He heaves out, cock throbbing as more swathes of pre drip between your legs. “Just- fuck!”

You gasp in unison when he spills inside, ever so thankful for the little strip of birth control you take religiously every morning; there’s so much it almost shocks you, thick wads of alabastrine smearing messily down your skin.

He pulls you off with an obscene pop! sound that makes you grimace, reaching to tie your bikini back on shaking legs. “You seriously can’t expect me to go back outside like this?”

Sukuna shrugs lazily, eyeing up the shiny mess on your inner thighs and tossing you a spare towel to half heartedly clean up. “I’ll carry you back if your legs hurt that bad, baby.”

You glare at him. “Absolutely not.”

“I’ll walk you, then.” You’re ready to reject him and bounce back outside yourself onto the sand and back to Nobara, who’s head is visible now you’re raising to your feet- but your knees buckle embarrassingly and he grabs onto you. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. I’m walking you.”

He does, sort of- helps you down the stairs, readjusts the sunglasses on your face to cover the slight fucked-out heaviness to your eyelids and ties a towel around you to hide the reams of bruises decorating your waist. “Oh, before you go-“ he says casually, patting your shoulder, “tell Yuji I say hi.”

“Asshole.” You groan under your breath, waddling towards Nobara and trying to ignore the uncomfortable amounts of cum pooling in the middle of your bikini bottoms.

Nobara eyes you up suspiciously. “You were gone for a while.”

You sigh dramatically. “He lectured me on, uh, sunstroke. I’m swearing off this beach for life.”

She laughs, already standing up- easily, you notice enviously- and rolling her shoulders. “I really hate sand anyway. Works for me.“

You only remember to check your phone when you flop backwards onto your bed later, breathless and sticky- but just a few minutes of scrolling before you get in the shower isn’t too bad, you figure; there’s a little budding notification on your messages, and you thumb through to find the sender.

Megs :)

yuji wants to go out

we were thinking this weekend

local bar?

You smile.

You

yeah sure

see you both then!

series masterlist | check out the photo album! | regular masterlist

a/n: thank youuuu for reading- reblogs/ comments super appreciated!! + bets for what’s gonna happen at the weekend…?

he’s got you on your back, your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, and he’s been teasing you for what feels like hours. his fingers are inside you, two of them, curling against that spot that makes your vision blur. you’re close—so close—and he knows it. he always knows.

"t-toru, please," you beg, your voice cracking. "i need—i need to cum—"

"yeah?" he murmurs, his thumb brushing your clit in the lightest, most maddening touch. "you need it? is my pretty girl all worked up?"

you nod frantically, your hips rolling, trying to chase the sensation. he pulls his hand away entirely. you sob. "no, n-no, please—"

"aw, baby," he coos, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "you're so pathetic. it’s cute." he brings his fingers to his mouth, licking them clean while you watch, helpless. "you taste good when you’re begging."

he starts again, his fingers sliding back inside you, his pace agonizingly slow. you’re panting, your thighs shaking, your mind going fuzzy at the edges. "toru! i can’t—i can’t take it—"

"yes, you can," he says, his voice calm, almost gentle. "you'll take whatever i give you. you wanna be good, don't you?" he curls his fingers, pressing hard, and you nearly scream. "that’s it. feel that? that’s mine. your pleasure is mine. i decide when you get it."

you’re crying now, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes, your body trembling. he leans down, his lips brushing your ear. "you’re so pretty when you’re dumb like this. can’t even think, can you? just a pretty little toy for me." he adds a third finger, stretching you open, and you wail. "that’s okay, baby. you don’t need to think. i’ll do it for you. all you have to do is take it. you can do that, can't you?"

he brings you to the edge again, and again, and again. each time, he pulls back just before you can fall. your mind is gone, your body is on fire, and all you can do is sob his name like it’s the only word you know.

"satoru, p-please!!" you whimper, your voice hoarse. "i’ll do anything. please lemme cum, i-it hurts!"

he smiles, that sharp, wicked smile that means he’s nowhere near done with you. "it hurts?" he asks, his fingers still moving, still torturing you. you nod desperately. "poor baby," he mocks. "we can't have my sweetheart in pain, now can we?"

he presses his thumb to your clit and curls his fingers one last time, and you shatter. your orgasm crashes over you so hard you can’t breathe, your vision going white, your body convulsing. he doesn’t stop. he keeps his fingers moving, dragging it out, forcing you through it until you’re shaking and sobbing and begging him to stop.

"too muchh!!" you gasp. "s'toruu! it’s too much—"

"shh, hush now," he says, his voice low and dark. "you can take it, you're doing so well."

he shifts, his cock replacing his fingers, and you barely have time to process before he’s pushing inside you, filling you completely. you’re so sensitive, so overstimulated, that the stretch is almost painful. you cry out, your hands fisting the sheets.

"thaaat’s it," he groans, his hips snapping forward. "take my cock. take it like the good girl you are. you’re so—shit— so fucking tight after you cum, baby. feels so good." he fucks you hard, his pace relentless, his hand sliding between you to rub your clit again. "you still with me?"

you’re babbling now, your words slurring together, your mind completely gone. "satoru—fuck—i can’t—i can’t!!—"

you cum again, your walls clamping down on him so hard he groans, his rhythm faltering. he fucks you through it, his hand still working your clit, and you’re sobbing, your body shaking, your mind nothing but static and pleasure and him.

"that’s it," he praises, his voice rough. "good girl. such a good girl for me. look at you, so stupid. can’t even speak, can you?"

he cums with a groan, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing inside you. you feel the heat of it, the way he fills you, and it sends you over the edge one more time, your third orgasm ripping through you like lightning. you’re crying, your body trembling, your mind completely blank.

he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. for a long moment, neither of you moves. then he rolls off you, pulling you into his arms, his hand stroking your hair.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice soft now, gentle. you nod, your face buried in his chest.

"you’re mean," you mumble.

he laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "yeah. but you love me."

you don’t answer. you just press closer, your body still humming, your mind still fuzzy. and yeah. you do.

--

babygirl : @sadisticslut666