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kthologue · 2 months ago

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the end times — gojo satoru

synopsis. gojo satoru thinks he’s going to die because you’re giving him the silent treatment. (aka your first big fight with gojo).

contents. hurt/comfort, ooc, lovesick!gojo, you give him the silent treatment and he goes crazy, he is so pathetic in this one, tw obsessive behavior (he makes it EVERYONE’S problem), gojo’s pov

notes. loosely inspired by that one scene from yakuza fiance. not proofread whats new

Gojo knows he’s screwed up the second he steps into the common area of Jujutsu Tech’s dormitory. The air feels thick, wrong. And then there’s you, curled up on the couch, a book open in your lap, but your eyes aren’t moving.

His grin falters for half a second before he masks it with his usual bravado. “I always knew you had a little freak in you, but reading your erotic books out in the open? Who knew my girl was such a perv.”

The joke usually earns him a laugh, a shove, maybe even a teasing retort. But tonight, the silence that follows is deafening.

The pit in his stomach grows.

“Sweetheart?” He tries again, waving a hand obnoxiously close to your face.

You finally react, swatting his hand away, but there’s no playfulness in the motion. Your eyes don't even meet his.

“You’re late,” you say flatly, still staring at your book. “Again.”

Gojo scoffs, irritation bubbling. Not at you, never at you, but at the damn book that’s getting more attention than him.

“Ah, you know how it is. Got held up in Kyoto,” he says with a shrug.

The words leave his mouth too easily. He doesn’t realize his mistake until you finally, finally look at him.

And it’s nothing like usual.

There’s no warmth in your gaze, no sparkle of amusement or exasperation. Instead, you pin him with a look so sharp it strips him bare, leaving nothing but the hollow weight in his chest.

“You missed our date.”

His breath catches. His throat goes dry. “I–”

“I’m not mad about that.”

Relief floods him too fast, too soon. His shoulders sag as he leans down, tilting his head for a well-earned kiss. “You’re the best. I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

You pull away before he can touch you.

Gojo freezes.

“[Name]?”

You exhale sharply, shaking your head. “You know, it’s funny.”

There’s nothing funny about this moment.

His pulse thrums as you continue, voice eerily steady. “That your mission was in Kyoto. I mean, we have a whole sister school there, full of sorcerers ready to handle a first-grade threat. So why would they need you, specifically?”

His stomach drops.

He’s never been good at guilt, not when he’s spent his whole life believing he’s untouchable. But now, standing before you, unable to meet your eyes, it sits heavy in his gut.

And you don’t let up.

“Of course, I asked around. Thought maybe I was overthinking it.” A humorless scoff escapes you. “Imagine my surprise when I found out my boyfriend was too busy meeting with his future bride.”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but for the first time in his life, he doesn’t know what to say.

“That’s–” he starts, then stops because, shit, you’re staring at him like he’s a stranger. Like he’s someone you can’t trust. The realization makes his stomach churn.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” you say bitterly, arms crossing as you lean back into the couch. “I mean, I’d love to hear how you were going to explain this one, Gojo Satoru.”

Full name. That’s how he knows he’s really fucked up.

“It’s not–It’s not what you think,” he says quickly, voice unusually hoarse. His usual bravado, his charm, none of it is coming to him. He doesn’t even know where to start. “I wasn’t–I wasn’t hiding it. I just–”

“You just forgot to tell me that your clan is arranging a marriage for you?” you cut in sharply. “That slipped your mind?”

“No! Yes—Fuck, that’s not what I mean,” he groans, pushing a hand through his hair. He’s never felt like this before. Like he’s scrambling for footing on uneven ground. “I didn’t tell you because it didn’t matter, sweetheart. I wasn’t ever going to go through with it. You know that, right?”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “Do I? I mean, Suguru seemed shocked when I didn’t know that these were recurring dates set by your clan.”

Gojo falters.

“You didn’t even think to tell me, Satoru,” you say, voice quieter now, but somehow even more devastating. “You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His heart clenches. That’s not–God, that’s not what this is.

“Of course you deserve to know! But I—” he exhales sharply, trying to gather his words. “I just—Fuck, I thought it was stupid. I thought it wasn’t worth mentioning.”

You shake your head, looking almost tired now. “Right. Because I’m just supposed to assume you’d never go through with it. After your multiple dates with her. Because I’m supposed to read your mind, just like always.”

The weight of your words crashes into him, and Gojo suddenly realizes that this isn’t just about Kyoto. This isn’t just about one lie, one mistake. This is about every time he’s brushed things off, every time he’s let silence speak for him, every time he’s sat through those excruciating meetings, knowing he would never go through with it, but never once thinking about how it would feel for you to find out this way. This is about every time he’s expected you to just get him without him ever having to say a word.

This is about how, even after everything, you still don’t know how much he loves you.

And now, looking at you, Gojo is terrified that he’s already lost his chance to prove it.

“I’m going to sleep,” you stand up from your place on the couch.

Gojo tries to follow you, “Listen, baby–”

“I don’t want to talk to you right now. I need some space.” you turn around to send him a teary glare and that stops him in his tracks. He had never seen you cry. And it tore him apart knowing that he was the cause.

The sound of your door slamming echoes in Gojo’s mind.

Gojo Satoru is the first one in class the next day.

He drums his fingers against the desk, restless in a way he can't explain, but he knows it has everything to do with the fact that he spent the entire night not sleeping. His mind was too busy replaying the way you had looked at him, no, the way you hadn’t looked at him.

He had left you alone and upset. He had made you feel like you were second to someone else. And worst of all, he hadn’t even realized it until it was too late.

“This must be a first.”

Gojo glances up as Suguru enters, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Gojo Satoru, on time? It must be the end times.”

He knows it’s a joke, but it might as well be the end times. Gojo doesn’t respond, just presses his lips into a thin line as he goes back to mentally reciting the apology speech he’s been revising in his head all night.

Then the shoji door slides open again.

You walk in with Shoko, your head tilted slightly as you whisper something to her, something he’ll never get to hear because you don’t so much as glance in his direction. Instead, you take a seat at the farthest desk, as if he isn’t even there.

A part of him withers away.

But Gojo Satoru isn’t one to give up.

If words won’t get your attention, he’ll just have to be Gojo Satoru about it. He leans back in his chair and stretches obnoxiously, before loudly exclaiming, “Yaga-sensei! Are those grey hairs from your recent divorce?”

He grins, waiting for the familiar sound of your laugh, for that little shake of your head, for you to scold him like always.

But you don’t even look at him.

Instead, he’s met with Geto and Shoko’s twin expressions of abject horror, and before he has a chance to register what’s happening–

BAM!

Yaga’s palm collides with his head, sending him face-first into his desk.

Even through the throbbing pain, he can only think about one thing.

You didn’t even react.

“And how exactly is she ignoring you?”

Shoko’s grumpy voice echoes through the morgue, where she’s been attempting to practice her technique. She’s clearly unimpressed that Gojo Satoru has decided to spam-call her instead of dealing with his own problems.

“She’s ignoring me, Shoko,” Gojo groans dramatically from the other side of the Jujutsu Tech campus, rubbing the fresh bump on his head as he stands in front of your door. “I’ve been knocking for an hour. She’s in there. I know she’s in there, but she won’t answer.”

“Maybe she finally got tired of your bullshit,” Shoko says dryly. “Honestly, I don’t know why it took her this long to hold you accountable. She’s let your bad behavior slide for way too long.”

“Why are we talking about me like I’m some kind of dog?!”

Shoko ignores him.

“From the sound of it, you really messed up. I mean, who keeps a marriage a secret from their girlfriend?” She pauses, then adds with a smirk in her voice, “Oh, right. You.”

Gojo groans, pressing his forehead against your door. “You and I both know that’s not what happened. But she doesn’t. And she won’t even give me the time of day to explain.”

Shoko sighs. “Give her time to cool down.”

“And what, let her decide she wants to run off and marry some other guy? Move to a cute little beach town in Enoshima, start a family, have three kids, and leave all Jujutsu sorcery behind?”

There’s a long pause before Shoko makes a disgusted sound. “O-oi. Keep your weirdly detailed fantasies to yourself.”

“I’m just being realistic,” he insists, clutching his flip phone dramatically.

Shoko promptly hangs up on him.

Gojo stares at the device for a moment before slowly lowering it, exhaling hard.

Then he rests his head against your door again, defeated.

But Gojo Satoru was never one to admit defeat, so he tries again. He returns to your door the very next morning, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

“[Name]!” he chirps. “I bought us some parfait! Let’s talk things over, yeah?”

Silence.

Not even the sound of movement.

But Gojo Satoru is not easily discouraged.

So Gojo Satoru comes again the next morning.

“[Name]!” he knocks again, this time balancing a slice of strawberry cake in one hand. “This is all my fault, so come out and let me apologize properly!”

Nothing.

Gojo sighs, leaning against the doorframe, about to knock again when—

Your phone rings.

His breath catches as he presses his ear to the wood.

“Hi, Suguru?”

His heart stops.

“Yeah, we’re still on for the movie. I’m just about to leave right now.”

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru understands what people mean when they say they feel like they’ve been punched in the gut.

Because you’re going to Suguru.

You’re not just ignoring him, you’re choosing someone else.

His fingers twitch at his sides as a feeling he doesn’t like at all creeps into his chest. It’s something ugly, something unfamiliar. Something that feels a lot like jealousy. Was that how you felt?

He wants to knock again, wants to demand that you open the door, look at him, let him fix this before you walk away from him any further.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he presses his lips into a thin line, shoves his hands into his pockets, and forces himself to step away from your door.

Forces himself to give you the space you deserved.

You don’t know why you relent so easily.

You shouldn’t. Not after the way he lied, the way he kept something so important from you.

And yet, when you hear him pacing outside your door, his nervous energy practically seeping through the walls, you feel something crack.

He’s been outside your room for the nth time this week. Every day, like clockwork, he’s knocked. Brought your favorite snacks. Talked to you through the door, filling the silence with his ridiculous banter, even when you refused to answer.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping your blanket a little tighter. You should stay angry. But you can't.

You sigh, pressing your forehead to your knee.

Maybe it’s time to stop punishing the both of you.

With a deep breath, you stand, crossing the room to the door. When you open it, Gojo nearly stumbles forward, mid-step in his pacing.

His eyes snap to yours, wide and filled with so much desperate hope it makes your chest ache.

And the way his face lights up like you’ve just handed him the entire world tells you that, maybe, you were never going to be able to stay mad at him forever.

But you’re here, leaning on your door frame with your arms crossed, your nails digging into your skin as you glare at the man who has spent the last ten minutes tripping over his words, looking wrecked in a way you’ve never seen before. His hair is messier than usual, lips are parted like he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know where to start.

Finally, you scoff, breaking the silence. “If you don’t have anything to say, I’m going back into my room.”

“No!,” Gojo steps forward instinctively, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. And after everything, he is. “I screwed up.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Oh, really?”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, yeah, I really fucked up.”

Silence.

You should say something. You should demand an explanation, yell, maybe even cry, but you’re so tired. You’ve spent days twisting yourself into knots over this, convincing yourself you never meant as much to him as he did to you.

And then Gojo says it.

“I should’ve told you.” His voice is hoarse. “I should have told you after the first meeting. After the first second they brought it up.” He swallows hard. “But I was stupid. I thought if I ignored it, if I went through the motions, if I waited for the right moment… then it wouldn’t matter. That it would be over before you ever had to know.”

You shake your head, letting out a hollow laugh. “Satoru, do you even hear yourself? Do you get what it was like for me to find out from someone else? To hear that the person I–” you cut yourself off, but the damage is done. You see it in the way his breath hitches, in the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for you.

“The person you what?” he asks softly, pleading.

You clench your jaw. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter.”

Your shake your head. “You lied to me.”

“I know,” he says, and the sheer brokenness in his voice makes your throat tighten. “I know, sweetheart. And I swear to you that I never meant to. I never wanted to hurt you.” he exhales shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “I swear on everything, I was never going to go through with it. I never even showed up to any of the dates, so they kept ambushing me under the guise of missions! I sat through every single one of those goddamn meetings thinking about how ridiculous it was, how there was only ever one person I wanted.”

He stops himself, inhaling sharply.

And then, quieter, almost afraid:

“How there’s only ever you.”

The words hit you like a fist to the chest.

Gojo watches you carefully, breathless, waiting. Hoping. He’s given you the truth, raw and unfiltered, and now it’s up to you.

And maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the way he looks at you like you’re the most important thing in his world that makes you believe him.

For the first time in a week, your lips find his, and Gojo swears he can finally breathe again. The warmth of your palm against his cheek, the way your fingers curl slightly as if grounding yourself in him. It’s enough to make him melt.

"You’re so insufferably cheesy, Satoru," you murmur against his lips, your breath warm, teasing. "It makes me so angry that I love it." A pause, a soft exhale. "But I forgive you."

His grin is instant, smug and shameless. "That was good, huh?" He tilts his head, cerulean eyes twinkling. "I’m willing to bet your heart skipped a beat."

You roll your eyes, but you kiss him again, slower this time, because, damn it, he’s right.

extra!

“I demand some extra loving!” Satoru sprawls dramatically across your bed, limbs hanging off the edge like a defeated king.

You barely spare him a glance, flipping a page in your book as you lie comfortably on your stomach. “And why, exactly, do you deserve that?”

He lifts his head, pouting. “I deserve it after a week’s worth of psychological trauma. Don’t think I forgot that you ditched me for Suguru.”

“Oh… that.”

“Yeah. That.” His voice is thick with exaggerated betrayal.

You finally look at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “It was a fake phone call, Satoru. You were just so insufferable camping outside my door that I had to make up an excuse.”

His jaw drops. “Huh?!”

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sttoru · 5 months ago

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⠀ 𝝑𝑒 ⠀⠀ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. play fighting with your lover quickly turns into you being pounded on the couch.

tags. (assassin!)toji x female reader. smut. dōggy style. age gap implied. with plot-ish. unprotected -> p in v. size difference / kink. power trip-ish. teasing. crēampie. dacryphilia. tummy bulging. pūssy slapping. breēding mention. reader gets called ‘(little) girl, pretty, doll, slut.’ not proofread. wc: 3.4k

you let out a sigh of relief when your lover comes back home safe from another mission. toji’s risky job always leaves you anxious, knowing what could happen to him if things took a turn for the worse.

“keheh, there’s my pretty girl,” toji grins as he feels you jump into his embrace the instant he steps into the living room. your arms wrap around his waist and your head rests against his chiseled chest. he’s sweaty and bloody, yet you can’t care less. you’ve waited all day for him.

you tilt your head back and give the black-haired man a quick, passionate kiss. he returns it with equal force before picking you up and bringing you over to the couch. once toji put you down, he reaches a hand out to lazily ruffle your hair, “i’m g’nna take a shower, yeah?”

you shake your head and grab his hand before he can think of moving away. “no, want you to stay. just for a little more,” you attempt to coax toji into staying with you for a bit more.

“after i take a shower, doll. i probably smell ‘n look like shit,” the assassin mumbles in a low tone. his hair is wet with sweat, black locks sticking to his forehead. his compression shirt is torn in some places, but it’s neatly outlining his pecs, which makes him look ten times more attractive.

“nu-uh, you don’t,” you refute and tug at toji’s wrist again. he playfully rolls his eyes after giving in to your innocent request. you clearly don’t mind the sweaty state he’s in. you just want to cuddle up and talk to him about all kinds of things. “you look as handsome as ever,” you smile at him once you straddle his lap. toji’s hands find your hips, his nails ghosting over your skin to send shivers down your spine.

“heh. that ain’t nothin’ new,” your lover leans his head back with a cocky smirk. he knows how much you love it when he’s all sweaty and tired. toji never fails to spot the way your eyes wander up and down his muscular figure whenever he’s wearing that signature outfit of his. a black compression shirt that defines his pecs and white-ish baggy pants. you love it.

your fingers trace circles over his chest. you don’t seem to care about the random crimson droplets on his skin. they’re not his, thus you let it go. asking questions about the job he’s finished will only ruin the mood you’ve set. plus, toji clearly needs some distraction from the fact that his limbs are aching. he’s outdone himself today as well.

“you tired?” you ask through a soft murmur. your boyfriend nods while yawning, teasingly pinching your cheek afterwards. “mhm,” toji hums while playing with the collar of your shirt, eyes wandering down to your tits. one of his most favorite spots on your body.

you’re clearly not wearing a bra and it’s making it difficult for him to stay focused. your nipples push against the material of your pyjamas so deliciously, just begging to be touched by his fingers. he quietly clears his throat and looks the other direction to play it off.

“oh?” you giggle and tap toji’s cheek twice to gain his attention, though with no success. he’s trying his best to come off as nonchalant as possible—to remain that stoic man he’s always been. his attempts are proven futile when you press your breasts against his chest.

“come on, babe. look at meeee,” you laugh and resort to tickling toji’s belly and armpits. he freezes for a second before scoffing at your actions, his hands immediately rush under your shirt to tickle you back. you end up squirming on his lap, trying to swat his arms in attempt to defend yourself.

your lover lets out a haughty chuckle as you become defenceless because of his well calculated revenge tickles. “mm? didn’t hear ya, y’ should speak up,” toji teases you, clearly seeing how you’re struggling to talk as he makes you squeal and laugh uncontrollably.

there are tears forming on your eyes. your breath comes in short gasps when you finally find a chance to jump off toji’s lap. “shut up, fushiguro!” you call out, going back to last name basis, which you know toji dislikes. you stumble back a little and stick your tongue out at your lover before fleeing the scene. or at least you try to.

“fushiguro, aye?” you hear toji’s voice right behind you, and when you turn around to face him, he’s already got you caged in his arms. you gasp and kick your legs, hitting him in the shin. the man groans at the contact and loosens his grip a little. you take the opportunity again, jumping onto his back, clinging onto him with your legs around his waist. you encircle your arm around his neck and catch him off guard with a surprise headlock.

“hehe, got you now,” you grin smugly. toji’s not giving his best, you know that, because you’d be on the floor if he did. he’s allowing you to have fun and he’s indulging you, which you more than so appreciate. “what? cat got your tongue, big boy?” you continue challenging him, proud of your little achievement.

you’re painfully oblivious to toji's struggles. how he's struggling with his inner desires, how his hands ball up into fists at his side. he can feel your body clinging onto him, your legs wrapped so tightly around his waist. it’s adorable that you find so much joy in having the upper hand over a grown man like him.

adorable, and such a huge turn on.

toji can’t believe that he’s getting a boner from just playing with you like this. maybe it’s your body that’s pressed against him so snugly, letting him feel every feminine curve or maybe it's the fact that he knows he can easily pin you to the ground and show you what a real man can do until you're begging for mercy.

your nipples are pressed against his back and it’s so hard to act like he can’t feel that. it’s hard to believe you’re not doing it on purpose, but you truly aren’t.

“careful,” toji comments in a husky voice. the corner of his lip twitches, his eyes hidden behind his black bangs, “y’ might start something you can’t finish.” you figure that it’s just bait to scare you off, so you don’t take it seriously. you tighten the headlock a little, biting toji’s ear and nibbling on it as revenge.

“you’re not scaring me with that,” you chuckle and pinch toji’s cheek with your free hand. the older man turns his head slightly, catching a glimpse of your mischievous grin. oh, how cute.

with a swift, fluid motion, toji reaches up with both hands and grasps your thighs firmly. in a heartbeat, your positions reverse and he pins you to the nearby wall. both of his meaty arms cage you in by pressing against the concrete on either side of your head.

“seems like i’m the one who got ya now, doll,” toji murmurs, his voice low and laced with a hint of lust. he gazes down at you, your faces mere inches apart. you can feel his breath fanning against your lips. he’s itching to claim your mouth so, so bad.

but before he can capture your sweet lips with his, you catch him off guard by pushing your full weight forward, causing toji to lose balance. he tumbles backwards onto the carpet below with you on top of him.

“nope, am not giving up so easily,” you giggle as you try to grab at his wrists. you’re oblivious to toji’s desires, too focused on overpowering the man who could snap you in half. it’s fun when he allows you to take control.

however, your lover is slowly losing his rationality. you’re seated on top of his abs and he can swear he can feel the heat of your cunt through your clothes. it’s the only thing he can focus on at that moment. the only thing he craves.

“fuck, c’mere,” toji growls and rolls you over so you’re pinned beneath him on the floor. he can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lips when your laughter echoes throughout the living room. even through his lustful haze, he finds your joy thoroughly endearing.

you manage to find another opening and roll over again so you’re on top of him instead. the cycle continues for a few more seconds, your bodies lost in a tangled mess of limbs. you exchange gasps, grunts and giggles while you’re ‘fighting’ for dominance.

when you bite on toji’s shoulder as a way to catch him off guard once more, he hisses. not in an annoyed or pained way— no. he’s so turned on that you biting him sends a jolt of pleasure right down to his aching cock. so turned on that he may accidentally have developed a new kink in that same second.

either way, that little action was his last straw.

toji effortlessly lifts you up on the couch, your body bouncing a bit on the plush cushions as he turns you around on your stomach. one arm hooks around your neck, his bicep pressing against your throat. not enough to hinder your airway, but enough to send shivers down your spine.

“told ya to b’ careful,” toji grunts, his breath against your sensitive skin from behind, “y’ should start listening to me more.” his tongue flicks out and licks a stripe up your ear. his crotch is pressed right against your ass and only then do you notice his raging hard-on.

your eyes widen, cheek smushed against his muscular arm wrapped around your neck, keeping you in place beneath his big body. “oh, fuck, toji,” you let out a shuddering breath. you’re completely engulfed by his large frame—disappearing out of sight. just how he likes it.

“yeah? feel that?” toji grins as he squeezes his bicep around your delicate throat some more. you gasp and whine, turned on by him overpowering you, as much as you had been enjoying the opposite just seconds ago. he mocks your earlier words with a grunt, “think i have’ta remind my lil’ brat exactly what this ‘big boy’ can do to ya.”

and the older man wastes no time to do exactly that.

your shorts and panties are tossed carelessly on the carpet, your cheek smushed against the cushions that you’re desperately gripping. your face is contorted with pleasure, brows furrowed, eyes glazed over and your swollen lips parted to take shallow breaths.

you can feel the ache in your lower back. the arch of your spine is nearly unnatural as your ass is pushed so high up, bouncing back to meet the mean backshots your man is giving you.

“ah, ngh! t—toooji,” you mewl loudly, droplets of saliva trickling down from the corner of your mouth. you can’t deny that this entire situation has you soaked.

the switch toji went through, from being playful and letting you do what you want to reminding you who’s boss at the end of the day— it’s perfect and feels way too good. the cherry on top is the familiar scent of his body, the sweat mixed with his cologne.

it adds to the pleasure, makes you dizzy in a good way.

toji grips your waist, his manly hands trailing down to your hips every now and then for the extra leverage. his fingers dig into your soft flesh as he pounds into you mercislessly, fucking into you like you’re his personal cocksleeve. “ain’t gonna try that again, are ya?”

“dumb lil’ slut,” your harsh lover grumbles under his breath, hand smacking the fat of your ass. toji loves seeing it ripple underneath him, even more so when his hips smack against your rear with strength that leaves your flesh stinging, “bet ya love it when i remind you who owns this cunt.”

toji groans as he slides his thick cock in and out of your tight cunt. you’re gripping him like you never want to let go, like you want to milk him of every drop of the cum stored in his balls.

the sight that he’s blessed with from his point of view can make him bust a load right then and there. you’re presenting your ass to him shamelessly, looking back over your shoulder with lust-blown eyes.

and don’t get him started on the outline of his dick distending your tummy, the one he can feel whenever he reaches a hand around to press against your lower abdomen and circle your clit. too fucking lewd.

“fuck, yeahhhh. take that fat fuckin’ dick, baby,” toji throws his head back as he pushes your body even further into the couch. you swear he’s folding you in half, “let me show ya what a real man in charge can do— how a real man fucks his woman.”

toji’s cock is ruining you, reshaping your insides to fit his massive size and you don’t mind it one bit. in fact, you love it. love the feel of him, the stretch and burn of his thick cock splitting you open.

“yes, mmh, yes! fuck me!” you keen, sobbing from the pleasure. your hand reaches back to scratch at toji’s arm, trying to hold onto him, to find him even in the midst of it all. the view of your desperation and your pleas makes him lose it.

the dark-haired man scoffs, “oh, i’ll fuck ya, all right. . .”

with a low growl, toji plants one foot on the floor next to you, his other leg still bent at the knee on the sofa you’re laying at. the muscles in his arms ripple as he lifts your hips even higher up to be able to meet his thrusts.

“fuuuuuck! right there!” you wail, your head trashing back and forth on the damp sofa. from this new angle, he can drive his fat dick into you even deeper, engorged tip hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes you see white.

toji revels in the obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin, mixed with your sweet moans. you seem so much smaller than him in this new position, your body helplessly giving in, allowing him to put you in whatever position he wants. it boosts his ego and makes his cock pulse inside of you.

he loves seeing the tears in your eyes as it nearly gets too much for you to handle. it motivates him to fuck you harder until you’re full on bawling, which he can easily get off on. making you cry in pure bliss is all he wants to achieve.

your pussy is tight as it clenches around his cock like a vice. toji’s hand slithers around to circle your clit, making your legs spasm and hips thrust back sloppily. “shitttt, y’r sweet lil’ cunt was made just for this—” he pants as his thumb presses against the nub, “to take my cock.”

all you can do is dumbly nod at whatever your partner says. “mmhm, ah yeah, made for you,” your small whines are music to his ears. the palms of your hands feel clammy as you hold onto anything you can grasp.

everything around you is a blur as the only thing you can focus on is the way his heavy cock fills you so well.

toji can feel your juices trickling down his heavy sack, soaking his thighs and yours, as well as the couch. it will leave stains, but he doesn’t care and neither do you.

“look at ya,” he huffs and slaps your clit once, callused fingers dragging along your puffy lips that are parted obscenely wide for his cock. toji brings his wet finger to his mouth to lick it clean. he hums satisfactorily at the taste, “pussy’s droolin’ aaaall over my dick. nasty girl.”

your pussy starts fluttering around his thick length as it impales you over and over. it’s a telltale sign of your orgasm, one toji has come to recognise quite easily.

“yeah? gonna make an even bigger mess on my cock?” he grins before pressing his chest against your sweaty back, blanketing your small body. the extra weight added to the ecstasy only makes you scream louder for him.

“yes, yes, yes! gonna cum!” you cry out, toes curling and eyes rolling back as you try to prolong your pleasure. even if it’s only for a second.

toji curses under his breath as his hips move faster to drive you over the edge. he can’t wait to feel your cunt get even tighter, to make it feel like you’re about to snap his dick off. he loves the pain mixed with the pleasure of your tightness.

“do it. cream all over me, c’mon, little girl. y’ can do it,” toji coaxes, delivering small smacks to your clit, causing your hips to jolt back with each slap. you can’t do it anymore— can’t hold on any longer.

you scream as you cum, your pussy spasming wildly around toji’s pulsing cock. that sensation alone has the older man gasping for air, nails digging into the flesh of your ass. no matter how many times he fucks you, the moment you cum, he automatically follows.

the way you squeeze his dick and hold onto it like you don’t want to let go is simply too much.

“fuck, fuck, fuck. g’nna make me bust a fat fuckin’ nut inside of you,” toji groans, his rhythm growing sloppy yet his thrusts are still deliciously hard, “gonna pump this pussy full of my load. breed ‘er nice and deep. shitt— take it!”

a strangled moan leaves his lips as he grinds his hips against your ass while his cock jolts inside of you. he pumps jet after jet of hot cum directly into your womb, tip rubbing against the deepest spot he can reach.

“eaaaasy, yeah, just like that. let it soak into ya,” toji hisses as his hips jerk erratically, “good girl. takin’ all of it so well.” it seems to go on forever as spurts of semen flood your insides for a good few seconds.

once your lover fully empties his balls inside of you, he feels himself grow weak. his thighs and arms tremble a bit from overexertion.

you collapse together in a sweaty heap, toji’s softening dick still buried deep inside of you. the only thing filling the room now is your heavy breathing as you slowly regain your composure. it’s quite a comfortable silence.

after a while, toji shifts. he pulls out with a wet squelch and watches with half-lidded eyes as thick, pearly globs of cum trickle down your slit. he grins lazily at the sight before turning you around.

you’re completely fucked out, it seems. your chest is heaving and your eyes are barely open. the trails of tears and drool on your face tells the man enough. toji wipes a stray strand of hair from your face with a haughty chuckle, “damn, keheh, fucked y’ real good. you okay though?”

you weakly nod in response before wrapping your arms around him. your hands rest on his broad back, pressing your face into the crook of his neck.

toji hums and hugs you back, being careful not to squish you under his weight. he presses chaste kisses to your temple as he enjoys your frame molding perfectly against the hard muscles of his body.

“y’ did so well for me, little girl,” he comments gruffly, voice deep and a bit hoarse. you smile at the praise and murmur a small ‘thanks’. nothing is better than being able to feel safe with your lover after an intense session like that.

you pull back a bit and look up at toji with a little, playful grin. “guess i need to challenge you more often. felt too good, babe.”

toji lets out a small scoff and shakes his head. a ghost of a smirk appears on his lips as he slightly pinches your side. he holds you against his chest and buries his nose into your hair, sighing as he finally relaxes his weary body.

“y’ can try. might break ya for real next time, though.”

#sttoru writes.#jjk smut #jjk x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro smut #toji x reader #jjk x you #toji x you #toji x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x female reader #jjk fic #toji fic #toji x female reader #cw smut

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cranberrylane · 8 months ago

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bought the first volume of the spy x family manga in my heritage language bc i have one (1) class in said language and have not used in it formal contexts for so long i feel like writing assignments in it will be scary & reading helps me the most so i'm starting with something light before i read Actual Texts 😭

#translated manga is really affordable and good quality too #when i say stem kids don't write... i had a subject in my heritage language a couple of semesters ago and i was asking a family member #to proof read my part and my full on native speaker classmates wrote so badly and used freaking ai #there were parts that were in the sister language like even the smartest person in my group used ai #i wanted to cry #does no one care about the quality of writing anymore ??#also one dude said he'll proofread everyone's parts and i kind of trusted him but it was still shit #btw... no one has ever asked if this is my second language yet bc i'm native passing enough + really quiet so i feel like this is #my own self made hell #i never tell people anymore bc of my experience getting bullied when i did explain it to people like #almost everything i do these days is driven by the fact that i'm scared grown people my age will bully me.....

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adorekento · 10 days ago

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"TELL ME WHAT TO DO."

summary: life has never been better since marrying Nanami Kento—every second feels like something you wouldn’t trade for your favorite food. But who would've thought that even after 3 years of marriage, you both still haven’t had sex?

warnings (18+): MDNI. husband!nanami x wife!reader, angst to smut, explicit sexual content, P in V, unprotected sex (wrap it up), reader is DESPERATE, insecure, demanding, no usage of 'y/n', dominance, masturbation, he pulled out but she wanted creampie!!!!, fingering, handjob, breeding kink, pregnancy thoughts, “daddy” used in reader’s inner thoughts, begging, choking (light), edging (light), they're both a freak for eo, cursing, praise kink, thoughts of kids, soft dom!nanami, he talks u through it gng 💋, reader is very whiny, pet names, mature themes, intimate sex if u blink, vulnerability, strong language, etc. (lmk!!)

author's notes: bro rhis took me like 2 weeks cuz of depression 🥀. I'm barely surviving!!!!!! I DIDN’T edit this so if there r typos or shit... js pretend u didn’t see them ok 💔 love yall twin!!!s!!. Also dw I see those requests piling up in my inbox—keep ‘em coming . I genuinely LOVE reading ur ideas, even if my brain is slow at the moment. OK ENJOY READING

word count: 5.2k (not proofread)

Your thighs clenched. Again.

It has been clenching for so many hours that they’ve gone numb. You shift under the soft blanket, the air thick with the scent of your husband’s cologne lingering from earlier, and it makes your stomach twist with frustration.

You’re soaking. Again.

It’s pathetic, really. How easily your body responds now—how even the ghost of his touch, the memory of his voice rumbling low in your ear as he tells you how proud he is of you, makes your cunt throb.

crazy, right?

Your husband. Your fucking husband. The man you've been married to for years. Who’s seen you at your worst, held your hair back while you threw up from period cramps, memorized the way you like your coffee, babied you, kissed your stretch marks, and still acts like you’re the only woman to ever walk this earth.

And still, after all that—he hasn’t fucked you.

Not once.

Not on your honeymoon.

Not on your anniversaries.

Not during those quiet, late nights when you're curled up in his lap, drunk on wine and love, whispering every filthy thing you want him to do to you.

Nothing.

Never.

You’ve made out, sure. He’s fingered you maybe once or twice a month, always with the kind of slow care that made you want to scream.

You’ve given him a few handjobs, watched him cum in your grasp while he grunted your name and bit his lip so hard it bled. But that’s where it always ends.

That’s where it always stops.

Because Nanami Kento, your perfect, maddeningly composed husband, is gentle. Too fucking gentle.

So gentle it’s driving you absolutely insane.

He says he wants to wait.

Says love is about time.

That he wants everything to feel right—not rushed, not pressured, not like he’s using your body just because you’re married. He says you’re not a thing to be taken. That he wants to love you, not consume you.

It would’ve been romantic. hell. it IS romantic. At first. That patience. That unwavering control. You thought, ‘Wow, this man is made for me.’

But now?

It's been years, and you’re left curled up on the couch at 03:54… flushed and needy, wrapped in one of his shirts with your thighs pressed tight and your fingers covered in your own slick.

And no matter what you watch, no matter what you read, no matter how deep you fuck yourself with your own fingers—nothing feels like him.

Because you don’t want your fingers.

You want his tongue.

You want his cock.

You want his hands pinning you down, his teeth grazing your throat, his voice low and wrecked in your ear while he finally lets himself have you the way you’ve both been dying for.

You’ve tried to seduce him. Girl, have you tried. You’ve worn those little lingerie sets he bought for you, tried riding his thigh in nothing but lace. Tried whispering all your filthy little fantasies in his ear, hands sneaking down his pants, lips trailing down his chest.

But every fucking time, it ends the same.

You straddle him.

You grind.

He kisses you slowly.

You can feel him—his hard, thick cock pressing up against your dripping heat.

And just when you think this time, he’s finally going to snap—

He stops.

A knock at the door.

A call from work.

Or worse—he pulls back, looks at you with those gentle fucking eyes, cups your face, and says something like, “Not tonight, sweetheart. I don’t want to rush this.”

And what the fuck are you supposed to do with that?

Your heart aches with how much you love him. Truly. Every day with him feels like living in a dream. He treats you like royalty—makes you feel adored, cherished, like no one else even exists. He never forgets a thing. He compliments you constantly. He’d die before hurting you.

But when you’re ovulating and every nerve ending is on fire, when your skin is begging for his hands, and your body is aching for him to break the rules he set—when you’re on the edge of tears because you’re so painfully, brutally, unapologetically needy—all that love starts to taunt you.

Because it’s not enough.

You’re 99% content. You really are.

But that 1%?

That one, tiny, aching percent that never gets touched? That part is starving.

Sex.

You couldn’t hwlp but feel a little pouty every time your friends launched into another one of their steamy stories—laughing, swapping details, comparing notes like it was the most casual thing in the world.

You’d sit there with your lips pressed into a tight smile, nodding along, trying not to let the emptiness in your chest show.

It wasn’t like you wanted to spill your own secrets—if you even had any. Sex is supposed to be private, intimate, something you wouldn't just toss into a group chat like gossip.

But still… The silence on your end wasn’t a choice. You had nothing to share. No experience. No stories. Just a head full of filthy thoughts and daydreams that kept you up at night, especially when he crossed your mind.

And it’s eating you alive.

You slam your laptop shut, fingers still slick, frustration bubbling under your skin like lava. This isn’t just arousal anymore—it’s anger. It’s longing. It’s desperation laced with hurt, laced with doubt.

Does he not want me?

Does he not think I’m sexy enough?

Does he not feel the same ache I do?

Tears threaten to burn in your eyes, but you blink them back.

No.

Fuck that.

You weren’t going to cry because your own husband wouldn’t fuck you.

You were going to make him.

Your hands found his tie the moment he walked into the bedroom, tired from work, shirt slightly undone, hair a little tousled—the sight of him only made the fire in your gut explode harder.

“My love…” you breathed, your voice nearly shaking as you tugged him down, fingers curling in the fabric of his tie like a lifeline.

A low groan escaped his lips as you pulled him flush against you, your legs locking around his waist like a vice, yanking him down onto the bed without hesitation. The soft thud of his weight on the mattress was drowned out by the pounding in your chest, in your pussy, in your damn soul.

“Kento…” you whined, voice cracking into something that sounded more like a sob, more like please. Your whole body trembled beneath him, needy and raw and exposed.

You were so fucking horny it was hard to think—hard to breathe. Everything felt too hot, too loud, too full of him.

His hands found your hips, grounding and warm. He squeezed them gently, like he always did—so fucking gentle—and you wanted to scream.

“…yes, honey?”

And then you felt it.

He pressed his crotch to your soaked panties, the hard line of his cock dragging against your swollen folds, and you moaned—a broken, uncontrollable sound that came from somewhere deep in your chest.

It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

“Ken..” you gasped again, hips grinding up to meet him, shameless and desperate. “Please—fuck, please—just fuck me. please.”

Your fingers gripped his shirt now, trembling. “I can’t take it anymore, I can’t—I need you, I fucking need you. Not your fingers. Not your sweet words. Not your soft kisses.”

You looked up at him, wild-eyed, tears threatening again—not from sadness this time, but from the sheer force of everything you’ve buried.

“I need your cock, Kento. I need you inside me. I need you to fuck me until I forget my name. I need to know you want me like that, too.”

He looked stunned. Lips parted. Hands frozen.

He kept looking into your eyes. Deep—like he was staring straight into the core of you, trying to read every emotion you didn’t know how to say without crumbling.

“Darling… we—”

“Oh, is this the part where you tell me we have to wait?” you snapped, “Is this where you say you don’t want to rush our relationship? Where you tell me this can’t be about lust? That you want to wait until it’s the ‘perfect time’?”

Your hands clenched around the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer and yet pushing with your words, with the venom dripping from your tongue—born out of pure desperation.

“Are you seriously about to do that again, Ken’? Because I swear I’m gonna lose it.”

“N-No… I mean—”

You shook your head, the burn in your throat threatening to spill into tears, but you swallowed it down because you weren’t sad

You were furious.

“I get frustrated, Ken.” you growled, barely holding yourself together. “I get so mad like I could fucking scream, like I could cry and break things, and I hate it. I hate that I feel this way about you.”

You choked on your breath, the words pouring from you like they’d been waiting at the edge of your tongue for months.

“I get so fucking turned on when you don’t touch me the way I want. When you keep doing this thing where you kiss me like I’m made of porcelain as jf I’ll crack if you fuck me like you want to. And it drives me insane because I know you want to. I can feel it.”

Your hands slid down his chest, your fingers trembling as you pressed your palm against the hard, obvious bulge in his pants.

“You’re hard, Ken’. Every time. Every fucking time. You get like this and then you just—stop. You stop and you say something gentle and sweet and then just nothing happens.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just listened.

“Do you even love me, baby?” you whispered, voice breaking. “Do you even want me? Do you want to fuck me, too, or is that just me?”

“Am I not attractive enough for you? Is that it?” Your voice cracked, your eyes locked on his, daring him to lie—begging him to give you something.

Still, he didn’t interrupt. He didn’t lean in to kiss you and hush you like he always did. He just watched, his jaw tight, eyes burning with something deeper.

Because he wanted to hear it. All of it.

What else did he even make you feel—just because he wanted to be patient? Just because he thought patience was love? When it only made you feel neglected, starved, and completely out of your mind with need?

He was too quiet. Too still.

The silence pressed heavy between you both, louder than any shout, any moan, any begging you’ve ever done.

He just stared, his hands still on your hips, his eyes unreadable—but burning. You couldn’t tell if he was angry, or hurt, or just holding something back with every ounce of control in his body.

And that silence?

It fucking crushed you.

Your throat tightened. You hated how your eyes started to sting again, tears threatening to spill even though you swore you wouldn’t cry. Not in front of him. Not over this. Not over the fact that you practically threw yourself at your own husband and he still wouldn’t fuck you.

You looked away, trying to blink the tears back, trying to swallow the humiliation clawing its way up your throat.

“I—I shouldn’t have said anything..” you whispered, voice barely there. “Forget it. Just forget it. Let’s just—go to sleep or something, okay? I didn’t mean to—fuck, I didn’t mean to ruin everything, I just—”

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you.”

Your eyes widened.

Your breath caught.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you ever since the first time I saw you.”

Your eyes snapped to his.

“I wantwd to bend you over the second I heard you laugh.” he went on, voice shaking now—not with hesitation, but with restraint.

“I wanted to have you moaning my name in some dark hallway before I even knew your name. You were wearing that tight fucking skirt and that smug little smirk like you already knew I’d fall for you—and I did. I fucking did.”

“I even wanted to know how good it would sound if you moan my name the moment it left your lips for the first time.” Your breath hitched at his words, your thighs involuntarily clenching.

“You think I don’t want you? Baby, I wake up hard just from dreaming about you. I jerk off in the shower thinking about what your pussy would feel like wrapped around me. I have to force myself to stop every fucking time we make out because I know that if I go too far, I’m not stopping until I’m buried inside you and making you scream.”

You whimpered out loud. You couldn’t help it. He chuckled low, breath heavy against your lips, his cock grinding slow against your soaked core.

“You don’t know how many nights I’ve spent fucking my hand to the thought of you—legs spread, tears on your cheeks, begging for my cock.”

You were trembling now, your nails digging into his shirt. “I thought I was protecting you...” he admitted. “I thought I was being gentle. Loving. Waiting until the right moment. But fuck, baby, I didn’t know I was hurting you by not taking what we both need.”

His hands slid under your shirt, palms hungry against your bare skin.

“and for that… I'm really sorry, I really mean it.” he murmured, his hands slid up under your shirt—warm, wide palms trailing up your sides until they found your breasts, and he groaned.

It was guttural, instinctive, like he couldn’t believe he’d kept himself from touching you like this for so long. He palmed you through your bra at first, then tugged the fabric down, letting your tits spill into his hands.

“Fuck…” he whispered, voice ragged. “Look at you.”

Your hands flew to his—gripping them, grounding yourself. They were so big, so steady, and they felt like fire on your skin. You weren’t even sure if you were holding him there or trying to keep yourself from falling apart.

His thumbs brushed over your nipples underneath your bra which made your back arch, a soft whimper escaping your lips before you could even think to hold it back.

“Every time you’d crawl into my lap…” he growled, “or wear those little shorts around the house... I’d have to walk away, baby. I’d go to the other room and calm myself down so I wouldn’t bend you over the fucking couch like I wanted to.”

You whimpered again, biting your lip as your thighs rubbed together, aching for friction.

“I’d picture this.” he murmured, leaning in to kiss down your neck, nipping at your skin like he couldn’t stand not having more. “Your tits in my hands. Your legs wrapped around me. Your pussy so wet and hot and ready for me. I’d picture you on your knees, begging me to ruin you.”

“Ken—Kento..”

He pressed his forehead to yours again, his hands still full of you, his cock grinding harder into your soaked panties as he stared down at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

“I get it. So…” he whispered. “Tell me what to do.”

You blinked up at him, your lips parted, breath stuttering, heart pounding like a fucking drum.

“Tell me how to touch you. Where to kiss you. How to fuck you. I’ll do any-everything. just tell me.”

You looked up at him, breathless, pupils blown wide, hair a mess, nipples hard under his fingers—but your voice? It came out sharp, needy, laced with months—years—of built-up frustration.

“You wanna know what to do, Ken?” you hissed, your hips jerking up against him, chasing friction like your life depended on it. “Start by not stopping this time. Touch me like you mean it…” you snapped, grinding up into his cock, desperate and aching.

“No more slow fucking kisses and soft whispers and telling me to wait for the right time. This is the right fucking time. I’m wet, I’m throbbing, and if you don’t fuck me tonight, I swear, I’m gonna hump your fucking thigh until I pass out.”

“I’m not made of glass, Kento.” you added, wrapping your fingers around his wrists, dragging his hands down to your waist, then back up to your breasts again, encouraging him to squeeze harder—needier.

“You can be rough with me. I want it. I need it. I need to feel your cock inside me, I need to hear you lose control. I need to see what the fuck you look like when you’re not trying so hard to be perfect.”

You were rambling, but you didn’t care. You were trembling under him, wild with want, your panties completely ruined, sticking to your folds, your clit aching from how ignored it had been for far too fucking long.

“I want you to grab me. Flip me. Manhandle me if you fucking have to. I want you to fuck me until my thighs shake and I cry and scream and forget my own name—”

“You want all that?”

You grabbed his tie and yanked his face down, nose to nose, your lips brushing against his as you hissed.

“Yes. I want all of it. I want you, Kento. I want every filthy, pent-up, repressed, desperate thought you’ve ever had about me. on me. in me. right fucking now.”

He blinked once… then his mouth was on yours, hands everywhere, his tongue slid against yours, wet and messy and hot, swallowing the soft whimpers falling out of your mouth as he ground his cock right against your soaked panties, letting you feel how thick and hard he was for you.

One of his hands gripped your breast, kneading it roughly, finally without hesitation. The other slid down—quick, deliberate—and he moaned into your mouth when he felt the mess between your thighs.

“You’re soaked…” he growled. “my wife is fucking dripping.”

Your hips jerked when his fingers pressed to your clothed clit, just enough to make you jolt with a high-pitched cry. He smirked against your lips. “You meant it, didn’t you?”

“you whimpered, “stop teasing—fuck—fuck me alrwady.”

You were tugging at his belt now, frantic and shaking, and he let you—watched as you undid the buckle, pulled the zipper down, reached into his boxers with desperate, greedy fingers. You wrapped your hand around him and nearly gasped.

Fuck, he's huge. Hot, heavy, twitching against your palm.

“Y-You’ve been hiding this.” you choked out, stroking him slow just to feel the way his hips shuddered.

“I was- trying to be patient,” he rasped, voice nearly hoarse now. “But you—fuck… you test me every day, baby.”

His hand pushed your panties aside and when his fingers slid through your folds, his whole body shuddered.

“So wet for me… So soft.” he whispered. “I’ve dreamed about this—about the way you’d feel, how tight you’d be.”

“Then take meeee…” you pleaded, voice breaking. “I’m yours. I’ve always been yours, Kento. Just—please. I need it. I need you.”

He grabbed you by the hips and hooked your legs around his waist. Your panties were gone in seconds—ripped, tossed somewhere blindly across the room.

He positioned himself at your entrance, just barely pressing the thick tip against your soaked slit, teasing your hole. You whimpered, trying to push your hips up, but he gripped your thighs hard, pinning you in place.

“Tell me again..”

“I want you, Kento, so fuckinggg bad.” you breathed, nearly sobbing from the anticipation. “I want your cock. I want you to fuck me like you’ve been dying to. I want you to ruin me.”

That was all it took.

He pushed in, slow at first, making sure you felt every inch, veins, size—stretching you so fucking deep your back arched off the bed and a broken moan ripped from your throat.

“Oh fuck—Ken—Kento—”

He bottomed out and stayed there for a second, just breathing, gripping your hips like he was holding himself together with threads.

“You feel… incredible..” he groaned. “So tight—so fucking perfect for me.” Then he pulled out, and slammed back in—hard, which made you scream.

He didn’t give you a second to recover—he started pounding into you like he was possessed, like every bit of restraint and patience he’d shown all these years had finally exploded into raw, filthy need.

and you love it.

Your body bounced with each thrust, your thighs trembling as he slammed into you again and again, the sound of skin slapping and your soaked pussy squelching filling the fucking room.

“This is what my wife wanted so bad, right?” he groaned into your ear, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand, the other gripping your waist so tight it might bruise. “This what you were so desperate for, baby?”

“Yes—fuck—yes, Kento!” you cried, arching into him, legs shaking from how deep he was.

"Take it nicely, just like that..."

His cock hit places your fingers never could—each thrust pressing against your sweet spot so perfectly you were already close to tears. It was brutal, perfectly brutal, rough in the exact way you’d been begging for. You sobbed, the pleasure too much, the pressure too high.

“I’ve wanted to fuck you like this since the first time you touched yourself beside me and thought I didn’t notice.” he groaned, mouth against your jaw. “Thought I didn’t see the way your thighs shook, the way you whispered my name when you thought I was asleep.”

Your walls clenched around him hard.

“Oh my—Ken—please—please don’t stop!” you begged, barely able to breathe between moans. “Harder, please, harder—”

He let go of your wrists and grabbed your throat, just gently, enough to tilt your chin up so he could look you in the eyes while he ruined you.

“Look at me when you cum.” he growled. “I want to see your face when I make you fall apart.”

And fuck, you were so close—his cock dragging over your most sensitive spot with every savage thrust, your clit grinding against the base of him with every slam of his hips, your walls spasming already.

“Oh, my sweet baby…” he hissed, thrusting harder, deeper, his voice dark and breathless. “Cum all over my cock, baby—show me how much you fucking needed it.”

You choked on a cry, nails raking down his back, and your whole body tensed.

Then shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a fucking truck—hot, intense, blinding—your mouth wide open in a silent scream, tears streaming down your cheeks from how violently your body shook beneath him.

He groaned when he felt you clamp down around him, hips stuttering as he fucked you through your high.

“That’s it.” he grunted. “Good girl—such a good fucking girl—taking me so well—”

He pulled out just in time, groaning deep as he came all over your stomach and thighs, hot and thick and messy, hand wrapped around his cock as he finished, eyes locked onto your tear-streaked, fucked-out face.

You were gasping for air, still trembling, legs spread wide and twitching. “Why did you pull outtt, Kennn???” you whined, breath hitching, still sprawled out beneath him—skin flushed, soaked, trembling.

Your voice was hoarse, cracked with frustration and the remnants of your high, but still laced with that needy, bratty tone only he could pull out of you.

Nanami’s chest rose and fell, his breath still uneven, a strand of hair stuck to his damp forehead. “I-... Are you alright? I wasn't rough, was I? Did I hurt you—”

“Nooo.. answer my question, baby!” you whined as he blinked down at you, dazed, cock still twitching in his fist. And then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“You were that desperate to get bred, huh?” he murmured, fingers tracing the mess he made across your stomach, dragging the thick cum over your skin in lazy, teasing circles. “You wanted all of it, baby? Inside?”

You nodded uncontrollably, whimpered while your hips twitches at his words, at the way his tone dropped.

“Yes, fuck, Ken… I wanted you to fill me up—why’d you fucking stopp?” Your voice crscked again as you glared up at him with glossy eyes, grabbing at his wrist. “You always stop. I wanted to feel it, feel you, all the way—”

He leaned in, crowding over you again, one big hand sliding under your ass to keep your legs spread, the other smearing more of his cum onto your inner thighs like he was marking you.

“Then tell me..” he whispered, voice low and gravelly, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you next.”

You rolled your eyes, “Be roughhh, babyyy..”

“You don’t want me to be careful?” he growled, voice rough in your ear as his cock pressed right back against your soaked folds, already hard again. “Not now. Please.”

“Then I hope you’re ready to take every fucking inch of me.” He grinned, making you gasped as he slid back in—slow, just to tease, just to make you feel that first stretch.

You clawed at his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist again, heels digging into his back to force him deeper.

“Fuck—fuck, yes, right tbere—” you sobbed, already overwhelmed, already addicted to the way he filled you. “Don’t stop, Ken—don’t you fucking stop again! Fuckkk- Don't stop—”

He didn’t.

He gripped your thighs and snapped his hips forward hard, burying himself to the hilt with a growl that shook through your body.

The bed rocked.

The sounds—wet, deep groans, filthy moans—filled the room even more as he started thrusting, deep and rough and mean, but with that same love in his touch that made it unbearable in the best way.

One of his hands slid between your bodies, cupping your tits, squeezing them, thumbing over your nipple as you writhed beneath him.

“You feel this?” he grunted. “This pussy was made for me. Yeah? Take it slow… Take it like a good girl. I love you, sweetheart.”

You couldn't even form a response, your nails scratched down his back, your mouth open in a cry of desperate pleasure.

“I wanted you bent over every surface in our fucking house.” he kept going, hips snapping, “Wanted to watch my cum leak out of your pretty pussy while you begged me to give you more. I wanted to ruin you.”

“Then fucking ruin me, Ken!” you screamed, tears slipping down your cheeks again. “Mark me up, mess me up, make me yours—do whatever the fuck you want to me!”

He kissed you then—deep, harsh, tongue in your mouth while he rammed into you, over and over and over, chasing the orgasm he’d been holding back for years.

And this time?

He didn’t pull out.

You couldn’t bring yourself to admit just how badly you wanted him to fill you up — not because you actually wanted kids right now, but because the idea of it, of him, made something primal stir inside you.

It was embarrassing, really — how every time he interacted with children, something in you ached. The way his voice softened, the way his eyes lit up with warmth and patience — it drove you absolutely wild. Kids love him and his presence so much. You’d never imagined something so domestic could be so erotic.

Maybe it's just you though...

And yet, the thought crossed your mind again.. Would it be too much to call him daddy? The word itself felt cringe, almost ridiculous on your tongue, and you worried it might ruin the moment — that it might make him laugh, or worse, be turned off, and look at you differently.

So instead, you bit your lip and stayed quiet, your breath catching as the heat between your bodies lingered.

Your hands flew up to cover your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds that slipped out anyway. Sweat clung to your skin, your bodies still tangled in the aftermath of pleasure, his weight a welcome pressure atop you.

Every slight shift sent aftershocks through you, and you didn’t know if your body could handle another round. But deep down, you knew you didn’t want him to stop.

His breath was hot against your neck, each exhale fanning over your damp skin like a whisper of fire. You felt the way his chest rose and fell against yours, the weight of his body grounding you, making everything outside this room feel far away.

His fingers grazed along your waist, a slow, deliberate touch, as if he was memorizing you, all over, again.

Your thighs trembled around his hips, still sensitive from the last wave he pulled from you.

You whimpered softly, unsure whether it was from overstimulation or craving more. Probably both.

He tilted his head, catching the sound, and you didn’t have to look to know he was smirking—that teasing, dangerous smirk that always made your breath hitch.

“You’re so quiet all of a sudden, my love.” he murmured, voice thick and low, words dragging through your skin like silk and smoke. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with your heart hammering in your chest and your mind so full of him, of the way he held you like you were fragile and ruined all at once.

The word lingered on your tongue—Daddy—and the thought of saying it out loud made your thighs press tighter around him.

Embarrassment flared in your stomach, but it was quickly drowned out by the fire he lit every time he touched you.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing the hair from your flushed face. “What are you thinking about?”

You bit your lip, eyes locked on his. Maybe it was the afterglow talking. Maybe it was the way he was still inside you, making you feel so full, so connected, like he could reach into your soul and leave a mark. But the truth bubbled up anyway, hot and real.

“I was thinking…” You hesitated, cheeks burning. “…how badly I want you. How badly I want to give you everything—even if I’m not ready for what that means.”

“You already gave me everything..”

His words struck something deep inside you—a tenderness that made your chest ache more than the roughness ever could.

You blinked up at him, eyes glassy, lips parted. You could feel how hard he was trying to hold himself back now, his usual teasing edge traded for something raw, reverent. Like he was worshipping every inch of you just by being there. Just by staying.

He brushed his thumb over your cheek, the pad of it catching on the slight swell of your bottom lip. “You don’t have to be ready..” he murmured, voice low and honest. “Not for that. Not for anything you're not sure about. But if you ever are…” His gaze dropped to your lips, then lower—to where your bodies were still joined. “Just say the word, and I’ll give you everything.”

You whimpered, the sound caught somewhere between need and awe. Your hips shifted instinctively, a silent plea for more, even if your body was already spent and trembling.

The heat hadn’t left you—it only simmered lower, deeper, curling in your belly like a secret promise.

And he felt it. Of course he did. The faint movement. The soft squeeze of your walls around him. The way your eyes silently begged.

“Still not done with me?” he asked, teasing but gentle. “I don’t think I’ll ever be done with you.” you breathed, your fingers threading into the damp strands of his hair.

“I want you to ruin me, Ken. Again. Slowly this time.”

“Then we’ll take our time.”

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chisungie · 9 months ago

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#love love looooveee enst stories even if engstar only has stuff for me to reread !!#its still allo v fun and sweet bc its been a while! these charas r so dear to me 🥺💖#but THIS PROOFREADINGS STILLHORRENDOUS... come on... and ik its hard to get their diff talking styles across for some charas but COME ON #fan translations w less people (usually 1-3 ) people have been better edited for spelling/grammar mistakes #AND given indepth translation notes for certain tricky jpn phrases being translated like. come onn i know what quality translations looklik #also why do they just. miss out on punctuation at the ends of lines sometimes. like what? why would you not put smn there???#anyway complaining aside. well i am reading the older idol stories actually but icb these never got fixed...#ummmmm ill try to read the newer stuff in a bit!!#but kogyyy <33 rinne and meru <333 missed those dudes i will be reading more of ur eng stories soon!!!!!!!!!!!#also girl this shit is hard to play on pc like. its not bad but i. my brain doesnt comprehend left side vs right side.#i usually tap it as it comes down.. and my attention is on the last note i hit and if the next note is to the left of it i hit left.#to the right of it means i hit right but thats not always correct 😭😭#IM ALSO PJSK TRAINED RN SO I. I LET GO OF MY SLIDERS TOO EARLY 😭😭😭😭 SOB i have to play on mobile if i wanna play....#44597 #WOW what do u mean i just got back and did ONE ten pull and got the ttsm link click card im so 😭😭#i think i got kogas on uhhh. kr. funnily enough. but that was super long ago???? huh #i dont rmr how much i needed for that but wow. desire sensor real. i didnt want this i kinda wanted an offrate but hes pretty its ok LOL

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reignpage · 8 days ago

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She's Crazy But She's Mine

Synopsis: In which everyone wonders why hockey player!Toji is with the weird girl Warnings: smut, fluff, porn with some plot, fem!reader, some cringe - might hit home for some people lol, cockwarming, semi-exhibitionism, blowjob, unprotected sex, roleplaying, biting, dirty talk (at parts cringy on purpose), boxers sniffing, improper use of hockey sticks, cunnilingus, fingering, not proofread - like seriously, not at all. sorry Word Count: 2k

Toji’s the star of the hockey team — highly skilled, a strong performer, speedy, agile, a visionary, and so damn hot. Everyone loves him: the guys want to be him and the girls want to ride him. With those broad shoulders, his slutty waist, sinful smirk and tempting scar, he’s earned his title as MVP.

What people don’t get, though, is why he walks the halls of campus with his arm slung over a girl who is clearly not on his level: you wear anime merch, galaxy leggings, and big, boxy glasses you don't seem to actually need. People who have classes with you gossip about how you sit at the back, in the far right corner, chewing on your hair and drawing male characters in intimate positions. One cheerleader even swears you hissed at her when she said she likes your art style.

After practice, he doesn’t hang back with the guys, instead, he’s heading over to the robotics lab to pick you up. You’re rambling about circuits, the future of android domination or whatever to some nerd. He blushes when you press close. Toji, at the doorway, is staring daggers at the lanky little shit, who obviously didn’t get the memo about his claim.

“Ya like nerds, ma? That why you were practically milking his dick in the lab?” He’s bullying his fat cock inside your tight, sloppy pussy. Your ugly-ass leggings are ripped apart at the crotch, legs spread to their limits as he fucks you against some shelves in the janitor’s closet.

Breathless, glasses askew, you reply. “N-no. Was just -ah, Toji, slow down!- just excited to tell him about LADS… I think he’d -hah- really like Zayne.”

He laughs against your neck, sucking at a sensitive spot just to feel you tighten around him.

“God, if your moans didn’t sound so damn good, I’d stuff your panties in your mouth.”

In the locker room, after a good game, the guys ask him why he’s even with you. They point out that you talk to yourself sometimes, that you have different pictures of pretty men in your phone case every day, wear brightly-coloured clothes you made yourself, and have only ever been seen drinking cans of Monster.

Toji doesn’t bother answering. Why would he? They’ll never understand your dynamic, your appeal, and the fact that he wouldn't be able to shake you off even if he did want to.

With the pummelling of the water, he hides the nasty slurrrrrrps coming from your mouth as you kneel between his legs in his stall, at the very back of the showers. Toji's always the first one in the locker room after a game because he knows you'll be hiding somewhere; you love to lick, suck and fondle his balls after he's gotten all sweaty and sticky. Something about his 'musk' and 'pheromones' unlocking your 'inner moon goddess.'

You’ve got a tail plugged in your ass, all soaked and pathetic looking, but when it twitches as you clench, empowered by the taste and enormous size of him filling your throat, your hockey player boyfriend can’t help but cum hard.

“Drink it all up —yeah, just like that, good girl.” He licks his scar when you stick your tongue out, playing with the cum on there with your long fingers, making yourself gag just for him. “Shh, keep quiet, yeah? Don’t want them to catch you. Alright, turn around, baby, show me your pretty pussy.”

Bent over, you smoosh your face against the cold tiles and spread your cheeks for him, purposefully clenching so he can see your juices drool out when he lifts your soggy tail up. Wriggling your ass, you whisper, “Come and plant your seed, oh Dark Lord. Make this mudblood bear fruit for my serpent king.”

He shakes his head in disappointment but sinks his cock into you anyways. “You got back into your Harry Potter phase again, didn’t ya?”

Since he's started dating you, his understanding of pop culture has broadened considerably. For example, just recently, the new Marvel movie came out and you couldn't stop replaying edits of Bucky. He was doing push-ups when you dropped to the ground and crawled right under his body, his arms fully extended. That mischievous grin on your lips could only spell out one thing: trouble.

That was how he found himself, folding you into a pretzel, in his bedroom. And despite the dangerous hold he had around your neck, you could only whine out, "Harder, Buck!"

"Yeah, Steve, take my fat cock. Milk the Winter out of my Soldie—God, these lines are so shit, ma. Who wrote this garbage?"

Nails digging into his meaty forearm, sweat-slicked and delirious, you reply with a giggle, working your ass back against his pelvis to feel his tip kiss your cervix. "My mootie. Don't worry about it. Come on, we're only in Act Two out of seven. Think you can last?"

He grunts. "Worry 'bout yourself, doll. I can do this all day."

Sometimes, your weirdness doesn't even involve him. Just last week, he came home after practice and dumped his duffel bag in the living room on his way to the bathroom, keen to get clean. When he finished, he noticed the bag unzipped and rifled through. Sighing, he saunters into his bedroom, bends down, grabs your ankle, and drags you out from under his bed.

With his boxers covering your entire face, he tuts. "What have I said about taking my shit? Huh? What did I say about going around and sniffing my boxers like some kinda dog? Said you just gotta ask, didn't I?"

Shamelessly, you come to a kneeling position, pulling his towel off so you can nuzzle his already half-hard cock, still wearing his boxers on your head. "Sorry, Toji."

"Show me, ma. Show me how damn sorry you are."

Not a moment of peace is given to him with you as his girlfriend. Not when you always have a new hobby, when there's drama unfolding all the time in all the online communities and fandoms you're part of, and certainly not when your appetite is seemingly endless. He can't even tape his new stick up for grip without you climbing on his back and laying kisses all over his neck. "No."

"But I wanna!"

Trying to shape you off, he says, "You gotta wait. Need to get a feel for it before I keep taping."

Of course, you don't listen to him. So, he's forced to throw the tape aside and let you crawl onto the floor, between his legs. The hockey stick is hooked on your clothed pussy, pressed deliciously right against your slit.

"Needy fucking girl, aren't ya? Can't fucking wait. Well, fine. Go on, then. Make it a good one. Make it worth my damn time."

Grinding, you get lost in the friction, groping your bouncy tits over your shirt. He huffs a laugh when you meet his gaze, eyes clouded over with desire, and lick a long stripe up the shaft. "Toji, tie my wrists to the ends and fuck me from behind, please."

"Sure, but I get to choose the movies for the next week. Getting tired of all the Lord of the Rings shit."

You moan in agreement when he suddenly tugs on the stick, pulling it hard against your clit. Your pussy juices coat the toe and he can't resist rubbing his throbbing cock over his shorts, already imagining all the good luck seeping into the stick, carrying him onto his victory.

"Cum, baby. Get it all wet for me, yeah? I'll be sure to thank you real good when I win next time."

Showing up to practice with a crick in his neck, Toji shrugs off any questions about it. His teammates would only tease him for being a simp if they found out he had spent hours the night before eating you out under your desk as you gamed.

He had three fingers stuffed inside your drenched cunt, curling them again and again against your gummy spot as he sucked hard on your pulsing clit. Your thighs quivered around his head, keeping him close, threatening to suffocate him; there are worst ways to die, he supposed.

"Fuck! Whose goddamn Venti is that? Did they even equip any fucking artefacts? I gotta carry this team with my Yaelan. Again."

Toji fought the urge to roll his eyes, and instead focused on rolling your clit around with his tongue, teasing the bundle of nerves with his skills. Despite your less than perfect diet, he finds that you actually always tastes good. You only eat fast food and chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs, yet you're sweet, mild, and completely addictive.

Sucking hard, partly to bring you closer to an orgasm and partly so he could bring your attention back to him rather than whatever's on your screen, he listened to your sharp intake of breath. "Ah! T-toji, be gentle. I'm still -ngh!- sensitive."

"Hurry up and win then, ma. My balls are about to fucking burst."

You giggled, brushing a hand through his hair, scratching just right and gaining a low groan out of him. "Give me one more -hah- o-orgasm and I'll let you -fuuuuuck, Toji- creampie me. You can watch it ooze out like custard filling, whatd'ya say, baby?"

"Yeah, sure. But don't make me recite any lines from whatever mafia erotica shit you're reading, yeah?"

He bit back a chuckle when he felt you pout, through some cosmic connection (your words, never his) and shoved your chair back suddenly. Standing to his full height, he lifted your hips with him, leaving you dangling in the air, clinging to the armrests desperately as he sucked the soul out of your drooling pussy. "Yes, fuck! God, y-you're so good to me. I love -hngh!- you! Marry me!"

"Shut up. That's my fucking line."

Even his brother sometimes wonders why you two are even together. It’s not that the younger boy doesn’t like you, no, of course, he does — you’re nice, and you bake him cookies. He just thinks you two are so different from each other. Toji likes sports and fitness. You like anime and bedrotting.

He's brought it up before, and his older brother would only muss his hair and tell him, 'You're asking questions you're not ready to hear the answers to.'

What he doesn’t get to see, because he’s at school, is that you two have found a common ground, a way to blend your worlds together.

Your boyfriend watches sports on the TV, beer in hand and you on his lap, arms and legs wrapped around his body. You watch whatever anime you’re obsessed with at the moment on your iPad, which you hold up behind his head, nuzzling close into the crook of his neck. Occasionally, you’ll take a long whiff of his scent or chomp on his skin, and in retaliation, he’ll rut his cock deep inside you. Something about quality time and cockwarming really gets you going, apparently.

“Up, baby. Need to get another drink.” He grunts when you tighten your hold around him, even going as far as to clamp down on his throbbing cock, grinding your hips around. A dribble of cum runs down his balls. “No? You’re a real piece of work. Alright, hold on tight then.”

Every step he takes drives him deeper inside you, nudging his fat cock head against that gooey spot inside of you. “Ah, Toji, your rock-hard member is impaling me!”

Groaning, he smacks your ass. “Do you gotta call it those weird ass names, ma? Ain’t ‘dick’ just fine?”

“What about ‘manhood?’”

“Try again.”

You hum. “‘Shaft?’ Or, ‘wizard’s staff?’”

He takes a swig of his beer, sighing. “Forget it.”

Yeah, his girl might be weird, but you're cute. Toji’s never met anyone else who can get his dick hard and leaking like there’s no tomorrow all while you ramble about which fictional world you'd love to be ‘isekaid’ into, whatever that means. You might be weird, but you help his brother out with his homework, massage aches out of his limbs after a particularly violent game, don't judge him for not having many real friends or for his family situation, and you push his desires to their very limits with your wild imaginations and lack of reservations. You’re incredible and people would never understand that.

And plus, Toji really doesn’t think you’re that weird, anyway.

“Hey, Toji? Can you cum inside and then eat me out? I want to record you making bubbles on my clit.”

Never mind.

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