manmuncher777

[manmuncher777]

Could you write something about roomates gojo and geto x reader??

Of course I can girl!!! Thank you for the request my love, I hope you enjoy <3

Two years ago, the idea of living with two boys would’ve made you laugh—no way would that ever work.

But Satoru and Suguru aren’t just anyone.

They’re your best friends.

Always have been. Always will b

At least, that’s what you tell yourself when you crawl onto the couch between them without a second thought, stealing the throw blanket from Suguru’s lap and draping it over yourself.

When Satoru laughs and tugs you sideways into his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and Suguru doesn’t even blink when your thigh brushes against his under the blanket.

It’s easy.

It’s always been easy with them.

Suguru’s the steady one—the one who cooks most nights, always remembering exactly how you like your noodles, the one who makes sure you’ve had enough water after a night out.

And Satoru’s… well, he’s chaos. Loud, brilliant, exhausting. He keeps you laughing even when you want to scream, always two steps behind you with some ridiculous new scheme or prank.

You don’t know when easy started to feel like something else.

Something thicker. Heavier. A current buzzing under your skin whenever they touched you.

Maybe it was the way Suguru started letting his hand linger on the small of your back a little longer when he squeezed past you in the kitchen.

Maybe it was the way Satoru stopped teasing you about your tiny shorts in the morning—and started leaning back, lazily admiring you instead, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Maybe it was the nights you woke up half-sprawled over Suguru’s chest, Satoru’s arm thrown over your waist, like you were something they both shared.

Maybe it’s been building for a long time.

Tonight feels no different, at first.

You’re all piled on the couch, a movie playing half-forgotten in the background.

Satoru’s feet are hooked under yours, and Suguru’s hand is resting—innocently, you tell yourself—on the bare skin of your knee, thumb stroking slow, absentminded circles.

You don’t even realize you’re staring at them until Suguru catches your gaze and tilts his head slightly, a lazy smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

The pet name punches a hole straight through your chest.

You feel your face flush, heart thudding awkwardly, but you force a smile and shake your head, sinking lower into the cushions.

Satoru chuckles from your other side, leaning closer until his breath ghosts over your ear.

“You’re such a bad liar,” he murmurs, voice low and teasing.

The warmth of them, the weight of their attention—it’s too much.

It makes your skin feel hot and too tight, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from doing something stupid.

Something reckless.

You can feel it, thick and electric in the air between the three of you.

A question no one’s brave enough to ask yet.

Not yet.

But the lines you thought were so clear are starting to blur—and you’re not sure you want to put them back.

It was Suguru’s idea.

(Of course it was.)

Just a lazy Friday night, nothing planned, nothing to do but laze around the apartment—and maybe get a little high.

Satoru had lit up the joint with a dramatic flourish, passing it between the three of you with easy laughter.

At first, it was harmless.

Suguru sprawled lazily on one side of the couch, his hoodie slipping off one broad shoulder.

Satoru lounged across from him, legs spread wide, that stupid, infuriatingly pretty grin tugging at his mouth every time he made you giggle.

You were curled between them again, as always—close enough to feel the heat radiating from their bodies, to smell the faint musk of their cologne and smoke clinging to their clothes.

And then you started to feel it.

The familiar, slow-burning heat pooling low in your stomach.

The way your skin felt too sensitive, every brush of the blanket or accidental graze of a knee making your heart flutter.

The way your thighs kept squeezing together, desperate for even the tiniest bit of friction.

You tried to hide it.

You really did.

But Suguru’s sharp eyes caught the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, and Satoru’s grin widened when you ducked your head to hide your flushed cheeks.

“Hey,” Satoru drawled, voice sticky-sweet with amusement. “What’s the matter, baby? You getting shy on us?”

You shook your head quickly, too quickly, and Suguru chuckled low under his breath, deep and rumbling.

You felt it like a vibration under your skin.

“You’re blushing,” Suguru said, voice deceptively soft. “How cute.”

You whimpered—a tiny, humiliating sound—and immediately covered your face with your hands.

That only made them laugh harder.

“Aww, look at her,” Satoru cooed, reaching over to pry your hands away. His long fingers curled gently around your wrists, holding them captive.

“So sensitive. Bet you’re all worked up already, huh?”

You wanted to tell him to shut up.

You wanted to shove him away and pretend none of this was happening.

But you were too high.

Too warm.

Too needy.

And when Suguru’s hand slid casually up your thigh—slow, deliberate, teasing little circles just above your knee—you whimpered again, a soft, needy sound you couldn’t hold back.

“Ohhh, she is,” Satoru teased, laughter laced with something darker now.

“Fuck, that’s adorable. You get horny when you’re high, baby?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you could disappear into the couch.

But Suguru’s hand kept moving higher, slow and easy, until his fingers were ghosting just under the hem of your shorts.

You opened your mouth to protest, to say something, anything—but the only thing that came out was a soft, broken moan.

Both boys went very still.

The air in the room thickened, heavy with something dangerous.

Satoru leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, teasing whisper against your ear.

“Hey, sweetheart…”

His breath was hot on your skin.

“If you want us to play with you…”

His fingers brushed your jaw, tipping your face toward his.

“All you have to do is ask.”

Suguru’s hand pressed a little higher, thumb stroking the inside of your trembling thigh.

You could barely breathe.

You were trapped between them, pinned by their heavy, heated gazes, by the slow, deliberate way they touched you like they already owned you.

And god help you—

You didn’t want to say no.

“God, she’s shaking,” Suguru murmured, thumb teasing slow, lazy circles into the inside of your thigh.

His voice was pure amusement, laced with that dark heat he always wore so well.

“You that desperate for us already, baby?”

You whimpered, trying to clamp your thighs shut—but his hand was right there, sliding even higher, and Satoru only laughed when he saw your weak attempt at resistance.

“Thought you were tougher than that,” Satoru teased, his fingers feathering along the side of your neck, feather-light and maddening.

“You’re always mouthing off, always giving us that little attitude… and look at you now. Melting. Just ‘cause we’re being a little nice to you.”

Suguru’s fingers brushed against the damp crotch of your shorts and he hummed, like he’d just found something interesting.

“Fuck. You’re soaking through already.”

You made a tiny, desperate noise—half humiliated, half aching—and Satoru cooed at you mockingly.

“Aww, sweet girl,” he said, tapping your cheek playfully. “You want us that bad, huh? Just from a little touching?”

You buried your face against Satoru’s chest, burning with embarrassment, but he only laughed again, curling an arm around your shoulders to hold you there.

“You’re adorable when you’re like this,” he murmured against your temple.

“So sweet. So easy to break down.”

Suguru slid his hand higher, hooking a finger under the elastic of your shorts—so close to slipping inside, but not quite.

You whimpered against Satoru’s chest, hips bucking helplessly.

“Ohhh, look at her,” Suguru said, voice thick with laughter.

“She’s humping my hand now.”

You let out a high, broken little moan—and that’s when both of them stopped teasing for just a beat.

The air crackled between you, heavy and sharp with want.

Satoru pulled back slightly, cupping your chin to tilt your face up to his.

His blue eyes were blown wide with lust, but there was still that teasing, cruel little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You wanna say it, baby?” he asked, voice low and sing-song.

“You wanna tell us what a dirty little slut you are for your best friends?”

Your hips jerked helplessly—and you sobbed a soft, desperate, broken sound.

They both groaned at that, low and guttural.

“Oh, fuck,” Suguru murmured, finally slipping his fingers under your panties to stroke you properly.

“So fucking wet for us.”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Satoru leaned down to kiss a tear off your flushed cheek.

“Poor thing,” he murmured, mock-sympathetic.

“Too needy to handle a little teasing, huh?”

You could barely breathe.

You needed it—you needed them—you needed everything they were offering, and you needed it now.

Your hands clutched helplessly at Satoru’s hoodie, your body arching into Suguru’s touch without even thinking.

“Please,” you gasped, voice wrecked and high.

“Please, I need—”

You couldn’t even finish the sentence before Satoru crushed his mouth to yours, devouring you hungrily, teeth dragging along your bottom lip.

Suguru pushed your shorts down, baring you completely, and the low, hungry growl he let out when he saw you made your head spin.

“You’re ours tonight,” he rasped, sliding two fingers into you in one slow, delicious push.

“Fucking ours.”

Satoru’s hands were everywhere, teasing, pulling, and owning every inch of you, while Suguru’s fingers dug deep inside you, curling with slow precision, each thrust hitting deeper than the last.

“Look at her,” Satoru chuckled, the sound dark, smug. He didn’t care that you were a mess, hips bucking helplessly, gasping for more. No—he was too focused on the way your body responded to him, to both of them.

Suguru’s fingers moved with a controlled rhythm, drawing out desperate, gasping breaths from you.

“She’s so fucking pretty like this,” Suguru murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper as he leaned over to press his lips against your ear. “So wet. So ready to just let us have you.”

Satoru was at your chest now, sliding the straps of your top down with slow, teasing movements, his hands gliding over your skin like a predator savoring every inch of you. His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was something darker behind them—a hunger that matched the growing tension in your body.

“Fuck, look at her. She’s practically begging for us,” Satoru teased, rolling one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, making you gasp and squirm beneath him. “Tell me, baby—do you need me to fuck you, or is Suguru making you feel good enough?”

Your body trembled at the question, and Suguru’s fingers stilled for just a moment, savoring the way your walls clenched around him, desperate for more. He let out a low laugh, taking his time to pull out, only to slide back in again with an agonizing slowness.

“She’s dripping, Satoru,” Suguru groaned, grinning at the sight of your flushed, overwhelmed face. “Look at how fucking hard she’s trying to hold it together.”

Satoru chuckled darkly, bringing his face close to yours, lips brushing against your cheek as he muttered, “You’re so adorable when you’re fighting it. Look at you—so fucking close already, just from us touching you.”

Suguru’s thumb circled your clit slowly, just enough to make you squirm, but never enough to push you over the edge. He wanted you to beg. Wanted to see you fall apart for them.

You whimpered, fighting for air, desperate for release, but the way they were playing with you was making everything so much worse. So much better.

“I can see it in your eyes,” Satoru smirked, pushing himself up to tower over you. His cock twitched in his pants as he watched you squirm beneath Suguru’s touch. “You can’t stand it, can you? Want us so bad, but you can’t get what you want.”

Suguru leaned over, brushing his lips against yours in a kiss that was full of teasing sweetness, just enough to make your head spin, just enough to make you beg for more. He pulled away too soon, smirking at the way you panted, desperate for the release they were withholding.

“Say it,” Suguru murmured, pushing his fingers deeper, angling them just right. “Say you need us.”

Satoru leaned back, watching the scene with dark eyes, enjoying the way you squirmed and moaned beneath them. He was taking in every inch of your body, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

“She needs us, Suguru,” he said, voice heavy with satisfaction. “She’s been craving this all night.”

Suguru pulled his fingers out slowly, teasing you by brushing his palm over your wetness. You whimpered, shuddering at the sudden emptiness.

“She’s ready,” he muttered, voice husky. “Ready for both of us.”

Satoru’s grin stretched wider, like a wolf circling its prey. “Yeah, she is. She’s been begging for it in her own way.”

Suguru let out a low, guttural laugh, his hand circling your clit again, slower this time, but with a certain purpose. “We’ll give it to her, but not yet. We’re not done enjoying the show.”

Satoru’s hand snaked down your side, gripping your waist as he lowered himself to meet your gaze again. “How does it feel, sweetheart?” he whispered, his voice syrupy sweet with mocking affection. “Being so fucking needy for us, huh? You like the way we’re making you beg?”

You let out a soft, broken moan, your entire body trembling with anticipation, your walls clenching around nothing as you fought to keep it together. You couldn’t take it anymore. Please.

Suguru’s fingers worked faster, pressing harder against you, and Satoru’s hands moved to cup your face gently, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You’re so fucking pretty when you’re like this,” he purred, kissing your forehead softly, contrasting the roughness of his words with his tenderness. “So fucking sweet. Letting us take control. Letting us play with you.”

You gasped, finally breaking, and they both knew it—both of them knew you were moments away from falling apart. And when you did, it would be all for them.

“You want it, don’t you?” Suguru asked, his voice low and sultry as his thumb flicked your clit once again, making you arch off the bed. “You want to cum for us, baby?”

“Say it,” Satoru urged, his voice practically a growl now. “Say it, and we’ll give it to you.”

And with that, everything inside you snapped. Your orgasm came crashing down on you, powerful and overwhelming, as you let out a strangled scream. The boys didn’t stop—if anything, they picked up the pace, pushing you through the waves of pleasure, making sure you came hard.

“Good girl,” Satoru muttered, watching you writhe beneath them, helpless in their control. “Such a good girl for us.”

Suguru pressed his lips against yours, swallowing your moans as he kissed you deeply, knowing that he’d just destroyed you and left you wanting more.

You’re barely coherent at this point, mind fogged from the weed, from the heavy petting, from their low voices and careful touches that have you crumbling. Your thighs clench together helplessly as Suguru’s fingers graze higher under the hem of your shorts, and Satoru’s hand cups the side of your neck, thumbing lazily at your fluttering pulse.

“She’s so desperate, huh?” Gojo says to Suguru, almost ignoring you entirely. “You’d think we never touch her.”

Suguru chuckles low and deep, sending shivers down your spine. His hand squeezes your thigh, spreading you open just a little bit more. “Can you blame her?” he says, tilting his head like he’s studying you. “We’ve been so mean tonight… teasing her like this.”

You whimper, hips shifting forward slightly like you’re chasing more, but it just earns you another amused laugh from them both. Satoru leans down to murmur right against your ear, voice a devastating purr.

“Poor baby. You need us that bad?”

You nod frantically, shame lost in the haze of need and want and their overwhelming closeness. Gojo hums and brushes his nose against your temple in mock sympathy.

“So greedy,” Suguru teases, letting his fingers trail just beneath the waistband of your panties now, feather-light, not nearly enough. “Maybe we should teach her some patience, Toru.”

Satoru grins, slow and sharp. “Or maybe we should give her exactly what she’s begging for. She’s being so cute about it.” His free hand slides over your stomach, thumb brushing lazily under the hem of your shirt. “Wouldn’t wanna be mean to our favorite girl.”

Your breath stutters when Suguru hooks his fingers under your panties and slides them down, slow and deliberate. Meanwhile, Satoru coaxes your shirt off, leaving you bare and shivering under their dark, hungry eyes.

They don’t rush. They savor.

Suguru kneels between your legs on the couch, kissing slow, wet paths up your inner thighs, while Satoru tips your chin up, capturing your mouth in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss, letting you taste how much they’re savoring your desperation.

When Suguru finally pushes two thick fingers into you, you keen into Satoru’s mouth, shuddering at how deep he curls them. Suguru just hums approvingly against your thigh.

“God, she’s so wet already,” Suguru says over his shoulder to Satoru, smirking. “Think she’ll break if we both have her?”

Satoru’s eyes light up with a dangerous glint.

“Only one way to find out, right?”

Your head spins at the implication, at the way they’re so casual about ruining you.

Within moments, they’ve manhandled you into position — Suguru behind you, pulling you into his lap with one hand at your hip, the other guiding himself against your entrance, while Satoru kneels in front of you, cupping your face in both hands with a grin that’s half-mocking, half-worshipful.

“Look at you,” Satoru murmurs, thumb stroking over your swollen bottom lip. “So fucking pretty like this.”

And then Suguru sinks into you from behind — slow, relentless — while Satoru watches every twitch of your face, every gasp, every needy whimper

“C’mon, angel,” Satoru coaxes, voice thick with arousal. “You can take us both, right? Our sweet girl.”

Your hips buck back into Suguru involuntarily, making him groan low and rough in your ear. He’s so deep you feel like you’re gonna lose your mind already — and then Satoru is fisting himself in front of you, eyes dark and hooded.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he demands, a teasing grin pulling at the corner of his lips. “Since you’re already being so good for us.”

You don’t even hesitate, whimpering around his cock as he pushes past your lips, letting you sink down onto him.

And just like that — Suguru grinding into you from behind, Satoru groaning low as you hollow your cheeks around him — they sandwich you perfectly between them, grinning at each other over your flushed, overwhelmed form like you’re their favorite little toy.

“Fuck, this is the best idea we’ve ever had,” Satoru groans, his hand tightening in your hair.

“She was made for us,” Suguru mutters against your shoulder, voice thick with lust. “Look at her… fuck, just look.”

Their hands are everywhere — gripping your hips, stroking your jaw, smoothing up your sides. They keep whispering to each other about you, like you’re not even there — admiring you, taunting you, worshipping you all at once.

And you can’t do anything but take it — the two of them working you apart and putting you back together at the same time.

They share a look above you — smug, wicked — before Suguru snaps his hips forward, grinding impossibly deeper inside you, and Satoru lets out a shaky breath as your mouth tightens around him.

“Fuck, she’s perfect,” Suguru grits out against the back of your neck, his hand winding into your hair to yank your head back, exposing your throat to his mouth, teeth scraping against your flushed skin. “Look at her, Toru. Fucking made for us.”

Satoru’s fingers tighten on your jaw, pulling you off his cock just enough for you to gasp a desperate breath before he thrusts back in, slow and deliberate, the tip hitting the back of your throat and making you choke just a little — just enough for him to groan, his hips stuttering forward.

“You love this, huh, angel?” Satoru rasps, voice wrecked, breath ragged. “Our messy little fucktoy.”

You can’t even answer — just a helpless noise as Suguru drives into you, every thick inch stretching you wide open, filling you so good you feel like you’re losing your mind. Your nails dig into Satoru’s thighs for balance, but he just laughs low, grabbing your hair and guiding your pace over his cock.

“That’s it,” he breathes, hips rolling lazily forward. “Be good for us.”

Suguru shifts his angle slightly, and when he grinds his hips against your ass again, you see stars — the fat head of his cock dragging perfectly against that spot inside you that has your legs trembling.

“Feel that?” Suguru growls against your ear, biting down just hard enough to make you whimper. “Feel how easy you give it up for us?”

You moan around Satoru’s cock, drool spilling from the corners of your mouth, eyes rolling back as your whole body shakes with pleasure. You’re so full you can barely process it — both of them using you like they’ve always meant to.

“Think she’s gonna cum just from getting stuffed full,” Satoru snickers, pulling out of your mouth just to watch you pant and sob for more, your lips swollen and messy. “You gonna cum, baby? Gonna soak Geto’s cock just from getting fucked like our dirty little roommate?”

“She’s close,” Suguru grunts, slamming into you harder now, his hand slipping between your thighs to rub furious little circles against your clit, sending sparks shooting through your veins. “Feel her fucking squeezing me.”

You’re babbling now — nonsense pleas, whimpering for them, chasing your orgasm blindly. You can’t hold it back — can’t even think — before it’s crashing down on you, your whole body seizing up as you cum with a choked sob, soaking Suguru’s cock, your thighs twitching.

“Fuck, fuck — good girl, that’s it, give it to us,” Suguru snarls, barely holding himself back, fucking you through it with merciless, punishing thrusts.

Satoru is pumping his cock lazily in front of your face, watching you fall apart with a dark, satisfied grin.

“Open up for me again, baby,” he purrs, and when you look up at him with glassy, fucked-out eyes, mouth dropping open obediently, he groans low and desperate.

“Fuck— look at you. Fucking ruined.”

You take him back into your mouth, moaning weakly as he thrusts shallowly over your tongue, chasing his own high while Suguru pounds into you with bruising force, his breath hot against your ear.

“Where you want it, princess?” Suguru pants, one hand squeezing your hips so tight you’re sure it’ll leave bruises. “Want me to cum inside you? Fill you up like a good little cumdump?”

You nod frantically around Satoru’s cock, sobbing with need, and it’s the last straw for both of them.

Suguru groans brokenly as he spills deep inside you, hips grinding hard against your ass, cock pulsing as he empties himself into your already messy pussy. The sensation of being so full, so claimed, has you moaning even louder, your body shaking violently.

Satoru pulls out of your mouth at the last second, jerking himself frantically before painting your fucked-out face with thick ropes of cum, groaning your name as his release coats your lips, your cheeks, even dripping down onto your tits.

They’re both panting, staring down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen — flushed, ruined, marked by both of them.

Suguru pulls out with a filthy wet sound, cum dribbling down your thighs, and Satoru immediately leans down, licking a stray drip from the corner of your mouth before pressing a filthy, claiming kiss against your swollen lips.

“God, you’re dangerous,” Satoru murmurs, grinning breathlessly.

Suguru laughs low, gathering you carefully into his arms like you’re something precious, despite how thoroughly they just used you.

“And you’re ours now, baby,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “Hope you know that.”

[manmuncher777]

Sleepwalker!Choso Warnings: somnophilia, dubcon, fingering, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, spanking, dom!choso, grinding/humping, not proofread

Sleepwalker!Choso takes you by surprise one night. 

You’ve always known he has trouble sleeping and, though he doesn’t do it often, he does get up in the middle of the night and wanders around the house. As his girlfriend, you don’t mind taking on the responsibility of making sure he’s safe and sound as he does his little nightly exploring. 

In fact, you have to do it right now. 

“Cho, come back to bed, honey,” you whisper, afraid to spook him. 

Sleepwalker!Choso is just standing there in the living room, shirtless and only in his boxers, hair down. With his eyes closed, he waits. 

Inching towards him, you make soothing noises. You think this is just like any other night, that you can guide him back to your room, get him into bed all nice and tucked in, and then brush it off in the morning but as soon as your hand touches his bicep, you’re being wrangled against the wall. 

Sleepwalker!Choso pushes your shirt up, practiced hands gripping your breasts as he gropes and squeezes. You gasp. “Choso! W-wait!”

His hips worm their way between your legs, hiking you up high. At this angle, he can rut his barely clothed cock up against your panty-clad pussy. The friction is overwhelming as you desperately cling to his broad shoulders, afraid you’ll fall. Locks of hair fall in front of his closed eyes and you can’t shake him away, try as you might. 

In the dark, you’re being jostled against the wall, tits bare to the chill of the night as your nipples are being pinched and pulled. “Choso, please, y-you have to put me -ngh- down.”

Sleepwalker!Choso grunts into your neck, lips parting to suck at a sensitive spot. He’s moving on pure muscle memory and you’re powerless to stop him. This isn’t how he is usually — he’s sweet, patient and respectful. The man you know whimpers at a simple graze of your fingers, he cries from overstimulation, and shakes and quivers from your kisses. 

Sleepwalker!Choso is a beast. He’s nipping at and leaving marks on every inch of skin he can reach, grinding into your pussy like he’s really thrusting inside, moving his hips in a circle to make you really feel how hard he is. 

When you pull at his hair to get his face away from you, you gasp at the snap of teeth that just about misses your wrist. He’s warned you now; don’t get in his way.

Back arching, you cum in your panties, soaking the material as you ooze wetness onto his clothed cock. Clinging to him as best as you can, you whisper-yell, “Oh, fuck, Choso! Y-you need to -hah!- let me go, baby.”

Sleepwalker!Choso drops you onto your feet, grabbing your hips to swivel you around. One hand presses your cheek to the wall, the other tears your panties off with one hasty tuuuug. The cool air brushes against your steaming pussy, dripping wetness down your shivering thighs. 

Your head is released and you take a much needed gasp of air. When you try to catch sight of him, you’re shocked to find your boyfriend kneeling behind you, face shoved in your pussy. 

Sleepwalker!Choso spreads your pussy lips with two fingers, blowing air at your quivering hole before he slurrrrrps! at your overflowing juices.

“Ah! Choso! Oh my God! W-wait! OH GOD—“

He’s got two fingers shoved inside now, worming their way into your canal where he wriggles against your pulsing walls. With little prep, the stretch leaves you breathless as you stand on your tiptoes, reeling from the sudden attack on your drooling cunt. Slurp slurp sluuuuuuuuurp he pulls obscene sounds out of your pussy, long fingers leaving indents on your ass cheeks. 

Sleepwalker!Choso curls his fingers in at your gooey spot, kissing it with the pads of his fingers again and again, in perfect synchrony with his devilish mouth, tongue flicking your clit incessantly. 

“W-wait, I’m -hngh!- close. Uh, fuck, ohhhhhhhhh, don't s-stop!”

Sleepwalker!Choso drinks up your orgasm as you claw at the wall, eyes rolling back. And just as you’re falling limp, he shoves his cock inside in one fell swoop. The stretch stings but it’s also so damn good. His cock is moulding your walls to its shape and the throbbing warmth makes your nipples tingle. 

PLAP PLAP PLAP

The sound of skin slapping against skin is filling your empty house, along with the gloopy squelches of your sticky juices coating your thighs. The force of his thrusting feels like the house is shaking but it’s really just you and your vision. 

Sleepwalker!Choso lays unforgiving smacks against your ass, the flesh rippling with the force, jaw clamping down onto the curve of your neck ask he grunts. 

“God, I’m so full! N-no more, Choso, please. I can’t take -oh! not so hard, baby- anymore. I feel like I’m going to p-pass out!”

Sleepwalker!Choso wraps his arms around you, pushing himself deeper at the same time he pulls you in closer. He holds a tit hostage, nipple pinched tightly, being rolled mercilessly, and his spare hands lays a branding bruise on your lower stomach, pushing. 

You can feel him better like this, every ridge, every thrust and you grow tighter. He’s pressing down on your bladder too, increasing the pleasure inside, threatening to make you burst all over the floor.

Being so dark, you have no idea how he’s so agile and smooth in his attack, when he’s usually a stumbling, bumbling adorable mess in bed. Now you’re the mess. You surely are making one between your thighs as sticky webs of cum are stretched and broken with every back and forth of his hips. 

Sleepwalker!Choso’s pummelling your poor cunt, grinding against your G-spot like he’s mapped every pleat inside your pussy. His hand lowers until two fingers are circling your sensitive clit in rapid succession. 

“OH! OH! OH! OH!”

There’s a worry in the pits of your stomach that your eyes will be permanently stuck at the back of your head but it disappears immediately when your boyfriend steals your breath with messy kiss. There’s no rhyme or rhythm to his licking and sucking, he’s become completely beast-like in his movements, releasing growls and snarls as he takes from you what he wants. 

Sleepwalker!Choso mumbles confessions of love into your mouth as you cum, glop glop glop still squelching out as he continues ramming into your poor, abused cunt who pulses around his cock as shockwaves vibrate through your body, sore and sensitive. 

“FUCK!”

Your jaw is loose, hair a mess, clothes askew and you’re sweaty and sticky everywhere. Every inch of skin he touches tingles with the heat of his possessiveness, as if he’s marking and branding you through your body and into your soul. 

Sleepwalker!Choso tenses up, grip tightening into a gasp-inducing iron-tight grasp, caging you in as he cums, balls squeezing and cock throbbing. His burning hot cum paints your insides, leaking out and dripping to the floor with the sheer amount he pours into you. 

“C-choso! Not inside! Oh, s-shit!”

“Mine. Mine. Mine,” he barks against your throat, teeth scraping. Strands of hair stick to his forehead, tickling your neck. 

Sleepwalker!Choso holds you up by your hips and walks on steady legs back to your bedroom. There, he lays you down gently, cock still in and bumping against your g-spot with every shuffle. He’s kissing you where he can reach as if subconsciously laying apologies on your body but you can’t begin to believe his sincerity when he’s still thrusting his softening cock inside your cunt.

All through the night, still asleep, he ruts into you, pushing orgasms after orgasms helplessly from you, even as he chases himself to mind-numbing overstimulation. 

Sleepwalker!Choso blinks in exhaustion and in surprise when he finds himself supersensitive in his cock, still buried in your leaking pussy, stuffed full with his morning wood. Head between your clammy breasts, he thinks he died and went to Heaven but when he feels the sting of nails scratching his back he clambers off you with a fright. 

“Oh my God! D-did I do this? W-what happened?”

Practically dead to the world, you groggily mumble, “You need to be muzzled at night.”

Sleepwalker!Choso can’t believe what he did when you explain it to him. There are tears in his eyes that you have to wipe away, assuring him it was okay, that you’re okay, and that, actually, you rather enjoyed yourself.

“You liked it? Oh.”

Laughing, you rake a hand through his soft hair. “Yeah, I did. Kinda scary but that’s what made it so hot.”

“Then, can I have some of your melatonin gummies now?”

[manmuncher777]

Taken in tension

✧༺ Roommate toji x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings

✧༺ a/n - roommate tonji is my fucking favourite trope ever. Hi, impregnate me sir. Enjoy sexies xx

You didn’t see a lot of Toji.

That was half the reason why this whole roommate situation worked.

You both had your own lives, your own schedules. He was usually out — at the gym, running errands, disappearing for hours without a word — and you were busy enough your own things that you rarely crossed paths except in passing.

When you did, it was… easy. Surprisingly easy.

You were actually greatful you got landed with a roommate like Toji, he was there when you needed him, always fixing whatever you had broken, or helping you with heavy lifting. And you were quite happy to repay him in your own ways. You cooked dinner for the both of you most nights, and on the nights you couldn’t be bothered you would grab takeout.

He wasn’t messy — not enough to piss you off — and when he was, you didn’t mind picking up after him because he always noticed, always threw you a grateful look or a lazy, gruff thanks, sweetheart that made your stomach stupidly flutter.

Besides, he pulled his weight in other ways.

Fixing the broken sink without you having to ask. Carrying all the groceries up in one go without a complaint. Reaching things off the highest shelves, half-laughing when you glared at him for making it look too easy.

You got along well.

It was chill. It was safe.

Still…

Sometimes, you caught yourself noticing things you shouldn’t.

Like the way Toji would drag his shirt off after a run, tossing it over his shoulder, his body glistening faintly with sweat — thick arms flexing, abs hard and cut deep, the waistband of his shorts hanging low enough to reveal the sliver of a v-line that made you bite your lip and look away fast.

Or the way his voice sounded in the mornings — rough and low, rumbling out of his chest when he mumbled a half-asleep ‘mornin’ and shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but sweats.

Or the way he sometimes smelled — fresh soap and something deep, earthy and masculine that clung to the air long after he left the room, leaving you dizzy if you stayed too long.

Not that you thought about it.

Not that you let yourself think about it.

Because this arrangement was comfortable, and you weren’t about to screw it up just because your stupid brain couldn’t help but drool over your hot, sometimes-shirtless, way-too-casual roommate.

No.

You had self-control.

You were fine.

Totally fine.

But you werent always aware that you werent the only one finding this arrangement a little… testing.

I mean you couldn’t always blame him, the apartment wasnt massive, so sometime it was hard for him not to notice you creeping towards your room from the bathroom in only a towel, or strutting past him while he was watching tv, shouting a quick goodbye with your tiny little dress on, something about a girls night. He wasnt listening in that moment.

And it took everything in him not to pocket those little panties of your he finds when sorting the washing, all outs of images flashing into his mind of you wearing nothing else but those little panties, waiting for home to get home.

Of course he did his best to remain respectful, only letting his eyes linger ling enough you wouldn’t notice.

One rule that you both kept in the apartment was no partners are allowed over, one night stands of girlfriends were a strict no no on both sides. You didn’t want to be disturbed by that, and well you were single as fuck so he didnt really have to worry. The walls were thin and the last thing you needed was some girl keeping you up all night.

Only issue for you with the thins walls is that if you ever want some ‘personal time’ you have to wait until you know Toji would be out. You would be mortified if he ever heard you like that, so you keep very discreet. Just you and your little box of toys.

The box of toys that you were currently rummaging through because he had finally left, popping out to grab some cigarette or something, then he’d just hop back on his Xbox or something. You had just got home from work, and needed a moment to destress, he would be 20 minutes, surely thats enough time.

Work clothes off, T-shirt and panties on. Candles lit and you were finally ready for a relaxing evening

Your box of toys that was open, despite you not touching it recently, the box that was left rather visible under your bed when you usually have it tucked away. And the one toy you wanted, that you would be finished fast with, was now missing its batteries. The slip of plastic to place the batteries in was left visibly opened with no batteries in there.

Where the fuck were the batteries?

You knew you had left them in there.

Tucked right inside your little velvet pouch — with your trusty toy buried safely beneath sweaters and old scarves — reserved for nights like tonight.

Nights when the sexual frustration got so bad it made you antsy, desperate for even a tiny bit of release.

Single. Stressed. Stupidly horny.

It wasn’t much to ask, was it?

Apparently, the universe — or more specifically, your goddamn roommate — had other plans.

You searched everywhere, in your desk, in drawers, not a single triple a battery to be found. And on such perfect timing, Toji was back.

Fucking great, looks like you were getting nothing tonight. ON all the days this could have happened.

You stared at the opened box, jaw ticking, the empty slot where the batteries once sat practically mocking you.

There was only one person who could’ve done this.

Your mind finally clicking, you live with one other person, and your certainly didn’t just throw away those batteries

One muscle-headed, thoughtless, lazy bastard who would rather loot your private stash than walk ten feet to the store.

You stormed down the hall, chest tight with irritation.

It was petty — objectively — but you didn’t care.

Because now you were still horny and now also pissed off, which was a dangerous combination.

Without even knocking, you shoved open Toji’s bedroom door.

He barely glanced up from his spot on the bed — legs spread wide, controller in hand, headset slung around his neck as he mashed buttons aggressively.

Casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You crossed your arms and glared at him.

He finally looked up, pausing his game.

One dark brow lifted lazily.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

You wanted to punch him.

You also wanted to climb him like a tree. Eyes glancing over him fully now, only just registering the fact he was shirtless, grey sweats hanging slutily low on his hips, enough to make a woman drool.

Neither urge was helpful right now.

“You stole my batteries,” you said flatly.

Toji gave a slow, exaggerated blink.

Then — fucking smirked.

“Needed ’em,” he said, shrugging, like that excused everything. “Controller was dead. Emergency.”

“Emergency?” you hissed, stepping further into the room. “Emergency? I needed them! Toji, you went through my shit! That was private”

His eyes flicked over you — lingering for a second too long on your flushed cheeks, the way your chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

What you had been about to do before he ruined it.

Obvious in the way your thighs pressed together, your arms crossed like you were trying to physically contain yourself.

Toji’s smirk widened.

“Ohh,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “That kind of emergency.”

You wanted to die.

You also wanted to hit him.

You also maybe wanted to straddle him and shut him the fuck up.

Instead, you ground out, “I want them back. Now.”

He set the controller down beside him, stretching like he had all the time in the world — the way his muscles flexed beneath the dim light of his room should’ve been illegal — and then patted the space next to him on the bed.

“An emergency?” you scoff, already frustrated beyond belief. “The hell do you need my batteries for? Your fucking remote? Seriously, I’ve been looking for those—”

He interrupts you with a lazy shrug. “Yeah, my controller died.” He repeated casually “You weren’t gonna use ‘em anyway, right?”

You stop mid-sentence, the realization dawning on you, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. “I—I was going to,” you mumble, fuming. “I was going to use them, but now they’re gone because of you. You went through my stuff, Toji. Personal shit.”

Toji slowly rises from the bed, a calculated glint in his eyes. He’s still half-smirking, clearly enjoying the way your irritation is building. He walks toward you, the tension thickening with every step he takes. His large frame seems to fill the room as he stops just a few inches away, his presence overwhelming.

“You really need to chill, ma,” he says lowly, his voice like honey, but there’s a subtle hint of mockery in it. His hand reaches up, brushing past you as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Seems to me like you were relying on some pretty weak shit to get off.”

The words hit you like a slap, but it’s his tone—condescending, taunting—that gets to you. Your lips part as you try to retort, but the heat in his gaze leaves you speechless for a moment

“I mean, really,” he continues, stepping in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “That plastic shit really get you off? Don’t you need something a bit more real?”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold your ground, but the tension between you is palpable. “I was fine before you came in and took everything,” you snap, although the desperation you feel is practically dripping from your words.

Toji smirks at your reaction, clearly reveling in the power he has over you. “Yeah? I don’t think so,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “I think you were getting a little too used to that weak little thing. You were probably so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself.”

Your heart races, and you can barely focus on what he’s saying because of the raw, intoxicating way he’s looking at you. You hate how much you want to shove him up against the wall and take control, but you’re pinned under his gaze, unable to move.

Toji’s hand moves down your arm slowly, teasing, not quite touching, just enough to make you tingle with need. His voice lowers even more. “Now, I think I could give you something much more satisfying… if you let me.”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, your hands trembling as they fall to your sides.

Toji chuckles softly, sensing your growing desperation. “You still upset about the batteries, baby? Or do you need something else?

“Come get ’em,” he said, grin turning absolutely devilish. “Might even help you out, if you ask real nice.”

Your mouth went dry.

Your whole body heated.

Because suddenly you weren’t sure if you were mad anymore — or just aching for something else entirely.

You stayed planted near the door, arms crossed so tight it hurt, glaring daggers at him — but he only lounged back further against the headboard, hands resting behind his head, looking like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.

He tilted his head at you, that cocky little smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Poor girl,” he drawled, voice thick and mocking. “So flustered. Bet you were all set up too, huh? Lights off, blanket pulled up real nice… fingers already creeping down your stomach—”

“Shut the fuck up, Toji,” you snapped, face burning.

His eyes glinted — dark and full of something downright wicked.

“Ooh. Touchy,” he teased. “What’s the matter? Mad ’cause you couldn’t get yourself off? Or mad because you haven’t had a proper fuck in too long?”

You hated him.

You hated how well he knew you, how easy you were to read. You hated how he was right.

You hated how good he looked, sprawled out like that — broad shoulders, abs flexing, that slutty v-line, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, those big thighs spread wide like an invitation.

He smelled like bodywash and something sharp and masculine underneath, and it was doing terrible, terrible things to your self-control.

Your nails dug into your arms.

“I needed the fucking batteries,” you bit out. “Not some — some asshole with no respect for personal property.”

Toji chuckled — actually laughed at you — low and rumbly in his chest.

“You’re real cute when you’re mad, y’know that?”

He shifted slightly — not enough to stand, but enough that the mattress dipped under his weight.

He was closer now, lazy but predatory. Like a tiger deciding whether or not it wanted to play with its food.

“And real fuckin’ cute when you’re needy, too.”

Your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

You needed to leave.

You needed to keep your pride.

You needed to not imagine what it would feel like to march over there and straddle him and grind the attitude out of him.

But then Toji gave you a slow once-over — lingering, heavy, filthy — and your body betrayed you.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, thighs pressing together instinctively.

He caught it immediately.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

He patted his thigh, slow and deliberate.

Like he was inviting a fucking pet into his lap.

“C’mere. If you ask real pretty, might even let you put that mouth to good use first.”

You sucked in a shaky breath — the edges of your anger bleeding into raw, desperate want.

“You’re disgusting,” you said — but your voice wobbled. Trembled.

His smirk sharpened.

“You want disgusting, sweetheart?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping low, gravelly, dangerous. “I’ll show you disgusting. I’ll have you makin’ sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Have you crying on my cock, beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your knees almost buckled.

Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to hold onto some shred of dignity — but your body had already decided.

You were burning. Frustrated.

So damn needy it hurt.

And Toji — he was right fucking there.

Arrogant and filthy and perfect.

You licked your dry lips, fists clenching at your sides.

“I’m not begging,” you muttered — trying and failing to sound strong.

Toji’s grin widened into something positively sinful.

“Not yet, you’re not.”

He patted his thigh again — slow, taunting. “Now. Be a good girl and get over here. Before I make you.”

You glared at him for a second longer — daring him to back down — but Toji just smirked, the arrogant bastard, and patted his thigh again.

Fine.

If he wanted to play?

You could play.

Jaw set, you crossed the room in a few stiff steps and planted yourself right on his thigh — hands braced on his shoulders, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his sweats.

For a moment, you felt smug — victorious even — but then—

Toji’s hands landed on your waist, big and heavy, fingers flexing lightly against your sides.

And he didn’t grab you.

Didn’t drag you down and grind you where you wanted.

No — he just let them sit there.

Warm. Teasing.

Promising.

You tried to shift your hips, chasing friction — and that’s when he bounced his thigh once, slow and deliberate.

The jolt ran through you like a live wire.

You gasped — clutched at his shoulders — and he laughed.

“Ohhhh,” he cooed, voice dripping with mockery. “There she is, theres my needy girl.”

You scowled, but it melted into a breathless sound when he bounced his thigh again, just slightly, making you rub against him.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dropping low and mean. “Use it.

You wanted this so bad, right?

Your cheeks burned.

You couldn’t believe this — couldn’t believe you were actually — actually—

But your clit throbbed insistently between your thighs, the frustration and humiliation and desperation all bleeding together until you were moving — slow little rocks of your hips, dragging yourself along the hard muscle of his thigh.

Toji leaned back against the headboard, arms folding behind his head again like he didn’t have a damn care in the world — like he wasn’t sitting there letting you humiliate yourself on him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he drawled lazily, watching you.

“Look at you. So desperate you’re ridin’ my fuckin’ thigh like some lil’ bitch in heat.”

You whimpered — hated yourself for it — hated the way it made him chuckle, deep and low in his chest.

His hands slid up — finally — trailing slow and lazy under the hem of your shirt, skimming your waist, teasing along the curve of your tits without really touching where you wanted him to.

You ground down harder, chasing the friction, dizzy with need.

“Toji~” the broken whine leaving your throat, a beg. A need for something more.

“Nuh-uh,” Toji tutted, voice smug. “Not gonna help you, sweetheart. You wanna cum? Gotta work for it.”

He bounced his thigh a little harder — just once — and you cried out, grabbing his shoulders tighter for balance.

“Yeahhh,” he rasped, voice dark and gleeful. “That’s it. Use me, baby. Grind that pretty lil’ pussy on my thigh like you fuckin’ mean it.” You were beyond embarrassed now — little gasps and whines spilling from your lips as you rode him harder, chasing the sharp little sparks of pleasure building in your gut.

“Feelin’ good, huh?” Toji teased, voice thick with amusement. “Bet you’re so fuckin’ wet. Bet I could slide my fingers right in without even tryin’.”The thought made you moan brokenly — hips stuttering — and Toji’s grin widened like he could feel you getting closer.

“Come on,” he coaxed — voice low and rough and cruel. “Cum for me, baby. Show me how pathetic you are. Show me how bad you needed it.” It was too much — the filthy words, the heat of him under you, the cruel bounce of his thigh grinding against your clit just right—

You cried out, breaking apart with a full-body shudder, clutching him desperately as you came — hips jerking against his thigh in messy, helpless little rolls.

Toji laughed — laughed — one hand finally smoothing down your back as you trembled and gasped against him. The feeling soothing you as rode out your high, grounding you to the presence of the man beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmured mockingly, patting your ass like he was proud. “Good girl.”

You were still catching your breath, slumped against him, when you felt it —

the heavy, deliberate grip of Toji’s hands sliding down to your hips. The sensation buzzing against your already prickled skin, waves of pleasure still flowing through you from that much needed orgasm. The tension inside of you now nothing but a distant memory, now replaced with something needier

“Aw, poor thing,” he murmured, voice dark with mock sympathy. “Thought that was enough for you?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before he hauled you up — manhandling you like you weighed nothing — turning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed.

Your hands scrabbled for purchase on the comforter, your mind slow and syrupy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt drunk — high — boneless and pliant under his rough touch.

“Still so fuckin’ needy,” Toji rasped behind you, thumbs hooking into your shorts and yanking them down your thighs in one swift, ruthless motion.

The cool air hit your slick folds and you whimpered — humiliated at how wet you still were, how badly you wanted him. Being so vulnerable in front of him despite moments ago using his thigh to get off.

He leaned over you, big and overwhelming, and you felt the thick press of him, heavy and hot against your bare ass. You swallow thickly, he was bigger than your toys, and you were sure he knew it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”

You gasped when you felt his fingers between your thighs — thick and calloused, slipping through your slick with an obscene wet sound.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” Toji grunted approvingly.

“Messy little thing. Bet I could slide right in.”

You whined — hips arching back into him without thinking — and Toji just chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, almost fondly.

“I know, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Wasting not a second more to give you what you wanted, what he wanted. He slides his joggers just far enough down to free his throbbing cock. His tip a pretty shade of pink, adorned with small pearls of pre.

You felt the blunt, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance, stretching you wider than any toy — and then he was pushing in, slow and devastating, splitting you open with a low, gravelly groan from his chest.

You gasped, frozen against the bed as you felt him sink into you so sinfully, it was so much better than your toys. His thick cock gliding into your welcoming walls. Mouth hanging open at the feeling of his pressing so deep inside you

“Better than your toys huh?” A chuckle sounds out from behind you and you curse your fucked out brain for speaking out loud. You werent lying however,

You gasped — tried to rock back against him — but Toji grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he hissed, sinking deeper. “Take it. Let me fuckin’ stretch you out.”

It was too much — the overwhelming stretch, the filthy, sticky heat between your thighs, the way your body just took him greedily, still trembling from your first orgasm.Toji bottomed out with a heavy, satisfied grunt — hips flush against your ass — and for a moment, he just stayed there, savoring the way you clung to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and ragged.“You feel so good. Better than I imagined. Fuckin’ made for me, huh?”

Your fucked out brain couldn’t even process what he was saying, imagined? Had he thought about this too?

You nodded helplessly, whining when he gave a shallow thrust — hips grinding into you slow and deep, dragging the thick length of him against your fluttering walls.He fucked you lazily at first — deep, heavy strokes that made you sob into the mattress — placing all of his weight behind his merciless strokes, rocking into you slow and sharp. Relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

He was so deep you were sure you could feel him in your throat, you could feel every ridge, every vein, Like you were moulded to him.

But his patience didn’t last for long

Soon he was pounding into you, rough and relentless, your hips slapping against his with every brutal thrust.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji growled, watching the way your body shook under him.“Take it. Take it all.”

You babbled something incoherent — something desperate — but Toji just laughed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could murmur filth into your ear.

“What’s that, baby?” he teased, voice all syrupy condescension. “Can’t even talk, huh? Fucked you stupid already?”

You whined, blinking up at him, lips parted — brain mushy and overloaded.

“That’s alright,” Toji rasped, fucking you harder, crueler. “You don’t gotta think. Just gotta cum for me.”

And you did — with a wrecked cry, clenching around him so hard he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

You felt it when he came — the hot pulse of it inside you, the low, guttural groan he let out against your shoulder — and then he collapsed over you, still buried deep, his body trembling from the force of it.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing — the sticky, filthy aftermath of it hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Toji nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there, voice rough and low:

“Y’still mad about the batteries, princess?”

[manmuncher777]

HONEY, IM HOME!

Satoru Gojo x reader SMUT MDNI 18+

You didn’t expect him home until the next day.

Hell, you didn’t expect him home until after two battles and one emergency recon mission, at the very least. So when the air in the bedroom suddenly shifted, the space warping with that telltale hum of cursed energy, you froze—wide-eyed and still dressed in your cozy at-home shorts and one of his old shirts.

And there he was.

Gojo Satoru. Standing at the foot of the bed with messy hair, dirt smudged across his cheek, and that stupid grin pulling at his lips.

“Hi, baby.”

Your mouth parted. “You’re… what—how—?”

He shrugged off his jacket, cocking his head as he stalked closer. As if this was the most casual thing in the world, as if he hadn’t just appeared out of midair when he was supposed to be away on a mission “Mission was boring. Missed you. Figured I’d drop in and handle something way more important.”

You barely had time to blink before he was crawling onto the bed, pushing your legs open with a wicked ease, hands warm and greedy under your shirt. Gentle kisses being trailed along you skin as he grew closer and closer, placing the weight of his body on your, trapping you there with him.

It wasnt that this wasnt a welcome surprise, you missed him badly. Just a shock. A shock that you would soon get over if he kept kissing you like that

“Wait—Satoru, you’re literally—”

“Shhh,” he breathed against your collarbone, mouthing at your skin like a starved man. “Don’t talk. Let me make it worth the interruption.”

You could smell the battle on him, the slight scent or earth and air attached to his skin and he marked yours. His hands trailing lower and lower, events unraveling faster than you were able to keep up with

“Now tell me sweets, how badly did you miss me?”

His hand slid straight into your shorts, fingers slipping between your folds like he knew you were already getting wet for him. And god, you were. The second you saw him standing there all tousled and cocky, your thighs clenched.

“Missed you loads ‘Toru” you gasped

“Fuck, you did miss me,” he laughed under his breath, curling a finger inside you. “You’re so wet, sweetheart. Didn’t even need to warm you up.”

Slowing rocking his hand back and forth as his finger delved deeper and deeper into you needy cunt. Your hands finding purchase on the material of his shirt as you tired to grip onto something

You were already whining, hips lifting to chase his hand. And he looked up at you with such filthy admiration, like you were the best thing he’d ever touched.

“You gonna cum just from my fingers?” he teased, biting at your throat as his fingers pumped faster. “Fuck. You really are mine, huh?”

You mind was reeling, mere minutes ago you were scrolling on your phone, now your body was wracking with pleasure as your boyfriend makes a mess of you.

You tried to talk—tried to say something—but he shushed you again with a kiss, tongue slipping into your mouth while he tugged your shorts down. He didn’t bother undressing fully—just shoved his pants down enough to free his cock, thick and hard and flushed red.

“Now I would love to take my time with you sweetheart, but sadly I’ve got a mission to report back to.” Hes whispering gently in your ear as he lines himself up with your entrance “don’t worry, ill make it up to you when im back”

And then he was pushing inside. All the way. One smooth, devastating thrust.

“Oh my god—” you choked, fingers scrambling for purchase on his shoulders. You definitely weren’t worried, feeling too good to even care about what he was saying

“Fuck,” he hissed, eyes fluttering shut. “So tight. Like your pussy knows it’s mine.”

He was moving fast, fucking into you like he had no time to waste—because he didn’t. That made it worse. Better. Filthier. Because he was supposed to be fighting, supposed to be saving the world, but instead he was buried inside you like you were the only thing that mattered.

The messy rush of it all was intoxicating, his brutal pace leaving your pussy begging for more, desperately trying to suck him back in every time he pulls out, hips bucking at the feeling of his pretty pink tip kissing against your cervix

“I needed this,” he moaned against your ear. “Needed you. Couldn’t even concentrate with this pussy on my mind—fuck—look at you, clenching around me like you don’t want me to leave.”

Your legs wrapped around him on instinct, anchoring him to you like you could keep him here forever. He groaned—loud and guttural—and kissed you again, deeper this time, all teeth and tongue and desperation.

“You gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Gonna let me fill you up nice before I go back out there?”

You nodded frantically, eyes glassy, breath hot.

And then it hit—your orgasm crashing into you so hard it had you clawing at his back, your whole body trembling as he kept fucking you through it.

“Good girl,” he growled, hips stuttering. “So good for me—fuck—I’m gonna cum too, gonna give you everything—take it, baby, take it all—”

And he did. Spilled inside you with a groan so deep it echoed through your bones, holding you tight as he rode out every last pulse of pleasure.

Then, with a kiss to your temple and a cheeky grin, he pulled out slowly—watching his cum drip from you with a satisfied hum.

“Damn. Now that’s a recharge,” he smirked, pulling his pants back up. “Be back later for round two. Maybe three.”

And with a final kiss and a wink, he vanished again—leaving you breathless, aching, and absolutely ruined.

[manmuncher777]

CARDIO

The cardio machine at the gym weren’t working for Toji today, how else will he burn some calories…..

The sound of your kettle boiling echoed in the back group of your apartment as you sat watching TV. It was 9pm and Toji was due home soon. You poured yourself a green tea, sitting yourself back on the couch that felt a lot more lonely this evening. You didn’t really know why, after all Toji was gone to the gym most nights of the week for a few hours, it was nothing different, but you couldn’t help but miss him. And you were certainly missing him more than usual tonight. Maybe it was because you didnt really get to see him today, you got back from work just as he was leaving, sharing a few minutes with each other before you watched him leave. When he got back, you were out to lunch with friends. You wanted nothing more but to screw the plans and stay with him, especially with how he was looking at you in that moment. But you couldn’t bail on your friends.

And when you got back, he was getting ready to head out to the gym. Not that you didnt understand, of our se you did. You both has busy schedules and his gym was very important to him. He got moody when he would miss a day - which was very rarely. But the room felt a little bit chillier without his presence. You were doing your best to concentrate on the tv, or even the cup of tea that warmed your hands. But nothing

You were preoccupied on focusing on trying to hear when his car pulls up. You had lived together long enough for you to be able to memorise the sound. You paused your breathing as you heard the familiar motor pull in, shut off and the door shut.

It was like you were first dating him again, you heart suddenly picking up at the thought of him seeing you. You fussed with your hair quickly, you knew you had a few minutes before he got there and you didnt want it to look silly after lying on the couch.

Quickly shifting yourself, pretending to focus on whatever was on the tv when you heard his keys in the door. Part of you wanted to run there like an eager puppy who hadn’t seen their owner all day, but you had some self restraint - some.

The key turning in the door was all it took for your ears to perk up, body instinctively rising from the couch as heavy footsteps filled the entranceway. Toji was back.

You practically bounced toward him, excitement bubbling over as you caught sight of his familiar frame stepping inside. He looked… well, like he always did—too damn good. His black compression shirt clung to his broad chest, highlighting every ridge of muscle beneath, and the lazy way he slung his gym bag over his shoulder sent something warm curling in your stomach. A few damp strands of his dark hair clung to his forehead, evidence of a workout that, knowing him, had been brutal.

His sharp green eyes lifted at the sight of you, and the smirk that tugged at his lips was immediate. “Someone’s happy to see me.”

“I haven’t seen you all day,” you huffed, ignoring the teasing lilt in his voice as you stepped closer. You didn’t hesitate to slide your arms around his waist, pressing into the heat of his body. He smelled like sweat and the faint remnants of his cologne, an intoxicating mix that made your fingers twitch against his back.

Toji chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest as he dropped his bag and let his arms wrap around you in return, pressing you in close. “Yeah? Missed me that bad, huh?”

You tilted your chin up to meet his gaze, rolling your eyes at the cocky grin stretched across his face. “Obviously.”

His thumb traced absent circles against your spine, the other hand sliding down, sneaking just beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers pressing into the warm skin at your lower back. “You’re cute.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “Wish I could’ve come home earlier, but the damn gym was slacking today. Cardio machines were down.”

You blinked, catching the way his smirk deepened, the glint in his eyes nothing short of trouble.

“So I didn’t get my usual workout in,” he continued, fingers pressing just a bit firmer against your skin, keeping you locked against him. “Still need to get some form of cardio in, though.”

Heat licked up your spine, heart hammering against your ribs as his meaning settled between you.

“…Toji.”

“What?” His grin was downright sinful now, his hands roaming as he leaned in close, breath warm against your ear. “You got a better suggestion?”

You scoff, shaking your head at him. “That’s tragic. Really, my heart aches for you.” Trying your best to resist his charm

Toji hums, stepping further into the apartment, and it’s only then that you realize how imposing he is, how much space he takes up. Broad shoulders, sculpted arms, those hands—God, those hands. He drops his gym bag onto the floor with a dull thud, stretching his neck from side to side like he’s shaking off the last remnants of his workout.

“Tch. Guess I’ll have to find another way to get my heart rate up,” he muses, slow and deliberate, his eyes dragging over you.

The look sends a shiver down your spine. It’s lazy, assessing, like he’s already decided how the next few minutes will go.

You don’t move when he steps closer, nor when he lifts a hand to your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His palm is warm, calloused from years of combat and training, but he’s gentle when he strokes his thumb along the curve of your cheek.

“Missed you today,” you admit, voice quieter now, betraying just how much you mean it.

A small smirk tugs at his lips, his eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Yeah?”

You nod, feeling your breath catch as he dips his head, nose brushing yours, lips just barely grazing—teasing, testing, waiting.

“Show me, then,” he murmurs.

It’s all the permission you need.

Your fingers curl into the fabric of his tank top, and you pull him in, pressing your lips to his like you’ve been craving it all day—because you have. Toji meets you with just as much want, his grip tightening at your jaw, the other hand sliding down to your waist, anchoring you against him.

He kisses you slow at first, savoring it, drawing out each movement like he has all the time in the world. But it doesn’t stay slow for long. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a groan rumbling from his chest as he deepens the kiss, taking and taking until you’re breathless. Until all you can do is melt into him.

And just like that, the tension from before shifts into something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something intoxicating.

And you don’t think you’d stop him even if you could.

He has hardly even gotten in the door, discarding his gym bag and keys somewhere on the floor, backing you up until you’re pressed tightly between the cool of the wall and his rock hard chest.

His familiar musk filled your nose as you kissed him, amplified by the effects of his workout. You were addicted.

His hands trailed all over your body, haphazardly grabbing at any skin he could, squeezing and gripping as your lips clashed with his. Soon those travelling hands finding them hem of your shirt, ripping it off you in seconds. He’s breaking away from the kiss, only to strip you down before him. Eyes sleazily tracing over your figure as he’s pulling your shorts down too,. His eyes widening at the sight before him.

“No panties sweetheart?” He asked, licking his scarred lips as the sight of your bare cunt, just begging for his attention, begging for his touch.

“Really missed you…” Was the only explanation you could offer him. You waste no time. Not taking a moment to be conscious as you slip your bra off as well. Standing naked in front of the burly man, allowing him to take you in. His form towered over you, and with the look in those eyes you were certain he was sizing you up, like a lion with its prey.

That look in his eyes, his iris’ darkened with lust. His hands resting on your hips, gripping tightly. Shit, he really missed you too.

Your pretty little eyes were starting to get to him, every bat of your lashes like you werent just sat here with no panties waiting for him to come home and fuck you. This perfectly manicured nails of your tracing over his abs, trying to find the hem of his compression shirt. Eyebrows furrowing cutely as you tried to find the edge of the tight material.

“Tojiii~” You whined, starting to get frustrated with your inability to strip the hunk in front of you.

He knew how worked up you got after he had done a work out. You were fully aware he was huge before a workout, but that after workout pump he got was fucking delicious to look at. Hi biceps prominent and threatening to tear his sleeves, his chest - puffed out so pretty. Fuck his tits looked amazing in that black shirt. Veins still building down his forearms and hands in jagged lines. And His back, I mean you know what they say. Hate to see him evade but looovvveee to watch him go. You could spend hours looking at the defines muscle flexing in the light with every move he made. If you were lucky he would send you a gym pic after an escape I ally hard night. They went into a special folder on your phone… for no paticular reason

He understood what you were trying so desperately to beg him for. A light chuckle leaving his lips, without taking his eyes off of you, he peeled the tight material from his sculpted skin.

You eyes going as wide as sauce pans as you shamelessly started at his body, a sight you could never get tired of. You wanted to gnaw on his bicep.

“You’re drooling there princess.” He teases, mock wiping the corner of your lips with his thumb. You scowl at him, stopping his hand before it can pull away and taking his thumb into your mouth, wrapping your lips tightly around the digit, swirling your tongue around it while giving him the most innocent look you could muster. His mouth gapes in awe for a second, a quiet ‘oh’ leaving his lips.

He doesn’t allow himself to be distracted for long, he already knows your slutty little trick. He pulls his thumb from between your lips with a wet ‘pop’. Taking the hand and wrapping it around your throat. A pathetic whimper leaves your lips, and out the corner of his eye he can notice you rubbing your thighs together, trying to release some of the pressure there.

“So needy sweetheart, haven’t even touched you yet.” He whispers close to you ear, lips brushing against the skin. That contact was enough to have you shivering. You felt like a virgin being touched for the first time, thats how badly you needed him. Everything he did had you squirming and moaning for him.

You couldn’t care, you needed him right now. You didnt even want to waste time on foreplay at this point - lord knows you were already soaked enough for him to slip right in. All you could think about was his bulging cock that was standing prominently in his grey jogger. Just begging for you to release it.

Your hands flying down to the waistband of his joggers, not deterred even when his grip on your throat tightens, you can feel that delicious wooziness right as he releases.

“Fucking hell baby, acting like you haven’t got dick for years. Such a slut.” He rasps at you, while it could sound like it, he certainly wasnt complaining. He loved when he had you all needy like this, begging for him in every way.

A deep groan leaving his chest as you palm him through his boxer, soon dragging them down his legs also, throwing them away in a similar direction that you did his joggers. Your eyes never leaving his as you spat in your palm, wasting no time as you wrapped your hand around his thick cock. The tip so pretty and pink, slowly leaking white pearls of pre with each stroke you eagerly gave him.

He choked out a moan, not expecting you to be so very eager “shit- slow down baby”

“I need you Toji. Now.” That look in your eyes, so demanding and needy.

With that sentence you definitely didn’t have to ask the man twice

Showing off his strength for you was something he was used to. He fucking loved watching you drool over him when he was f;Lexington or doing some kind of heavy lifting. So why not show off for his girl a bit?

Not wasting a second before hes sweeping you up in his arms, draping each leg over each of his forearms as he presses you tightly against the wall, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing to him.

You were folded so perfectly for him, with no room in your mind to be conscious about how vulnerable you were right now, you didnt care. You wanted him to destroy you. Having him pick you up so easily made your head spin.

“This what you wanted doll? Hmmm?” he smirks at you, eyes glancing down to where he was lining his throbbing tip up with your entrance. His perfect cock leaking so prettily. Teasing you as it poked right at your needy hole, gathering your wetness. Small pearls of precum leaking out so beautifully.

“Wanted me to fuck you like this? Like how strong I am for you?”

His eyes flickering up now, not wanting to miss the already fucked out look on your face before he had hardly got his hands on you. Chuckling to himself as all you could manage was a nod. Glossy eyes begging him to make a move, but he wasn’t going to be that kind yet.

“Poor baby, so needy. All cock drunk and I haven’t even touched you yet.”

Dark tufts of hair drooping into his face, his smug, cocky face.. You knew your neediness was a boost to his ego, but you also got off on how cocky he could be sometimes. How he could render you speechless with that fucking smirk of his and a little bit of sweet talking.

Not trusting your voice anymore, a small whine was the only sound that left your throat.

“Oh? Where’s the big girl from earlier that was demanding I fuck her?” He certainly wasnt making it easy for you, and you were trying so hard to concentrate on what he was saying, to keep your eyes locked on his. But you couldn’t help trickling down to where his thick cock sat at your entrance. Doing your best to shift your hips forwards slightly. Your movement limited due to the position he had you in, but anything was better than nothing, you were getting desperate now. Being so close to that sweet stretch.

He knew what he was doing to you, he knew he was pushing you to your limits, but he wanted to see you break for him. Leaning in even closer to you, lips tracing the shell of your ear as he spoke to you so sweetly “use your words for me, like a big girl”

He could be so cruel to you, but that was exactly why you loved him.

“P-please Toji~”

Fuck

Fuck you

He could never deny that voice, that beautiful begging with a tinge of sadness. That desperation that always guilted him into giving you whatever you wanted. God he wanted that pretty voice to ring in his mind for eternity.

Not having the will to deny you any longer, his hips shifted forwards.

Shit

It really hadn’t been that long, but either way how tight you were squeezing him you could think it had been years.

Light moans left you with every second that passed. Relishing in the feeling of being so perfectly full again, like your walls were modded to his cock. Only fulfilled when he was the one filling you.

Soon his hips began to rock, oh so slowly. Back and forth, each drag of his cock against your velvety walls pulling moans that got louder and louder as his movement picked up pace.

The cool of the wall now contrasted by the heat radiating off of your now sweat sheened skin. Your body shifting up the wall slightly with each thrust you received.

Unable to do anything but just take what he was giving to you, completely at he mercy as he propped you up. Fucking you so deep.

He was ruining you now, hips picking up to a brutal place as he slammed into you. Listening to the sound of your pitchy moans. Light huffs leaving him with each movement.

Your eyes lolling open only to be met with a heavenly sight, your buff boyfriend.

Biceps rippling with the task of holding you up, veins popping through the skin in jagged lines. A light gloss of sweat reflecting off the muscles that made them look practically edible. You were amazed he was still able to keep you up with such ease, even as he fucked you.

“T-T-Toji” your voice came out as a wobble, his name broken up with each thrust of his hips.

His swollen tip hitting deep inside of you. This position giving him to angle his hips so cruelly. Where he knew you needed it. That spongy spot inside of you. Cock pushing deeper and deeper into your gummy walls.

“What’s wrong? Feeling good ma?” He grunts out

A pathetic nod is all you can manage in that moment, your mind turned to jelly. Taking everything that he was giving you.

A dry laugh left toji as he continued his thrusts, jackhammering into your needy pussy. Your hands desperately grabbing at his biceps, nails clawing at the skin. That sharp sensation only spurring toji on.

This was his favourite way to fuck you, all needy and rushed. Toji loved being able to take his time with you. This evening where he would tease you for hours before giving you what you both wanted. But there was something more sensual about your sessions like this. They were ruled by need and want with little regard for anything else. The rushed movements, the needy kisses that left him gasping for air. The little whine in your voice that you knew would get him to give you anything you wanted. It had him feral. He can take him time with you later, but in moments like this all he wants is to give you what you both need.

When you go all sparkly eyed and cock drunk for him, he can hardly hold back. He loves seeing his girl all broken for him.

Toji could already feel his high nearing, but was doing his best to hold it off, to resist from cumming early, shooting deep inside your inviting pussy.

His cocky demeanour fading now, dripping away slowly and fading into something a little bit more raw now. Depraved and needy. his head dropping onto your shoulder again, heavy breathing into the supple skin, breathing in your scent.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he growled against your throat, his lips dragging over the sensitive skin there, nipping at your pulse. His voice was shredded, low and needy, vibrating straight through your chest. “Look at you, baby. Fuckin’ need me that bad, huh?”

You could barely answer, could barely think — the only thing you knew was the crushing strength of his body against yours, the hard, heavy feel of him grinding his tip in the deepest parts of you

Your fingers tangled in his sweaty hair, tugging, desperate. “Toji,” you whined, squirming in his hold, your whole body burning for him. “Please. I need you so bad—”

He chuckled — dark and deep and wicked — and pulled back just enough to look at you, green eyes flashing with something hungry.

“You’re fuckin’ drippin’ for me,” he muttered,. “Bet you’d let me do anything to you right now, huh?”

You nodded frantically, shame completely forgotten, hips chasing his touch

And Toji… oh, Toji lived for it.

He smirked, cocky and lazy, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

“You sure you can take it, baby?” he rasped, rolling his hips against you in shallow, teasing thrusts. “Might be too big for you like this.”

You sobbed his name, desperate, rutting against him. You would take him, you would beg for it — anything, just to be full of him.

Your back arched off the wall, a wrecked, broken sound ripping from your throat — the stretch of him so overwhelming, so perfect, you could barely breathe.

Toji swore under his breath, hands tightening on your thighs like a vice. “Fuck — that’s it, baby. That’s my girl. Taking it so good.”

His strength had you completely at his mercy, legs trembling, hands scrabbling at his slick shoulders as he fucked you into the wall like he couldn’t get close enough.

“Mine,” he growled into your ear, rutting into you harder. “Mine, you fuckin’ hear me?”

You nodded frantically, sobbing out his name, every nerve ending in your body sparking white-hot with pleasure.

“Say it,” he snarled, cock filling you so deep you swore you could feel him in your stomach. “Say you’re fuckin’ mine, baby.”

“Yours—!” you cried, clenching around him, falling apart in his arms. “Yours, Toji, all yours—!”

And he rewarded you — oh, he rewarded you — with even rougher thrusts, chasing both of your highs like a man starved.

You came first, shattering with a scream against his shoulder, and Toji followed right after, groaning low in your ear as he pumped you full of him, thick and heavy and endless.

Neither of you moved for a long moment — just panting against each other, sweaty and shaking and absolutely wrecked

His forehead pressed against yours, and you swore you heard a chuckle — low and satisfied — as he shifted you in his arms.

“Fucking insatiable,” he muttered. “Might not even let you walk after that, baby.”

Neither of you moved at first — panting, bodies trembling, clinging to each other like you might drown if you let go.

But Toji… Toji wasn’t satisfied.

Not even close.

He kept you pinned against the wall with one arm, shifting his grip just enough to thrust into you again — slow and deep, the obscene wet sound of it filling the air.

You whined weakly, too sensitive, too wrecked — but it didn’t matter. Toji wasn’t letting you go.

“Still so fuckin’ tight,” he rasped against your throat, dragging his teeth over your skin. “Still need it, don’t you, baby? Still clenching like you’re beggin’ for more.”

Your only answer was a broken sob, your legs trembling around his arms, toes curling helplessly.

You were done for. Your mind was nothing but static, every nerve in your body frayed and buzzing, but Toji just kept going — shallow, grinding thrusts that kept you right on the precipice of falling apart again.

“Fuck,” he groaned, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming back in, deep and heavy. “Listen to how fuckin’ messy you are for me, baby. You hear that? That’s all you.”

You couldn’t even be embarrassed — not with the filthy, wet sounds of your body taking him so eagerly, not with the way your cunt was fluttering around him, so desperate for more.

His strength was unreal — holding you up like you weighed nothing, fucking up into you like he was starving, like you were the only thing that could satisfy the ache burning through his veins.

You babbled his name, mindless, clinging to his shoulders, feeling another orgasm building so fast it was making you dizzy.

Toji smirked when he felt you tighten around him.

“You gonna cum for me again, pretty girl?” he panted, voice almost smug, almost sweet. “Gonna cream all over my cock like a good little slut?”

You sobbed his name, nodding frantically, desperate, delirious.

“Please, Toji, please—”

“Yeah?” he muttered, his voice filthy, a little slurred with pleasure. “Go on, baby. Fuckin’ make a mess. Wanna feel you lose it on me.”

And with one more brutal, grinding thrust, he had you unraveling — cumming so hard you swore you blacked out for a second, your whole body convulsing in his arms.

You screamed his name, the sound muffled against his shoulder, clinging to him like he was the only thing anchoring you to the earth.

Toji swore viciously under his breath, feeling the way you pulsed and milked him.

“Fuck — fuck, baby, you’re squeezin’ the life outta me—”

He thrust up into you one last time, hard and deep, hips jerking as he came — hot and thick, painting your walls with a broken groan, his whole body tensing as he buried himself to the hilt.

Neither of you moved, both of you shaking, slick and sweaty and ruined, clinging to each other like you might die if you let go.

Toji pressed his forehead against yours, breathing you in, his voice a low, guttural growl.

“Still not fuckin’ done with you,” he muttered, kissing you messy and desperate, grinding against you again like he could already get hard just from the way you whimpered.

“Gonna fuckin’ ruin you tonight, pretty girl.”

[manmuncher777]

FORGET ME NOT

Daemon Targaryen x reader

Warnings - eventually smut, p in v, dubcon? (Reader has memory loss), kinda angst, dark!Daemon, possesive, a lot more, NOT PROOFREAD, MDNI

A/n this if for @calmingmelody96, sorry it took me soooo long, I hope you enjoy!!!💞

The halls of Dragonstone felt colder than usual, though the fire crackling in the hearth should have been enough to warm the chamber. You sat by the window, eyes distant, watching the ships pass far below, yet seeing nothing. Your fingers idly twisted the ring on your left hand, the weight of it a constant reminder of the shackle it had become.

Daemon’s presence in the room snapped your thoughts to attention, but you didn’t bother to look up. You had learned long ago that silence in his company was preferable to words—words that might spark another argument, another round of insults, another ruthless attempt to strip you of your dignity.

“How long will you stare out that window?” Daemon’s voice was sharp, laced with an impatience that only seemed to grow with time. His eyes, once filled with that playful intensity that made your heart race in your youth, now bored into you with cold authority.

You didn’t respond. The longer you were married to him, the fewer responses you had left to give. He wasn’t the same man who had once courted you with flattery and charm—he was a man who used cruelty to control. A man whose affection was conditional, always based on how well you could meet his expectations.

Your son—your only comfort in this cold existence—toddled into the room, his giggles a brief, pure escape from the tension that hung between you and Daemon. He rushed into your arms, and for a brief moment, you could almost forget the chaos of your marriage. You kissed the top of his head, closing your eyes against the overwhelming exhaustion that plagued your soul.

Daemon’s gaze flicked to the child, his lips curling into a sneer. “He’s too wild. You’re spoiling him.”

The comment stung, though you had long grown used to Daemon’s cruel words. He had always found something to pick apart, something to belittle you for, something to make you feel less than. Even the child you had borne him, your flesh and blood, was a target for his disdain.

“Perhaps if you showed him a bit of care, he might not be so ‘wild,’” you retorted, keeping your voice even. You hadn’t expected Daemon to care for your son in the way you did, but you had hoped, at least, for a little warmth from him—a father’s love. You were wrong to think such things.

Daemon took a step closer, the air around him growing colder. “Care?” His voice was dripping with mockery. “Is that what you think I owe him?” He stepped forward, his breath warm against your ear as his presence loomed. “What you and I share, wife, is nothing to be mistaken for anything as trivial as love.”

You stood still, forcing yourself not to react. His breath, his touch—it was all just another form of control, another way to make you feel small. His hand landed on your shoulder, his grip uncomfortably firm as he spun you to face him.

“I never promised you love,” he continued, his voice low and dangerous. “I promised you power. And you will remember that.”

You swallowed the bile rising in your throat, fighting the urge to slap his hand away. The warmth in his gaze had long since been replaced with something far darker—a possessive malice that consumed everything it touched.

The memories of your younger self, the girl who had once fallen for his charms, flashed before your eyes like a distant, fleeting dream. You had once thought him charming, the dangerous allure of his reckless, carefree smile pulling you in. When he flirted with you, when he whispered soft promises in your ear, you thought you had found something pure, something powerful in him.

But the reality was far different now. You had never been his equal. You had always been a pawn, a vessel for his desires, a means to an end. You had married him, thinking he would change, but Daemon never changed. He had worn the mask of affection only to tear it off the moment he had you.

“You will never be more than mine,” he growled, leaning closer. His hand cupped your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “And neither will the boy. Don’t forget that.”

You resisted the urge to recoil. His touch felt like a brand, burning into your skin, a reminder of all the things you had lost since the day you had pledged yourself to him. Your heart once filled with hope now beat with cold resentment, a fire that would not be extinguished.

But as you looked down at your son, the light of innocence still shining in his eyes, you realized just how much you had come to resent the man standing before you. Daemon’s cruelty was no longer surprising; it was expected, a pattern you could no longer escape from.

The child in your arms was the only thing worth fighting for. But in this house, in this marriage, even that seemed like a battle you couldn’t win.

It was a grand affair, as most royal dinners were—long tables adorned with golden plates and crystal goblets, laughter and music filling the air. The rich scent of roasted meats and spiced wine lingered in the air, but your senses were elsewhere, fixed on the man seated a few seats down from you.

Daemon Targaryen. The prince who had always been a mystery, a dangerous allure wrapped in dark, flowing hair and a smirk that promised trouble. He was older than you, but not by much—enough to make you feel small when he paid you any attention. But you, young and naive, saw only the charm, the fire in his eyes when he glanced your way.

You were seated beside your older sister, who was engrossed in a conversation with one of the knights, and Daemon was talking to your father across the table. But you couldn’t stop stealing glances at him. The way his hand rested casually on the table, the way his lips curled ever so slightly when he noticed you looking.

You caught his gaze once more, your heart racing as your cheeks flushed redder than the wine in your glass. Daemon noticed, of course, and his smirk grew wider. It was the kind of smirk that made your pulse quicken, that made you feel like you were the only person in the room.

“You’re staring again, Lady,” Daemon’s voice was a low drawl, too loud for just you to hear but soft enough that it felt as though he were speaking directly into your ear. His eyes never left you as he spoke. “I thought you were more subtle than that.”

The teasing tone made your breath catch in your throat. You forced a smile, trying to cover your embarrassment, but you knew you were failing miserably. “I wasn’t staring,” you mumbled, the heat in your face betraying you.

“Oh?” Daemon leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. “Then what would you call that?” He motioned subtly toward your eyes, his voice carrying just enough to make sure those seated near you could hear.

Your stomach fluttered nervously. You should have been angry at him, or at least embarrassed, but instead, you found yourself entranced. The way he spoke to you, the way he made you feel like you were the only person worth his attention, it was intoxicating.

You cleared your throat and quickly looked away, focusing on your plate, but Daemon’s laughter followed you, soft and mocking. He was enjoying this. The chase. The way he made you squirm under his gaze.

At some point, your father turned his attention to someone else, and Daemon’s focus remained locked on you. You could feel his eyes on the back of your neck as he leaned back, settling into his seat. You caught a glimpse of him smirking again, his expression unreadable but knowing.

You couldn’t take it anymore. His teasing was too much. Without thinking, you stood from your seat, the chair scraping loudly against the stone floor. The room seemed to quiet for a moment as your sudden movement caught the attention of those near you.

“I’m… I’m feeling unwell,” you stammered, your heart racing with the mix of embarrassment and something else—something dangerous that you couldn’t name. “I’ll retire early.”

Your words were hardly noticed by the guests, who continued their conversations, but Daemon’s eyes followed you intently.

You hurried out of the dining hall, your footsteps quick and erratic as you made your way down the hall toward the solitude of the gardens. The air outside was cool, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the dining room, but it did nothing to calm your fluttering heart.

As you reached the garden’s edge, you leaned against the stone wall, closing your eyes and trying to steady your breathing. What was wrong with you? Why did you feel this way about Daemon? Why did he have this effect on you?

The sound of footsteps behind you made you freeze

“Running away?” The voice was unmistakable, laced with amusement. Daemon.

You turned around, your breath catching in your throat as you saw him standing just a few feet away, his posture casual yet predatory. His dark cloak billowed slightly in the wind, and his intense gaze was fixed on you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“I didn’t mean to upset you, my lady,” Daemon said, his voice low but playful, a far cry from the tone he had used earlier at dinner. He was enjoying this, watching you squirm, watching the way you couldn’t keep your composure around him.

“I’m not upset,” you said quickly, though your words lacked conviction. You were caught in his gaze again, feeling yourself draw closer to him without realizing it.

“Oh, I think you are,” Daemon replied, his voice softening as he took a step forward. “You left dinner in such a hurry. I’ve never seen a lady so eager to flee before.”

You stepped back instinctively, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. But Daemon was relentless, following your movements with a knowing smile.

“Are you frightened of me, Lady?” Daemon’s voice was a taunting whisper now, as if he knew the answer and was enjoying the power it gave him over you.

You shook your head, but your heart was racing, your pulse pounding in your ears. You were drawn to him, like a moth to a flame, even though you knew better than to get too close.

Daemon stopped just in front of you, close enough for you to feel his breath on your skin. “You shouldn’t run from me,” he murmured, his hand brushing against your arm in a touch so light you weren’t sure if it had been intentional. But it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I’m not running,” you whispered, but the words felt like a lie.

Daemon’s smirk widened, and he leaned in just a fraction, his lips almost brushing your ear as he whispered, “You will be, soon enough.”

The wind whipped at your face, the cold air seeping through your cloak as you urged your horse to gallop faster, faster. It was the only thing that could drown out the maddening thoughts swirling in your mind. You wanted to feel something—anything. You needed to escape the suffocating grip of your life, your marriage.

The further you rode, the harder the wind seemed to push against you. The world around you was a blur, but the memories—the twisted, painful memories—remained as sharp as ever.

How had you gotten here? How had you fallen for his games, his empty promises, the sweet words he whispered when he wanted something from you? The prince who had flirted and teased, toying with your heart as if it were some game to him. The man you had admired, adored even, when you were young, had turned into the cruel, selfish husband who now haunted your every waking moment

You had been so naive back then, so blinded by the idea of him. Daemon had known exactly what to say, how to make you feel special, how to make you feel wanted. He had known exactly how to turn your every weakness into something he could manipulate, something he could use to get what he wanted. You had been so sure that his interest in you was something real. That he had feelings for you beyond just a fleeting, selfish desire. But you had been a fool.

How many times had you told yourself you should have known better? How many times had you tried to rationalize his cruel treatment, his disregard for you, his insatiable hunger for power? The whispers of his affairs, the way he treated you like little more than a possession—none of it had ever been enough to make you leave. You had been trapped. And now, even worse, you were stuck with him.

How foolish you had been.

You had thought you could change him. You had thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a part of him that could love you the way you had loved him. You had been desperate for that. You had allowed yourself to believe that his teasing, his flirtations, were signs of something deeper. Something more meaningful. But now, you saw it all for what it was: manipulation. His way of playing with you, of drawing you in before discarding you.

You hated him. You hated him for the way he had made you feel when you were younger, so full of hope and longing. You hated him for the promises he had broken, the heart he had shattered when he married you, not out of love, but for his own selfish reasons. You hated him for trapping you in this life, for turning your dreams into nightmares.

You had spent so many years convincing yourself that things could get better, that the man you had once admired might somehow change. But with every passing day, you were more certain that Daemon would never be the man you had hoped for.

The horse’s hooves beat faster, but it couldn’t outrun your thoughts, your anger, your frustration. You had tried to numb yourself, tried to distance yourself from the bitterness that had become your reality. But it was impossible. It was like a storm inside you, growing louder with every passing day.

You were stuck. You were his wife, and nothing you did could change that.

As the horse surged forward, you pulled the reins sharply, forcing it to turn. The momentum was too much, and in an instant, the horse slipped, its hooves skidding across the ground. You tried to regain control, but it was too late. The world tilted violently beneath you, and before you could even scream, everything went black.

(Years ago)

It was late. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a pale glow across the castle grounds. The halls of Dragonstone were silent, the usual buzz of the court replaced by eerie quiet. Most of the castle was asleep—except for you.

You had snuck out. The night called to you, a dark and dangerous allure you couldn’t ignore. Not when he was the one consuming your thoughts. Daemon.

Your pulse quickened as you made your way down the dark hallways, careful with each step. You had to be quiet, avoid being seen, but the excitement coursing through your veins made everything feel sharper, more intense. You weren’t supposed to be here, but you couldn’t stay away.

At the door of Daemon’s chambers, you hesitated only briefly before pushing it open, slipping inside and closing it quietly behind you.

Daemon was by the window, his back to you, staring out into the night. His figure was dark, imposing, and every inch of him radiated power. There was something magnetic about him, something that made you feel like you were at the mercy of a storm you couldn’t control.

“You shouldn’t be here,” his voice cut through the silence, low and almost bored, as though he’d known you’d come all along.

You flinched slightly, heart leaping in your chest at the sound of his words. “I—I needed to see you,” you stammered, your resolve faltering, but only for a moment.

Daemon didn’t turn around. He simply stood there, still as stone, his posture relaxed, as though your presence meant nothing to him. His silence stretched on, heavy and deliberate.

“You’ve got a curious habit of sneaking around,” he finally said, the edge of his voice now sharp. “What if someone catches you? What would they say about the sweet little y/n sneaking out to see the likes of me?”

You clenched your jaw, not willing to let him have the upper hand. “What if they do?” you shot back, the words bold in spite of the rising heat in your chest.

Daemon chuckled darkly, and you could feel the smirk in his voice. “You think you’re clever, don’t you?” he said, turning finally to face you. The intensity of his gaze locked onto yours, pinning you in place. “But I see through you.”

He closed the distance between you in a few long strides, and before you could react, his hand was at your throat—lightly, almost teasingly—but the pressure was unmistakable. Not enough to hurt, but enough to make you aware of his strength.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he murmured, his voice dark with something that was more hunger than desire. “You think you can play games with me?”

His thumb brushed against your skin, sending a tremor down your spine. The intimacy of his touch, the power behind it, both terrified and thrilled you in equal measure

“Tell me,” he continued, leaning in just slightly, his lips a breath away from your ear. “What do you think I’ll do with you now that I have you alone?”

You swallowed hard, the words stuck in your throat. His gaze was a force, his presence suffocating, and all your previous bravado seemed to vanish under the weight of his gaze. You weren’t sure if you wanted to pull away or press into him.

Daemon smirked, as if reading your mind. “You’re just a little girl pretending to be a woman, playing games you don’t understand. I’m not like the other men who fawn over you. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Your breath hitched, the words hitting deeper than they should have. This was him. This was the side of Daemon you had ignored, the one you’d always tried to hide from. The man who saw right through you, who manipulated you with ease.

He stepped closer still, his hand moving from your throat to your waist, his fingers gripping just hard enough to remind you of his power. “But don’t worry,” he whispered, his voice suddenly soft, almost mocking. “I’ll be gentle… for now.”

The tension was unbearable now, thick with unspoken promises. His lips brushed your ear again, sending a shiver down your spine.

“You want me to ruin you, don’t you?” he asked, his tone laced with venom. “You want to be my plaything. You think that’s what you deserve.”

For a moment, you couldn’t breathe. The darkness of his words, the cruel certainty behind them, made you question everything. But the truth of it—his ability to destroy you with a single touch, a single word—was undeniable.

And yet, despite the bitterness, despite the disdain in his voice, a part of you wanted him. That small, shameful part of you that had been drawn to him from the very first moment.

Daemon seemed to sense your hesitation, and in a smooth, practiced motion, he cupped your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “I’ll make you forget yourself, ,” he said, his voice low and promising. “And you’ll hate yourself for it. But I’ll enjoy every second.”

The room spun. The walls felt too close. And though every instinct screamed at you to leave, to run, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, you stayed. Daemon’s darkness had always pulled you in, and now, there was no escaping it.

And you hated yourself for it

Not long after that night Daemon had wormed his way into your life. Months later plotting with your father to marry with you. Of course your father accepted, after all what an honour to marry a Targaryen. And you couldn’t exactly complain, everyone wanted to marry a prince. You got to live out your childhood dream.

Each night you spent giddy with the thoughts of what your new life held for you

Your mind is a haze, swirling in and out of focus, as you slowly regain consciousness. The sharp throb in your head grows louder, pounding against the sides of your skull. You blink slowly, disoriented, trying to make sense of the room around you.

The sheets are thick, softer than you’re used to, and the air smells of salt and the unmistakable scent of stone. Where are you? This isn’t your bed, not your room.

Panic starts to set in as your gaze shifts, and you see him.

Daemon.

He stands by your bedside, looking down at you, his presence looming, but not quite threatening. The light from the window casts a halo around his silhouette, but you can’t make sense of it all just yet. The fog in your brain refuses to clear.

“Daemon?” Your voice comes out weaker than you expect, barely above a whisper

You watch him stiffen, his eyes flicking over you like a hawk, as if your very words have caught him off guard. For a moment, there’s something that flickers in his expression—concern, maybe? But it’s fleeting. So fleeting that you wonder if it was ever there at all.

“You’re awake.” His voice is low, almost gentle, but there’s an edge to it that doesn’t match the softness of his tone. “How are you feeling?”

You swallow hard, your throat dry. You try to sit up, but dizziness hits you, forcing you to lie back down with a soft groan. Why does it feel like you’ve been asleep for an eternity? Where is this? What happened?

“Where am I?” you manage to croak, your voice rough.

Daemon’s expression shifts, but only slightly. He steps closer to the bed, his boots making no sound on the stone floor. “Dragonstone,” he says, but there’s a strange hesitance in his words, as though he’s measuring your reaction. “You were injured.

Injured? Your mind spins, but nothing clicks. How did you get here? Why can’t you remember?

A strange panic settles in your chest as you search his face, trying to understand. “What… what happened?”

Daemon leans in, his hand brushing your hair back gently, far too gently, considering the weight of his usual touch. “You had an accident. A fall. You’ve been unconscious for days.” His eyes meet yours with an intensity that almost seems too genuine. “I’m just glad you’re awake.”

But there’s something about the way he says it—too perfect, too rehearsed. You catch the faintest trace of a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, just a hint of amusement, but it’s gone before you can fully grasp it.

“Days?” you whisper, trying to process, but it doesn’t make sense. You can’t remember a thing.

He nods, but it feels more like a performance. “You’ve been through a lot. It’s only natural for you to be confused.” He watches you carefully, his eyes never leaving yours.

You’re confused, yes. But something else is gnawing at you, something you can’t quite place. Daemon’s presence here, his worry—it feels too… calculated.

“Why are you here?” The words slip from your lips before you can stop them, a mixture of frustration and fear creeping into your voice. “Why am I here? What are you doing in my room?”

For a brief moment, Daemon’s eyes flicker with surprise—then, in the next breath, his features smooth into that familiar, cold mask of his.

His lips curl into a small, practiced smile, but there’s something dark behind it. “I’m your husband, .” His voice has that edge to it, like a taunt wrapped in velvet. “I’m here because you’ve been… ill. You’re my responsibility now.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. Your husband? The confusion deepens. You don’t remember him like this—not like this.

Daemon leans closer, his voice low, deliberately soothing. “You’ve been through so much, it’s understandable you don’t remember. But don’t worry, I’ll help you through it. Whatever you need.”

His words are syrup-sweet, too sweet. He’s playing it up, putting on a show. His hand rests on the edge of the bed, so close to you, yet so far from any true comfort. His smile tightens, and you notice the glint in his eyes—it’s not concern. It’s amusement.

You look up at him, desperately trying to cling to some semblance of reality, but everything feels out of place. You feel like you’ve been swallowed by a dream, by a memory that’s not your own.

But why doesn’t it feel right? Why is everything here—his face, his words—strangely distant, like a story you can’t remember?

Daemon watches you, as if he’s waiting for you to piece it all together, and when you don’t, his expression flickers with something dark. His smirk deepens, a twisted satisfaction curling in his lips.

And what’s worse is that it feels like he’s enjoying this—enjoying the fact that you have no idea who you are anymore, or what your life with him has been.

“I’ll help you remember,” he says softly, but there’s a coldness there now, a new edge to his voice. “In time, you’ll remember everything, [Reader]. And I’ll be here to guide you through it all. Just like I always have.”

But in his eyes, there’s something darker—a hunger, a twisted satisfaction, as if he’s seeing you in a way he never has before.

You want to ask more, to question him further, but the words stick in your throat. For some reason, you’re terrified to ask what he means by ‘guide.’

As his eyes linger on yours, you begin to realize: You may not remember the past few years, but Daemon remembers everything.

And now, it seems, you’re his to control once more.

You’ve never felt better.

The haziness of the past few days has started to clear, replaced with a surprising sense of contentment. It’s almost strange how quickly everything has fallen into place. There’s a lightness in the air, a calmness in your chest you haven’t felt in… well, in a long time. You wonder if the fall you had somehow fixed all the broken pieces of your life.

You’re here, in Dragonstone, and you’re married to Prince Daemon. The man who once seemed so far out of reach, the man who held your heart when you were young. He’s your husband now, and it’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?

Everything feels perfect—too perfect.

The castle halls are warm, the servants respectful, and Daemon? He’s been nothing but attentive, nothing but gentle since your awakening. He’s been so kind, so thoughtful, that sometimes you can hardly believe this is the same man who’d once been a shadow in the corners of your heart. He’s always there when you need him, always ready to lend a hand, to reassure you. How could you ever have thought ill of him? He’s been nothing but a perfect husband.

You smile to yourself as you adjust the lace of your gown, admiring your reflection.

“Perfect,” you whisper, straightening your posture.

Your handmaidens bustle around you, adjusting the fabric, brushing your hair, but there’s something different about them today. Something in their eyes as they glance at you. They look at each other, then at you, as if you’ve just said something peculiar. You catch the way they whisper behind their hands, the tightness in their expressions.

For a moment, you stop and catch their eyes, a slight frown pulling at your brow.

“What is it?” you ask, curiosity tugging at you. “Is something wrong?”

They glance away quickly, exchanging nervous glances before one of them speaks. “Nothing, my lady,” she replies, her tone polite, but the hesitation is obvious. “It’s just… you seem… different.”

You blink, confused. “Different?”

“Yes, my lady. More…” The handmaiden hesitates, clearly uncomfortable, before finishing softly, “… more cheerful.”

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Cheerful? I’ve always been cheerful!”

The handmaidens shift uneasily. The room feels suddenly heavy, the air thick with something you can’t name.

“Of course, my lady,” another handmaiden says quickly, averting her gaze. “Forgive us, we misspoke.”

You frown as you glance at them, noticing how they avoid your gaze, how their eyes seem to linger on you, studying you with strange wariness. But that feeling slips away as quickly as it came. Why should you worry? You’re married to Prince Daemon, after all. What could possibly be wrong

You feel a surge of happiness. Why should they look at you with anything but admiration? You’ve never been this lucky, this blessed. You’re living the dream.

Daemon, your childhood crush, the man who once flirted with you in secret, is now yours. The man you’d once pined for now watches over you with a quiet intensity, his gaze always lingering on you, as though every moment with you is a treasure. It feels like a dream, and you find yourself wondering why it took you so long to get here.

The more you think about it, the more it all seems like fate—perfect, inevitable. You were meant to be his.

“Well,” you begin, your voice soft, but the authority in it firm, “I suppose I am different. But it’s only because of Prince Daemon. He’s been so… kind. I’m sure I’m the luckiest woman in Westeros.”

The handmaidens exchange another uncomfortable glance. One of them opens her mouth to speak, but falters when she sees your beaming smile.

“Are you?” she murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear.

You don’t quite catch the tone in her voice, but you brush it off. “Of course I am! How could I not be, with a husband like him?”

You walk past them, a lightness in your step, ready to find Daemon again. But just before you reach the door, you catch their glances once more. Their eyes flicker to one another—concern, confusion—and then quickly back to you, almost too quickly.

“Forgive us, my lady,” one of them says quietly. “You… seem so different. Are you sure everything is alright?”

You pause, frowning for just a moment, but the confusion quickly melts away. “I’m fine,” you reassure them, lifting your chin with a smile. “I’ve never been happier.”

But something still lingers in the air, something off. You can’t quite place it.

As you make your way down the hall, the echoes of the past few days cloud your mind, the memory of Daemon’s caring gestures, the way his gaze softens when he looks at you. You’re sure he’s never been anything but kind, anything but loving. How could he have been anything else? How could he not have loved you, especially after all the time you spent together?

And yet, something nags at you—something that feels like the faintest whisper in the back of your mind, but you can’t reach it, can’t grasp it. All you know is that you are his, and he is yours.

After all, how could anyone doubt that now?

He can hardly believe it.

He doesn’t think he’s ever been this… satisfied. Not like this. Watching her smile at him again, that same adoration in her eyes—it feels like some cruel stroke of fortune. A gift he didn’t deserve, and yet here it is. Her love, all over again. It’s laughable, really.

She doesn’t remember a thing. Not the years of bitterness, not the cold distance between them. Not the lies, the manipulation, the pain he caused her. All gone. Erased.

And he can’t say he’s sorry.

In fact, it’s the sweetest thing that could have happened. The way she looks at him, as if she’s fallen for him all over again—it’s like a twisted game, and for once, he’s winning. He could almost forget how much he enjoyed breaking her. Almost.

He lets her see the man she wants to see—the perfect, loving husband. The man who cares for her, the man who puts her first. He smiles when she smiles, reassures her when she falters. He plays the role well, doesn’t he?

But underneath the smile, the charm, there’s a twisted satisfaction bubbling up in his chest. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it’s there. He’s enjoying this. He’s enjoying her. He doesn’t even know why he let her fall so far the first time. If he’d known how sweet this would be… But then, maybe that’s the fun of it. The chase. The challenge.

It was always too easy, really. Too easy to make her want him. And now, it’s even easier.

He’s got her wrapped around his finger again, just like before, only this time, he’s smarter. He’s not the same reckless idiot he was. Now, he knows how to toy with her in a way that’s far more… satisfying.

Still, there’s something in the back of his mind—a nagging thought that he can’t quite place.

Did he miss this? Did he miss her? The feeling of her love? Her devotion?

He should laugh at the idea. But he’s not.

Perhaps it’s because he’s always had everything he wanted. But he’s never been able to make her love him the way he wanted her to, not the way he needs her to. Not until now.

She’s different now, too. There’s a certain softness in her that wasn’t there before—something almost fragile. But he’ll break that too, if he has to.

For now, though, he’ll savor it. He’ll play the dutiful husband, the man who’s been there for her every step of the way. She’s none the wiser. He’ll let her love him again, because he can. Because he deserves it.

And maybe, just maybe, he’ll give her a taste of something she’s been missing. But not too much. No, not yet.

After all, she’s his. She always will be. She just doesn’t know it yet.

The great hall was quiet save for the crackling of the hearth and the occasional clink of silverware against porcelain. A feast had been set before them—roast pheasant glazed with honey, fresh bread still warm from the ovens, spiced wine poured generously into their cups. Yet, Daemon hardly cared for the food. His appetite lay elsewhere.

His wife sat across from him, her expression soft, unguarded. The wariness she had once worn like armor was gone, stripped away by the cruel mercy of fate.

She did not remember.

Daemon reached for his goblet, tilting it idly between his fingers as he watched her. “You seem quiet tonight, wife. I had half expected you to be lecturing me on my drinking by now.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the comment. “Did I do that often?”

Daemon hummed. “Every night, I’d say. You never did approve of my habits.”

Her brows knitted slightly as she glanced down at her own untouched cup. “That does not sound like me,” she murmured. “I do not think I would be so—” she searched for the word, “—overbearing.

Daemon nearly laughed. Oh, sweet girl, you do not know yourself at all, do you?

He leaned back in his chair, stretching out like a lazy cat as he watched her. “No, of course not. You were only ever concerned for my well-being.”

She smiled, pleased by the sentiment, but the servant standing in the corner of the room—a young woman who had served them for years—visibly tensed. She knows, Daemon thought idly. She remembers the nights you stormed from this very table, your eyes burning with fury. The nights I baited you into fights just to hear you spit venom at me.

“You care for me, don’t you?” Daemon asked, voice smooth as silk.

His wife’s head lifted, her expression open, unguarded. “Of course, I do.”

Such an easy, automatic answer. Once, she would have hesitated—she would have lied

Daemon tilted his head, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips. “Even though I am insufferable? A rogue? A heartless man?”

She gave a breathy laugh. “Is that how you see yourself?

“Oh, I have been called worse.”

“And did I call you such things?”

Daemon’s smirk deepened. “You had your fair share of words for me, my love.”

She frowned slightly, like she wanted to argue, but her mind was blank. No memories, no flashes of anger, nothing but the present moment.

A silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken truths. Then, Daemon reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers—light, deliberate. A test.

Once, she would have recoiled. Tonight, she stilled, her gaze flickering down to their hands.

Daemon did not move. He simply watched, waiting.

And then, slowly, she relaxed.

Her fingers did not pull away. If anything, they curled slightly, tentative but welcoming.

Daemon exhaled through his nose, something dark and triumphant coiling in his chest.

“You always did prefer the finer things in life,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. “Perhaps that is why you married me.”

She gave a small laugh, tilting her head. “Did I love you, Daemon?”

The question was so soft, so uncertain.

Daemon smiled—his most charming, disarming smile. “More than anything.”

She smiled back. Naïve. Unknowing.

And Daemon knew then—he would make her love him again.

The firelight flickered low in Daemon’s chambers when the door creaked open. He didn’t turn at first—he didn’t need to. He knew that soft gait, the way the silence shifted when she was near.

She stepped inside like a shadow chasing warmth, her nightgown brushing the floor, her arms wrapped tightly around her own frame.

“Daemon,” she whispered, hesitant, almost ashamed.

He finally looked at her, lounging by the fire with a goblet in hand, legs sprawled lazily—too at ease, too knowing.

“You should be resting,” he said, voice low and casual, yet laced with that ever-present drawl of superiority. “The maesters said your head still aches.”

She approached slowly, guilt blooming across her face like a bruise. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He tilted his head, watching her closely.

“I’ve… been thinking about what you said,” she murmured, eyes searching his face. “About how things between us weren’t always so kind. That I—” her voice caught, trembling. “That I changed. I don’t remember it, but if I hurt you—if I failed as your wife—I am so sorry.”

Daemon didn’t speak. He sipped his wine and watched her unravel.

“I just— I look at you, and I feel so much. I feel like I loved you, once. I want to be the wife you deserve again.” Her voice was thick with tears now, desperate and pure.

He finally stood, slowly, setting the goblet down with a soft clink. “You were cruel,” he said, voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous. “Distant. Cold. Always turning your back on me.”

Her lip trembled, eyes wide with pain. “I don’t know why I would ever do that…”

“I don’t know either,” he said, drawing close, brushing a thumb beneath her chin. “But now… gods, now look at you.”

He leaned in just enough to let his breath kiss her cheek. “Begging to be mine again. Sweet and soft. So willing to make amends for things you don’t even remember doing.”

She nodded, tears spilling freely now as she leaned into his hand. “Let me try again, Daemon. Please.”

He smiled, slow and wicked, not with warmth—but victory.

“Oh, my love,” he said, tilting her chin up further. “You already are.”

And as he kissed her temple, holding her like she was fragile glass, only he knew just how thoroughly she had been broken—and rebuilt to his liking.

You stood in the middle of Daemon’s chambers, the fire casting flickering shadows against the stone walls, your night robe falling loose at the shoulders. You had come to him willingly. Begging for his forgiveness, eager to please, convinced you were the reason your marriage had withered into ice and silence. And he had welcomed you back into his arms like a serpent cloaked in silk—warm, beguiling, but venomous. Now he was certain of your loyalty, it was time to push you, test you truly. Seating himself back down, wine in hand

Now, his gaze pinned you in place as he sat, legs spread wide in a relaxed sprawl, sipping from a goblet of wine, the very image of a man who held the world beneath his thumb. You had given him all your guilt. He was basking in it.

“Look at you,” Daemon said lowly, voice almost purring. “So sweet tonight. So eager to crawl back to your husband’s feet.”

You swallowed, your hands tightening at your sides. “I want to make things right,” you whispered. “I want… us to be whole again.”

He stood then, slow and deliberate, the sound of his boots against the stone deafening in the still room. He came to you like a storm rolling in, lazy and inevitable, and cupped your jaw with one hand, thumb brushing the curve of your cheek.

“And how do you intend to do that, sweet wife?” His tone was gentle, but laced with something darker. Amusement. Hunger. “Tell me—what would you do to prove your loyalty? To remind me you are mine?”

Your lips parted to respond, but he was already moving, crowding you backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed. His fingers ghosted down your arm, slow and possessive.

“You’ve been doubting me,” he said, the warmth in his voice hardening. “Our son… your questions… You don’t trust me. Again.”

“No—I didn’t mean it like that,” you rushed, heart racing. “It was only a moment. I was just confused—”

“Confused,” he echoed, voice thick with mockery. “That’s always been your problem, hasn’t it? Too soft, too trusting of whispers. But not mine.” He leaned in, nose brushing yours. “Not your husband’s.”

You were trembling, not from fear, but from the press of his words, the way he knew just how to pull guilt from your throat like a thread. You shook your head, desperate to fix whatever wound you’d scratched open.

“I do trust you, Daemon,” you said breathlessly.

He smiled—slow, dangerous.

“Then show me.”

“You come crawling back to me,” he murmured, voice velvet and venom. He circled you slowly, like a predator enjoying the fear of its prey. “And yet you hesitate. Why? Have you remembered something?”

You shook your head. “No. But—” Your voice trembled, and he stepped in closer.

“But you doubt me,” he said for you, with a tsk and a mock-hurt frown. “Even now, after I’ve let you back into my bed. After I’ve been nothing but good to you.” His hand brushed your shoulder—gentle, but it lingered too long to be innocent. “You’re starting to turn on me again, aren’t you?”

You swallowed hard, unable to meet his eyes. “I’m just trying to understand.”

Daemon tilted your chin up with a single finger. “No,” he said lowly. “You’re trying to leave me. Again.”

“I’m not,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

He leaned down, breath ghosting against your ear. “Then show me. Show me you’re mine.”

His breath was hot, intoxicating. Your thoughts swam as you whispered, “I’m yours.”

And that was all he needed

Your heart lurched, torn between the flicker of doubt and the heat that pooled in your belly. He always knew how to walk the knife’s edge of tenderness and threat—twisting your guilt, your confusion, into desire.

His hand slid down your arm, trailing slowly, until he reached your fingers. He pulled them to his lips, brushing a kiss to your knuckles. “Come now, my sweet girl,” he purred. “Did you forget how well you serve me?”

His words made your skin burn. You hated how much they affected you—how much he affected you.

“I…” You faltered.

Daemon stepped closer, chest almost touching yours now. “You don’t need to remember everything,” he said, gaze flicking down to your parted lips. “Just remember who you belong to.”

The weight of his dominance pressed against you—just shy of cruel. You could feel yourself slipping again, the way you always did around him. And Daemon… he relished it. Every inch of your hesitation was another victory.

You hardly knew when Daemon moved. One moment he was standing before you, dark eyes heavy-lidded with something deeper, hungrier. The next, his body pressed yours flush against the carved post of the bed, caging you there, his hands braced on either side of your head.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, voice low and seeping into your skin. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched. His presence was overwhelming, stealing all the air from your lungs, your mind. Still, you managed a broken whisper, “I’m yours.”

His mouth curved — not kindly. Triumphant. As if you’d offered him something sacred he already knew belonged to him. His hand slipped under your chin, tilting your face up cruelly tender.

“Louder,” he ordered, nose brushing against yours. “So there’s no doubt. So you don’t forget again.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, louder now, your voice trembling.

He kissed you — hard, bruising — devouring your mouth with a hunger barely contained, teeth grazing your lip until it stung. You whimpered into him, clutching at his shoulders without thinking. It only made him chuckle darkly, a sound vibrating in his chest.

Daemon tugged at the laces of your gown with rough, deliberate fingers, peeling you from the fabric inch by slow inch. He dragged his touch down your arms, your sides, watching as gooseflesh followed in his wake. His hands didn’t shake — no, he was a man utterly in control, savoring the sight of you bared to him, shivering under his gaze.

“Look at you,” he rasped, palming your waist, your hips. “Meek little thing… begging without even knowing it.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, shame and desire intertwining until you couldn’t tell one from the other.

He guided you back onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. Daemon followed, looming over you like a shadow, stealing the last slivers of your will. His mouth mapped a rough, claiming path along your throat, your collarbone, murmuring filthy, possessive things you barely understood through the fog clouding your mind.

“My good little wife,” he said against your skin. “Mine to ruin. Mine to keep.”,.

When he finally took you, it was not with gentleness. It was with purpose — staking his claim in the most primal way possible. His hands never left you, grounding you, trapping you. Every thrust, every breathless kiss was a reminder: you belonged to him, and him alone.

You wept softly — not from pain, but from the overwhelming, terrifying love of it. And Daemon — he licked the tears from your cheeks with a cruel, reverent smile, savoring them as much as he savored you.

When it was over, and you lay panting beneath him, thoroughly undone, Daemon kissed the corner of your mouth lazily, smugly.

“No one else will have you now,” he said, thumb brushing your swollen bottom lip. “Only me.”

And gods help you — some naive, desperate part of you was glad for it.

Daemons fingers trailed down your side, slow enough to make you shiver — not from fear anymore, but from aching, heavy need.

You still struggled a little, stubborn thing that you were, and he loved it. Loved how defiant you tried to be when your body was already betraying you, already arching into every brush of his touch.

“Still fighting me?” he murmured, almost fond, almost pitying. His palm flattened against your lower stomach, pressing you firmly against the wall, pinning you with just the heat of his body.

His other hand slipped between your thighs, two fingers dragging a deliberate, teasing line up the seam of your undergarment — already damp, already clinging to you.

“Tch,” he clicked his tongue, voice thick with mock disappointment. “So messy already… and you want me to believe you don’t need me?”

Your hips bucked instinctively against his hand, desperate for more friction. His mouth curved into a cruel, devastating smile.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Daemon purred, pressing harder against your throbbing cunt. “Show me how much you need it.”

You whimpered, biting your lip, shaking your head — no, no, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction —

but he just chuckled, low and wicked, and slipped his hand inside your undergarments anyway.

The first brush of his fingers against your slick folds had your knees buckling. You sobbed, hands yanking uselessly at his grip above your head.

“So sensitive,” Daemon cooed, dragging slow, lazy circles over your clit. “Poor thing. So easy to break.”

Your thighs trembled, already on the edge, and he hadn’t even really touched you yet.

He leaned in, breath ghosting hot over your lips.

“You gonna cum just from my fingers, Little one ?” he whispered. “From just a little bit of attention?

How pathetic. How perfect.”

You let out a broken, high sound — half-cry, half-moan — as he slid two thick fingers inside you, slow and deep, pressing against that spongy, aching spot inside that made your whole body jerk.

“Fuck,” Daemon groaned under his breath, watching you come undone. “Tight little thing.

You’re mine, aren’t you? Made for me.”

You nodded frantically this time, mind swimming, hips grinding down on his hand like you couldn’t stop yourself.

His fingers sped up, relentless now, ruthless. The wet, obscene sounds filled the small space between you, your whimpering gasps getting louder, sloppier.

“There we go,” he rasped, forehead pressed against yours, eyes blazing. “No thoughts left, huh? Just my fingers, just my voice.”

You were babbling now — you weren’t even sure what you were saying — and Daemon drank it in, groaning as he curled his fingers just right.

“You’re gonna cum for me, Little one ,” he said, a dark, filthy promise.

“You’re gonna cum so hard, you’ll forget your own name.

You’ll only remember me.”

And when you broke apart in his arms, sobbing and shuddering, Daemon just held you there, kissing you slow and deep, hand still teasing between your thighs, pushing you through every dizzying, devastating aftershock.

“Good girl,” he whispered against your lips, voice rough with hunger.

“Such a good little thing for me.”

You barely had time to recover — barely had time to breathe — before Daemon was tugging your undergarments down your trembling legs and untying his pants with a low, hungry sound.

“Still shaking, wife,” he teased, voice thick, rough, wrecked with the sight of you. “And I haven’t even given you what you really need yet.”

You tried to speak — to say please or wait — but all that came out was a whimper, your body betraying you again as your hips lifted toward him in offering, mindless and needy.

“That’s it,” Daemon murmured, almost reverent now, as he lined the heavy, leaking head of his cock up with your soaked entrance. “That’s my good girl.”

He didn’t ease in.

He split you open in one deep, brutal thrust — and you screamed, high and broken, the stretch and the overwhelming fullness making your nails claw helplessly at his shoulders.

“Shhh, wife,” Daemon groaned against your throat, starting to fuck into you slow but deep, dragging every thick inch out before slamming back inside. “You’re doing so good.

Taking it all so pretty.”

You were crying now — hot, overwhelmed tears spilling down your cheeks — and he loved it, god, he loved how ruined you looked, how desperately you clung to him, how the only thing in your head now was himhimhim.

“Look at you,” he breathed, thrusts speeding up, pounding deep, sharp into your sweet, overstimulated cunt. “All fucked-out already.

Not so mouthy now, huh?”

You could only sob and moan, legs locking around his waist like you were scared he’d ever leave you empty again.

Daemon kissed your wet cheeks, your slack, open mouth, still driving into you with merciless, perfect rhythm.

“You’re mine now,” he hissed against your lips. “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you cried, voice high and ragged. “Yours, yours, yours—”

And when you came again, clenching down around him so tight he cursed through his teeth, Daemon fucked you straight through it, relentless, ruthless, almost tender in his cruelty.

“That’s right,” he growled, fucking you harder, your cunt fluttering and milking him. “Cry for me, wife. Let everyone know who ruined you.”

You were nothing now but broken gasps and wet, desperate sounds, babbling his name like a prayer.

“Again,” he said, voice dark and thick with obsession. “Say it again.”

“Yours, daemon ,” you sobbed, grabbing at him, holding him close like he was the only thing keeping you alive. “Only yours.”

His groan was guttural, primal — and then he was spilling inside you, hips jerking, driving his cock as deep as it could go, flooding you full of him until you felt like you’d never be able to forget this feeling, this fullness, this claim.

He didn’t let you go, even when the last spasms of pleasure shook through you.

Just held you there, pinned between his body and the wall, forehead pressed to yours, whispering filthy, possessive promises into your ear.

“You’re mine now, sweet girl,” he murmured, voice almost tender if it weren’t so dark. “Mine to fuck, mine to break, mine to worship.

You’ll never want anyone else again.”

And the worst part?

You knew it was true.

You didn’t want anyone else.

You only wantedDaemon

Forever.

[manmuncher777]

hihi love your work in filthy with dante! wondering if I could request a tattoo artist!dante x fem reader? no specific request other than pure filth :))

excited to see what you cook up!! >;)

Hello my love!!! Thank you so much im so glad you liked it, and of course I can!! When I tell you I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy xxx

FIRST TIME

Dante Sparda x reader SMUT MDNI

You were already regretting wearing a short skirt.

The leather of the couch stuck to the back of your thighs as you shifted, trying to sit like a normal, composed adult while he leaned back behind the counter, spinning a pen between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

Dante Sparda.

He wasn’t what you expected when you called the studio asking for an appointment. The rough, husky voice on the phone matched the image in your head—sure—but seeing him in person? Way worse. Or better. Depending on how many brain cells you had left to rub together.

Silver hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. A cigarette behind one ear. Tattoos peeking out from the open collar of his black button-up. One ring on his thumb, one on his pinky, and a cocky smile that was probably illegal in several countries.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice like velvet-coated sin. “What are we thinkin’? Name? Flower? Something cute to match the lip gloss?”

You blinked, nearly choking on your spit. “Um—wha—no. Not a name. It’s… it’s just a little symbol. Something small. Meaningful.”

“Mysterious.” He grinned, sliding a notepad toward you, long fingers brushing yours. “Show me what you’re thinkin’.”

You handed him your shitty sketch, and he nodded like it wasn’t the most amateur thing he’d ever seen. His thumb dragged slowly along the edge of the paper, gaze flicking from the design to your bare thigh as you tried not to fidget.

“Inner thigh, huh?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. “Pretty bold placement for your first.”

You swallowed. “I wanted it… close. Private.”

“Mm.” His smile widened, eyes sharp beneath those lashes. “Let me guess—you like the thrill. Somethin’ that gets your heart racin’. Little danger, little pleasure.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except a breathy “maybe.”

His chair creaked as he leaned forward, all inked arms and hungry eyes.

“Come in tomorrow night,” he said, tone lower now. “After hours. We’ll get it just right. Take our time.”

Your heart skipped. “After hours?”

“Sure. You’ll be my last of the day.” His eyes dropped to your legs, a glint in them you couldn’t ignore. “I like takin’ my time with pretty things.”

You left the studio twenty minutes later, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, and your name scribbled in black ink on the studio calendar.

Friday, 8 PM. Dante—after hours.

You already knew this tattoo would ruin you.

The bell above the studio door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your sandals clicking against the worn hardwood. The place was dim, cozy—lit mostly by warm overhead lights and the glow of a neon devil sign hanging in the corner. The air smelled like clean leather and something smoky, something expensive.

“Evenin’, sweetheart.”

Dante’s voice floated from the back room before he even appeared. You barely had a second to prepare before he stepped out, stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap. His black tee clung to him like a second skin, revealing the sharp cut of his torso, and his silver hair was messy in the artfully fucked-up kind of way.

“Y-you’re here alone?” you asked, setting your bag down on the little couch in the corner.

He smirked, locking the door behind you with a loud click. “Course. Told you this was a private session. You nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped.

“A little,” you admitted, smoothing your hands over the hem of your skirt. It was too short. You knew that. But you also knew exactly what you were doing.

Dante’s gaze dropped for a second—slow, deliberate—before he turned and headed for his station. “That’s normal. I’ll take good care of you.”

You swallowed hard, watching him move around the space with lazy confidence, setting up the machine, pulling out fresh needles, arranging the ink caps. He whistled as he worked, glancing over at you every so often.

“You bring the design?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, stepping over and handing him the refined sketch he’d drawn up at the consultation. Your fingers brushed, just for a second, and his eyes caught yours with that same sharp, hungry glint.

“Perfect,” he murmured, lips curling. “Let’s get that stencil prepped.”

He took his time, dragging the design through transfer paper, swiping alcohol onto the inside of your thigh where the tattoo would go. His fingers were warm, gloved, but the touch was intimate—his thumb lingering longer than necessary as he looked up at you from his crouched position.

“This okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, heartbeat rattling in your ears. “Yeah. Just… sensitive there.”

“Mm. Lucky me.” He smirked again, standing back up and tossing the stencil paper to the side. “Lay back when you’re ready. Won’t bite.”

You weren’t so sure about that.

As you climbed onto the chair, lying back with your leg bent open just enough for him to work, you caught his gaze flicking back to your mouth, your throat, your thighs.

And when he leaned in with the stencil, brushing it carefully onto your skin, he whispered, “Gotta keep real still for me now, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna mess up my art.”

The air crackled with tension. Every breath felt too loud. And you knew—deep down—you were already in so much trouble.

You laid back on the leather chair, thigh slightly turned to give him access, breath catching as Dante sat between your legs, gloves snapping on with a smirk that sent heat straight to your core.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, flipping the machine on. The low buzz filled the room, making your spine tighten.

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, trying to look anywhere but at his face. His stupidly hot, sharp-jawed, half-lidded face.

“You’re doing good already, and I haven’t even touched you,” he chuckled, eyes dropping to your thigh. “This’ll sting at first, but I promise I’ll make it quick and clean.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your heart thudded, and not just from nerves. The position—the way his body brushed against your knee as he leaned in, how his breath ghosted over your skin, how close his hands were to everything dangerous—was making it impossible to breathe.

And then—

The needle pressed in.

Your fingers clenched the edges of the chair as the buzz crawled up your leg. It wasn’t unbearable. But it wasn’t nothing, either. Especially not with the way Dante was holding you still, his free hand firm on your thigh, palm wide and warm.

“There we go,” he said, voice lower now, something smooth sliding beneath it. “Takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ. Told you you’d be perfect for me.”

A whimper crawled up your throat—choked down fast.

The buzz continued, dancing over your skin in a steady rhythm. Every time he shifted, every time his arm brushed your leg, you felt it. The vibrations weren’t just in your thigh now. They traveled. Warm. Deep. Aching.

“You’re shivering,” he noted after a minute, tilting his head without pausing his work. “That nervous still?”

You opened your mouth—yes, that was the safe answer—but he cut you off with a quiet hum, like he already knew.

His fingers tightened just slightly on your skin.

“Feels kinda good though, doesn’t it?” he murmured, not looking up. “Little vibration. Little pain. You’re squeezin’ that seat like I’m doin’ something worse.”

Your face flamed. “I-I’m fine,” you lied, breath coming quick.

Dante smiled lazily, tongue grazing his teeth as he glanced up at you. “Mmm. Sure you are.”

The machine kept buzzing. His hands never stopped. But now he was watching you more than the stencil, gauging every flutter of your lashes, every sharp breath, every twitch of your thighs.

And beneath it all, that cocky, teasing glint stayed in his eyes—like he knew.

Like he knew exactly how wet you were getting from this.

The buzzing finally stopped, leaving the room in a heavy, weighted silence. Your pulse still throbbed in your thighs, heart hammering in your chest as Dante leaned back to admire his work, tongue pressed to his cheek in approval.

“You killed it, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, like he’d just smoked you in.

You tried to nod, tried to offer a smile, but your brain was swimming. You could still feel the echo of the vibrations deep between your legs. Still feel the warmth of his hands. Still feel how close he’d gotten—how close he still was.

Dante set the machine down and reached for the wrap, leaning back in. His gloved fingers skimmed your inner thigh, brushing just a little too high on accident—or maybe not.

But it was enough.

You gasped. Sharp. Involuntary. A pathetic little moan bubbling out before you could swallow it.

And everything snapped.

Dante froze.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours. They were darker now. Hungrier. “…You moaned.”

Your lips parted, embarrassment flooding your face. “I didn’t—”

“Yeah you did,” he said, voice low, velvet-smooth and wicked. He stood, peeled off his gloves, and let them drop to the tray with a quiet snap. “You’ve been squirming in that chair for the past hour. I thought maybe you were just a little sensitive.”

He stepped closer.

“But now I know,” he murmured, hand coming to grip the edge of the chair beside your head as he leaned over you, “you’ve been dripping wet this whole time, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, back arching slightly.

His other hand trailed up your exposed thigh again, this time deliberate. Confident. Claiming.

“Jesus,” he hissed through his teeth when his fingers brushed the damp cotton between your legs. “You’re soaked.”

Your hands flew to his chest, but not to push him away. You tugged him closer, thighs parting instinctively.

“You gonna let me fuck you right here in this chair, baby?” he asked, nose brushing your cheek. “That what you’ve been wanting?”

You nodded fast—shameless, frantic.

Dante groaned, his mouth crashing to yours. His hands were rough now, hungry, pulling at the waistband of your skirt, yanking it down as you kicked your sneakers off the sides of the chair.

“Could’ve told me earlier,” he growled against your lips. “Would’ve had you sittin’ on my cock while I tattooed you.”

He dropped to his knees, dragged your panties down with his teeth, eyes locked on your soaked core. “Fuck. Pink little pussy—so pretty for me.”

Your fingers gripped the back of the chair, breath ragged. “Dante—”

He didn’t let you speak. He buried his face between your thighs, tongue working you over with such filthy, open-mouthed hunger that your head hit the leather with a loud thud. It was messy, wet, his stubble scraping your skin just right as his hands gripped your thighs like a man starved.

And when he finally stood again, licking his lips, undoing his belt?

You already knew you weren’t walking out of that shop without at least one more mark on your body—and it wasn’t going to be the tattoo.

The chair scraped behind you as Dante grabbed your waist and spun you around like you weighed nothing. Before you could catch your breath, he had you bent over the workbench—palms flat on the cold steel, tits pressing into scattered ink caps and a few loose sketch pages.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice a rasp just above a growl.

You didn’t even breathe. His hand slid up your spine, slow, rough, until he was fisting your hair and pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“God, look at you… still twitchin’ from the tattoo and now I got you bent over my fuckin’ table like a goddamn reward.”

You moaned, clenching around nothing.

Your skirt was already gone. Your panties? Still hanging off one ankle like some pathetic afterthought. And Dante didn’t bother taking his jeans all the way off—just enough to free his cock, heavy and leaking as he dragged it between your folds with a low hiss.

“You feel that?” he muttered, rubbing the head right against your soaked entrance. “How fuckin’ needy you are for it?”

“Please,” you gasped, the word cracking on your tongue.

“Yeah, baby? You want it that bad?” He pressed in—just the tip—and then pulled back, just to make you wail. “Then beg for it.”

“Dante, I—I need it, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, slapping your ass so hard it echoed off the brick walls. “You’ve been dripping for me since I turned the machine on. You can take every inch.”

And then he slammed into you.

Your cry was ragged, face twisted against the steel as he buried himself to the hilt, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other stayed tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, baby—tight little thing, grippin’ me like you own me.”

He started to move, and it was vicious. Deep, punishing thrusts that shoved the table an inch every time he bottomed out. The slap of skin was obscene. The sound of you whining his name? Even worse.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty bent over my bench like this,” Dante panted, hips snapping. “Makin’ a fuckin’ mess on my floor—gonna have to mop it up later.”

You sobbed, arching, body trembling from overstimulation and pleasure so intense it hurt.

And then his hand slid down. Fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, and you nearly collapsed.

“Yeah,” he hissed, “that’s it, baby. Come for me. All over my cock. Right here, where anyone could walk in and see you bein’ such a good little slut.”

You shattered.

Legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream as you came around him, thighs soaked and body limp—but Dante didn’t stop. He chased his own release, slamming into you harder, filth pouring from his mouth.

“Gonna fuck you stupid—gonna ruin that new tattoo—god fuck, I’m close—”

And with a low growl, he came deep inside you, holding you down to the workbench as he pulsed, cock twitching, breath hot against your neck.

For a long second, there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and tattoo ink bottles rattling from the aftershocks.

Then his lips pressed to your ear.

“So… when you comin’ back for your second piece, sweetheart?”

[manmuncher777]

You didn’t even think twice when you sent the picture to Ino — something a little bratty, a little teasing, just enough skin to make him crazy.

It was harmless, right?

Wrong.

Because he’s storming through the door not even an hour later, keys clattering to the floor, jaw tight and fists clenching at his sides as he stares at you across the room like you’re a meal he’s about to tear apart

“That’s how you wanna play it, huh?” he mutters, voice low, strained like he’s trying to hold himself together — and failing. He’s already crowding you against the wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip so tight you gasp.

“You know what you do to me, sweetheart? You know what sending shit like that does to me when I’m trying to work?” His mouth is right by your ear now, hot breath making you shiver. “I couldn’t think straight all goddamn day. Could barely keep my hands off myself because of you. Nanami sent me home early because I was so fucked”

Your teasing smile falters when you feel how hard he is, already grinding against your thigh like he can’t stand a single inch of space between you.

“You want attention so bad, huh?” Ino murmurs, almost mockingly sweet. His hand slides up your thigh, slow and deliberate, making you squirm. “S’that it? Needed me so bad you had to act out like a little brat?”

He huffs a breath — frustrated, needy — and nips your jaw as he rocks his hips against you harder.

“I’ll give you what you want, baby. I’ll give you everything.” His voice cracks a little at the end, all that need slipping through, even though he’s still pretending he’s in control. “But you’re not gonna walk right for days after this. You hear me?”

And when he finally drags you to the bedroom, he’s half-groaning, half-muttering under his breath about how you’re gonna be the death of him — while he ruins you like he’s the one begging for it.

He doesn’t even make it to the bed properly — you’re still half-stumbling backward when Ino grabs you, tossing you onto the mattress like you weigh nothing. His shirt’s already halfway off, hair a messy halo around his face, his chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon chasing you.

“You wanna be a fuckin’ tease, baby?” he grunts, hands already tugging your bottoms down. He’s rough but careful, manhandling you like he can’t decide if he wants to wreck you or worship you. “This what you wanted all day? To drive me crazy till I couldn’t think straight?”

You barely get out a breathy “yes” before he’s diving between your thighs, dragging his tongue along your already-dripping heat with a low, guttural groan.

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he growls, almost angry about it. “S’this all for me? Huh, sweetheart?”

You can only whimper, clenching the sheets as he eats you like he’s starving — messy, desperate, insatiable. Every roll of his tongue feels like he’s trying to make up for the hours he spent at work frustrated and hard because of you.

He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, mouth shiny.

“You better be ready, baby.’

He’s stripping his pants off in a rush, cock springing free — thick, leaking, angry red at the tip. You don’t even get a second to catch your breath before he’s dragging you down the bed, lifting your hips up and lining himself against your entrance with a low, shuddery moan.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he mutters, voice cracking again from how desperate he is. He pushes in slow, almost reverently, but once he’s buried to the hilt inside you, all bets are off.

He fucks into you hard, relentless, every thrust punching soft little gasps from your lips.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, biting down on your shoulder like he has to ground himself somehow. “You were made for me, baby. Made to be fucked like this. Shit.”

You’re babbling now, clutching at his shoulders, eyes rolling back with how deep he’s hitting.

“Yeah? S’that what you wanted?” he pants, thrusts getting rougher, more erratic. “Wanted me to come home and ruin you? Wanted me so bad you couldn’t behave, huh?”

“Y-Yeah,” you cry out, tears brimming from the intensity of it all.

“Fuck, I know, baby, I know,” he coos mockingly, licking a stripe up your neck. “Poor thing, just needed me so bad.”

His hand slips between your bodies, rubbing messy, fast circles over your clit, drawing high-pitched whines from your throat.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Come all over my cock like a good fuckin’ girl,” he demands, voice low and wrecked.

You shatter with a scream, back arching off the bed, squeezing him so tight he almost sobs. He fucks you through it, chasing his own high, until he’s spilling inside you with a broken, desperate moan, thrusting a few more times just to feel you cling to him.

When he finally collapses over you, both of you a sweaty, trembling mess, he’s still pressing soft kisses to your temple.

“Gonna have to start sending me more pictures, baby,” he breathes out, a lazy, satisfied smirk on his lips. “Fuckin’ love it when you act up like that.”

[manmuncher777]

Just absolutely feral thinking about Gojo with a bimbo pretty pink reader. He’s so obsessed with her, just her innate femininity. Such a nice break from his harsh life outside of her.

So of course hes taking every second he can just to show her how much he loves her, how much he want to worship her.

Even if that involves spreading her out on his lap infront of a mirror, just so she can see exactly how obsessed he is.

Soft kisses are being pressed delicately down the stretch of your neck, marking the skin with small marks and bruises that will soon darken. But it hard to concentrate on the feeling when all you can see is your boyfriend knuckle deep inside your dripping cunt

Yet another pathetic whine is being ripped from your throat at the sight, so dirty, yet you cant seem to tear yourself away from the reflection in front of you.

Not as if you could anyway, your thighs thrown over your boyfriends much larger ones, pink little skirt dragged up and now sitting around your waist.

Leaving your pretty little pussy out in the open. Satoru’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pinning your back to his chiselled front.

“Fuck” Satoru groans, mouth pressing into your shoulder, but you can see his eyes, trained on you. Watching your every move in the reflection.

“Look at you baby, pretty little thing sitting so perfect for me”

You cant do anything but sit there and take whats hes giving you, nails digging into his thighs while you did your best to still yourself. But tthe feeling of his thick digits dragging through your welcoming walls had your hips bucking uncontrollably.

“Toru~” you gasp, not exactly sure what you asking for, mind numbing with the pleasure.

“‘Shhh I know baby” he soothes, undecided on whether he wants to watch your pretty face screw up with pleasure, of if he wants to watch your greedy little cunt suck his fingers in deeper and deeper with each thrust. He cant help himself from moaning at the feeling, his cock pressing eagerly against your back, pretty pink tip starting to form sticky pearl of pre. But he wasn’t worries about that now, he just wanted to see you feel good.

And he was doing a good job at that, soft whines of him name leaving your mouth over and over like a prayer as he brought you closer and closer to the edge

“Look at that face hmm? You close baby” his lips pressing against your ear, knowing damn well hes not going to get an answer from you. “That’s the face you make before you come, right pretty girl?”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and that because hes right, he knows he right. He can feel it in the way you’re squeezing him, the way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan.

Your nails dig into his thighs even harder now, unaware of the pressure you’re applying. Just trying to use the man beneath you to ground yourself. Especially with his thumb now pressing into your puffy clit, the sensation eliciting a shriek from you when he does.

“That’s it baby, cum for me.” His eyes trained on your face now, making eyecontact with you in reflection. Unable to bring yourself away from his stare. He’s whispering filthily in your ear now, doing everything he can to tip you over the edge “come on sweets, wanna see how pretty you look when I make you lose it”

And you do exactly that - back arching and eyes fluttering as he fucks you through your high. A broken moan of his name leaves your lips as you soak his fingers, walls fluttering around him as he moans at the sight. Staring at your reflection, beautiful and ruined

“Shit” he breathes, voice hoarse, “I could watch you like this forever”

REQUESTS OPEN 🔥

[manmuncher777]

Floating

✧༺ Dealer Suguru x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings - high sex, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, possesive Suguru

✧༺ a/n i got high for the second time in my life, and got a violent urge to write this. Enjoy

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the buzz of the city. Geto was already sprawled on the battered couch, one arm thrown over the back lazily, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you kick off your shoes. Walking into his place now was like second nature, like you lived there yourself.

“You’re late,” he drawled, voice rough and deep, velvet-wrapped amusement.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your bag onto the counter. “You say that like you charge by the minute.”

He chuckled, low and teasing. “Maybe I should. You know… find ways to punish bad clients.”

Heat curled under your skin. You hated how easily he could do that — make one stupid comment and have your stomach flipping like you were some clueless college girl with a crush. You pushed it down, lifting your chin like you weren’t dying inside. He tended to have that effect on you, despite how long you had known him now, you could never get used to his charm. You remember when you first got in contact, your friend passing his details along as a reliable dealer. You picked up from him and left a blushing mess that day, picking up once a week just for a little weekend relaxation soon became chatting for an hour, then leaving, and that soon became staying for hours at his place, smoking together.

“Shut up and roll,” you muttered, grabbing a half-full water bottle and plopping down next to him. Maybe a little too close. Maybe close enough to brush his thigh with yours — but you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

You swore you saw the way his eyes flicked down, taking in the way your bare legs brushed his jeans, the hem of your skirt riding up from how you sat. You ignored it, because if you paid attention to it you’d lose the upper hand. If you even had the upper hand.

Every time you met him it felt like some sort of competition, some kind of test, to see who would break first. An unspoken tension that you guys have never addressed.

“Bossy tonight, huh?” he mused, slow fingers already breaking up the bud like he’d done it a thousand times before — and he had. For you. For both of you. “Gotta say, sweetheart, it’s a little hot.” His eyes flicking over to you, signature lazy smirk on his grace as he spoke. Throwing around flirty comments was typical for your little smoke sessions.

“You’re disgusting,” you giggled lightly, reaching for your lighter and fiddling with it just to give your hands something to do.

“Yeah,” Geto agreed easily, sparking the joint and inhaling, his lips wrapping around the paper so sinfully you had to look away before you embarrassed yourself. “And you love it.”

He was entrancing, you couldn’t help but watch his every move, his huge hand gestured for the lighter you were fiddling with, before lighting the joint careful ling. The burning orange from your shitty bid lighter highlighted his face in the dimly lit room. Trails of smoke curling away from his mouth as he took a few hits

You scoffed, taking the joint when he offered it. Your fingers brushed — spark — and you tried not to shiver as you brought it to your mouth. His gaze stayed heavy on you the whole time, making it impossible to pretend you were unaffected.

The smoke was harsh on your throat, making you cough a little, and when you handed it back to him, his smile widened. Lazy. Knowing.

“Lightweight,” he teased.

“I’m literally the reason you’re here,” you muttered, leaning back against the couch. “If anything, you should be grateful.”

“Grateful,” Geto repeated, tilting his head like he was seriously considering it. His hair was loose tonight, strands falling into his face, and your fingers itched with the urge to push it back. “I guess I should be. You make it… interesting.”

You didn’t answer — mostly because your brain had short-circuited. Instead you took another hit, hoping the creeping warmth of the high would drown out the way he was looking at you.

It didn’t.

Because Geto shifted closer, real casual, like he wasn’t doing it on purpose — but he was. You could smell his cologne, that smoky, spicy smell that always clung to him, that always clung to you after nights like this.

“So,” he said, voice dropping a little, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. “You ever gonna admit you like me, or am I gonna have to keep dragging it out of you every night?”

Your heart lurched, thudding painfully against your ribs. You fought the urge to stammer, to blush like an idiot. Instead, you cocked an eyebrow at him, feigning boredom even as your skin burned.

“Dream on, dealer boy.”

Geto laughed, low and rich, and leaned in just a little more. Close enough that you could see the tiny glint of his lip piercing, the way it caught the light when he smiled like that — like he already knew he was going to ruin you eventually.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, voice thick with lazy affection — or maybe something worse. Something that made your stomach twist and your thighs press together. “You’re the only one I do this with”

He passed the joint back to you. His fingers brushed yours again — longer this time, deliberate — and you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t want to.

“You mean I’m your favourite regular?” You gasp, feigning shock as you spoke “guess I am a lucky girl then”

A few more hits were shared, and as the minutes ticked on, you could feel the familiar buzz beneath your skin

The high hit you harder than usual — a slow, syrupy pull that made your skin feel too sensitive, your head too light. You sank deeper into the couch, warmth spreading in your limbs, and somewhere under it all, him.

Geto sat across from you, one arm thrown lazily over the back of the couch, the other lifting the blunt to his mouth. His hair was tied back, loose strands framing his face — stupidly gorgeous, unfairly gorgeous. And when he took a drag, the smoke curled from his lips like something out of a dream, all slow and filthy and hypnotizing.

God, he smelled so good too. That warm, musky cologne mixed with the weed — you wanted to roll in it, smother yourself in it.

And his voice — fuck, his voice. Every time he spoke it wrapped around you, deep and slow, lazy and smooth, like it was dragging invisible fingers down your spine. You were so gone, you realized with horror you hadn’t been listening to a word he said for the past few minutes.

You blinked, trying to focus, but it was so hard when he was sitting there looking like that — head tilted back, mouth soft and slick from the smoke, tongue flicking lazily at the blunt. You squeezed your thighs together without meaning to, trying to focus on literally anything else — but Geto’s eyes caught the movement.

Of course he noticed.

The smirk that curled on his lips was devastating. He knew.

And he wasn’t going to let you get away with it.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, voice like warm honey, thick with amusement. His legs sprawled wider, deliberately lazy. “You’re lookin’ a little distracted.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “‘M fine,” you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed, trying to sound normal, but it came out all breathy and broken.

Geto’s eyes gleamed, dark and hot and knowing.

“Yeah?” he drawled, leaning forward slowly, elbows on his knees, the blunt burning low between his fingers. His grin was all teeth now, all cruel affection. “Sure you’re fine?”

You could feel your pulse hammering in your throat, could feel how your body leaned toward him without permission, desperate for more of that voice, that heat, that everything. Your mouth opened — maybe to lie, maybe to beg, you weren’t sure — but he cut you off, voice dropping even lower, almost a purr.

“Y’look like you wanna crawl into my lap, sweetheart,” Geto said lazily, eyes drinking you in. “That what you want?”

Your whole body lit up, buzzing with the high and the want and the unbearable need pooling low in your belly.

You should have said something back. You should have played it off, laughed, rolled your eyes, something.

But all you could do was stare at him — wide-eyed, flushed, breathing a little too fast — while he smiled like he already had you.

And he did.

He so fucking did.

The moment you didn’t answer — the way you just sat there, high and hazy and wanting — Geto moved.

Not rushed.

Deliberate.

He stubbed the blunt out in the tray and pushed up from the couch, slow and easy, towering over you. His hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to look at him.

“You gonna keep pretending you don’t want it?” he murmured, voice dark and low, thumb brushing your bottom lip like he was thinking about pushing it into your mouth. “Or you gonna be a good girl and tell me?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t even realize you were leaning into his touch until his thumb grazed your lip again, and this time, you instinctively parted your lips, desperate for anything he’d give you.

“Suguru…”

Geto’s mouth curved into something wicked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Then — finally — he leaned down, catching your mouth with his, and you melted. His kiss was slow at first, taunting, lips brushing yours with infuriating laziness until you whimpered against him — and that broke something loose inside him.

He grunted low in his chest and grabbed you, hands rough and eager, hauling you into his lap as he collapsed back onto the couch. You straddled him, thighs spread over his, and you could feel how hard he already was beneath his jeans.

“Fuckin’ starvin’ for it,” he muttered against your mouth, voice all wrecked, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, grinding you against the thick line of his cock. “Actin’ all shy — but your pussy’s beggin’ me, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, hips jerking against him, chasing the friction.

Geto laughed, low and cruel, like he knew exactly how far gone you were — and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

He dragged his mouth along your jaw, biting gently, sucking, until you were panting into his hair.

“God, look at you,” he muttered, voice rough with want. “Fucked out already and I haven’t even gotten my hands in your panties.”

You whined — actually whined — and that seemed to break whatever fragile patience he had left.

Geto’s hands slid up under your shirt, rough palms skimming your sides, thumbs brushing teasingly close to your breasts but never touching — making you squirm.

“You want it, baby?” he purred against your ear, voice so filthy it almost made your knees buckle. “Want me to put my hand in your panties and feel how fuckin’ wet you are?”

You gasped out a shaky, desperate “yes,” but it still wasn’t enough.

“Tell me.” His mouth was on your throat now, teeth grazing the skin, voice a growl. “Tell me you want my fingers inside you. Tell me you need it.”

“Need it,” you choked out, grinding helplessly against him. “Need you, Sugu, please—”

That was all he needed to hear.

One big hand shoved under the band of your panties, finding you dripping and desperate, and he groaned raggedly against your throat.

“Fuck. Look at that. Knew this pretty little pussy was beggin’ for me.” He pushed two thick fingers into you in one slow, deep thrust, making you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He set a brutal rhythm, curling his fingers perfectly, fucking you on his hand as he whispered the filthiest things against your skin — all slow, deep voice and nasty promises about how good you were gonna take his cock next, how he was gonna ruin you for anyone else.

You were a mess already, moaning against his mouth, clinging to him like you were drowning — and Geto was eating it up, grinning against your lips every time you whimpered.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice wrecked. “That’s mine now. That pretty little pussy’s mine.”

And when you came, crying out into his mouth, thighs trembling around him, he didn’t even slow down.

No — he hauled you up by the hips, dragging your soaked panties down your thighs, and pulled his cock free from his jeans — thick and heavy and so ready.

“Thought you could sit here all pretty and not get fucked?” he murmured, cocky even as he was panting with need. “Nah, sweetheart. ’M gonna fill you up, fuck you so good you forget your own name.”

Geto’s fingers never slowed.

If anything, they moved deeper, filthier — curling just right, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you that made your vision blur.

You were gone already. High, wrecked, full of him — the heat of his body under your thighs, the low sound of his breathing, the roughness of his fingers stretching you open — it was all too much.

But Geto wasn’t going to let you hide in it.

No, he wanted you to feel every second.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured against your ear, voice heavy, thick with heat. “Say it.”

You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand.

You sobbed into his neck, clinging to him, and Geto just groaned, rolling his hips into yours slow and dirty.

“S- Say what—”

“Anything,” he breathed, curling his fingers in a way that made your whole body jolt. “Tell me how good it feels. Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you need me.”

You whined again, the words jumbled and tangled in your throat because you did — god, you needed him so bad it hurt — but your mind was hazy, floating.

Still, you forced yourself to lift your head, looking at him with glassy, desperate eyes.

“Feels so good,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan when he crooked his fingers again. “Need you, Geto— need more—”

He grinned, slow and mean, like he knew exactly how close you were to falling apart.

“More?” he drawled, pulling his fingers almost all the way out — teasing — and you sobbed softly at the loss, chasing him with your hips.

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers clawing at his shoulders, dragging at his clothes like you could pull him closer, fuse him to you somehow. “Please, don’t stop— need you inside, please—”

That did it.

Geto’s control snapped like a thread.

“Fuckin’ love hearing you beg,” he growled, grabbing the hem of your skirt and panties and ripping them down your thighs in one rough motion.

You stared for a second — wide-eyed, panting — because even through the haze, the sight of him, thick and flushed and leaking, made your mouth water.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he purred, guiding himself to your entrance, his other hand still cupping your ass, holding you steady. “Gotta hear you say it.”

You nodded frantically, nails digging into his shoulders, but it wasn’t enough for him — no, Geto wanted words.

Wanted to hear your desperate little voice give in to him completely.

“Yes,” you gasped out, rocking your hips against him. “Want it— want your cock, please, need you so bad—”

The second the words left your mouth, he pushed in, slow and thick, and you cried out, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

The stretch was overwhelming — perfect — the hypersensitivity of your high making every inch, every throb, every pulse of him feel huge inside you.

You were so full you could hardly breathe.

“Fuckin’ tight,” Geto groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hands bruising on your hips. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

He gave you one second to adjust — one — before he started to move, thrusting up into you with slow, deep strokes that made your toes curl.

And through it all — the way he filled you, the way he grunted filthy praise into your skin — he kept coaxing you to talk.

“Tell me, baby,” he panted, hips snapping up harder, dragging a sob from your throat. “*Tell me how good my cock feels.”

“Feels so good,” you gasped, tears stinging your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, nails raking down his back. “So deep— fuck, Geto, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah?” he rasped, teeth catching your earlobe. “Gonna cum on my cock, pretty girl? Gonna make a fuckin’ mess all over me?”

You could only nod, mouth falling open, broken moans spilling out — but that wasn’t good enough for him.

“Say it,” he growled, thrusting up hard, making your whole body jolt. “Say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you cried, hips grinding down desperately. “Yours, Geto, yours—”

That delicious build of pleasure cuts you off, snatching the breath from your body as you feel each thick vein dragging through your welcoming walls

And when you came — stars bursting behind your eyes, body clenching tight around him — Geto was right there with you, cursing low and filthy into your neck as he spilled inside you, fucking you through it, making sure you felt every hot, perfect pulse of it.

You slumped against him after, both of you wrecked and trembling and so high it felt like the world outside the two of you didn’t exist.

And even then — even wrecked — Geto chuckled low against your throat, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face.

“Told you,” he murmured, voice still dark and wrecked. “You’re mine now, pretty girl.”

[manmuncher777]

hihi love your work in filthy with dante! wondering if I could request a tattoo artist!dante x fem reader? no specific request other than pure filth :))

excited to see what you cook up!! >;)

Hello my love!!! Thank you so much im so glad you liked it, and of course I can!! When I tell you I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoy xxx

FIRST TIME

Dante Sparda x reader SMUT MDNI

You were already regretting wearing a short skirt.

The leather of the couch stuck to the back of your thighs as you shifted, trying to sit like a normal, composed adult while he leaned back behind the counter, spinning a pen between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

Dante Sparda.

He wasn’t what you expected when you called the studio asking for an appointment. The rough, husky voice on the phone matched the image in your head—sure—but seeing him in person? Way worse. Or better. Depending on how many brain cells you had left to rub together.

Silver hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. A cigarette behind one ear. Tattoos peeking out from the open collar of his black button-up. One ring on his thumb, one on his pinky, and a cocky smile that was probably illegal in several countries.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, voice like velvet-coated sin. “What are we thinkin’? Name? Flower? Something cute to match the lip gloss?”

You blinked, nearly choking on your spit. “Um—wha—no. Not a name. It’s… it’s just a little symbol. Something small. Meaningful.”

“Mysterious.” He grinned, sliding a notepad toward you, long fingers brushing yours. “Show me what you’re thinkin’.”

You handed him your shitty sketch, and he nodded like it wasn’t the most amateur thing he’d ever seen. His thumb dragged slowly along the edge of the paper, gaze flicking from the design to your bare thigh as you tried not to fidget.

“Inner thigh, huh?” he asked, like he already knew the answer. “Pretty bold placement for your first.”

You swallowed. “I wanted it… close. Private.”

“Mm.” His smile widened, eyes sharp beneath those lashes. “Let me guess—you like the thrill. Somethin’ that gets your heart racin’. Little danger, little pleasure.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out except a breathy “maybe.”

His chair creaked as he leaned forward, all inked arms and hungry eyes.

“Come in tomorrow night,” he said, tone lower now. “After hours. We’ll get it just right. Take our time.”

Your heart skipped. “After hours?”

“Sure. You’ll be my last of the day.” His eyes dropped to your legs, a glint in them you couldn’t ignore. “I like takin’ my time with pretty things.”

You left the studio twenty minutes later, heart pounding, thighs pressed tight, and your name scribbled in black ink on the studio calendar.

Friday, 8 PM. Dante—after hours.

You already knew this tattoo would ruin you.

The bell above the studio door jingled softly as you stepped inside, your sandals clicking against the worn hardwood. The place was dim, cozy—lit mostly by warm overhead lights and the glow of a neon devil sign hanging in the corner. The air smelled like clean leather and something smoky, something expensive.

“Evenin’, sweetheart.”

Dante’s voice floated from the back room before he even appeared. You barely had a second to prepare before he stepped out, stretching like he’d just woken up from a nap. His black tee clung to him like a second skin, revealing the sharp cut of his torso, and his silver hair was messy in the artfully fucked-up kind of way.

“Y-you’re here alone?” you asked, setting your bag down on the little couch in the corner.

He smirked, locking the door behind you with a loud click. “Course. Told you this was a private session. You nervous, princess?”

Your stomach flipped.

“A little,” you admitted, smoothing your hands over the hem of your skirt. It was too short. You knew that. But you also knew exactly what you were doing.

Dante’s gaze dropped for a second—slow, deliberate—before he turned and headed for his station. “That’s normal. I’ll take good care of you.”

You swallowed hard, watching him move around the space with lazy confidence, setting up the machine, pulling out fresh needles, arranging the ink caps. He whistled as he worked, glancing over at you every so often.

“You bring the design?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, stepping over and handing him the refined sketch he’d drawn up at the consultation. Your fingers brushed, just for a second, and his eyes caught yours with that same sharp, hungry glint.

“Perfect,” he murmured, lips curling. “Let’s get that stencil prepped.”

He took his time, dragging the design through transfer paper, swiping alcohol onto the inside of your thigh where the tattoo would go. His fingers were warm, gloved, but the touch was intimate—his thumb lingering longer than necessary as he looked up at you from his crouched position.

“This okay?” he asked, voice low.

You nodded, heartbeat rattling in your ears. “Yeah. Just… sensitive there.”

“Mm. Lucky me.” He smirked again, standing back up and tossing the stencil paper to the side. “Lay back when you’re ready. Won’t bite.”

You weren’t so sure about that.

As you climbed onto the chair, lying back with your leg bent open just enough for him to work, you caught his gaze flicking back to your mouth, your throat, your thighs.

And when he leaned in with the stencil, brushing it carefully onto your skin, he whispered, “Gotta keep real still for me now, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna mess up my art.”

The air crackled with tension. Every breath felt too loud. And you knew—deep down—you were already in so much trouble.

You laid back on the leather chair, thigh slightly turned to give him access, breath catching as Dante sat between your legs, gloves snapping on with a smirk that sent heat straight to your core.

“You okay, baby?” he asked, flipping the machine on. The low buzz filled the room, making your spine tighten.

“Y-Yeah,” you breathed, trying to look anywhere but at his face. His stupidly hot, sharp-jawed, half-lidded face.

“You’re doing good already, and I haven’t even touched you,” he chuckled, eyes dropping to your thigh. “This’ll sting at first, but I promise I’ll make it quick and clean.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Your heart thudded, and not just from nerves. The position—the way his body brushed against your knee as he leaned in, how his breath ghosted over your skin, how close his hands were to everything dangerous—was making it impossible to breathe.

And then—

The needle pressed in.

Your fingers clenched the edges of the chair as the buzz crawled up your leg. It wasn’t unbearable. But it wasn’t nothing, either. Especially not with the way Dante was holding you still, his free hand firm on your thigh, palm wide and warm.

“There we go,” he said, voice lower now, something smooth sliding beneath it. “Takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ. Told you you’d be perfect for me.”

A whimper crawled up your throat—choked down fast.

The buzz continued, dancing over your skin in a steady rhythm. Every time he shifted, every time his arm brushed your leg, you felt it. The vibrations weren’t just in your thigh now. They traveled. Warm. Deep. Aching.

“You’re shivering,” he noted after a minute, tilting his head without pausing his work. “That nervous still?”

You opened your mouth—yes, that was the safe answer—but he cut you off with a quiet hum, like he already knew.

His fingers tightened just slightly on your skin.

“Feels kinda good though, doesn’t it?” he murmured, not looking up. “Little vibration. Little pain. You’re squeezin’ that seat like I’m doin’ something worse.”

Your face flamed. “I-I’m fine,” you lied, breath coming quick.

Dante smiled lazily, tongue grazing his teeth as he glanced up at you. “Mmm. Sure you are.”

The machine kept buzzing. His hands never stopped. But now he was watching you more than the stencil, gauging every flutter of your lashes, every sharp breath, every twitch of your thighs.

And beneath it all, that cocky, teasing glint stayed in his eyes—like he knew.

Like he knew exactly how wet you were getting from this.

The buzzing finally stopped, leaving the room in a heavy, weighted silence. Your pulse still throbbed in your thighs, heart hammering in your chest as Dante leaned back to admire his work, tongue pressed to his cheek in approval.

“You killed it, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice thick, like he’d just smoked you in.

You tried to nod, tried to offer a smile, but your brain was swimming. You could still feel the echo of the vibrations deep between your legs. Still feel the warmth of his hands. Still feel how close he’d gotten—how close he still was.

Dante set the machine down and reached for the wrap, leaning back in. His gloved fingers skimmed your inner thigh, brushing just a little too high on accident—or maybe not.

But it was enough.

You gasped. Sharp. Involuntary. A pathetic little moan bubbling out before you could swallow it.

And everything snapped.

Dante froze.

Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours. They were darker now. Hungrier. “…You moaned.”

Your lips parted, embarrassment flooding your face. “I didn’t—”

“Yeah you did,” he said, voice low, velvet-smooth and wicked. He stood, peeled off his gloves, and let them drop to the tray with a quiet snap. “You’ve been squirming in that chair for the past hour. I thought maybe you were just a little sensitive.”

He stepped closer.

“But now I know,” he murmured, hand coming to grip the edge of the chair beside your head as he leaned over you, “you’ve been dripping wet this whole time, haven’t you?”

You whimpered, back arching slightly.

His other hand trailed up your exposed thigh again, this time deliberate. Confident. Claiming.

“Jesus,” he hissed through his teeth when his fingers brushed the damp cotton between your legs. “You’re soaked.”

Your hands flew to his chest, but not to push him away. You tugged him closer, thighs parting instinctively.

“You gonna let me fuck you right here in this chair, baby?” he asked, nose brushing your cheek. “That what you’ve been wanting?”

You nodded fast—shameless, frantic.

Dante groaned, his mouth crashing to yours. His hands were rough now, hungry, pulling at the waistband of your skirt, yanking it down as you kicked your sneakers off the sides of the chair.

“Could’ve told me earlier,” he growled against your lips. “Would’ve had you sittin’ on my cock while I tattooed you.”

He dropped to his knees, dragged your panties down with his teeth, eyes locked on your soaked core. “Fuck. Pink little pussy—so pretty for me.”

Your fingers gripped the back of the chair, breath ragged. “Dante—”

He didn’t let you speak. He buried his face between your thighs, tongue working you over with such filthy, open-mouthed hunger that your head hit the leather with a loud thud. It was messy, wet, his stubble scraping your skin just right as his hands gripped your thighs like a man starved.

And when he finally stood again, licking his lips, undoing his belt?

You already knew you weren’t walking out of that shop without at least one more mark on your body—and it wasn’t going to be the tattoo.

The chair scraped behind you as Dante grabbed your waist and spun you around like you weighed nothing. Before you could catch your breath, he had you bent over the workbench—palms flat on the cold steel, tits pressing into scattered ink caps and a few loose sketch pages.

“Don’t move,” he said, voice a rasp just above a growl.

You didn’t even breathe. His hand slid up your spine, slow, rough, until he was fisting your hair and pulling your head back just enough to whisper in your ear.

“God, look at you… still twitchin’ from the tattoo and now I got you bent over my fuckin’ table like a goddamn reward.”

You moaned, clenching around nothing.

Your skirt was already gone. Your panties? Still hanging off one ankle like some pathetic afterthought. And Dante didn’t bother taking his jeans all the way off—just enough to free his cock, heavy and leaking as he dragged it between your folds with a low hiss.

“You feel that?” he muttered, rubbing the head right against your soaked entrance. “How fuckin’ needy you are for it?”

“Please,” you gasped, the word cracking on your tongue.

“Yeah, baby? You want it that bad?” He pressed in—just the tip—and then pulled back, just to make you wail. “Then beg for it.”

“Dante, I—I need it, I can’t—”

“You can,” he growled, slapping your ass so hard it echoed off the brick walls. “You’ve been dripping for me since I turned the machine on. You can take every inch.”

And then he slammed into you.

Your cry was ragged, face twisted against the steel as he buried himself to the hilt, one hand gripping your hip hard enough to bruise while the other stayed tangled in your hair.

“Fuck, baby—tight little thing, grippin’ me like you own me.”

He started to move, and it was vicious. Deep, punishing thrusts that shoved the table an inch every time he bottomed out. The slap of skin was obscene. The sound of you whining his name? Even worse.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty bent over my bench like this,” Dante panted, hips snapping. “Makin’ a fuckin’ mess on my floor—gonna have to mop it up later.”

You sobbed, arching, body trembling from overstimulation and pleasure so intense it hurt.

And then his hand slid down. Fingers found your clit, rubbing fast, and you nearly collapsed.

“Yeah,” he hissed, “that’s it, baby. Come for me. All over my cock. Right here, where anyone could walk in and see you bein’ such a good little slut.”

You shattered.

Legs shaking, mouth open in a silent scream as you came around him, thighs soaked and body limp—but Dante didn’t stop. He chased his own release, slamming into you harder, filth pouring from his mouth.

“Gonna fuck you stupid—gonna ruin that new tattoo—god fuck, I’m close—”

And with a low growl, he came deep inside you, holding you down to the workbench as he pulsed, cock twitching, breath hot against your neck.

For a long second, there was nothing but the sound of heavy breathing and tattoo ink bottles rattling from the aftershocks.

Then his lips pressed to your ear.

“So… when you comin’ back for your second piece, sweetheart?”

[manmuncher777]

Taken in tension

✧༺ Roommate toji x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings

✧༺ a/n - roommate tonji is my fucking favourite trope ever. Hi, impregnate me sir. Enjoy sexies xx

You didn’t see a lot of Toji.

That was half the reason why this whole roommate situation worked.

You both had your own lives, your own schedules. He was usually out — at the gym, running errands, disappearing for hours without a word — and you were busy enough your own things that you rarely crossed paths except in passing.

When you did, it was… easy. Surprisingly easy.

You were actually greatful you got landed with a roommate like Toji, he was there when you needed him, always fixing whatever you had broken, or helping you with heavy lifting. And you were quite happy to repay him in your own ways. You cooked dinner for the both of you most nights, and on the nights you couldn’t be bothered you would grab takeout.

He wasn’t messy — not enough to piss you off — and when he was, you didn’t mind picking up after him because he always noticed, always threw you a grateful look or a lazy, gruff thanks, sweetheart that made your stomach stupidly flutter.

Besides, he pulled his weight in other ways.

Fixing the broken sink without you having to ask. Carrying all the groceries up in one go without a complaint. Reaching things off the highest shelves, half-laughing when you glared at him for making it look too easy.

You got along well.

It was chill. It was safe.

Still…

Sometimes, you caught yourself noticing things you shouldn’t.

Like the way Toji would drag his shirt off after a run, tossing it over his shoulder, his body glistening faintly with sweat — thick arms flexing, abs hard and cut deep, the waistband of his shorts hanging low enough to reveal the sliver of a v-line that made you bite your lip and look away fast.

Or the way his voice sounded in the mornings — rough and low, rumbling out of his chest when he mumbled a half-asleep ‘mornin’ and shuffled into the kitchen in nothing but sweats.

Or the way he sometimes smelled — fresh soap and something deep, earthy and masculine that clung to the air long after he left the room, leaving you dizzy if you stayed too long.

Not that you thought about it.

Not that you let yourself think about it.

Because this arrangement was comfortable, and you weren’t about to screw it up just because your stupid brain couldn’t help but drool over your hot, sometimes-shirtless, way-too-casual roommate.

No.

You had self-control.

You were fine.

Totally fine.

But you werent always aware that you werent the only one finding this arrangement a little… testing.

I mean you couldn’t always blame him, the apartment wasnt massive, so sometime it was hard for him not to notice you creeping towards your room from the bathroom in only a towel, or strutting past him while he was watching tv, shouting a quick goodbye with your tiny little dress on, something about a girls night. He wasnt listening in that moment.

And it took everything in him not to pocket those little panties of your he finds when sorting the washing, all outs of images flashing into his mind of you wearing nothing else but those little panties, waiting for home to get home.

Of course he did his best to remain respectful, only letting his eyes linger ling enough you wouldn’t notice.

One rule that you both kept in the apartment was no partners are allowed over, one night stands of girlfriends were a strict no no on both sides. You didn’t want to be disturbed by that, and well you were single as fuck so he didnt really have to worry. The walls were thin and the last thing you needed was some girl keeping you up all night.

Only issue for you with the thins walls is that if you ever want some ‘personal time’ you have to wait until you know Toji would be out. You would be mortified if he ever heard you like that, so you keep very discreet. Just you and your little box of toys.

The box of toys that you were currently rummaging through because he had finally left, popping out to grab some cigarette or something, then he’d just hop back on his Xbox or something. You had just got home from work, and needed a moment to destress, he would be 20 minutes, surely thats enough time.

Work clothes off, T-shirt and panties on. Candles lit and you were finally ready for a relaxing evening

Your box of toys that was open, despite you not touching it recently, the box that was left rather visible under your bed when you usually have it tucked away. And the one toy you wanted, that you would be finished fast with, was now missing its batteries. The slip of plastic to place the batteries in was left visibly opened with no batteries in there.

Where the fuck were the batteries?

You knew you had left them in there.

Tucked right inside your little velvet pouch — with your trusty toy buried safely beneath sweaters and old scarves — reserved for nights like tonight.

Nights when the sexual frustration got so bad it made you antsy, desperate for even a tiny bit of release.

Single. Stressed. Stupidly horny.

It wasn’t much to ask, was it?

Apparently, the universe — or more specifically, your goddamn roommate — had other plans.

You searched everywhere, in your desk, in drawers, not a single triple a battery to be found. And on such perfect timing, Toji was back.

Fucking great, looks like you were getting nothing tonight. ON all the days this could have happened.

You stared at the opened box, jaw ticking, the empty slot where the batteries once sat practically mocking you.

There was only one person who could’ve done this.

Your mind finally clicking, you live with one other person, and your certainly didn’t just throw away those batteries

One muscle-headed, thoughtless, lazy bastard who would rather loot your private stash than walk ten feet to the store.

You stormed down the hall, chest tight with irritation.

It was petty — objectively — but you didn’t care.

Because now you were still horny and now also pissed off, which was a dangerous combination.

Without even knocking, you shoved open Toji’s bedroom door.

He barely glanced up from his spot on the bed — legs spread wide, controller in hand, headset slung around his neck as he mashed buttons aggressively.

Casual. Relaxed. Like he hadn’t just committed the ultimate betrayal.

You crossed your arms and glared at him.

He finally looked up, pausing his game.

One dark brow lifted lazily.

“Problem, sweetheart?”

You wanted to punch him.

You also wanted to climb him like a tree. Eyes glancing over him fully now, only just registering the fact he was shirtless, grey sweats hanging slutily low on his hips, enough to make a woman drool.

Neither urge was helpful right now.

“You stole my batteries,” you said flatly.

Toji gave a slow, exaggerated blink.

Then — fucking smirked.

“Needed ’em,” he said, shrugging, like that excused everything. “Controller was dead. Emergency.”

“Emergency?” you hissed, stepping further into the room. “Emergency? I needed them! Toji, you went through my shit! That was private”

His eyes flicked over you — lingering for a second too long on your flushed cheeks, the way your chest was rising and falling a little too fast.

It was obvious, wasn’t it?

What you had been about to do before he ruined it.

Obvious in the way your thighs pressed together, your arms crossed like you were trying to physically contain yourself.

Toji’s smirk widened.

“Ohh,” he drawled, voice low and amused. “That kind of emergency.”

You wanted to die.

You also wanted to hit him.

You also maybe wanted to straddle him and shut him the fuck up.

Instead, you ground out, “I want them back. Now.”

He set the controller down beside him, stretching like he had all the time in the world — the way his muscles flexed beneath the dim light of his room should’ve been illegal — and then patted the space next to him on the bed.

“An emergency?” you scoff, already frustrated beyond belief. “The hell do you need my batteries for? Your fucking remote? Seriously, I’ve been looking for those—”

He interrupts you with a lazy shrug. “Yeah, my controller died.” He repeated casually “You weren’t gonna use ‘em anyway, right?”

You stop mid-sentence, the realization dawning on you, but it doesn’t stop the heat rising in your cheeks. “I—I was going to,” you mumble, fuming. “I was going to use them, but now they’re gone because of you. You went through my stuff, Toji. Personal shit.”

Toji slowly rises from the bed, a calculated glint in his eyes. He’s still half-smirking, clearly enjoying the way your irritation is building. He walks toward you, the tension thickening with every step he takes. His large frame seems to fill the room as he stops just a few inches away, his presence overwhelming.

“You really need to chill, ma,” he says lowly, his voice like honey, but there’s a subtle hint of mockery in it. His hand reaches up, brushing past you as he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. “Seems to me like you were relying on some pretty weak shit to get off.”

The words hit you like a slap, but it’s his tone—condescending, taunting—that gets to you. Your lips part as you try to retort, but the heat in his gaze leaves you speechless for a moment

“I mean, really,” he continues, stepping in closer, his breath warm against your skin. “That plastic shit really get you off? Don’t you need something a bit more real?”

You grit your teeth, trying to hold your ground, but the tension between you is palpable. “I was fine before you came in and took everything,” you snap, although the desperation you feel is practically dripping from your words.

Toji smirks at your reaction, clearly reveling in the power he has over you. “Yeah? I don’t think so,” he says, leaning in a little closer. “I think you were getting a little too used to that weak little thing. You were probably so frustrated you didn’t know what to do with yourself.”

Your heart races, and you can barely focus on what he’s saying because of the raw, intoxicating way he’s looking at you. You hate how much you want to shove him up against the wall and take control, but you’re pinned under his gaze, unable to move.

Toji’s hand moves down your arm slowly, teasing, not quite touching, just enough to make you tingle with need. His voice lowers even more. “Now, I think I could give you something much more satisfying… if you let me.”

You open your mouth, but words fail you. Instead, you let out a frustrated sigh, your hands trembling as they fall to your sides.

Toji chuckles softly, sensing your growing desperation. “You still upset about the batteries, baby? Or do you need something else?

“Come get ’em,” he said, grin turning absolutely devilish. “Might even help you out, if you ask real nice.”

Your mouth went dry.

Your whole body heated.

Because suddenly you weren’t sure if you were mad anymore — or just aching for something else entirely.

You stayed planted near the door, arms crossed so tight it hurt, glaring daggers at him — but he only lounged back further against the headboard, hands resting behind his head, looking like he didn’t have a goddamn care in the world.

He tilted his head at you, that cocky little smirk pulling at his mouth.

“Poor girl,” he drawled, voice thick and mocking. “So flustered. Bet you were all set up too, huh? Lights off, blanket pulled up real nice… fingers already creeping down your stomach—”

“Shut the fuck up, Toji,” you snapped, face burning.

His eyes glinted — dark and full of something downright wicked.

“Ooh. Touchy,” he teased. “What’s the matter? Mad ’cause you couldn’t get yourself off? Or mad because you haven’t had a proper fuck in too long?”

You hated him.

You hated how well he knew you, how easy you were to read. You hated how he was right.

You hated how good he looked, sprawled out like that — broad shoulders, abs flexing, that slutty v-line, messy dark hair falling into his eyes, those big thighs spread wide like an invitation.

He smelled like bodywash and something sharp and masculine underneath, and it was doing terrible, terrible things to your self-control.

Your nails dug into your arms.

“I needed the fucking batteries,” you bit out. “Not some — some asshole with no respect for personal property.”

Toji chuckled — actually laughed at you — low and rumbly in his chest.

“You’re real cute when you’re mad, y’know that?”

He shifted slightly — not enough to stand, but enough that the mattress dipped under his weight.

He was closer now, lazy but predatory. Like a tiger deciding whether or not it wanted to play with its food.

“And real fuckin’ cute when you’re needy, too.”

Your heart was beating so loud you could barely hear yourself think.

You needed to leave.

You needed to keep your pride.

You needed to not imagine what it would feel like to march over there and straddle him and grind the attitude out of him.

But then Toji gave you a slow once-over — lingering, heavy, filthy — and your body betrayed you.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, thighs pressing together instinctively.

He caught it immediately.

“Aw, baby,” he cooed mockingly. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

He patted his thigh, slow and deliberate.

Like he was inviting a fucking pet into his lap.

“C’mere. If you ask real pretty, might even let you put that mouth to good use first.”

You sucked in a shaky breath — the edges of your anger bleeding into raw, desperate want.

“You’re disgusting,” you said — but your voice wobbled. Trembled.

His smirk sharpened.

“You want disgusting, sweetheart?”

He leaned forward, voice dropping low, gravelly, dangerous. “I’ll show you disgusting. I’ll have you makin’ sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Have you crying on my cock, beggin’ me not to stop.”

Your knees almost buckled.

Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to hold onto some shred of dignity — but your body had already decided.

You were burning. Frustrated.

So damn needy it hurt.

And Toji — he was right fucking there.

Arrogant and filthy and perfect.

You licked your dry lips, fists clenching at your sides.

“I’m not begging,” you muttered — trying and failing to sound strong.

Toji’s grin widened into something positively sinful.

“Not yet, you’re not.”

He patted his thigh again — slow, taunting. “Now. Be a good girl and get over here. Before I make you.”

You glared at him for a second longer — daring him to back down — but Toji just smirked, the arrogant bastard, and patted his thigh again.

Fine.

If he wanted to play?

You could play.

Jaw set, you crossed the room in a few stiff steps and planted yourself right on his thigh — hands braced on his shoulders, the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of his sweats.

For a moment, you felt smug — victorious even — but then—

Toji’s hands landed on your waist, big and heavy, fingers flexing lightly against your sides.

And he didn’t grab you.

Didn’t drag you down and grind you where you wanted.

No — he just let them sit there.

Warm. Teasing.

Promising.

You tried to shift your hips, chasing friction — and that’s when he bounced his thigh once, slow and deliberate.

The jolt ran through you like a live wire.

You gasped — clutched at his shoulders — and he laughed.

“Ohhhh,” he cooed, voice dripping with mockery. “There she is, theres my needy girl.”

You scowled, but it melted into a breathless sound when he bounced his thigh again, just slightly, making you rub against him.

“Go on, then,” he murmured, voice dropping low and mean. “Use it.

You wanted this so bad, right?

Your cheeks burned.

You couldn’t believe this — couldn’t believe you were actually — actually—

But your clit throbbed insistently between your thighs, the frustration and humiliation and desperation all bleeding together until you were moving — slow little rocks of your hips, dragging yourself along the hard muscle of his thigh.

Toji leaned back against the headboard, arms folding behind his head again like he didn’t have a damn care in the world — like he wasn’t sitting there letting you humiliate yourself on him.

“You’re so fuckin’ cute,” he drawled lazily, watching you.

“Look at you. So desperate you’re ridin’ my fuckin’ thigh like some lil’ bitch in heat.”

You whimpered — hated yourself for it — hated the way it made him chuckle, deep and low in his chest.

His hands slid up — finally — trailing slow and lazy under the hem of your shirt, skimming your waist, teasing along the curve of your tits without really touching where you wanted him to.

You ground down harder, chasing the friction, dizzy with need.

“Toji~” the broken whine leaving your throat, a beg. A need for something more.

“Nuh-uh,” Toji tutted, voice smug. “Not gonna help you, sweetheart. You wanna cum? Gotta work for it.”

He bounced his thigh a little harder — just once — and you cried out, grabbing his shoulders tighter for balance.

“Yeahhh,” he rasped, voice dark and gleeful. “That’s it. Use me, baby. Grind that pretty lil’ pussy on my thigh like you fuckin’ mean it.” You were beyond embarrassed now — little gasps and whines spilling from your lips as you rode him harder, chasing the sharp little sparks of pleasure building in your gut.

“Feelin’ good, huh?” Toji teased, voice thick with amusement. “Bet you’re so fuckin’ wet. Bet I could slide my fingers right in without even tryin’.”The thought made you moan brokenly — hips stuttering — and Toji’s grin widened like he could feel you getting closer.

“Come on,” he coaxed — voice low and rough and cruel. “Cum for me, baby. Show me how pathetic you are. Show me how bad you needed it.” It was too much — the filthy words, the heat of him under you, the cruel bounce of his thigh grinding against your clit just right—

You cried out, breaking apart with a full-body shudder, clutching him desperately as you came — hips jerking against his thigh in messy, helpless little rolls.

Toji laughed — laughed — one hand finally smoothing down your back as you trembled and gasped against him. The feeling soothing you as rode out your high, grounding you to the presence of the man beneath you.

“There she is,” he murmured mockingly, patting your ass like he was proud. “Good girl.”

You were still catching your breath, slumped against him, when you felt it —

the heavy, deliberate grip of Toji’s hands sliding down to your hips. The sensation buzzing against your already prickled skin, waves of pleasure still flowing through you from that much needed orgasm. The tension inside of you now nothing but a distant memory, now replaced with something needier

“Aw, poor thing,” he murmured, voice dark with mock sympathy. “Thought that was enough for you?”

You barely had time to register the teasing before he hauled you up — manhandling you like you weighed nothing — turning you around and bending you over the edge of the bed.

Your hands scrabbled for purchase on the comforter, your mind slow and syrupy with the aftershocks of your orgasm. You felt drunk — high — boneless and pliant under his rough touch.

“Still so fuckin’ needy,” Toji rasped behind you, thumbs hooking into your shorts and yanking them down your thighs in one swift, ruthless motion.

The cool air hit your slick folds and you whimpered — humiliated at how wet you still were, how badly you wanted him. Being so vulnerable in front of him despite moments ago using his thigh to get off.

He leaned over you, big and overwhelming, and you felt the thick press of him, heavy and hot against your bare ass. You swallow thickly, he was bigger than your toys, and you were sure he knew it.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “I’ll take care of you, baby.”

You gasped when you felt his fingers between your thighs — thick and calloused, slipping through your slick with an obscene wet sound.

“So fuckin’ wet already,” Toji grunted approvingly.

“Messy little thing. Bet I could slide right in.”

You whined — hips arching back into him without thinking — and Toji just chuckled low in his throat. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, almost fondly.

“I know, baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

Wasting not a second more to give you what you wanted, what he wanted. He slides his joggers just far enough down to free his throbbing cock. His tip a pretty shade of pink, adorned with small pearls of pre.

You felt the blunt, thick head of his cock nudge at your entrance, stretching you wider than any toy — and then he was pushing in, slow and devastating, splitting you open with a low, gravelly groan from his chest.

You gasped, frozen against the bed as you felt him sink into you so sinfully, it was so much better than your toys. His thick cock gliding into your welcoming walls. Mouth hanging open at the feeling of his pressing so deep inside you

“Better than your toys huh?” A chuckle sounds out from behind you and you curse your fucked out brain for speaking out loud. You werent lying however,

You gasped — tried to rock back against him — but Toji grabbed your hips in a bruising grip, holding you still.

“Uh-uh,” he hissed, sinking deeper. “Take it. Let me fuckin’ stretch you out.”

It was too much — the overwhelming stretch, the filthy, sticky heat between your thighs, the way your body just took him greedily, still trembling from your first orgasm.Toji bottomed out with a heavy, satisfied grunt — hips flush against your ass — and for a moment, he just stayed there, savoring the way you clung to him.

“Fuck,” he breathed, voice thick and ragged.“You feel so good. Better than I imagined. Fuckin’ made for me, huh?”

Your fucked out brain couldn’t even process what he was saying, imagined? Had he thought about this too?

You nodded helplessly, whining when he gave a shallow thrust — hips grinding into you slow and deep, dragging the thick length of him against your fluttering walls.He fucked you lazily at first — deep, heavy strokes that made you sob into the mattress — placing all of his weight behind his merciless strokes, rocking into you slow and sharp. Relishing in the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him.

He was so deep you were sure you could feel him in your throat, you could feel every ridge, every vein, Like you were moulded to him.

But his patience didn’t last for long

Soon he was pounding into you, rough and relentless, your hips slapping against his with every brutal thrust.

“Good fuckin’ girl,” Toji growled, watching the way your body shook under him.“Take it. Take it all.”

You babbled something incoherent — something desperate — but Toji just laughed and grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back so he could murmur filth into your ear.

“What’s that, baby?” he teased, voice all syrupy condescension. “Can’t even talk, huh? Fucked you stupid already?”

You whined, blinking up at him, lips parted — brain mushy and overloaded.

“That’s alright,” Toji rasped, fucking you harder, crueler. “You don’t gotta think. Just gotta cum for me.”

And you did — with a wrecked cry, clenching around him so hard he cursed under his breath, hips stuttering as he chased his own release.

You felt it when he came — the hot pulse of it inside you, the low, guttural groan he let out against your shoulder — and then he collapsed over you, still buried deep, his body trembling from the force of it.

For a long moment, the room was silent except for the sound of your ragged breathing — the sticky, filthy aftermath of it hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, Toji nuzzled against your neck, pressing a lazy kiss there, voice rough and low:

“Y’still mad about the batteries, princess?”

[manmuncher777]

cw: yandere! suguru. bullying. omegaverse. pt. 2 here.

thinking about bully alpha! suguru and nerd omega! reader and how he uses his pheromones to torment you.

you were a cute little thing, suguru couldn't help but think. your head was always in your books, never paying attention to anything else but your studies. it was pathetic. honestly, you were asking to be bullied, suguru thought.

and so that's what he does. before you know it, he's following you like a dog nipping at your heels and showering you from head to toe with his pheromones.

it's awful, you think. your legs grow weak with pleasure, body quivering and eyes glazing over as you try to walk towards your locker despite your slick pooling in your panties, making all the more harder to walk.

and you know suguru can smell it too. your pheromones, sweet like candy, and your slick too. he knows for a fact that you'll taste like the juiciest fruit, ripe and ready for him to sink his teeth into.

his dick twitches to life at that thought.

"suguru, p-please," your squeak breaks him out of his lustful haze, dark purple eyes clapping onto you slumped form that's braced against the lockers. "please, stop."

a wolfish smirk breaks out onto his face and he leans closer instead, drawing out another whimper from your lips as your body instinctively twitches with pleasure, "and why would i do that, darling?"

before you could respond, your knees buckle and suguru swoops in, a strong arm wrapping around your waist to steady you.

"aw, you can't even stand straight, can you?" suguru patronisingly coos against your hairline as he takes a deep breath of your scent, his dick now painfully hard in his slacks.

the other students in the hallway are, of course, aware of what is happening, but suguru's reputation precedes himself. after all, no one goes against a dominant alpha.

"c'mon, darling," suguru purrs, lips brushing along the shell of your ear as he picks you up in his arms easily, holding you against his stronger frame. "let's get you into bed, hmm?"

[manmuncher777]

Hiiii <3 Could you write a gojo x reader where we've been mad at gojo and it's been weeks and we haven't slept together. But gojo cant take it anymore and we have make up sex.

Dog House

✧༺ Satoru Gojo x reader SMUT

✧༺. Gojo forgot an important date night you have planned, so you you hoped a sex ban would be a good punishment, but it ends up being harder on You…

You had been looking forward to tonight for weeks.

A real date — not something squeezed in between missions, not a quick lunch in a grimy diner while he texted furiously under the table.

An actual night for just the two of you.

You sat on the couch in your prettiest dress, makeup done, hair styled, heels tapping impatiently against the hardwood.

You spent the whole evening getting ready, wearing all his favourite things, his favourite perfume, favourite lipstick, even his favourite set,, matching bra and panties.

The clock on the wall ticked louder and louder.

Your heart started sinking.

When the front door finally creaked open nearly three hours late, you didn’t even bother to stand up.

You just stared at the TV blankly, pretending you hadn’t already gone through every stage of disappointment and rage.

“Babyyyy,” Gojo called out as he kicked his shoes off lazily. His voice was casual, bright — like he didn’t even realize the magnitude of the sin he’d just committed. “I’m hoooome—holy shit, you look fucking. gre—”

He froze mid-step, mid-sentence, when you slowly turned your head to glare at him.

“…Oh,” he said weakly. Smile being replaced with the look of a child who was about to get scolded.

You crossed your arms. “Yeah. Oh.”

He winced, shuffling closer with his hands out like he was approaching a dangerous animal. “Look, baby, before you get mad—”

“I am mad,” you snapped, standing up. Your heels clicked furiously on the floor as you closed the distance between you. “You forgot about our date. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You just—” you gestured wildly, “—abandoned me like I was nothing.”

“Hey, that’s not fair—” he started, eyebrows knitting together.

“Fair?” you echoed, letting out a humorless laugh. “You can teleport across half the country in five minutes but can’t pick up your goddamn phone?”

Gojo opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it.

You could see the moment he realized he had absolutely no defense.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said quickly, giving you those wide, desperate puppy eyes. “Work just got—really crazy—and I lost track of time—”

“You always lose track of time, Satoru,” you said, voice rising slightly. “You act like you’re the only one who’s busy. You think I’m sitting here doing nothing all day, just waiting for you to maybe remember me?”

Gojo’s mouth twisted in guilt. “I don’t think that, I swear—”

“Then act like it!”

He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. His blindfold was pushed up onto his messy hair, his face wide open and full of regret — but god, you were too pissed to fall for the pitiful look.

“You look so beautiful,” he said softly, almost a whisper, eyes raking over you again like it physically hurt him to have missed this. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You are,” you agreed flatly.

“But I’ll make it up to you, baby, I swear,” he said, voice dripping with false bravado now as he leaned down to brush his mouth against yours — cocky grin tugging at his lips. “C’mon, let me make it up to you properly—”

You jabbed a finger into his chest, making him stumble back a step.

“Sex. Ban.”

You savored the way the words wiped the smirk clean off his face.

His jaw dropped. “Wait, no—no, baby, don’t do this—”

“Effective immediately,” you said crisply, turning on your heel. “Indefinitely.”

Gojo scrambled after you, grabbing your wrist lightly. “You’re kidding, right? Right? Right?”

You yanked your hand free, arching a brow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

His hands dropped helplessly to his sides, as if the news had physically drained all the strength from his body.

“Baby, you can’t,” he whined shamelessly. “You can’t do that, that’s—that’s abuse, actually—”

You snorted. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you forgot about your girlfriend for three straight hours.”

Gojo groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I didn’t forget you! I forgot the time!” He gestured wildly toward the clock, like it was the traitorous enemy here. “I always think about you! Constantly! You’re all I fucking think about!”

You just shrugged, perfectly, infuriatingly indifferent. “Should’ve acted like it.”

And then you left him standing there — devastated, blue balls already kicking in, face full of desperate disbelief — as you grabbed a blanket and flopped onto the couch dramatically, putting a full fortress of pillows between you and him.

Gojo stared at you for a long moment, like he was considering just dropping to his knees and begging.

(He would. Give him a few minutes.)

It started the very next morning.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, minding your own business, trying to pour coffee — when a pair of strong arms slid around your waist.

“Baby,” Gojo whined into your neck, voice muffled and pitiful. “I need you.”

You carefully leaned away from his nuzzling mouth.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you left me alone all night,” you said sweetly.

He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall onto your shoulder like he was a man on the brink of death.

“I said I was sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll never do it again, I swear. I’ll set alarms. I’ll tattoo the date on my forehead.”

You snorted. “Sucks to suck, Satoru.”

He pouted the whole rest of the morning, trailing after you like a lost puppy, hands constantly wandering — groping, squeezing, touching — hoping you’d just snap and shove him down.

You didn’t.

⸻

Day two:

You woke up to a suspiciously clean apartment.

Gojo was perched proudly on the couch, arms crossed like he was waiting for a gold star.

“I did all the chores,” he announced brightly. “Vacuumed, laundry, folded the towels the way you like. I even alphabetized the spice rack.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“And why would you do all that?”

He beamed. “Because I love you!”

“And…?”

His smile faltered slightly.

“And maybe because I’m hoping you’ll let me… you know…” He made an absolutely obscene gesture with his hips.

“What you do some chores and think im going to forgive you like that?”

A sheepish “maybe” leaves the white haired man

You turned around without a word and left him standing there, whining like a kicked dog.

⸻

Day three:

He tried seduction.

You came home from work, exhausted and grumpy — only to find Gojo sprawled across the bed, shirtless, wearing only a tiny towel dangerously slung across his hips.

One hand behind his head.

One hand lazily trailing down his chest.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he purred, voice low and shameless. “Long day? Want me to make it alllll better?”

You stood there staring, arms crossed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said flatly, fighting the very real urge to drool.

“Mad enough to resist this?” he teased, tugging the towel down a little further to reveal a very blatant problem.

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt. He looked good, you couldn’t lie. He always looked good, but the urge to plant yourself in his lap was chewing away at you, the way his skin was glinting under the lamp light, Chiseled body on display. You craved his touch

You almost caved right there.

Almost.

Instead, you stepped closer — leaned down — kissed the corner of his stupid smug mouth — and whispered sweetly:

“Have fun jerking off.”

The whine he let out as you walked away could have powered a small city.

⸻

Day four:

He had snapped.

“You’re TORTURING me,” he moaned dramatically as he draped himself across your lap like a Victorian woman about to faint. “I’m a shell of a man. You’re gonna kill me. They’re gonna find me withered and shriveled up, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Good,” you said sweetly, pushing his head off your thighs.

“Please,” he begged, crawling after you on his hands and knees, clinging to your leg like a child.

“Just a little kiss? A little touch? A little—anything? I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You looked down at him — pathetic, needy, desperate Gojo clinging to you like his life depended on it — and god, the smug power rush was almost addictive.

Everything in you was screaming to give in, to make him earn his forgiveness. you mind wandering to just how hard he would work. All needy and desperate like this. Would he eat you like a man starved? Or maybe he couldn’t handle waiting and would pull you down right there, fucking you as an apology

You almost gave in.

Almost.

Fifth night.

You came home bone-tired, mind heavy with stress, muscles aching from a brutal day at work. You felt both mentally and physically drained. this whole week was tough on you, you wanted so badly to crawl into your boyfriend’s lap and let him take away all the stress. you missed his touch, his scent, his everything. To the point where you just wanted to cry

There was something about him, he seemed to dispel every bad mood you had, making everything better. You couldn’t even recall why you were keeping him at. Arms length. And god, you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you, touch you, kiss you. trail his hands over your body like you were a goddess on earth

And there he was — waiting for you.

Gojo was lounging on the couch, long legs spread, arms thrown casually over the backrest like he owned the place.

Dressed down in just grey sweats — and no shirt.

Golden skin, toned abs, messy white hair, and that stupidly unfair face that somehow looked even more handsome when he was pouting.

And fuck, the look he gave you when you walked in —

like you were the only thing in the universe worth staring at.

“Welcome home, baby,” he murmured, voice a low purr that slid right under your skin.

You dropped your bag by the door, jaw tight. You tried — you really tried — to hold it together. To keep your cool.

You still hadn’t forgiven him yet. You were still mad. You weren’t going to break.

Not yet.

“You look tired,” he said softly, his tone dripping with too much tenderness. “C’mere. Lemme take care of you.”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

And that’s when he stood — lazy, slow, so fucking confident — walking toward you like a predator scenting blood in the water. Like he could sense it, the way you were so close to breaking.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” he whispered, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your cheek.

“You deserve a break. You deserve… me.”

His thumb stroked over your jaw, slow and teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I miss you,” he whispered, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry, angel. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll never forget a date again. I’ll never put work first again. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

You shivered.

God, you missed him too. You missed his touch, his voice, his everything.

Your chest ached with the weight of it.

He kissed the side of your neck, light as a feather. “Please. Let me make it up to you. Let me worship you. Let me love you.”

His hands gripped your hips — strong, possessive — pulling you closer until you could feel how hard he already was against you.

And that’s it.

You snapped.

With a sharp gasp, you grabbed his stupid pretty face and dragged him down into a searing, punishing kiss — teeth and tongue and months of longing poured into it.

When you snapped and dragged him into that kiss, Satoru didn’t waste a fucking second.

He was already clawing at your clothes like a man possessed, like if he didn’t have you skin-to-skin right now he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

Somehow you stumbled to the bedroom—barely—he was kissing you so hungrily, hands slipping under your clothes, squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist, like he was trying to memorize every curve all over again.

Delicate moans leaving your mouth at the feeling, god you had missed this, that feeling of being so wanted by the one you love

And when he finally—finally—got your clothes off?

Satoru groaned—a deep, broken sound that vibrated through his whole chest.

“Fuck—baby, fuck, look at you—” he gasped, hands spreading over your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits like he was worshipping.

“You’re so beautiful, so fucking perfect—”

He kissed down your body, wet open-mouthed kisses, nipping at sensitive skin, breathing filthy little praises against you.

“Missed you, missed you so much—fuck—I’m sorry, baby, lemme make it better, lemme make it right—”

And then he was between your thighs, hands gripping them wide open, moaning like you were a fucking feast laid out just for him.

The first swipe of his tongue over your pussy had your knees buckling.

You sobbed his name—loud, desperate—and Satoru groaned right into you like he was getting drunk off your taste.

“Missed this pussy,” he slurred, voice wrecked. “Missed how fuckin’ sweet you are—missed how you cry for me, baby.”

He didn’t stop—didn’t fucking stop—circling your clit with his tongue, then sucking hard, then fucking you with two fingers deep and fast, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble.

It was obscene—filthy—the slick sounds of his fingers pumping into you, the wet noises of his mouth working your cunt, his desperate little groans when you tugged his hair and ground yourself against his face.

And when you came, hard and messy all over his tongue—

he fucking moaned, grinding his cock into the mattress because he needed you so bad it hurt.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He practically threw you back on the bed, climbed over you, and pressed the fat, weeping head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

He held your hips down with his big hands, forcing you to take every slow, stretching inch.

Like he knew it was exactly what you needed, what you craved.

“You feel s’good, baby,” he slurred, forehead resting against yours, voice shaking with how hard he was holding back. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight, so perfect for me— cant believe you kept yourself from me”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders, and Satoru shuddered—hips jerking against you as he bottomed out with a desperate, choked moan.

And then he fucked you—

not hard, not fast—

deep, slow, filthy, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you, making you feel every goddamn inch.

“Say you forgive me,” he begged, voice wrecked, pleading as he rocked into you. “Say you love me, baby—say you missed me—”

You tried—tried—to answer, but he just kept fucking you so good and slow and deep that all you could do was cry his name. Every drag of his thick cock through your wall rendering you unable of speaking. The feeling of his pretty pink tip hitting your cervix so perfectly sending waves of pleasure throughout your body

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over your face. “That’s my good girl, takin’ me so good—”

You came again—shattering around him, clenching down so hard he cursed—loud and filthy.

But he didn’t stop.

He grabbed your thighs and folded you in half, fucking into you harder now, desperate and messy, chasing his own release with little breathless groans in your ear.

“So pretty, baby—so good for me—wanna cum inside you so bad—wanna fuckin’ fill you up—”

And when he finally came—thrusting deep and grinding against you, cock twitching as he spilled inside you—

he gasped your name like a prayer, clinging to you like he never wanted to let you go.

[manmuncher777]

Floating

✧༺ Dealer Suguru x reader

✧༺ trigger warnings - high sex, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, possesive Suguru

✧༺ a/n i got high for the second time in my life, and got a violent urge to write this. Enjoy

The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the buzz of the city. Geto was already sprawled on the battered couch, one arm thrown over the back lazily, a slow smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you kick off your shoes. Walking into his place now was like second nature, like you lived there yourself.

“You’re late,” he drawled, voice rough and deep, velvet-wrapped amusement.

You rolled your eyes and tossed your bag onto the counter. “You say that like you charge by the minute.”

He chuckled, low and teasing. “Maybe I should. You know… find ways to punish bad clients.”

Heat curled under your skin. You hated how easily he could do that — make one stupid comment and have your stomach flipping like you were some clueless college girl with a crush. You pushed it down, lifting your chin like you weren’t dying inside. He tended to have that effect on you, despite how long you had known him now, you could never get used to his charm. You remember when you first got in contact, your friend passing his details along as a reliable dealer. You picked up from him and left a blushing mess that day, picking up once a week just for a little weekend relaxation soon became chatting for an hour, then leaving, and that soon became staying for hours at his place, smoking together.

“Shut up and roll,” you muttered, grabbing a half-full water bottle and plopping down next to him. Maybe a little too close. Maybe close enough to brush his thigh with yours — but you told yourself it didn’t mean anything.

You swore you saw the way his eyes flicked down, taking in the way your bare legs brushed his jeans, the hem of your skirt riding up from how you sat. You ignored it, because if you paid attention to it you’d lose the upper hand. If you even had the upper hand.

Every time you met him it felt like some sort of competition, some kind of test, to see who would break first. An unspoken tension that you guys have never addressed.

“Bossy tonight, huh?” he mused, slow fingers already breaking up the bud like he’d done it a thousand times before — and he had. For you. For both of you. “Gotta say, sweetheart, it’s a little hot.” His eyes flicking over to you, signature lazy smirk on his grace as he spoke. Throwing around flirty comments was typical for your little smoke sessions.

“You’re disgusting,” you giggled lightly, reaching for your lighter and fiddling with it just to give your hands something to do.

“Yeah,” Geto agreed easily, sparking the joint and inhaling, his lips wrapping around the paper so sinfully you had to look away before you embarrassed yourself. “And you love it.”

He was entrancing, you couldn’t help but watch his every move, his huge hand gestured for the lighter you were fiddling with, before lighting the joint careful ling. The burning orange from your shitty bid lighter highlighted his face in the dimly lit room. Trails of smoke curling away from his mouth as he took a few hits

You scoffed, taking the joint when he offered it. Your fingers brushed — spark — and you tried not to shiver as you brought it to your mouth. His gaze stayed heavy on you the whole time, making it impossible to pretend you were unaffected.

The smoke was harsh on your throat, making you cough a little, and when you handed it back to him, his smile widened. Lazy. Knowing.

“Lightweight,” he teased.

“I’m literally the reason you’re here,” you muttered, leaning back against the couch. “If anything, you should be grateful.”

“Grateful,” Geto repeated, tilting his head like he was seriously considering it. His hair was loose tonight, strands falling into his face, and your fingers itched with the urge to push it back. “I guess I should be. You make it… interesting.”

You didn’t answer — mostly because your brain had short-circuited. Instead you took another hit, hoping the creeping warmth of the high would drown out the way he was looking at you.

It didn’t.

Because Geto shifted closer, real casual, like he wasn’t doing it on purpose — but he was. You could smell his cologne, that smoky, spicy smell that always clung to him, that always clung to you after nights like this.

“So,” he said, voice dropping a little, a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. “You ever gonna admit you like me, or am I gonna have to keep dragging it out of you every night?”

Your heart lurched, thudding painfully against your ribs. You fought the urge to stammer, to blush like an idiot. Instead, you cocked an eyebrow at him, feigning boredom even as your skin burned.

“Dream on, dealer boy.”

Geto laughed, low and rich, and leaned in just a little more. Close enough that you could see the tiny glint of his lip piercing, the way it caught the light when he smiled like that — like he already knew he was going to ruin you eventually.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured, voice thick with lazy affection — or maybe something worse. Something that made your stomach twist and your thighs press together. “You’re the only one I do this with”

He passed the joint back to you. His fingers brushed yours again — longer this time, deliberate — and you didn’t pull away.

You didn’t want to.

“You mean I’m your favourite regular?” You gasp, feigning shock as you spoke “guess I am a lucky girl then”

A few more hits were shared, and as the minutes ticked on, you could feel the familiar buzz beneath your skin

The high hit you harder than usual — a slow, syrupy pull that made your skin feel too sensitive, your head too light. You sank deeper into the couch, warmth spreading in your limbs, and somewhere under it all, him.

Geto sat across from you, one arm thrown lazily over the back of the couch, the other lifting the blunt to his mouth. His hair was tied back, loose strands framing his face — stupidly gorgeous, unfairly gorgeous. And when he took a drag, the smoke curled from his lips like something out of a dream, all slow and filthy and hypnotizing.

God, he smelled so good too. That warm, musky cologne mixed with the weed — you wanted to roll in it, smother yourself in it.

And his voice — fuck, his voice. Every time he spoke it wrapped around you, deep and slow, lazy and smooth, like it was dragging invisible fingers down your spine. You were so gone, you realized with horror you hadn’t been listening to a word he said for the past few minutes.

You blinked, trying to focus, but it was so hard when he was sitting there looking like that — head tilted back, mouth soft and slick from the smoke, tongue flicking lazily at the blunt. You squeezed your thighs together without meaning to, trying to focus on literally anything else — but Geto’s eyes caught the movement.

Of course he noticed.

The smirk that curled on his lips was devastating. He knew.

And he wasn’t going to let you get away with it.

“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, voice like warm honey, thick with amusement. His legs sprawled wider, deliberately lazy. “You’re lookin’ a little distracted.”

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. “‘M fine,” you mumbled, trying to sound annoyed, trying to sound normal, but it came out all breathy and broken.

Geto’s eyes gleamed, dark and hot and knowing.

“Yeah?” he drawled, leaning forward slowly, elbows on his knees, the blunt burning low between his fingers. His grin was all teeth now, all cruel affection. “Sure you’re fine?”

You could feel your pulse hammering in your throat, could feel how your body leaned toward him without permission, desperate for more of that voice, that heat, that everything. Your mouth opened — maybe to lie, maybe to beg, you weren’t sure — but he cut you off, voice dropping even lower, almost a purr.

“Y’look like you wanna crawl into my lap, sweetheart,” Geto said lazily, eyes drinking you in. “That what you want?”

Your whole body lit up, buzzing with the high and the want and the unbearable need pooling low in your belly.

You should have said something back. You should have played it off, laughed, rolled your eyes, something.

But all you could do was stare at him — wide-eyed, flushed, breathing a little too fast — while he smiled like he already had you.

And he did.

He so fucking did.

The moment you didn’t answer — the way you just sat there, high and hazy and wanting — Geto moved.

Not rushed.

Deliberate.

He stubbed the blunt out in the tray and pushed up from the couch, slow and easy, towering over you. His hand reached for your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to look at him.

“You gonna keep pretending you don’t want it?” he murmured, voice dark and low, thumb brushing your bottom lip like he was thinking about pushing it into your mouth. “Or you gonna be a good girl and tell me?”

Your breath hitched. You didn’t even realize you were leaning into his touch until his thumb grazed your lip again, and this time, you instinctively parted your lips, desperate for anything he’d give you.

“Suguru…”

Geto’s mouth curved into something wicked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Then — finally — he leaned down, catching your mouth with his, and you melted. His kiss was slow at first, taunting, lips brushing yours with infuriating laziness until you whimpered against him — and that broke something loose inside him.

He grunted low in his chest and grabbed you, hands rough and eager, hauling you into his lap as he collapsed back onto the couch. You straddled him, thighs spread over his, and you could feel how hard he already was beneath his jeans.

“Fuckin’ starvin’ for it,” he muttered against your mouth, voice all wrecked, his hands sliding down to grab your ass, grinding you against the thick line of his cock. “Actin’ all shy — but your pussy’s beggin’ me, isn’t it?”

You whimpered, hips jerking against him, chasing the friction.

Geto laughed, low and cruel, like he knew exactly how far gone you were — and he hadn’t even touched you properly yet.

He dragged his mouth along your jaw, biting gently, sucking, until you were panting into his hair.

“God, look at you,” he muttered, voice rough with want. “Fucked out already and I haven’t even gotten my hands in your panties.”

You whined — actually whined — and that seemed to break whatever fragile patience he had left.

Geto’s hands slid up under your shirt, rough palms skimming your sides, thumbs brushing teasingly close to your breasts but never touching — making you squirm.

“You want it, baby?” he purred against your ear, voice so filthy it almost made your knees buckle. “Want me to put my hand in your panties and feel how fuckin’ wet you are?”

You gasped out a shaky, desperate “yes,” but it still wasn’t enough.

“Tell me.” His mouth was on your throat now, teeth grazing the skin, voice a growl. “Tell me you want my fingers inside you. Tell me you need it.”

“Need it,” you choked out, grinding helplessly against him. “Need you, Sugu, please—”

That was all he needed to hear.

One big hand shoved under the band of your panties, finding you dripping and desperate, and he groaned raggedly against your throat.

“Fuck. Look at that. Knew this pretty little pussy was beggin’ for me.” He pushed two thick fingers into you in one slow, deep thrust, making you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He set a brutal rhythm, curling his fingers perfectly, fucking you on his hand as he whispered the filthiest things against your skin — all slow, deep voice and nasty promises about how good you were gonna take his cock next, how he was gonna ruin you for anyone else.

You were a mess already, moaning against his mouth, clinging to him like you were drowning — and Geto was eating it up, grinning against your lips every time you whimpered.

“You feel that?” he growled, voice wrecked. “That’s mine now. That pretty little pussy’s mine.”

And when you came, crying out into his mouth, thighs trembling around him, he didn’t even slow down.

No — he hauled you up by the hips, dragging your soaked panties down your thighs, and pulled his cock free from his jeans — thick and heavy and so ready.

“Thought you could sit here all pretty and not get fucked?” he murmured, cocky even as he was panting with need. “Nah, sweetheart. ’M gonna fill you up, fuck you so good you forget your own name.”

Geto’s fingers never slowed.

If anything, they moved deeper, filthier — curling just right, dragging along every sensitive spot inside you that made your vision blur.

You were gone already. High, wrecked, full of him — the heat of his body under your thighs, the low sound of his breathing, the roughness of his fingers stretching you open — it was all too much.

But Geto wasn’t going to let you hide in it.

No, he wanted you to feel every second.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured against your ear, voice heavy, thick with heat. “Say it.”

You whimpered, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, hips bucking helplessly into his hand.

You sobbed into his neck, clinging to him, and Geto just groaned, rolling his hips into yours slow and dirty.

“S- Say what—”

“Anything,” he breathed, curling his fingers in a way that made your whole body jolt. “Tell me how good it feels. Tell me you want my cock. Tell me you need me.”

You whined again, the words jumbled and tangled in your throat because you did — god, you needed him so bad it hurt — but your mind was hazy, floating.

Still, you forced yourself to lift your head, looking at him with glassy, desperate eyes.

“Feels so good,” you gasped, voice breaking on a moan when he crooked his fingers again. “Need you, Geto— need more—”

He grinned, slow and mean, like he knew exactly how close you were to falling apart.

“More?” he drawled, pulling his fingers almost all the way out — teasing — and you sobbed softly at the loss, chasing him with your hips.

“Please,” you whimpered, fingers clawing at his shoulders, dragging at his clothes like you could pull him closer, fuse him to you somehow. “Please, don’t stop— need you inside, please—”

That did it.

Geto’s control snapped like a thread.

“Fuckin’ love hearing you beg,” he growled, grabbing the hem of your skirt and panties and ripping them down your thighs in one rough motion.

You stared for a second — wide-eyed, panting — because even through the haze, the sight of him, thick and flushed and leaking, made your mouth water.

“You ready for me, pretty girl?” he purred, guiding himself to your entrance, his other hand still cupping your ass, holding you steady. “Gotta hear you say it.”

You nodded frantically, nails digging into his shoulders, but it wasn’t enough for him — no, Geto wanted words.

Wanted to hear your desperate little voice give in to him completely.

“Yes,” you gasped out, rocking your hips against him. “Want it— want your cock, please, need you so bad—”

The second the words left your mouth, he pushed in, slow and thick, and you cried out, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you from falling apart.

The stretch was overwhelming — perfect — the hypersensitivity of your high making every inch, every throb, every pulse of him feel huge inside you.

You were so full you could hardly breathe.

“Fuckin’ tight,” Geto groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, his hands bruising on your hips. “So fuckin’ good for me.”

He gave you one second to adjust — one — before he started to move, thrusting up into you with slow, deep strokes that made your toes curl.

And through it all — the way he filled you, the way he grunted filthy praise into your skin — he kept coaxing you to talk.

“Tell me, baby,” he panted, hips snapping up harder, dragging a sob from your throat. “*Tell me how good my cock feels.”

“Feels so good,” you gasped, tears stinging your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure, nails raking down his back. “So deep— fuck, Geto, you’re so deep—”

“Yeah?” he rasped, teeth catching your earlobe. “Gonna cum on my cock, pretty girl? Gonna make a fuckin’ mess all over me?”

You could only nod, mouth falling open, broken moans spilling out — but that wasn’t good enough for him.

“Say it,” he growled, thrusting up hard, making your whole body jolt. “Say you’re mine.”

“Yours,” you cried, hips grinding down desperately. “Yours, Geto, yours—”

That delicious build of pleasure cuts you off, snatching the breath from your body as you feel each thick vein dragging through your welcoming walls

And when you came — stars bursting behind your eyes, body clenching tight around him — Geto was right there with you, cursing low and filthy into your neck as he spilled inside you, fucking you through it, making sure you felt every hot, perfect pulse of it.

You slumped against him after, both of you wrecked and trembling and so high it felt like the world outside the two of you didn’t exist.

And even then — even wrecked — Geto chuckled low against your throat, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face.

“Told you,” he murmured, voice still dark and wrecked. “You’re mine now, pretty girl.”

[manmuncher777]

Hiiii <3 Could you write a gojo x reader where we've been mad at gojo and it's been weeks and we haven't slept together. But gojo cant take it anymore and we have make up sex.

Dog House

✧༺ Satoru Gojo x reader SMUT

✧༺. Gojo forgot an important date night you have planned, so you you hoped a sex ban would be a good punishment, but it ends up being harder on You…

You had been looking forward to tonight for weeks.

A real date — not something squeezed in between missions, not a quick lunch in a grimy diner while he texted furiously under the table.

An actual night for just the two of you.

You sat on the couch in your prettiest dress, makeup done, hair styled, heels tapping impatiently against the hardwood.

You spent the whole evening getting ready, wearing all his favourite things, his favourite perfume, favourite lipstick, even his favourite set,, matching bra and panties.

The clock on the wall ticked louder and louder.

Your heart started sinking.

When the front door finally creaked open nearly three hours late, you didn’t even bother to stand up.

You just stared at the TV blankly, pretending you hadn’t already gone through every stage of disappointment and rage.

“Babyyyy,” Gojo called out as he kicked his shoes off lazily. His voice was casual, bright — like he didn’t even realize the magnitude of the sin he’d just committed. “I’m hoooome—holy shit, you look fucking. gre—”

He froze mid-step, mid-sentence, when you slowly turned your head to glare at him.

“…Oh,” he said weakly. Smile being replaced with the look of a child who was about to get scolded.

You crossed your arms. “Yeah. Oh.”

He winced, shuffling closer with his hands out like he was approaching a dangerous animal. “Look, baby, before you get mad—”

“I am mad,” you snapped, standing up. Your heels clicked furiously on the floor as you closed the distance between you. “You forgot about our date. You didn’t call. You didn’t text. You just—” you gestured wildly, “—abandoned me like I was nothing.”

“Hey, that’s not fair—” he started, eyebrows knitting together.

“Fair?” you echoed, letting out a humorless laugh. “You can teleport across half the country in five minutes but can’t pick up your goddamn phone?”

Gojo opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, then shut it.

You could see the moment he realized he had absolutely no defense.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he said quickly, giving you those wide, desperate puppy eyes. “Work just got—really crazy—and I lost track of time—”

“You always lose track of time, Satoru,” you said, voice rising slightly. “You act like you’re the only one who’s busy. You think I’m sitting here doing nothing all day, just waiting for you to maybe remember me?”

Gojo’s mouth twisted in guilt. “I don’t think that, I swear—”

“Then act like it!”

He shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. His blindfold was pushed up onto his messy hair, his face wide open and full of regret — but god, you were too pissed to fall for the pitiful look.

“You look so beautiful,” he said softly, almost a whisper, eyes raking over you again like it physically hurt him to have missed this. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“You are,” you agreed flatly.

“But I’ll make it up to you, baby, I swear,” he said, voice dripping with false bravado now as he leaned down to brush his mouth against yours — cocky grin tugging at his lips. “C’mon, let me make it up to you properly—”

You jabbed a finger into his chest, making him stumble back a step.

“Sex. Ban.”

You savored the way the words wiped the smirk clean off his face.

His jaw dropped. “Wait, no—no, baby, don’t do this—”

“Effective immediately,” you said crisply, turning on your heel. “Indefinitely.”

Gojo scrambled after you, grabbing your wrist lightly. “You’re kidding, right? Right? Right?”

You yanked your hand free, arching a brow. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

His hands dropped helplessly to his sides, as if the news had physically drained all the strength from his body.

“Baby, you can’t,” he whined shamelessly. “You can’t do that, that’s—that’s abuse, actually—”

You snorted. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you forgot about your girlfriend for three straight hours.”

Gojo groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “I didn’t forget you! I forgot the time!” He gestured wildly toward the clock, like it was the traitorous enemy here. “I always think about you! Constantly! You’re all I fucking think about!”

You just shrugged, perfectly, infuriatingly indifferent. “Should’ve acted like it.”

And then you left him standing there — devastated, blue balls already kicking in, face full of desperate disbelief — as you grabbed a blanket and flopped onto the couch dramatically, putting a full fortress of pillows between you and him.

Gojo stared at you for a long moment, like he was considering just dropping to his knees and begging.

(He would. Give him a few minutes.)

It started the very next morning.

You were standing at the kitchen counter, minding your own business, trying to pour coffee — when a pair of strong arms slid around your waist.

“Baby,” Gojo whined into your neck, voice muffled and pitiful. “I need you.”

You carefully leaned away from his nuzzling mouth.

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you left me alone all night,” you said sweetly.

He groaned dramatically, letting his head fall onto your shoulder like he was a man on the brink of death.

“I said I was sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll never do it again, I swear. I’ll set alarms. I’ll tattoo the date on my forehead.”

You snorted. “Sucks to suck, Satoru.”

He pouted the whole rest of the morning, trailing after you like a lost puppy, hands constantly wandering — groping, squeezing, touching — hoping you’d just snap and shove him down.

You didn’t.

⸻

Day two:

You woke up to a suspiciously clean apartment.

Gojo was perched proudly on the couch, arms crossed like he was waiting for a gold star.

“I did all the chores,” he announced brightly. “Vacuumed, laundry, folded the towels the way you like. I even alphabetized the spice rack.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“And why would you do all that?”

He beamed. “Because I love you!”

“And…?”

His smile faltered slightly.

“And maybe because I’m hoping you’ll let me… you know…” He made an absolutely obscene gesture with his hips.

“What you do some chores and think im going to forgive you like that?”

A sheepish “maybe” leaves the white haired man

You turned around without a word and left him standing there, whining like a kicked dog.

⸻

Day three:

He tried seduction.

You came home from work, exhausted and grumpy — only to find Gojo sprawled across the bed, shirtless, wearing only a tiny towel dangerously slung across his hips.

One hand behind his head.

One hand lazily trailing down his chest.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he purred, voice low and shameless. “Long day? Want me to make it alllll better?”

You stood there staring, arms crossed.

“I’m still mad at you,” you said flatly, fighting the very real urge to drool.

“Mad enough to resist this?” he teased, tugging the towel down a little further to reveal a very blatant problem.

You bit your lip so hard it almost hurt. He looked good, you couldn’t lie. He always looked good, but the urge to plant yourself in his lap was chewing away at you, the way his skin was glinting under the lamp light, Chiseled body on display. You craved his touch

You almost caved right there.

Almost.

Instead, you stepped closer — leaned down — kissed the corner of his stupid smug mouth — and whispered sweetly:

“Have fun jerking off.”

The whine he let out as you walked away could have powered a small city.

⸻

Day four:

He had snapped.

“You’re TORTURING me,” he moaned dramatically as he draped himself across your lap like a Victorian woman about to faint. “I’m a shell of a man. You’re gonna kill me. They’re gonna find me withered and shriveled up, and it’ll be all your fault.”

“Good,” you said sweetly, pushing his head off your thighs.

“Please,” he begged, crawling after you on his hands and knees, clinging to your leg like a child.

“Just a little kiss? A little touch? A little—anything? I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

You looked down at him — pathetic, needy, desperate Gojo clinging to you like his life depended on it — and god, the smug power rush was almost addictive.

Everything in you was screaming to give in, to make him earn his forgiveness. you mind wandering to just how hard he would work. All needy and desperate like this. Would he eat you like a man starved? Or maybe he couldn’t handle waiting and would pull you down right there, fucking you as an apology

You almost gave in.

Almost.

Fifth night.

You came home bone-tired, mind heavy with stress, muscles aching from a brutal day at work. You felt both mentally and physically drained. this whole week was tough on you, you wanted so badly to crawl into your boyfriend’s lap and let him take away all the stress. you missed his touch, his scent, his everything. To the point where you just wanted to cry

There was something about him, he seemed to dispel every bad mood you had, making everything better. You couldn’t even recall why you were keeping him at. Arms length. And god, you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you, touch you, kiss you. trail his hands over your body like you were a goddess on earth

And there he was — waiting for you.

Gojo was lounging on the couch, long legs spread, arms thrown casually over the backrest like he owned the place.

Dressed down in just grey sweats — and no shirt.

Golden skin, toned abs, messy white hair, and that stupidly unfair face that somehow looked even more handsome when he was pouting.

And fuck, the look he gave you when you walked in —

like you were the only thing in the universe worth staring at.

“Welcome home, baby,” he murmured, voice a low purr that slid right under your skin.

You dropped your bag by the door, jaw tight. You tried — you really tried — to hold it together. To keep your cool.

You still hadn’t forgiven him yet. You were still mad. You weren’t going to break.

Not yet.

“You look tired,” he said softly, his tone dripping with too much tenderness. “C’mere. Lemme take care of you.”

You hesitated, heart pounding.

And that’s when he stood — lazy, slow, so fucking confident — walking toward you like a predator scenting blood in the water. Like he could sense it, the way you were so close to breaking.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” he whispered, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered against your cheek.

“You deserve a break. You deserve… me.”

His thumb stroked over your jaw, slow and teasing, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“I miss you,” he whispered, mouth brushing the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry, angel. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll never forget a date again. I’ll never put work first again. You’re the only thing that matters to me.”

You shivered.

God, you missed him too. You missed his touch, his voice, his everything.

Your chest ached with the weight of it.

He kissed the side of your neck, light as a feather. “Please. Let me make it up to you. Let me worship you. Let me love you.”

His hands gripped your hips — strong, possessive — pulling you closer until you could feel how hard he already was against you.

And that’s it.

You snapped.

With a sharp gasp, you grabbed his stupid pretty face and dragged him down into a searing, punishing kiss — teeth and tongue and months of longing poured into it.

When you snapped and dragged him into that kiss, Satoru didn’t waste a fucking second.

He was already clawing at your clothes like a man possessed, like if he didn’t have you skin-to-skin right now he was gonna lose his goddamn mind.

Somehow you stumbled to the bedroom—barely—he was kissing you so hungrily, hands slipping under your clothes, squeezing your thighs, your ass, your waist, like he was trying to memorize every curve all over again.

Delicate moans leaving your mouth at the feeling, god you had missed this, that feeling of being so wanted by the one you love

And when he finally—finally—got your clothes off?

Satoru groaned—a deep, broken sound that vibrated through his whole chest.

“Fuck—baby, fuck, look at you—” he gasped, hands spreading over your waist, thumbs brushing the underside of your tits like he was worshipping.

“You’re so beautiful, so fucking perfect—”

He kissed down your body, wet open-mouthed kisses, nipping at sensitive skin, breathing filthy little praises against you.

“Missed you, missed you so much—fuck—I’m sorry, baby, lemme make it better, lemme make it right—”

And then he was between your thighs, hands gripping them wide open, moaning like you were a fucking feast laid out just for him.

The first swipe of his tongue over your pussy had your knees buckling.

You sobbed his name—loud, desperate—and Satoru groaned right into you like he was getting drunk off your taste.

“Missed this pussy,” he slurred, voice wrecked. “Missed how fuckin’ sweet you are—missed how you cry for me, baby.”

He didn’t stop—didn’t fucking stop—circling your clit with his tongue, then sucking hard, then fucking you with two fingers deep and fast, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble.

It was obscene—filthy—the slick sounds of his fingers pumping into you, the wet noises of his mouth working your cunt, his desperate little groans when you tugged his hair and ground yourself against his face.

And when you came, hard and messy all over his tongue—

he fucking moaned, grinding his cock into the mattress because he needed you so bad it hurt.

But he wasn’t done.

Not even close.

He practically threw you back on the bed, climbed over you, and pressed the fat, weeping head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

He held your hips down with his big hands, forcing you to take every slow, stretching inch.

Like he knew it was exactly what you needed, what you craved.

“You feel s’good, baby,” he slurred, forehead resting against yours, voice shaking with how hard he was holding back. “God, you’re so fuckin’ tight, so perfect for me— cant believe you kept yourself from me”

You whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders, and Satoru shuddered—hips jerking against you as he bottomed out with a desperate, choked moan.

And then he fucked you—

not hard, not fast—

deep, slow, filthy, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you, making you feel every goddamn inch.

“Say you forgive me,” he begged, voice wrecked, pleading as he rocked into you. “Say you love me, baby—say you missed me—”

You tried—tried—to answer, but he just kept fucking you so good and slow and deep that all you could do was cry his name. Every drag of his thick cock through your wall rendering you unable of speaking. The feeling of his pretty pink tip hitting your cervix so perfectly sending waves of pleasure throughout your body

“That’s it,” he whispered, pressing open-mouthed kisses all over your face. “That’s my good girl, takin’ me so good—”

You came again—shattering around him, clenching down so hard he cursed—loud and filthy.

But he didn’t stop.

He grabbed your thighs and folded you in half, fucking into you harder now, desperate and messy, chasing his own release with little breathless groans in your ear.

“So pretty, baby—so good for me—wanna cum inside you so bad—wanna fuckin’ fill you up—”

And when he finally came—thrusting deep and grinding against you, cock twitching as he spilled inside you—

he gasped your name like a prayer, clinging to you like he never wanted to let you go.

[manmuncher777]

WHINY CHOSO WHINY CHOSO WHINY CHOSO

‘Please baby, I’ll be quick. They wont even notice we left.”

Choso’s lips brushed against the shell of your ear as his begging continued. Warm breath tinged with pitchy whines for only you to hear. His hands resting on your thigh under the blanket as you sat in your friends apartment, you had come over for a night of drinks and chat. But alcohol seemed to do one thing and one thing only to choso, make him increadibly horny. Absolutely insatiable. You were lucky it had gotten to the point where groups had broken off to have conversations, leaving you and choso sat on a couch.

So now you had your gorgeous boyfriend, flushing in the face and glossy eyes begging to whisk you away and fuck you. And you found it harder and harder to turn him down with each promise he made you.

“Please baby, I don’t even need to fuck you. Just wanna feel you so bad.” The grip on your thigh tightening with desperation. You did your best to stay nochelant, hand stroking the back of his neck, hoping that maybe it might act as some sort of soothing agent for him, but little did you know your touch was only making things worse for him. The way your perfume wafted to his nose with over stroked to his neck, the feeling of your nails as they ran over his skin, it had his spine tingling and his mind running with need.

“You know you want to…” his tattooed hand rising further and further up your leg, and you suddenly became grateful for the blanket concealing his actions

“Cho…” you tried to reason with him, but it was no use, his mind was set on you, and nothing was going to stop him.

“You know you want me to baby, I’ll let you use me in any way you want.” His eyes never leaving your face, trying to gauge if he was wearing down your resolve at all, pulling out his best tricks. “You can have my mouth if you want….” His hand diving underneath your skirt, trailing your inner thigh. “My fingers…” your mind whirring with thoughts, filthy thoughts about what would happen if you jjst gave in, if you just left. You could feel yourself flushing with his every move, getting more and more overwhelmed. His voice barely a whisper, only to be hear by you. His whiney tone gracing your ears with each word.

“My dick… anything you want baby, im all yours.`’

Well shit.

Looks like he’d won this battle, with his final sentence his fingers resting over your soaked panties - unmoving, only applying a cruel ammount of pressure. You couldn’t take much more of his teasing, it might seem like he was the only desperate one, but you had been trying so hard to keep your resolve and not just stay home with him the whole night. But that plan had gone out the window, and now you were dragging this huge man by the hand behind you as you gave a hurried goodbye to your friends.

You were frustrated, fuck him for teasing you the whole night, getting you all worked up when you were trying so hard to have one night with friends that wasnt cut short by you two leaving to go fuck. But fo course his sexy fucking voice and gorgeous face just had to go and ruin that for you again. Dragging him into your appartment, brushing him with kisses as you let out all your frustrations on him. And he was more than happy to take it, swallowing each kiss with just as much passion. Falling onto the bed when your pushed him onto it, watching intently as you stripped yourself, climbing on top of his chisled body.

Second nature his hands went to fly to your hips, to grip the soft skin he loved so much. But he was stopped. Your hands holding his wrists and pinning them onto the bed. Confusion graced his features as he stared up at you.

“What was it you said baby? I could use you?” Your voice ringing sickly sweet, but choso could tell there was malice behind those eyes. He knew you were pissed at him, so he was just going to have to fuck that out of you.

At least thats what he was thinking, and while he was thinking that he failed to notice the handcuffs being placed around his wrists and the bed posts. snapping his head up to look at his restraints in frustration, tugging against the chain, hoping they would break. To no avail.

“What’s wrong Cho, this is what you were begging me for earlier?” Your voice ringing smirk, hands brushing up and down his body, avoiding the area where he needed you most, his shockingly hard cock standing tall, but you refusing to acknowledge its presence, instead running your nails along his skin, watching as red marks awake.

‘T-this isn’t quite what I had in mind- wanna be able to touch you.” That familiar whine once again leaving him, but you werent going to fall for it this time. Touch luck for him

“Well maybe you should’ve thought about that before you were a horny bastard all evening”

True, he did bring this on himself. But he couldn’t help it when you were sat there so close to him, smelling and looking so good.

But now he was sorely regretting his actions. Watching you helplessly as you finally start paying some attention to his leaking cock, wrapping your hard around his base as you leave little kisses on his pretty pink tip. His precum coating your lips with every kiss you left.

That gentle touch had him bucking his hips, straining to meet your lips. His hands tugging on his restraints, begging to be able to touch you, to run his hands through your hair as he guides your mouth onto his cock.

But you werent feeling that nice, shuffling up his body, straddling him. Your bare body illuminated by your bedside lamp as you rubbed your cunt over his length. Not ever letting in slip in. Just a simple rock of your hips. Coating him in your wetness. Pulling pathetic moans from him as you went. Your warm cunt brushing over his tip, allowing it to bump your clit every thrust. You truly were just using him in this moment. Goosebumps prickling over your skin as faint waves of pleasure started to flow through you. The slick sounds of your pussy audible as he slid through your folds.

“F-fuck~ baby im so sorry. Please” you had hardly even started and sweat was already starting to glisten on his perfect skin, tufts of dark hair clinging to his forehead as he strained. Not giving up on his attempt to touch you. To do anything. This wasn’t enough. He needed to feel you.

Choso was wrecked.

His wrists pulled against the cuffs, his arms flexing as he tried—really tried—not to lose his mind. But the way you were straddling him, bare, your warm, soaked cunt dragging over his cock in slow, torturous rolls of your hips? It was killing him.

“Please,” he rasped, his voice thick, wrecked with need. His fingers twitched uselessly against the restraints. “Please, baby, I—fuck, I need you.

You hummed, deliberately shifting your hips just enough to let the head of his cock catch against your entrance before lifting yourself off him again. “You need me?” you mused, tilting your head, pretending to think. “That’s funny. Because you were the one begging me all night, acting like you’d do anything just to get inside me.”

Choso groaned, his head pressing back into the pillows, his jaw clenched as he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I would,” he swore, his eyes dark and pleading, half-lidded with frustration. “I will—just, please—fuck, just let me—”. It was almost laughable how desperate he was, how worked up he was getting. Part of you felt a little guilty as you watched his flushed face strain with ever movement you made. But he needed to know his place, and this was exactly where he belonged. Underneath you, pathetic. Eyes glossy and dark hair messy.

You rolled your hips again, letting his cock slide between your folds, slick and achingly close to where he wanted to be, where he needed to be. His whole body shuddered, his fingers curling into fists as he let out the most pitiful, desperate sound.

“Shit—” he gasped, his hips jerking up involuntarily, trying to chase the heat, trying to bury himself inside you—but the cuffs kept him in place, kept him helpless beneath you. “Baby, please—I can’t—fuck, I can’t—”

You leaned in, your lips grazing his ear as you whispered, sweet as sin, “You can’t what?”

Choso let out a broken noise, his breath stuttering. “I can’t—I need you. I can’t take it anymore,” he admitted, voice cracking, all pride lost to the unbearable need consuming him. “Please, baby—I’ll be good, I promise, just—fuck, just let me inside you.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, and the sheer desperation in his eyes sent a fresh wave of heat through your core.

“Well,” you mused, dragging your nails lightly down his chest, watching the way he shivered beneath you. “Since you asked so nicely…”

Then, finally—finally—you sank down onto him, inch by agonizing inch.

And the way Choso whined, his entire body trembling as he let out the most guttural, relieved, wrecked moan?

It was so worth making him wait

Choso was gone.

His wrists still pulled weakly against the cuffs, he couldn’t find it in himself to even thing about the red marks it was causing his skin to form, his body trembling beneath you, his face flushed and damp with sweat as he let out the most wrecked sounds—deep, needy, helpless.

“F-fuck—” he gasped, his voice cracking as you rode him mercilessly, taking what you wanted, using him like he was nothing more than a toy for your pleasure. His cock twitched inside you, overstimulated, aching, so close to falling apart, but he didn’t want it to end—he never wanted it to end.

“You’re taking it so well, baby,” you cooed, your nails dragging down his chest, leaving faint red trails in their wake. “Letting me use you like this—just lying there and taking it like a good boy.”

Choso whimpered, his arms flexing as he pulled against the cuffs again, pure instinct telling him to grab your waist, to pull you down, to beg you to keep going, never stop—

“Please,” he choked out, his voice strained, his hips jerking up in weak, desperate little thrusts. “Please, baby—I wanna come, please—” he didn’t care how he sounded, how desperate the begging was. He couldn’t hold back, not with the way your velvety walls were dragging over him. His bulbous tip presseing deep inside of you every time you lowered yourself, back arching at how deep he was, but you couldn’t let him see how good he was making you feel, as much as you wanted to collapse against him, you couldn’t.

You slowed, rolling your hips in deep, languid strokes, feeling the way he shuddered beneath you, his breath hitching, his thighs trembling. “Want me to let you come, baby?” you murmured, dragging your nails up his ribs, feeling the way his stomach tensed under your touch. Throbbing inside of you at your sensual words, his hips tying their best to meet your cruel bouncing.

“Yes—yes, please—” You leaned in, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “Then be a good boy and give it to me.”

That was it. Choso broke.

His whole body tensed, his breath catching in his throat before he let out the neediest, most pathetic moan as he came, spilling inside you, his arms straining against the cuffs, his hips jerking helplessly. “F-fuck—fuck, baby—oh my god—”

You didn’t stop—not right away. You rode him through it, milking every last shudder, every last gasp, making him feel it, making him take it.

By the time you finally slowed, Choso was a mess—his chest heaving, his skin flushed, his lips parted as he blinked up at you in complete awe.

“Holy shit,” he breathed, dazed, his voice wrecked. His wrists flexed against the cuffs again, weakly this time, as if he desperately wanted to touch you but didn’t have the strength to ask. “I—I love you so much,” he slurred, breathless, still trying to catch up with reality. “Thank you.”

You laughed softly, trailing your fingers over his jaw before leaning in to kiss him, slow and deep, swallowing the little whimper he let out as you did.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” you murmured against his lips, reminding yourself to make more plans with friends soon, you quite enjoyed this outcome.