the kitchen is loud in that soft, lived in way - rice steaming on the stove, a window cracked open to let in the late afternoon breeze, the low hum of the city outside.
you’re at the counter, sleeves rolled, trying to finish cutting vegetables before the timer goes off again.
behind you - absolute chaos.
“why do we have to clean our room now?” your son whines, dragging the words like they physically hurt him.
your daughter slumps dramatically over the table. “you said later, you're insufferable - always changing your mind.”
you close your eyes for half a second, breathe in, and turn around. “i said after homework. homework is done. rooms next.”
they groan in unison.
“ugh, you’re so unfair,” your son mutters, just loud enough to sting. “you don’t even know how boring it is.”
the words land deeper than they should - not because they’re cruel, but because you’re tired, because it’s been a long day. because you’ve been holding everything together with quiet patience and the unspoken understanding that is just a part of you.
before you can respond, the air behind you shifts.
satoru had been leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching with that lazy, half-amused expression he wears when he’s pretending not to pay attention.
his blindfold is gone; his piercing blue eyes in full view, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. when he straightens, the room subtly reorients itself around him - like gravity remembered where it belongs.
his voice is calm. low and definitely not playful.
“hey.” he starts - both kids freeze as if caught in the middle of a crime scene.
they turn toward him instinctively. gojo steps forward just enough to be unavoidable, hands sliding into his pockets. he doesn’t raise his voice. he doesn’t smile.
“don’t talk to my wife like that.”
the words hit the room - and you.
something in your chest tightens, then warms, then aches. "wife" - fuck - not corrective, not casual. possessive in the quietest, surest way. like a line drawn, no - carved in stone.
the kids go silent.
“she asked you to do something reasonable,” gojo continues, tone steady, unshakable. “and you don’t get to take your frustration out on her just because you’re bored.”
your son opens his mouth, then thinks better of it when gojo tilts his head slightly.
“you can be tired,” gojo says. “you can be annoyed. that’s fine.” his gaze sharpens - not cruel, just firm. “but you will be respectful.”
your heartbeat stutters from something else entirely. from being seen. backed. claimed without spectacle. it stirs something deep and private, something grounding and dizzying all at once.
“i’m sorry,” your daughter says quietly.
your son nods. “yeah. sorry, mom.”
you hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until they finally drop.
gojo glances at you then - just briefly. the edge in his expression softens in a way only you ever see. a silent i’ve got you.
“alright,” he says, clapping his hands once, the mood loosening just enough. “rooms. ten minutes. i’ll check.”
they scatter down the hall - the kitchen settles again.
you lean back against the counter, exhaling. gojo steps closer, lowering his voice. “you okay?”
you nod, but the way your pulse is still racing gives you away.
he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your temple, lingering just a second longer. “you don’t have to carry everything alone,” he murmurs. “that’s my job too.”
your throat tightens but you smile anyway.
from the hallway, a voice calls, “dad - does shoving everything under the bed count?”
and as the noise resumes, your hand finds his wrist for just a moment - steadying yourself, grounding that stirred, glowing thing in your chest - because you know now, more than ever, that you’re not standing alone.
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fucking you like a pro while talking business - gojo’s definition of multitasking. (18+)
your cheek is mashed into the sheets, drool wetting the fabric and his cock is splitting you open - hard, deep strokes that make the slick between your thighs obscene.
every thrust drives you up the bed, your pussy gripping so tight he hisses through his teeth, but his voice stays maddeningly even into the phone.
“yeah, nanamin, i’ll be there. don’t worry about it.”
he drags out slowly, lets you feel the stretch, then slams back in, the slap of skin loud enough you’re shocked nanami can’t hear it, your nails scrape the mattress - back arching, but he just presses your hips down harder and keeps his rhythm cruel and steady.
“uh-huh. no, no, i’ve got it - relax,” he chuckles into the receiver, like he’s not pounding your cunt mercilessly while your walls flutter around him.
his angle’s insanely perfect - hitting that spot inside that makes your eyes roll back, keeps fucking you like he’s got all the time in the world, as if breaking you apart is second nature to him. his free hand grips the back of your neck, forcing your face deeper into the pillows.
“you’re dripping all over me, baby. pathetic,” he murmurs just for you, hips rutting harder, cock hammering into you until every breath is a broken moan - while he’s still talking business like you’re not coming undone underneath him.
your body jolts when he adjusts his stance, spreading your legs wider and driving even deeper, his dick punching your cervix with brutal precision.
your pussy gushes around him, messy and loud - that's when he tilts the phone slightly away from his mouth, whispering against your ear, “hear that? that’s the sound of me ruining you while i’m working. can’t even keep quiet for me, can you?”
he grinds in to the hilt, forces you to take every thick inch, then pulls out just to slap his cock against your soaked folds before shoving it back inside with a wet - lewd squelch.
his pace picks up - sharp.
cock bullying your walls while his voice stays calm, conversational. the cruel contrast makes you sob into the sheets, every sound muffled as he fucks you like he owns you and still doesn’t miss a beat of his phone call.
nanami’s hearing everything but choosing to ignore it - the next six months of his life are probably ruined.
gojo’s idea of fun? a wild, moaning showdown. (18+)
he’s pounding into you like a man possessed, sweat dripping down his collarbones. every thrust makes the headboard slam the wall, and you’re already moaning shamelessly when he pauses mid-stroke to grin down at you, his blue eyes shining with mischief.
“new competition,” he pants, voice cocky. “who can moan louder?”
“what?!” you wheeze, nails digging into his shoulders as he rolls his hips again.
“you heard me,” he drawls, then throws his head back and lets out the most fake, over the top - pornographic moan imaginable as a joke. “ohhh yeeeah, fuck me harder daddy, ohhhh-”
you break into hysterical laughter, but it quickly turns into a cry when he slams in deep, right against your oh so - sweet spot. “fuuuck toru-”
“not bad,” he smirks, hips snapping faster. “but you gotta be louder than that if you wanna win - c’mon babe, let me see that competitive spirit in action.”
you try to bite back your sounds, just to spite him, but he angles his cock perfectly, squelching wet noises filling the room as he pistons into you. the obscene slap of skin on skin mixes with your own desperate filthy cries.
“fuck - oh fuck, oh my god!” you scream, back arching.
he practically beams. “there we go! a natural!”
then he leans in, presses his mouth to your ear, and shouts “go on - ahhhh toru - i’m cummmiiingggg” - while still mid thrust.
“shut the fuck up!” you howl, tears in your eyes from laughing and the relentless way he’s fucking you.
the two of you go at it like lunatics, louder and wetter by the second, until neither of you can tell who’s winning anymore. by the time he makes you come around him - screaming hoarse and soaking the sheets - he’s crowing victory like he just won a sports match.
the next afternoon, you find a bright yellow notice taped to your door. bold letters across the top read “noise disturbance report.” beneath it, in sterile print: “several residents have complained of excessive moaning, loud banging, and prolonged screaming between the hours of 11:42 p.m. and 2:03 a.m. please be mindful of others in the building.”
you freeze, mortified, gojo leans over your shoulder, plucks the paper free, and reads it with a slow grin. “huh. they actually logged the hours. two - oh - three? guess we went into overtime.” he snorts. “did they seriously track how long we were fucking?”
you slap the notice against his chest angrily and march back inside. he only laughs harder, following after you with the complaint held aloft like a victory banner.
you’re the ultimate prize - just for gojo and geto. (18+)
you’re a mess under suguru; face down, ass up, his cock driving into you hard enough that your knees keep slipping against the sheets. his grip on your hips is bruising, pulling you back to take every inch, each thrust making a filthy wet slap sound that echoes through the room.
and of course, that’s when satoru decides to intervene.
“hey hey hey, no hogging!” he complains, flopping down beside you with all the grace of a toddler. before you can even register what’s happening, he plops his phone right onto the small of your back.
“what the hell are you doing, satoru?” suguru grits out, never missing a beat.
“timer,” gojo grins like he just solved world hunger. the screen lights up against your skin, stopwatch ticking. “five minutes each - fair game. i’m not letting you keep her for half an hour again - you’re a greedy bastard.”
“you’re unbelievable,” suguru mutters, but his cock slams into you harder, as if he’s deliberately showing off: participating, even though he acts like it’s extremely childish.
“i-i’m not - oh god - some kind of f-fucking - competition-!” you manage, voice breaking into a cry.
“actually,” satoru says cheerfully, brushing your hair off your damp face softly as if he’s your loving boyfriend, “you're cute, but you kinda are.”
you groan, body jolting as suguru adjusts the angle to grind right into that spot that makes stars explode behind your eyes. the phone wobbles dangerously on your back.
“if you drop it,” satoru starts in his referee voice, “automatic disqualification.”
“you’re such a fucking idiot,” suguru bites, slowly losing his cool, thrusts getting brutal, hand sneaking under you to flick your clit with ruthless precision.
“four minutes left, suguru!” satoru announces like he’s calling a boxing match. “oh, and she’s clenching - ladies and gentlemen, we might have a finish sooner than expected!”
you sob into the pillow, thighs trembling, heat pooling fast. suguru growls low in his throat, fucking you like he’s determined to win a golden medal with sweat dripping down his temple.
“two minutes left!” satoru crows, slapping your ass just to watch you jolt. “c’mon suguru, she’s right there - don’t choke under pressure!”
“shut the fuck up, satoru,” suguru snaps, but his rhythm is ruthless, cock grinding deep, fingers on your clit working fast and cruel.
the timer ticks, your orgasm builds hot and unbearable, your body clenching around suguru as you cry out. the phone wobbles, nearly tipping -
“and - she drops it!” satoru yells, snatching the phone before it falls, holding it up like a trophy. “time’s up, suguru. hand her over. referee’s decision. i win.”
“fuck off,” suguru snarls, still grinding into you as you convulse around him, spilling into a messy orgasm that makes your whole body shake.
satoru just grins, flipping the phone around to show suguru the timer. “five minutes on the dot. you’re welcome, princess.” he presses a mocking kiss to your temple while suguru keeps you stuffed full, still stubbornly refusing to let go.
“get your own stopwatch, satoru,” suguru growls, panting. “i’m not done with her.”
“oh no, rules are rules.” satoru’s already pulling you toward him, laughing as suguru resists. “sudden death round - my turn.”
and you’re caught between the two of them, limp and overstimulated, as if they really are playing the dirtiest olympic match in history - with you as the prize.
your back arches off the bed as gojo sinks deeper into you with his mouth, dragging his tongue through every inch of your soaked pussy like it’s the first meal he’s had in days.
scratch that - like it’s the only thing he’s ever wanted to eat, as if he’s never learned moderation, never been taught restraint. and with the way he’s whining into your cunt, messy and open mouthed, there’s no mistaking the desperation in him.
“satoru - oh my god -” you choke out, fingers tangling in his hair, but all it does is make him moan, a low, trembling sound that vibrates straight through you.
he’s devouring you like a starved animal, like he needs you just to breathe. his tongue flicks, drags, circles your clit with wet, sloppy reverence - then sucks it into his mouth with a whimper, burying his face deeper into your pussy, as if this isn't close enough for him.
“i missed this,” he gasps, breaking away only to whisper it against your inner thigh, voice wrecked and panting. his breath is hot on your skin. “missed you, missed this pussy. i - i fuckin’ dream about this everyday.”
he’s grinding against the bed now, hips stuttering: he’s getting himself off just from the taste of you.
his hands - big, rough, trembling - tighten around your thighs to hold you open as he dives back in. he tongues into you, thirsty, nose pressed right up against your clit, groaning so loud it echoes off the walls.
saying "he’s messy" is an understatement: his chin is slick with spit and arousal, mouth wet and shining, his hair sticking to his forehead from how frantically he’s moving. every lap of his tongue is erratic, greedy, like he’s lost all rhythm and is just chasing need.
“don’t run, baby,” he slurs, breathless, eyes fluttering up to meet yours - and they’re wild, feverish. “let me - fuck - lemme stay here. i’ll be so good. just - just keep me here. right here.”
you try to pull away, hips jerking from the overstimulation, but he growls, locking you down with a force that has your head spinning. “no. no, don’t you fuckin’ run. you’re not going anywhere. not till i’m done. not till i’ve had my fill.”
then, he’s sobbing into your cunt - little gasps and whines breaking from his throat as he eats you like a man possessed. every noise he makes sends another wave of heat through you, every cry is another jolt to your core. he’s grinding himself down, humping the mattress, chasing friction like he can’t help it.
your thighs start to shake - your stomach coils. but he doesn’t let up - not even when your moans grow frantic, not even when your body bucks beneath him.
“please, please, please,” he babbles, almost incoherent, lost in it. “cum for me - baby, come on, give it to me - please, i need it - need to taste you, need to drink you - please, fuck -”
you shatter on his tongue, crying out as the orgasm tears through you, but he doesn’t stop. he whines, drinks it down, tongue flicking even faster as if he’s trying to milk it from you. you try to push him away, but he’s gripping your thighs like a lifeline, grinding his cock against the mattress like he’s about to lose his mind.
and through the haze of pleasure, you hear his voice - cracked, wrecked, worshipful:
“you’re gonna kill me, baby. gonna fuckin’ ruin me like this…”
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he’s already a mess before you even touch his cock.
long legs spread wide on the bed, chest flushed and rising in quick, uneven breaths, his silver hair is tousled into a halo against the pillows, sticking slightly to his damp temples.
he looks utterly undone - and the only thing you’ve done is kneel between his thighs and watch him.
"you're so mean baby," he breathes, voice barely more than a tremble, as if pouting any harder would get your mouth where he wants it. "don't tease me like this, please - i can’t take it."
but of course, you don’t give in, not yet it was only the beginning after all.
"you’ve been rutting against my thigh for the last ten minutes like a desperate mutt,” you murmur, kissing the inside of his thigh, slow and wet, lips dragging along the sensitive skin until he shivers. "you’re already leaking. what would you even do if i sucked you off?"
he chokes out a noise - halfway between a moan and a sob - as you lick higher, leaving a warm trail with your tongue but deliberately avoiding the one place he needs you most. his cock twitches helplessly, flushed dark pink and leaking from the tip, leaving glossy streaks across his lower stomach.
"i’d cum," he admits, voice cracking, so wrecked already. “fuck - i’d cum so fast, baby, i swear i’m so close, i’ve been hard since you looked at me like that - please, just your mouth, a little, just for a second -”
you let your fingers trail up the underside of his shaft, feather light touches, teasing that prominent vein with the back of your nails. he shudders violently, biting down on his bottom lip to stop himself from thrusting up into your hand so quickly.
"you’re shaking," you murmur with mock sympathy, curling your hand just around the base - loose, but definitely not enough for hum. his hips twitch anyway. "aww, are you gonna cry, toru?"
“i - fuck - i might,” he whines, breath catching when your thumb brushes across the head. his pre-cum is so thick and sticky it strings between your touch and his flushed tip. “please - please, i’ll do anything, just don’t leave me like this-”
he sounds so pathetic yet so pretty. beautiful.
you finally lean forward, letting your tongue flatten against the underside of his cock, and you drag it up, slow, until you’re tasting the mess he’s been leaking onto himself.
satoru howls.
his head falls back, thighs tense on either side of your shoulders, and he makes the most broken, beautiful sound - high, ragged and absolutely wrecked. his cock jumps in your hand, throbbing like it might explode from just one more touch.
“fuck, baby - oh my god, please -” he gasps, both hands clutching the sheets above his head as if he’s praying. “don’t stop, don’t stop - more, more, please, please, i’ll be good, so good -”
you suck the head into your mouth with obscene slowness for more effect, swirling your tongue over the slit. the taste of him is already thick and heavy on your tongue - salty and hot, leaking more with every suck. his whole body twitches like he’s going to fall apart just from that.
you pull off with a wet pop and smile.
he sobs, actually sobs.
“no - no, why’d you stop - fuck, baby, please -” his eyes are glassy, his cock twitching furiously in the air, his whole abdomen is taut, flexing with every ruined breath. "i need to be inside you - i need it - just the tip, i swear, please, i won’t move, just let me feel you -"
you don’t speak. you just climb into his lap, straddle his waist, and let your soaked pussy drag up the length of his shaft.
he whimpers.
you're dripping on him. your slick clings to his cock, smearing over his skin in glossy wet streaks as you grind down - your folds swallowing the thick head, sliding him through your heat without letting him in.
he grabs your hips as if he’s begging for life. “you’re so wet - oh god, you’re soaking me - please, baby, just the tip, i’m losing my goddamn mind-”
you raise your hips just enough to line him up.
"only the tip, don't be greedy." you say sweetly.
"i’ll take it - i’ll be good - i’ll be so fucking good for you, please -"
and when you finally sink down, just an inch, just that swollen tip pressing into your soaked heat - the way he moans is filthy.
a full body tremor shakes him, his hands gripping your thighs like he might float away if he doesn’t hold on.
“fuuuck,” he groans, hips twitching under you, cock throbbing inside. “you feel - baby, you feel so good - i can’t - please let me in, more, just a little more - don’t stop now, i need it, i’ll lose it, i swear -”
you clench around him and watch him suffer: watched his eyes roll back, watched his mouth fall open with drool spilling out as he falls apart under you, so wrecked from just the tip.
div cafekitsune, art by sakimichanmale on twt , not proofread
you thought you’d get under his skin with a little flirting — too bad gojo’s got his reversed cursed technique ready to steal every orgasm and keep you begging for more. how far would you go to reclaim what’s yours?
<𝟑 .ᐟ gojo satoru x f!reader , mdni , divider->@/cafekitsune
cw: feral unhinged gojo , orgasm denial using supernatural powers, rough revenge sex , overstimulation , size kink (implied) , oral sex (f. receiving) , emotional vulnerability including crying and begging , degradation , mention of naoya zenin .
not proofread , art by sakimenz on insta
you’d done it on purpose.
a gentle laugh, a hand on Naoya Zenin's arm, the way your voice softened — just a little — when you said his name.
Gojo had watched from across the room, eyes hidden behind his blindfold, a smile on his lips that didn’t reach his voice.
it was petty. you’d wanted to sting him. to get a reaction, but Gojo Satoru doesn’t do jealousy.
he does revenge.
which is why you’re here now — naked and trembling on his bed, your body wrung out from being dragged to the edge and back again, each high meticulously stolen by the brush of his cursed energy, each orgasm erased with the clinical precision of a man who could do this forever, his blindfold and clothes now discarded on the floor too.
but first — he’d made you feel it.
he had dragged your knees apart and spread you open with the reverence of a priest and the cruelty of a god.
his tongue was devastating. slow, languid strokes at first — deliberate, as if memorizing the shape of your folds with the flat of it, as if the taste of you was something to savor rather than devour.
his breath fanned out over your slick skin, humid and maddening. every pass of his tongue sent your hips twitching, but he didn’t let you move — not even a little.
he moaned against you, low and indulgent, as if your pussy fed something primal in him.
your hands fisted in his hair. your thighs tried to close around his head, trembling, but he shoved them back open — firm, unhurried, unbothered. one hand gripped your inner thigh tight enough to bruise, the other slid underneath you, palm pressing flat to your lower belly — pinning you down, anchoring you like he knew you were about to come undone.
his mouth sealed around your clit, sucking slow, torturous pulls that made you choke on your own breath. then the tip of his tongue flicked — quick and rhythmic, teasing the bundle of nerves with surgical precision.
he alternated between flattening his tongue and curling it against you, dragging the wet muscle over every swollen, sensitive spot like he was testing how far he could push you without letting you fall.
and when you began to shake — legs tensing, voice gone — he shifted slightly, lips slippery with your slick, then whispered against your cunt like a secret, “that’s it, baby… give it to me.”
you came... or tried to.
snap, gone.
the orgasm vanished like a phantom breath, ripped from your nerves before it could detonate. your mouth opened in a soundless cry, the pleasure caught in your chest like a sob that wouldn’t release.
that was the beginning of your unraveling.
now, an hour later, he kneels between your legs, sleeves rolled up, mouth glistening, fingers stroking idly at your folds. you twitch under his touch.
“still feeling flirty?” he hums, mock curious, tilting his head like he doesn’t already know. “or are we learning how to behave now?”
you glare at him, but it’s pathetic. you’re flushed and panting, thighs spread wide, unable to even close them with how sore you are. you’ve already cum — what, three times? four?
no. you haven’t. that’s the sick joke of it.
your body has. screamed and clenched and convulsed. but every single time, just as you came — he’d used reversed cursed technique on your nerves, wiping away the peak as if it never happened.
leaving you empty. ruined. needing.
he was never angry. never cold. just... calmly vindictive, “you’re insane,” you croak out.
he hums again, amused, like you’ve said something sweet. “you knew that when you chose me, you're just as bad.”
you try to sit up. he presses your hips back down instantly, one handed, with terrifying ease.
“toru—”
he leans in, licks a slow stripe up your inner thigh. “don’t say my name like that unless you mean it, baby.”
your whole body jerks. “i do,” you pant. “please—let me cum this time. i won’t flirt with him ever again.”
he smiles. but it’s not kindness — it’s confirmation. “there it is,” he murmurs, pleased. “took you long enough.”
the fourth orgasm hits like a freight train, or it would’ve.
you feel it build in your gut — tight, volcanic, desperate. his fingers are perfect, curling inside you, thumb circling your clit, his mouth whispering filth you can barely process. and just as your breath catches — just as your body tries to surrender again—
gone.
you scream into your own hand. he sighs, mock sympathetic. “awww. almost.” you writhe, tears slipping from your eyes.
he leans in close, licking one off your cheek, his voice silky. “you know how precise i have to be to catch it right as you tip over? it’s hard work.”
“sadist,” you whisper, “mmhmm,” he nods like you’ve complimented him. “try again?”
you shake your head. “no. i—I can’t.” he kisses your stomach, soft. “you will.”
by the time he’s undone your sixth orgasm, you’ve forgotten why you flirted with anyone in the first place.
you’re incoherent. your body is oversensitized to the point of pain, nerves frayed, thighs shaking every time he exhales near your cunt. your fists clench the sheets. you hate him. you need him so bad that it hurts.
he’s humming a tune. casual. barely sweaty, even though he’s been at this for over an hour.
“i’m honestly impressed,” he says, pressing two fingers back inside you. “i thought you’d safeword by now.”
you blink up at him, barely. “i want to cum.”
he smiles, slow. “you want that, but you also knew what you were doing, baby. you knew what would happen the moment you put your hands on him.”
your breath catches.
“you did it for this.” he kisses your inner thigh. “you wanted me to snap. to fuck you stupid. to ruin you.”
he bites, just enough to make you gasp, “i’m only obliging.” you sob — half laughter, half broken plea. “then fucking ruin me, gojo satoru.”
he freezes for a second.
then — something changes.
when he slides into you, with no warning. just heat and stretch and a low, animal growl torn from his throat.
your cunt, swollen and hypersensitive, welcomes him in with an obscene squelch. you’re soaked — slippery and pulsing — and yet the thickness of him still steals the breath from your lungs. he sinks in slowly, grinding deeper with every inch until his hips press flush to yours and his cock is nestled so far inside, you feel him in your ribs.
your walls spasm around him, clenching like your body’s trying to drag him in deeper, as if it’ll never be enough.
you cry out, legs instinctively hooking around his waist despite the ache. he grabs under your knees and bends them up and out — folding you open, exposing everything, letting you feel every inch of stretch and friction as he rocks his hips forward again.
“fuck—still this tight after all that?” he groans against your neck, voice rough and disbelieving.
you can’t answer. your brain is static.
he draws out slow — so slow — and your pussy clings to him, velvety and drenched, unwilling to let go. you feel everything: the ridge of his head, the drag along your walls, the pressure curling low in your gut again like a threat.
and then he slams back in.
you scream. your body jolts under his weight, the bed creaking beneath you. he does it again — snapping his hips with brutal accuracy, hitting that deep spot inside you over and over until your back arches and your fingers seize against his scalp.
his rhythm is devastating. perfectly cruel. he fucks you like he’s driving something out of you — like he wants to brand himself into your bones.
your chest drags against his with every thrust, your breasts bouncing between your bodies, slick skin slapping slick skin. every inhale tastes like him — his sweat, his breath, the faint trace of your arousal still slick on his lips, making them glossy and so fucking kissable.
your arms wrap around his shoulders as if on instinct, fingers trembling where they knot into his snowy hair. your chest presses flush to his, nipples stiff against him, and as he fucks you, you kiss him — anywhere you can reach. his neck, his jaw, his cheek, his collarbone — each frantic, sloppy kiss smeared with desperation, a string of saliva clinging to your parted lips every time you gasp against him.
“please,” you whisper into his throat, voice cracked and close to crying. “don’t take this one. please—please—”
he doesn’t answer, he just fucks you harder.
you’re close, closer than ever.
his hands are everywhere — one gripping your hip like a vice, the other cradling the back of your head as your face tucks against his neck. his cock drives into you with merciless intent, stroking deep, thick, hot. it’s too much, too perfect, too right.
your whole body tenses, the orgasm barreling toward you like an avalanche. every nerve is wired. every inch of you feels electric, ignited, seconds from collapse.
he feels it.
his pace quickens, rhythm ruthless, breath ragged in your ear, he doesn’t speak, doesn’t taunt. doesn’t move to take it away.
his face is focused.
you break with a scream — loud, raw, wet —and for a moment, for a terrifying breathless second, you think he’s stolen it again.
but he doesn’t, you finally cum.
it explodes out of you, violent and endless — your back arching clean off the bed as your cunt clamps down around him, pulsing, spasming, flooding. the pleasure hits in brutal, dizzying waves, white hot and relentless, until your vision swims and your body bucks and jerks uncontrollably beneath him.
you’re crying. sobbing from the release, from the ache, from everything.
he fucks you through it, his hips stuttering at the way you squeeze him.
and then he groans — loud, hoarse, guttural — as he buries himself to the hilt and spills inside you.
his cock twitches with every pump of cum he pours into your cunt. he shakes against you, his body trembling with the force of it, and finally — finally — he collapses onto your chest, gasping into your neck.
you both pant into the silence.
you lie there for a long time, twitching with aftershocks, muscles limp. he doesn’t move. just wraps his arms around you, face buried in your neck.
eventually, you manage, hoarsely, “you let me…” “mmhmm.”
“why?”
his voice is tired and smug and terribly fond.
he lifts his head from the crook of your neck, strands of white hair sticking to his damp forehead, his cheeks flushed, lips parted like he’s still catching his breath.
and when he looks at you — really looks at you — it’s with those piercing eyes: crystalline blue, glassy from the aftershocks of pleasure, half lidded but sharp, like they’re cutting straight through you.
he looks ruined, sweaty, glowing, a little unhinged, and still utterly in control, so fucking beautiful — you thought.
“you finally begged pretty.” you punch his shoulder. weakly.
he laughs. kisses your cheek. then cups your jaw and whispers, voice low and warm: “next time you touch someone else — I’m taking your memory of the orgasm too.”
you don't answer. just lie there, breathing him in, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist where it holds your jaw.
you’re too spent to speak.
too full of him to care.
and when he kisses your temple — gentle, almost apologetic — you think you might forgive him for everything.
a/n: wtf this is the first time i wrote smut i actually liked
can nanami really stay professional when you waltz into his office ? (18+)
you’re straddling him in his office chair, knees digging into the leather and he’s glaring at you like you just committed the worst crime in the corporate world.
“stop,” he mutters, deadpan as always.
“stop?” you echo, eyebrows raised. “why? because your reports need attention?”
“yes,” he says, jaw tight. “i cannot - will not - focus on the quarterly numbers like this.”
you snort, grinding just a little, letting him feel exactly how wrong he is. “oh, i see. so my pussy is less important than - what was it - ‘profit margins’?”
he exhales sharply, setting his glasses on the desk with deliberate precision. “you’re being… irresponsible.”
“am i? or am i boosting productivity?” you tease, smirking as you lean down to kiss his neck - he stiffens at the contact.
“you’re creating a hazard,” he mutters, voice low but tight, and suddenly his hands are on your hips, gripping so hard that you squeak, “hazardous how?” you purr, spinning on him just enough to let your ass brush against his clothed erection.
he groans - yes, a groan - and mutters, “if hr calls tomorrow about the damaged chair, it’s on you.”
you laugh. “oh, that’s funny coming from mr. tie-and-glasses-always-perfect, should i start a report on that too?”
nanami’s hands tighten on your hips. “i don’t have time for your nonsense; i have a meeting at 2 and you’re making this unnecessarily long.”
“unnecessarily long?” you mock. “oh - please, you’re enjoying it.” he swallows then bites out, “i am not. you’re pretending i am.”
you smirk, leaning forward, and whisper against his ear: “then why is your cock so hard, na-na-mi?”
his hand clamps down on your ass, sliding over your slick folds through your thin skirt - removing it in the process. “you are infuriating.”
you tilt your hips, grinding down harder, feeling him shift in the chair as his tie slips loose from your wrists. “infuriating enough to make you fuck me in your office?”
his eyes flick to the door like anyone might be watching, then back to you. “yes. infuriating enough.”
he tilts the chair backward so the edge of the desk presses against your thighs, guiding your pussy onto his now free cock perfectly. you gasp when he bottoms out fully, the angle hitting deep inside you, brushing against your cervix.
“fuck,” he groans, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing on the desk. “stay still. don’t move.”
you roll your hips anyway, and he growls, sliding his hand down to squeeze your ass harder. “i said don’t move,” he pants, but the tight line of his jaw betrays that he’s enjoying it far too much.
you reach down, palming the base of his cock, feeling it twitch. he groans sharply, thrusting up into your hand, hips stuttering with every movement.
“so tight,” he mutters, voice low, “you’re too tight.”
you lean forward, pressing your soaked cunt against him, grinding insistently. the fabric of your shirt rubs against his chest as he groans, teeth biting into his bottom lip. “shit… your pussy… i - oh fuck - you’re unbelievable.”
he grabs your ass again, flipping you gently onto your stomach over the desk so he can enter you from behind. the position stretches you perfectly, your chest pressed against the wood while his cock slides deep inside, pumping hard.
“this is highly inappropriate,” he mutters, voice strained. “but, oh god - impossible to stop.”
you moan loudly as he hammers into you, each thrust hitting deeper than the last - feeling it in your stomach, fingers pressing into your hips to hold you steady. “k-kento, please - harder, yes, just like that.”
he slides his hand down to rub your clit while slamming into you from behind, grip on your waist making your skin redden. “you’re going to make me late - don’t care anymore.”
your body bounces against the desk with every thrust, your juices slicking both of you. his cock twitches inside, hot and hard, each movement perfectly timed against your walls, hitting that perfect spot that makes you whine and arch impossibly higher.
“i… can’t… not fuck you like this,” he groans, voice breaking slightly, teeth gritting. “the reports… can wait… fuck…”
you snort into the desk, chest heaving. “keep talking about work while you ruin me, kento - it's sexy as hell.”
“you are unacceptable,” he pants, dragging his hand up your back to squeeze your shoulder. “this… is… not professional… but… fuck… can’t resist.”
you laugh lightly, moaning “i’m irresistible, yes. admit it.”
“i… am not… saying it…” he groans, pulling you closer, cock pounding inside you, one hand sliding down to rub your clit, thumb circling your wet nub as he hammers into you relentlessly. “this is… highly irregular… oh god… so tight… you’re killing me.”
“good,” you gasp, bouncing slightly on his cock. “i want you to fuck me hard until i scream.”
he groans loudly, voice sharp, “you… are… insane…” and then he loses control entirely, slamming into you with deep, precise strokes, grunting, biting his bottom lip, muttering about “deadlines” and “chairs” as you both spiral into raw, filthy ecstasy.
you cum first, quivering against the desk, soaking him as he thrusts, moaning your name in a strangled, serious tone. “fuck… you’re so wet… god…”
he doesn’t stop, hand rubbing your clit, thumb pressing hard as he drags you through your orgasm while continuing to pound deep, muttering incoherent nonsense about reports and time management.
finally, his voice breaks, guttural, “i… can’t hold it… not with you… fuck…” and he shudders violently, filling you completely as he groans out your name again, the office chair creaking dangerously under the intensity.
you collapse onto the desk, panting, chest pressed against the wood, as he adjusts his tie, smooths his hair, and sighs, deadpan as ever. “this… never happened. back to work.”
you giggle, wiping your juices from the desk, then slipping back on the thin skirt you specifically chose to push him over the edge - which was very successful, in your opinion. “sure, boss.”
he mutters something about quarterly reports while glaring at you - though the twitch in his jaw gives him away. you’ve officially broken nanami’s office composure.
but not locking the door has its consequences when yuuta: the new intern - suddenly steps into the warzone.
