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The honeymoon suite is decorated with red rose petals and the sounds of your breathless giggles as Satoru guides you slowly backwards towards the bed.
"Honey," he mumbles against your neck, the words muffled against your skin as he presses obnoxiously noisy kisses all over your face and neck. "Baby. Love of my life." His large hands settle at your hips, pulling your body further into his as he continues to lead you backwards with sure, confident steps. "I'm trying to love on you here. You know," he nips playfully at the corner of your jaw, and you can feel his immutable smile as he speaks, "me, your beloved husband. And you're kind of stomping all over my pride here, laughing while I'm trying to seduce you."
You just giggle again, tipping your head back to offer up more of the canvas of your neck. You know you should be taking this more seriously — there's unimaginable darkness hanging over both your heads at every turn. But you just got married, and he's kissing all over you and it tickles just a little and his voice is in your ear and his hands are on your body and he's back.
After nineteen days of hell, he's back.
You let out a happy hum, your eyes fluttering closed as his kisses move down the curve of your neck towards your shoulder. His mouth is warm, his hands are warm, his chest is warm against yours. He's warm, and he's here, and so solid against you that you finally allow yourself to soften against him once more.
"Wasn't today so beautiful?" you breathe as your head drops just a bit further, your back arched like a dancer's into his body. He lets out an appreciative hum, mirroring yours, fingers curling tighter into the white lacy fabric at your hips.
"You kidding?" he says, and his kisses start to slow. His tongue brushes against your pulse just enough to send a shiver through you. "It was perfect. Fucking perfect." His fingers dig a little deeper into your plush hips, forcing your body to curve more sensually against his. "You looked so beautiful. Always do, but fuck, something about you wearing this dress, wearing my ring…" He lets out a playful little growl and starts up another barrage of kisses.
And you just laugh, and you close your eyes, smiling so broadly that your cheeks ache, and you remember what it's like to be loved by him so wholly and completely.
As he makes his way down your neck, his tongue now joining his lips as he licks a line of heat up the curve of your throat towards your ear. A delicious shiver runs up your spine, desire pooling deep in your pelvis as his breath fans across your cheek. He nips at your jaw again, but this time it's not so playful; it's a graze of teeth meant to make your breath hitch.
Which it does.
You can feel his grin — taunting, now, predatory — against your skin as his hands finally start to roam. It starts with him gently circling your hip bones through your dress. Then his hands move up, one following the curve of your spine and the other tracing up your belly and chest. His palm passes purposefully over one of your breasts but doesn't linger, instead moving to cradle the side of your neck.
Then, finally, he raises his lips to yours. And this kiss is ravenous.
It's all tongue and teeth, like he's devouring you, tasting every inch he can reach because for so long he was trapped without even the faintest memory of you. He had to keep his mind clear, after all, so he couldn't think about your taste, about your body beneath his hands, against his chest, under him while he—
He has to pull away to take a ragged breath so he doesn't push you face-first into the mattress, pull your panties aside, and fuck you into oblivion.
Because this is supposed to be the start of forever, and he wants to do it right.
He wanted to do all of it right. He always promised you a grand wedding, with as many guests as you wanted and no holds barred. He wanted to give you everything: the flowers, the wedding gown, the fancy venue, the overpriced food and an open bar and the best photographer he could find to capture the whole thing on camera.
He always promised you everything.
And then he got sealed.
He never doubted he'd get out. Not really. He spent the whole time honing his technique even further, wiped away every memory of you and anything else he'd lost just to stay sane.
Just to survive.
He never doubted he'd get out, but he knew that you were starting to wonder.
He knew it was hard not to. You trusted him, had the utmost faith in him, but as days passed without him, you couldn't help but fear the worst.
How were you supposed to live the rest of your life — a life you'd planned to live alongside him — all alone?
So when he was finally released, he came home to you as quickly as he could. He didn't knock on the front door of your shared home; he teleported straight inside, and when you turned around from making yet another microwave meal, you dropped the shitty pasta that tasted like the plastic it came in onto the kitchen floor with a splatter of red sauce.
Neither of you stopped to take in the wreckage before you threw yourself into his arms, wrapping your limbs tightly around him to keep him from disappearing again.
You planned the wedding in secret. The two of you snuck away in between grueling strategy sessions, and you bought a cheap white cocktail dress with just enough lace to look like a bride, and you made Ijichi take five minutes to get ordained online.
He pronounced the two of you husband and wife, and Satoru kissed you like he still expected forever.
It wasn't the wedding he promised. It wasn't the wedding either of you dreamed of. But you couldn't stop smiling when he kissed you for the first time as your husband.
Then he reserved the most expensive honeymoon suite in town, for one single night. Just enough to celebrate your first night married before he has to leave.
Because both of you know he has to. It's never been a doubt that when a world-ending threat presented itself, Satoru would have to go.
He'd have to face it, and ultimately, he would be alone when he did.
But, at least for now, he's got you here with him.
He lets out a shaky breath as he breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, letting his eyes close as he tries to slow down. He wants to cherish this moment. Wants to be able to hold this memory in his mind when he faces Sukuna — the curse inside the body of the boy he raised — and fight like he isn't terrified to end Megumi's life, too.
He wants to take you with him, even if it's only in the back of his mind and the ring on his finger.
You raise a hand, gentle as always, cradling his cheek in your palm like he's fragile. He lets out a small little huff, because you're the only one who treats him like that, like he's a treasure beyond mortal value.
"You okay?" you whisper, and when he opens his eyes again, he sees you looking up at him with equal amounts of tenderness and concern in your eyes. Your brows pinch together a little in the middle in the way he loves so much, because it means you care about him enough to worry.
At the sight, his lips curl up just a little at the corners, and he turns his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to your palm, so meaningful it makes your heart ache in the sweetest way. But the smile doesn't quite touch his eyes. After all this time, you can tell.
"Yeah," he whispers back, his lips brushing against your palm, and he looks at you with those eyes of cracked quartz, and you can see that flash of vulnerability there before he schools his expression back into that playful joy he always exudes when he's with you. "I'm perfect. Actually…" His fingers start to roam once more, dipping beneath lace as he puts on that familiar wolfish smile and lowers his voice, "I'm really eager to fuck my wife. That okay with you?"
You can't help it; you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes sparkling up at him as you allow him to skirt the question. You let him pull you into his chest once more, and he's looking down at you like he wants to eat you up and lick the plate clean, and you feel equal parts prey and beloved under his heated gaze. "You can't be a little more romantic?" you tease, though you don't really mean the complaint. You love when he tells you exactly what he wants to do with (to) you; it makes anticipation clench low in your belly as his voice coaxes you towards inevitable pleasure.
But he, as always, takes your tease in stride, his smile broadening into a grin as he leans down and murmurs, "You want me to say I'll make love to you? That I'll take my time, unwrap you like a gift? That I'll kiss every part of you just to profess my undying love?" His fingers toy with the edge of lace lining your skirt as he leans in just enough for his lips to brush your ear again, his voice lowering even further until it reaches an intimate purr, "But, baby…" His touch dips just slightly below the lace trim, his hands hot on your skin, "didn't I already do that at the altar?"
This time, you're not laughing. This time, at his touch, your breath hitches softly in the back of your throat. The heat of his hands seems to seep all the way through you to your very bones until it pools low in your belly.
And Satoru's six eyes follow the trail of fire, his grin never faltering.
Then he lifts those dangerous, taunting, loving eyes to meet yours, and both of you are already leaning towards each other, your lips parting before they even meet his.
When they do, it's like the raging inferno inside you finally erupts.
This kiss doesn't start slowly, romantically, sensually. It starts like he's trying to crawl inside you and taste every inch, like he wants to break you open like ripe fruit and devour your sweet flesh. His tongue swipes at your lower lip, and his hand is already coming up to squeeze your jaw and open you up for the taking. The kiss is sloppy, spit collecting at the corners of your lips, but he drinks it down like ambrosia, like he's desperate for it.
As the taste of you fills his mouth, he lets out a raged groan — equal parts relief for what he's been given and frenzy for what he still needs. His hand moves from your jaw to the back of your head, long fingers tangling in your hair as he tilts your head further. He's insatiable, now that he's had a taste of his newly wedded wife, his other hand gripping your thigh and sliding up, up, up under your skirt towards your ass, pushing up the lacy hem of your dress.
Then, before he can reach the curve of your backside, his fingers bump against something frilly and elastic, and he lets out a low, pained groan when he realizes it's a garter.
"Fuck, baby," he pants — almost whimpers — against your lips, his fingers toying with the scalloped edges. "I thought you said this shit was — what did you call it? — trad wife propaganda to make a spectacle out of your virginity?"
You pull back just enough to smile up at him, your teeth lightly grazing his lower lip as you do. He chases you momentarily, dilated pupils trained on your swollen, spit-glossed lips. You whisper, quiet and intimate, "Well, I'm not a virgin, and there's no one here to watch. Do you like it?"
Teasingly, so he doesn't lose the upper hand, he pulls the garter an inch and lets the elastic band snap! back into place against your outer thigh. You jump a little at the slight sting, a soft gasp escaping from between your lips. "I love it. Now, let me do this right." And before you can protest, or even ask what he means, he's finally backing you up against the edge of the bed and laying you down across the sheets and rose petals.
He takes a moment to look down at you, his bright eyes — lidded, now, with lust — trailing over every perfect inch of you. They trace your facial features, your pretty eyes and tempting lips, even the angle of your chin that leads lower. They trace the elegant slope of your neck, the curve of your collarbones into your shoulders, then back to your sternum where his view is obscured by your sweetheart neckline.
He grunts at the sight, the sound playful but needy at the edges. His large, warm palms glide up your plush thighs, pushing underneath your skirt.
And then his lips follow the path his eyes took, kissing his way down your face, your neck, your chest. Then he moves lower, settling his broad shoulders between your thighs, and ducks his head under your skirt, too.
His breath ghosts over your inner thighs, and your back arches just a little off the bed, expecting him to kiss his way up towards your cunt. But instead he kisses his way towards the top curve of your thigh, pausing when he reaches the frilly white garter.
He parts his lips and takes the lace between his teeth, and he slowly, teasingly, reverently tugs the elastic band down your thigh. As he does, his warm breath causes goosebumps to rise along your skin, and his lips brush your thigh as he drags the garter towards your knee.
Your pussy clenches at the languid, intimate sensations.
You can't see his expression beneath your skirt; he's fully obscured, hidden beneath the lace. But you can feel every movement he makes like electricity crackling over your skin, and your breathing starts to hitch at his light touches. You feel his rumbling hum against the sensitive skin of your thigh, and when the elastic finally crests your knee, he drags the garter off in one final, fluid movement. He finally emerges from beneath your skirt, his hair rumpled and his eyes heated as he meets your eyes once more.
The sight of that lace between his teeth makes the flame in your belly burst into an uncontrollable burn.
He turns his head and drops the garter to the bed beside you, and then he's moving back up your body, his hands still roaming your thighs beneath your dress, hiking the white fabric up around your hips. Both of you are breathing heavier, now, sharing heated air between your lips before he finally kisses you again, his mouth insistent on yours. His hands reach the curve of your ass and start kneading the plump flesh there, his fingers digging in as he pulls your hips forward to rock against his.
The delicious friction of his bulge nudging your thinly covered clit makes your head fall back against the pillows. You feel sparks of pleasure all the way to your fingertips every time your hips roll against each other. His eyes watch your reaction, taking it in and filing it away like he does with everything about you. He starts a slow but firm rhythm, the coarse fabric of his slacks dragging against the sheer fabric of your panties.
When your lashes start to flutter, pleasure burning through your core, he raises one hand to thread his fingers through your hair and keep you in place. "Eyes on me, baby," he pants against your lips, forcing you to watch him while he teases you.
You let out a soft, desperate whine, your brows creasing in a supplicant expression. You want him, need him, have waited to have him like this and now it feels like you're racing against the clock and you have to feel him, your husband, inside you before he leaves—
But he doesn't rush. He just grinds against you, soft grunts and little pants escaping. And all the while, your gazes are locked, intertwined so intimately it feels like you really are one soul now.
Bound forever, in love, in life, in death.
His hips start to stutter at the peak of each thrust, now, and you can feel his cock throbbing, twitching against your own swollen clit. A low, breathless groan rumbles through his chest. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice shaking slightly with the effort of holding himself back. "I g-gotta feel you, or I'm gonna—" He swallows thickly, his fingers tightening at your hips. "I'm gonna fucking cum before we get started."
You giggle quietly, your hands sinking into his thick hair. He shivers at the touch, his hips jerking against yours again. "I wouldn't mind seeing that," you tease, leaning in to nuzzle his nose affectionately with yours.
He lets out another playful growl, leaning in and pressing more messy, noisy kisses to your cheek and jaw, making you giggle harder again. "Next time," he promises, pulling away with an obnoxious mwahhh just to move his hands from your hips to the zipper between your shoulder blades.
His hand is warm against your spine as he drags the zipper down, opening up your last-minute wedding dress like you are, indeed, a perfectly wrapped gift.
Then he helps shimmy the dress down your body, and you lift your hips so he can remove it fully and drop it off the end of the bed.
His breath catches at the sight of your sheer white lingerie, and his hands pause at your hips like he can't believe you're so radiant beneath him.
"God," he huffs softly, shaking his head in disbelief as he traces his eyes over every inch of you. Your tits are cupped perfectly in unlined lace, and the white teddy follows the natural curves of your body, a thin lace gusset barely hiding what lies beneath. "My wife is so fucking beautiful." His voice shakes again, but this time it's with the overwhelming emotion flowing through him, affection and awe and astonishment that you're his for the rest of his life, and for every moment after.
Your eyes soften, and one hand trails down from his hair to gently stroke his cheek. "I love you," you whisper, for the millionth time, knowing it will never be enough.
He lets out a heavy breath and leans back in to kiss you, catching your lips with ragged desperation. His palm grazes up your tummy towards your breasts, cupping one and giving a gentle, lingering squeeze before moving to the other.
"I love you, too," he rasps against your mouth, sounding winded, like the sheer amount of love in his body has knocked the breath out of him. "So, so much."
And then he slowly, gently removes your lingerie, leaving you — finally — fully bare beneath him.
He's still fully dressed, even as he lowers himself between your thighs, pushing your knees apart so his shoulders can fit. His eyes finally lock on your dripping, puffy cunt, and he lets his breath brush against your slick folds for one long moment, then two. Your hips rise in anguish, a soft whine bubbling up as you wordlessly beg him to taste you…
He relents, and drags his tongue against your heated core, letting out a deep groan as his eyes roll back at your taste. He licks from your dripping, clenching entrance to your throbbing clit, and you let out a soft sigh of relief as he finally touches you. Your cunt quivers under the stimulation, and your thighs twitch on either side of his head as pleasure sparks deep inside your gut.
And then, all at once, he's no longer teasing. No longer holding back. He spreads your folds with his thumbs and starts to feast, like he's been starving for you all day. He sucks on your clit, shooting another arc of tingling pleasure through you. Your pussy squeezes desperately around nothing, and it's so much so suddenly that you cry out, your hips jolting against his mouth.
His eyes sparkle with satisfaction as he raises them to meet yours, and one hand comes up to hold your hip firmly against the mattress.
He suckles on your clit in deep, rhythmic pulls, his tongue rubbing insistently against it for dual stimulation. You feel your clit throb harder, your cunt clench tighter, and you let out a weak plea, "Oh, god…!"
He never once pulls away, not even to smirk up at you and teasingly ask, "Already, baby?" He knows you need this, need him to draw this pleasure out of you like poison out of a wound, and he knows just how to eat you out to make you lose your mind. You chase the pleasure he so willingly and eagerly gives, feebly rolling your hips against his tongue. The motion grinds your clit so perfectly that you can't help but cry out another symphony of needy whimpers and drawn out moans.
Even after all these years, your climax comes crashing down on you embarrassingly quick. Your head hits the pillows, and you're practically singing for him while he plays you like his favorite instrument. Your walls clamp down hard, your thighs going rigid as you finally tumble over the edge of the peak of tear-jerking pleasure. The moans that fall from your lips are loud and uninhibited, and you can feel the pride radiating off of him as he helps you ride out your orgasm, his tongue never stopping its quick, determined movements against your clit.
But when your hips finally fall still against the mattress and your chest rises and falls with blissed out gasps, he doesn't pull away. He keeps his eyes on your face, his hands on your hips, and his mouth on your clit.
Your eyes roll back, your fingers curl desperately into the sheets for something to hold onto, and your back arches into a brutal curve. Another loud moan rips its way out of you, so intense you're sure the neighbors are already calling the front desk to make a noise complaint. The pleasure that had no chance to recede now continues to build, heat flaring through you so brightly that it's nearly blinding, your vision flashing white. But Satoru doesn't ease up; he just continues sucking on your clit, keeping that same steady, mind-melting rhythm.
Your first orgasm doesn't even have time to end before you're cumming again on his tongue. And still he doesn't stop, too caught up in the sights and sounds of your pleasure to pull away. You try to roll out from under him, the motions thoughtless and instinctual as the sensations crest, almost too intense now. But his fingers dig into your hips more firmly, keeping you locked beneath him as he watches your expression crumple, your moans turning into thoughtless cries as you finally release the sheets, only to grip his hair tightly, sobbing out his name. You're not even sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer.
"F-fuck," you hiccup, your back rising off the bed once more as your voice pitches higher and higher, "I-I'm gonna—"
He hums against your clit, never slowing or interrupting his rhythm as he nods, just a little. Encouraging you, telling you it's okay, more than okay, exactly what he wants from you.
With his permission, you shatter.
The tension that has been building in your pelvis and abdomen and thighs, the tightness in your muscles that felt so good it was almost painful, finally gives way to shuddering waves of intensity. Your brain is mush; you're not even sure this is pleasure anymore. It feels more like desolation, destruction, the tearing apart of your mind and piecing it together in the way he conducts it.
As you cum once more, your sobbing moans filling the suite with broken, melodic tones, you feel that tension melt in the inferno of your ecstasy, and that burning heat erupts between your legs, soaking Satoru's chin and lips and parts of his cheeks.
You can't see him through your dark, hazy vision, or past the single tear that sears its way down your temple towards your hairline, but he's looking up at you like you just offered him nectar of the gods.
When the waves finally settle, and your body sags against the bed, Satoru finally lets go with a lewd pop. He doesn't pull away, though, instead slowly and gently licking you clean, his eyes still on your face the whole time.
Your mind is so foggy, pulverized to dust after the back-to-back orgasms, that you don't even really process that he's still touching you. Your body is almost numb in the wake of your pleasure, tingling up your limbs all the way to the tips of your fingers and toes. Your chest heaves with each burdened gasp, your eyes half-open but unseeing as you let the aftershocks slowly bleed out of you. It takes you a couple minutes to get your breathing under control, and even once it starts to slow, you still can't lift your head from the pillows. Finally, once he's mostly cleaned you up — there's little he can do about the damp spot in the sheets below you — he lifts his head and grins up at you, pressing a gentle, affectionate kiss to your trembling thigh.
"Good, baby?" he asks softly, pulling away just enough to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his dress shirt. You just watch him, still panting softly, but a small, hazy smile tugs at the corners of your lips.
He smiles back and presses one last kiss to your thigh before trailing his kisses upwards once more. They're slower, now, more intimate. He pauses momentarily with every press of his lips, letting you feel the heat of his mouth and the adoration behind each kiss. As he works his way up your body, his body finally presses against yours again, his hard, aching dick pressing between your puffy lower lips. His hips settle between yours, and he groans as your heat seeps right through his slacks.
You whimper and move your hands to his sides, tugging impatiently on the crisp fabric of his dress shirt. "Why are you still dressed?" you complain, pouting when he pulls back to look at your face.
He lets out a breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he leans in to whisper teasingly in your ear, "Impatient, are we?"
Before you can answer, or whine again, he leans back, kneeling tall between your legs, and starts unbuttoning his shirt. You watch as he does, watch his long slender fingers work over the buttons, watch the way the tendons in his hands flex and contract, watch the way shadows shift over the veins there, making his hands look capable and strong. You watch as the buttons come undone, watch his hands move lower with every inch of his thin undershirt he reveals.
He reaches the last button, tugging the fabric away from his broad shoulders. Then he grabs the undershirt at the back of the collar, pulling it over his head in a seductive move that makes your pussy throb every time you see him do it.
He tosses the undershirt aside, and when he looks back at you, you're still staring.
His grin turns lopsided and cocky as he watches you take him in. "Like what you see?" he taunts playfully, reaching for his belt now.
You sit up slightly, pressing your bare chest against his. His breath catches at the sudden contact, but he doesn't push you back down; he lets you raise your hands to his ribs, lets you trace every ridge of his muscular sides and chest.
You slowly dip your fingers along the line between his abs, watching them jump beneath your touch. "Let me," you whisper, running a delicate nail down his coarse happy trail all the way to the waistband of his pants.
As your hands close in around the buckle of his belt, you hear him swallow harshly. One of his strong, capable hands reaches back to thread through your hair once more, just for something to hold onto as you unbuckle his belt and slowly slide the premium leather through the loops, the fabric hissing softly.
You pop open the button and metal closure of his pants, too, and quietly drag down the zipper. But instead of pulling them down, you let the fabric hang open, his obscene bulge only thinly obscured by his tight black boxers. You sit for a moment, letting him stew, just like he had when he was undressing you. Then you lean forward those few final inches and start pressing kisses — equally slow and sensual — against his chest and belly. Your tongue drags, hot and slow, up his sternum, and he shudders against your mouth, his head falling back with a soft groan. His fingers tighten in the hair at the back of your head, pressing your mouth more firmly against his skin.
He worshiped you; now you want to return the favor.
His skin on your lips and tongue is warm and smooth, and he tastes like soap and a hint of sweat. His pale skin is so easy to mark that you can't help but bite down on his shoulders, his neck, his pecs. You suck loving little bruises everywhere you can reach, and as one hand curls through his hair, right above his undercut, to hold his head aside while you kiss and bite and lick his throat, the other runs slowly over his chest and abs, back down to where he's hard and leaking beneath his underwear.
He lets out another groan, this one turning into a needy whine at the end. His cock throbs against your palm, and when your touch ventures lower so you can teasingly cup and squeeze his balls through the fabric, he grabs your hand to stop you.
His voice is strained when he says, "I wasn't kidding before; I'm gonna cum in my fucking pants if you keep touching me like that."
Before you can respond, before you can say that you weren't kidding when you said you'd love to see that for yourself, he gives your shoulder a gentle, guiding push back towards the mattress.
When you're comfortably nestled back against the pillows once more, your eyes never leaving his flushed face, he reaches down and hurries to pull down his pants and boxers in one frantic movement. Once he chucks the fabric off the end of the bed towards the opposite corner of the suite, he's on top of you again, leaning down to kiss you, his lips clumsy against yours.
You moan into his mouth as his tongue messily swipes against yours; you love when he gets like this, losing that omnipresent control he has over his entire body in favor of letting you see and hear and feel him at his rawest moments. His hand trembles and fumbles as he takes his cock in hand and nudges the tip against your sensitive cunt, the tip bumping your clit just enough to make your hips jolt again.
Then the thick head slowly sinks inside you, stretching you open in the most devastating and loving way.
He lets out another breathy whimper, his fingers curling into the pillowcase beside your head. You can see the tension in his shoulders, the willpower it takes to go slow and not ravage you in this bed. He lets out a shaky breath against your neck and pushes in another inch, his motion smooth and slow, even as his hand tightens into a fist to try and control himself.
The fullness inside you is almost immediately overwhelming. He stretches you out so perfectly, fills you to the brim and then a little further, reaching places you've only ever fantasized about before him. The slide is easy, with how wet you are, but he still takes it slow, making you wait to feel him fully inside.
You drag your palms up his muscular back, feeling every swell and ridge as you pull him tighter against your chest until you can feel his heartbeat against yours. You lift your lips to his ear and whisper, "Let me have it… I wanna feel you."
He shudders at your words, his hips jerking as he tries to maintain his slow, tender pace. "I'll f-fucking lose it," he breathes back, his voice ragged, body trembling under your hands. "I can't—"
"Then don't," you say, your voice still hushed in his ear. "I'm yours, however you want me."
His breath stills, and so do the movements of his hips. He's still shaking above you, and his hand clenches even tighter in the pillowcase; you can feel every hard muscle against your body tighten up. You pull away slightly, brows creasing in concern, your lips parting to ask him if he's okay—
Before you can, those strong hands go from gentle and adoring to ruthless and unyielding. He grabs the backs of your thighs and pushes them roughly towards your chest, punching a squeal from between your lips. His gaze is intense, now, trained on your dripping cunt instead of your face, and he watches his length drive inside you mercilessly. His lips part, and those beautiful eyes roll back into his head, and he moans like he's the one getting fucked this deep, this roughly, this all-consumingly.
You, the willing and eager subject of his desperation, can only arch beneath him and let out a wordless cry that rings out loudly in the hotel room.
"My beautiful wife," he whispers, his adoring words soothing the ache that his pistoning hips cause. He hikes one of your legs up further, throwing it over his shoulder to free his hand, just so he can reach up and cradle your cheek, his thumb hooking under your chin so he has a hold on your jaw to tilt your face towards his. You lean into his touch, whimpering as he bullies deeper, holding you so tenderly while he snaps his hips into yours. "Such a p-perfect fucking pussy… so tight and w-warm…" He groans again, leaning in to catch your lips in a bruising kiss before he pulls away just enough to pant into your mouth, "F-fuck, I'm cumming—"
And you, to encourage him, to draw it out, to send him over the edge, let your walls clench tightly around him, your own moans tumbling out as his rhythm falters. He lets out a low groan that pitches into a whine, his movements becoming uncoordinated but no less intense as he chases his peak. His body shudders beneath your hands, between your legs, and then his muscles all tighten and he drops his head to your shoulder, chanting breathless praises as he cums deep inside you, your leg still hitched over his shoulder to keep you open.
"So good," he whispers brokenly against your neck, "so good for me."
You feel every twitch of his cock inside you, every hot pulse of cum painting your walls, and it makes your pussy quiver, knowing that he's filling you up as your husband this time.
You can tell the thought is driving him crazy, too. He's still trembling as his orgasm bleeds out of him, leaving him heavy on top of you, and your hands are soft and soothing on his back. You feel him relax against your body, and you let your eyes close, enjoying the moment, the intimacy, the peace.
Then you feel his chest expand with a deep inhale, and he pulls away from the crook of your neck. Your eyes flutter open, and you expect him to be looking at you in that soft, loving way that usually indicates the night is slowly ending and you'll soon be drifting off, wrapped in his arms.
Instead, you open your eyes to find Satoru's on yours, intense and glowing with a faint, feral light.
A thrill runs up your spine, and you can feel the slight buzz of his cursed energy flaring against your skin. You part your lips to ask what he's doing, to tease if he's finally going to show off what he can do when he's riled up, but then you feel his softening cock twitch once inside you.
Then your eyes widen when you feel him getting hard inside you again.
"Satoru!" you whisper, and his fingers dig into your plush hips, like he's holding onto whatever control he has left. "Are you—?"
He doesn't let you continue. He just grabs your other leg, now, and props it on his shoulder, spreading you open as wide as he can. His chest is still heaving up and down after his orgasm, but his RCT brings his body right back onto the field for another round. He leans back slightly so he can watch his cock slide in and out of your cunt, his glossy lips parted as a thick ring of white forms around the base.
"Fuck, look at that," he chokes out, his hands moving back to your thighs to push them flat against your chest, holding you in half while your feet dangle helplessly over his shoulders. "So fucking pretty. Look so good all full of me. Gonna f-fill you up so much."
You whine at the change in position; every thrust now drives his cock right against your g-spot, and that familiar pressure builds more intense in your pelvis. He leans over you once more, his lips right above yours, panting as he fucks down into you. "Come on, baby," he says, his expression half wild with need. "Tell me you want it. Tell me to fill you up till it's dripping out of you."
He's fucking the air right out of your lungs, and your eyes are dazed and mind hazy as you stare desperately into his eyes, but you manage to breathlessly stammer out, "Y-yes, I w-want it."
He pins your legs further against your chest, smushing your tits under your thighs as he drives in faster, harder. Pleasure sparks down to your toes, and you feel like you're gonna burst again, but he keeps going, going, going, forcing you through it. "How bad, hm baby? How bad do you want it?"
You sob out a moan, thighs shaking between your chest and his. "S-so bad, Satoru. W-want to be f-full of you. Want you to—" —hic— "—breed me."
At the word, at the sheer meaning behind it, his whole body locks up, and even his breathing stops for a moment before he lets out a low, shuddering groan and starts up again with new fervor. "You better mean that," he growls, "because now I'm not resting until it takes."
You nod desperately, eyes rolling back and lips falling open in a silent cry as he abuses that spot inside you that sends you reeling. Sparks flash behind your eyes, and he doesn't let up, even as that pressure in your belly explodes once more into another climactic gush. He doesn't even take a moment to pause; he just fucks you through it, the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping filling the suite.
When he cums again, he drags his hips against yours in a slow, ragged grind. And this time, he doesn't slow down before his RCT crackles across his shoulders and his dick hardens once more inside you.
He doesn't stop, or even pause, until he's so sensitive it hurts.
Sweat drips down his temples, and every breath is ragged against your neck. His muscular body trembles with the effort to stay on top of you, to fill you just one more time, to make sure it takes because, in the end, he's not sure you'll have much else to remember him by if this all goes sideways.
And fuck, does he hope it doesn't go sideways.
He wants, desires so deeply it carves a hollow in his chest, to have this life with you. This is just the beginning of your story as husband and wife, and he wants all the rest of the plot, too. Maybe he's selfish, but he thinks he deserves to be after all this time.
He tries to convince his body to keep moving. To just gather his strength, like he has so many times before, and fuck his wife like you deserve.
But his arms shake violently as he props himself up over you, and his breath is heavy and ragged, and for a few moments, he can't decide between keeping up the fight and finally letting himself rest.
Your gentle hands — shaking, too, but still cradling him like the center of your universe — convince him of the latter.
He practically collapses on top of you, his worn and exhausted muscles trembling against your soft body. His breath is hot and labored as he presses his face into your neck, and he doesn't even have the energy to pull out yet.
You don't complain; you never do. You just hold him, your own body relaxing beneath his as you both revel in the afterglow.
Time passes in a fugue, the edges of both your consciousnesses hazy, like evening light through the blinds. Eventually he finally lifts himself back up, pressing a tired, loving kiss to your lips before slowly pulling out. Semen floods out of you onto the sheets below, and his movements are tender as he wipes you clean with a warm, soft washcloth.
When he comes back to bed, a towel now beneath your hips so you don't have to lie in the cold, damp spot of the evidence of your mutual release, he gingerly pulls you into his side, one arm wrapped around your shoulders as you rest your head over his heart.
You're both quiet for a while. His fingers, exhausted but somehow restless, trace faint shapes over your belly, like he's imagining what he may have given you there. His eyes are closed, those long frosty lashes resting against the tops of his cheekbones, and you watch your husband for a long, quiet moment.
Eventually, when you can no longer help it, you speak. Your voice shakes a little as you whisper, breaking the silence, "Satoru?"
He hums, his arm tightening around your shoulders. His eyes don't open. "What is it, baby?" he mumbles, sounding half asleep and drunk in the aftermath.
Faintly, like you don't want to admit it, "I'm scared."
His hand pauses its motions on your tummy. But after a short moment, he just lets out a soft, casual chuckle and starts rubbing again. "Don't be scared," he says, his voice quiet and confident. He doesn't even open his eyes. "I'm the strongest."
But you can feel the tension beneath his words, and you know he's scared, too.
You rest your head back on his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you towards sleep. And you don't know what's coming tomorrow, or the day after that, but at least for now, you're in the arms of your lover, your new husband, on a honeymoon you wish would last just a little bit longer.