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sincerelyyuu · 1 day

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"in the end, it's still you."

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis: you thought having your two best friends satoru and suguru by your side was all that you needed to get through the rough times. but slowly you find satoru slipping through your fingers and suguru tries his hardest to help pick up the pieces of your wounded heart ➼ pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader, geto suguru x fem!reader ➼ content: angst angst angst, sfw, fluff if you squint, s2 spoilers, teen!gojo and teen!geto during jujutsu tech days, both boys are hopelessly in love with bestfriend!reader, pet names, reader is also a sorcerer in the same year and is unaware of their romantic feelings ➼ wc: 2.8K words ➼ a/n: my first jjk fic! let me know how i did ♡

The life of a sorcerer isn’t for the faint hearted. You found yourself spending your days constantly training, pushing your physical body to its limit. The way your skin crawled from the constant bloodshed that came with every curse you exorcised. The constant criticisms that came from the people around you to become even stronger weighing heavily on your mind.

The pressure was beginning to take a huge toll on you. You felt like you as an individual didn’t matter, your thoughts and feelings deemed irrelevant all in the name of saving others.

However, there were always two people that always made you feel seen.

Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

It all began when you were enrolled into Jujutsu High during your first year. Leaving behind the secluded town that you once called home, you were completely alone. Knowing what was expected from you, you were told that you were strictly here to become the strongest sorcerer you could be.

But fate had other plans for you. From the day you first stepped into the classroom, Satoru immediately gravitated to you. He knew you were strong and that there was more to you than meets the eye. You also peaked Suguru’s interest from the way you steeled yourself in an attempt to not reveal too much of your inner self. Somehow along the way through various missions and a multitude of adventures, the two men managed to crack away at your defenses and you found yourself in this trio of friendship. Wherever you went, they were right behind you.

Satoru and Suguru were like yin and yang, both physically and metaphorically. The white haired male carried an air of confidence wherever he went. He was the type to never take things too seriously unless truly necessary and he never failed to find ways to make you smile with corny jokes or embarrassing stories. Like that time he nearly burnt the dorm down trying to boil an egg (the reason why he’s banned from the kitchen and why Suguru is in charge of cooking meals).

Meanwhile, the raven haired male was the most level headed between you three. Every move and action he made was always thought through carefully. Although he didn’t necessarily encourage Satoru’s endless shenanigans (and by default yours as well as his), Suguru never hesitated to come to the rescue for you both. Life as a sorcerer didn’t seem so bad anymore if it meant having these two by your side.

Until you didn’t.

“Toru, let’s get dinner with Suguru!”

“Sorry sweets, I have a mission right after this but I’m all yours next time!”

“Hey man, are you still down for hanging at (y/n)’s dorm later?”

“Can’t. They’re sending me off to deal with this one curse they couldn’t handle. Luckily they have the strongest to handle it!”

The stronger Satoru became over the years, the more he went solo on missions, and the less time you found yourself seeing him. Instead of taking on missions as a trio, you found yourself more often going with just Suguru. Having him by your side made it a little easier, but you had to admit that you were missing Satoru’s presence. You could tell it was affecting Suguru too based on how quiet and reserved he was becoming.

“Toru?” you called, phone pressed to your ear. “Where are you? You were supposed to get back from your mission half an hour ago. The food is getting cold.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to make it. This curse is taking longer to exorcise than expected. I’ll join you guys next time,” Satoru sighed over the call. He was on guard and in the middle of tracking down this special grade curse when you had called. But he never hesitated to drop everything for you even if he was in the middle of a dangerous mission.

“You said that last time…”

Satoru swore he felt his heart break listening to the disappointment in your voice. Guilt settled into his chest as he ran a tired hand through his snowy locks with a frown. If it were up to him, he’d abandon his mission in a heartbeat to be by your side but he knew he couldn’t. It killed him to know he was making you sad because you didn’t deserve that.

“I know. I’m sorry, sweets. I promise I’ll make it up to you and treat you to the best dinner you’ll ever have later. Say hi to Suguru for me, okay?” he responded softly, doing his best to soften the hurt you were feeling.

With a hum, you tried your best to sound happy over the phone. “I will. Just… come back safe, okay?”

“Always,” Satoru promised. With much restraint, he forced himself to hang up the phone.

With that, your arm fell limply at your side with your phone clenched tightly in your hand. Suguru watched the forced smile fall from your face, the disappointment evident as clear as day as you fell into a daze. Without you even saying anything, he knew his best friend had once again canceled plans. He knew that Satoru didn’t have a choice in the matter but it was still heartbreaking to see the effects that it had on you.

Suguru wasn’t blind. He suspected that your feelings for Satoru extended far beyond friendship, which made his own feelings for you that much worse knowing you were possibly in love with his best friend and not him.

You barely processed the way Suguru softly called out to you, only jumping in surprise when he placed a hand on your shoulder.

“Sorry, Sugu. I didn’t even see you walk over to me. Toru says hi,” you offered a small apologetic smile to the tall man who only smiled reassuringly to you.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry for scaring you. I take it that lunch will just be us?” he hummed, feeling his heart clench at your weak nod.

With a deep sigh, he opened his arms. “C’mere.”

Without a second to spare, you immediately wrapped your arms around him and buried your face into his sturdy chest. His cologne always had a way of grounding you, the scent of sandalwood and bergamot filling your senses. You didn’t realize how tense you were until you felt your body melt into his embrace. Suguru wrapped an arm around your middle and placed a gentle hand behind your head holding you close.

“You know he would be here if he could,” he consoled.

“I know. I just miss him a lot. It’s been so long since we last saw him since he’s constantly away on missions,” you mumbled against his chest.

“At least I’m here, right? Unless you hate my company,” he lightly joked in an attempt to make you feel better.

It seemed to have worked because you leaned back in his embrace with a chuckle and looked up with those kind eyes of yours. God, he loved your eyes. “I could never hate you, Sugu.”

Feeling his heart race with your words, Suguru gently patted the top of your head with a chuckle, “Good girl.”

You felt extremely lucky to have Suguru by your side. It seemed like he always knew the right words to say. You took a moment to take in his face and your expression immediately fell.

Amongst your sadness, you failed to realize how exhausted he looked. Hues of purple and blue lingered below his eyes like he didn’t sleep in days. He had some new scratches on his face, probably from the many missions he had taken on this week alone. His eyes, although warm at you, looked distant as if he wasn’t completely here. He had also lost a considerable amount of weight.

How selfish of you to see that you weren’t the only one struggling. You knew Riko’s and Haibara’s death greatly affected Suguru and you tried your best to support him. Perhaps you weren't trying hard enough.

“When was the last time you slept?” you frowned, brushing your fingers to gently grace over his eyebags.

Suguru felt his heart quicken at your touch, feeling his neck begin to warm. Coughing to clear his throat, he reached up to remove your hand from his face and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I slept last night.”

“For how long?” you pressed.

He gave a nonchalant shrug, holding his chin in pretend thought. “A few hours maybe.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. You knew he was lying to probably make you feel better but it only worsened your worries. Huffing, you grabbed his hand and dragged him over to your bed before forcing him to lay down. You went to pack up the unforgotten lunch, neither of you having much of an appetite anymore.

“Sleep,” you ordered, peering over your shoulder at him with hands on your hips like a mother scolding her child. “Take a nap. I’ll wake you up later before we head out.”

“Only if you nap with me.”

Turning to look at the dark haired sorcerer in shock, he only smirked back in response as he laid on his back with one hand behind his head and the other extended to you in invitation.

You bit your lip. Was it appropriate to lie in bed with him, your best friend? You, Satoru and Suguru have had sleepovers before but they always insisted on you having the bed while they slept on the floor (although that didn’t stop Satoru from trying to share the bed with you anyway which usually ended with Suguru dragging his ass down).

Looking at Suguru, you knew he would never do anything to make you uncomfortable. Feeling the dull ache in your bones and your tired muscles weighing you down, your body moved on its own before gingerly laying next to him, your arms pressed firmly against your chest as you laid a few inches away from him to give him space.

Letting out an exaggerated yawn, Suguru suddenly pulled you tightly against him as you let out a small yelp in surprise. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, setting his chin on top before closing his eyes in content.

You felt your heart race at his actions, a gesture you were used to from him but suddenly felt much more intimate in this position. Taking a deep breath, you tried your best to focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat to calm the erratic pace of yours.

As a calm comfortable silence eventually ensued between you both, you found your thoughts drifting off to Satoru again. He had been gone for at least five days on this current mission. Was he eating well? Was he getting enough sleep? What if he was hurt? What if something happened and he needed help?

But you knew Satoru was too prideful to ask for help, insisting that he was the strongest and didn’t need anyone. It was true. He wasn’t called the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in the modern age for nothing. However, you refused to let him take on the world alone because… your world was better with him in it.

“Suguru…” you called out quietly in case he was already asleep.

“What is it, pretty?” he hummed in response. He hadn’t fallen asleep yet.

“Do you ever get tired of being a sorcerer?”

Slowly opening his eyes, Suguru shifted so that he was laying directly next to you. Now at eye level with you, he saw just how drained you were. The sparkle that usually glimmered brightly in your eyes had now reduced to a dull flicker. He hadn’t expect you to ask that question so out of the blue. Mentally, for some time he struggled with where his beliefs stood. What did it mean to be a sorcerer and most importantly, why?

“Because I do.”

It took a few seconds for him to register the words that left your mouth. He watched as you tried to blink away tears, your small hands clenching the front of his shirt within your fists as you looked away shamefully.

“I miss how we used to be back when I first came to Jujutsu High, before we got so busy. I miss when you, Satoru and I would sneak out the dorms to get that kikufuku that he likes. I miss going to that cute cat cafe in Tokyo, the one where the kittens love swatting at your hair. I miss going to the night markets and eating until we nearly pass out into food comas.”

“I know that it’s my moral duty to protect non-sorcerers. That’s why jujutsu sorcerers like us exist. But Sugu, it’s so hard. Everyday I feel like I’m losing myself because it's a constant cycle of wake up, train, exorcise, sleep and repeat. I know I don’t have to worry about Satoru because he can hold his own so I try my best to be strong. For him, for you, and for me. I have to be strong but how strong do I have to be before I can finally breathe?”

By the end of your vent, you didn’t realize you were crying. Watching you in so much distress made Suguru’s chest twist. He desperately wished he could take away all of your pain and worries. Pulling your head back into his chest, he let you fall apart in his arms, whispering sweet nothings and comforting words into your ear as your body shook with the intensity of your sobs. After some time, your crying dwindled down to soft little sniffles.

“Run away with me.”

Silence. Suguru felt you stiffen at his words and watched as your eyes morphed into confusion. Your grip on his shirt loosened as you tried to process if you had heard him right. Staring into his brown eyes with not an ounce of a smile on his lips, you realized he was dead serious.

“Suguru, you’re joking, right?” you stuttered in disbelief.

“Does it look like I’m joking?” he replied, brushing the hair away from your eyes that was still damp from your previous tears.

“Hear me out. What if we could create a world where there were no more cursed spirits? No more having to put your life on the line for weak humans who spend every minute of their lives in ignorant bliss while you shed blood, sweat and tears daily for the sake of their so-called humanity.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the somber tone the conversation took on. You frowned, “How exactly do we plan to do that? Is a world like that even possible?”

“I believe it is. My only wish is that you just trust me. Come with me,” he pleaded.

Suguru placed his large hand over your two small ones that still rested on his chest and gave them a small squeeze. He watched the various emotions run through your face as your eyes tormented over his request. He wasn’t completely sure if you’d give in to him but he’ll be damned if he didn’t at least try.

You didn’t know how to feel. Suguru was basically throwing you a lifeline to start over fresh and build a new life, a happier and free one. But you also knew it’d be dangerous. The moment you both disappear, you knew they’d send people out to find you both at all costs. You would have to leave everything and everyone you know behind. Everyone… including Satoru.

As if reading your thoughts, Suguru felt a pang of jealousy hit him. Even now, your thoughts were preoccupied on someone else instead of the man before you who would give his life for you. He knew you were thinking of his best friend, Gojo Satoru, the only other person in this world that understood him best other than you. But this was the one thing that he knew Satoru wouldn’t understand.

“I know you’re worried about him. Think of it this way. If we go, you’ll be able to protect him and ease his burden as the strongest sorcerer. He’ll be able to live the free life he deserves,” he coaxed you. “Isn’t that what you want?”

You thought over his words carefully before responding with hesitance.

“Of course that’s what I want. But Suguru, you’re asking for a whole lot and betting our lives on ‘what if’s. How long have you been thinking about this?” you questioned, your voice laden in deep concern.

“A while now,” he sighed, unable to meet your gaze for a minute before softening his eyes back at you.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now. I’ll respect any decision you make no matter what. For now, sleep on it and we can talk more about it after this mission to whatever village they’re sending us to tonight.”

Thoughts still heavily weighing on your mind, you relented. “...Okay.”

…

Nothing could have prepared Satoru for the words that left Yaga’s mouth the next day.

“112 killed by a cursed spirit revealed to be the work of Geto Suguru’s curse manipulation. Geto Suguru is hereby sentenced to death. (l/n) (y/n) has been deemed an accomplice in the crime and hereby also sentenced to death.”

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madaqueue · 2 days

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Pretty Girl (fem!Choso)

pairing: fem!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: choso gets turned into a girl for a day, established relationship, use of he/him and she/her for choso. language, smut. pet names (baby), light nipple play (f!choso receiving), fingering (f!choso receiving), oral (f!choso receiving). 18+, MDNI

wc: 2.4k

a/n: heavily inspired by this post of fem!gojo which has been living in my mind since the day i read it! wrote this instead of the last chapter of the series please forgive me :)

Standing in the kitchen, your hands are damp from the sink water as you wash dishes, awaiting your boyfriend’s return. Glancing over at the oven clock, he should be home any minute; he’d been away on a mission for the past few days and you wanted your shared apartment to be tidy for him, with fresh roses sitting on the counter and his favorite cookies cooling on the stove.

The lock jiggles behind you and you hear the door swing open.

“Welcome home, Cho-” you start before the words stall. Turning around, your eyes immediately went to the height you expected to meet your boyfriend at, yet he wasn’t there. As your gaze travels down, it lands on someone who is definitively not him.

In front of you stands a girl, around Choso’s age, with the same tied up black hair, tattoo running across the bridge of her nose, in the same clothes he left in. She looked…almost exactly like him?

“Choso?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion.

An abashed grin forms on her face, one hand raising slightly in an awkward wave. “Hi, baby,” she says.

Her voice is light and airy, something inherently polite to it. Her cadence is an exact match of your boyfriend’s, using the pet name he knows you love when he calls you, it feels all too familiar. Your eyes continue to run over her, noting that even the way she carries herself is the same with her shoulders slightly slumped, head lazily hanging to the side.

It couldn’t be, right?

As your mouth opens slightly in bewilderment, she moves towards you, sliding her too-big shoes into the same spot in front of the entryway closet Choso always uses. When she’s finally an arm’s length away from you, you suddenly recognize the scent hanging on her: Choso’s cologne, the woody musk that smells like coming home.

“What…what happened?” you stammer out.

She laughs nervously. “Um, you know that curse I was sent to fight?”

“Mhm,” you nod.

“Well…it kind of did…this,” she gestures her hands down her body.

“So, you’re a girl?”

“Seems like it” she shrugs. “Shoko is working on a way to fix it, and Gojo said she should be ready by tomorrow, but until then I guess I’m stuck in this body.”

You step forward, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a hug. “I’m just glad you’re home,” you smile.

Something about this sweet, feminine version of your boyfriend gives you butterflies. While you love his strength, his body, his masculinity, he suddenly feels so small, so soft, in your arms.

As she leans into you, Choso winces.

“You okay?” you ask, concern in your voice as you pull away.

“Yeah, just um…” he’s quick to explain, a blush forming across his cheeks, “sensitive.”

Cocking your head to the side, you try to understand the sentence. Your eyes roam her body until they land on the likely suspect: her tits. They jut slightly into the fabric of her purple robes, and you can make out the outline of her firm nipples through it.

“You poor thing,” you coo, reaching your hands out to her chest. You palm her breasts, pillowy in your hands as your thumbs trace her nipples. “Sensitive here?”

Her eyebrows crease in pleasure as her teeth bite down on her lower lip, attempting to stifle a moan. “Mhm,” she manages to choke out.

You watch her hands move down her front, landing on her lower abdomen as she paws over her clothes in discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, worry lacing your voice as your fingers slow their paths over her chest.

“Feels weird…” she mumbles, beginning to massage herself with her fingertips.

Understanding clicks in your mind as you recall the familiar physical sensation. “Aw, Cho,” you purr, one hand tracing down her stomach before landing on her inner thigh, working slowly up between her legs, “are you turned on?”

“N-no,” she stammers, cheeks flushing.

Your fingers slip into his underwear, the now-loose boxers Choso had packed for his trip, and glide one finger up his slick folds.

She shudders at the sensation, arms reaching out to latch onto your shoulders for stability as her eyes slam shut.

“You’re so wet,” you mutter in awe, almost to yourself, as you continue tracing up her cunt.

A soft whine escapes her lips, and you think it has to be the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard. Choso’s sounds were always music to your ears, hearing how his deep voice strained through pleasure, but this was something else. Her voice came out light, sweet and smooth like honey.

It was a sound you needed to hear again.

A devious smile appears on your lips as you pull your hand away, eliciting another whine from her at the sudden lack of stimulation.

“Do you want me to help you feel better?” you ask, placing a hand under her chin and tilting her head up so she’s looking at you.

Those sweet puppy dog eyes meet yours as she looks up at you through long eyelashes, an innocent desperation on her face. “Yes, please,” she nods.

“Of course, baby,” you smile, excitement building inside you as you grab her hand and lead her to the bedroom.

Your hands make their way to her skin, parting the robes over her abdomen as you guide her clothes off. Simultaneously her hands go to you, the softness of her fingertips tingling your skin as she helps you undress.

Finally bare in front of you, your eyes roam her body. Her perfectly-sized tits perk against her chest, her smaller frame with soft edges lining every curve, everything about her is absolutely flawless. A smile forms on your face at the sight, gently leaning forward to place your lips against hers as you take her hand.

Seating yourself on the bed, your back against the headboard and your legs out in front of you, you pull him into your lap, straddling your waist.

“You look so pretty,” you muse as you look up at her, the gentle curve of her jawline, her black bangs loosely covering her softened eyes.

He blushes above you, ears reddening at your kind words as your hands make their way to his waist.

“Okay,” you breathe to yourself, heart beating in anticipation. Reaching out a hand hesitantly, you gather the slick that’s pooled at her entrance and slide it along her. Your thumb finds her clit, brushing circles against the sensitive bud.

As soon as you do she throws her head forward, resting against your shoulder as her eyes close in pleasure.

“That feel good?” you ask through a breathy chuckle.

You feel her nod shakily against your body as you continue your motion.

Moving your fingers down you hover over her entrance, feeling her clench around nothing as the heat in her core builds.

“Please,” she whimpers against your skin, hips rutting down, desperate to feel you inside her.

Normally you’d tease him, make him beg for your touch until he’s on the brink of tears before giving into his desires, but right now both of you need this more than you care to admit.

Slowly sliding one finger into her, she lets out an airy moan, her cunt tight around you.

“Fuck, s’like your suckin’ me in,” you observe quietly, words you had heard Choso murmur into your ear before as he would slide his cock into you. Something about feeling how badly she wants you, hell, needs you, has that familiar heat pooling in your stomach.

Your fingers curl up into her, searching for the same spot that makes you see stars. When she lets out a choked “Fuck,” you know you’ve found it, pounding into her gummy walls with your fingertips. His hips begin moving above you, grinding imprecisely against your hand.

“You want more, baby?”

“Mhm,” she strains as she buries her head into the crook of your neck.

Complying, you slide another finger into her, making her legs shudder at the added thickness.

Finding a rhythm as she rides your fingers, your eyes are drawn upward to her tits, bouncing lightly in front of you. You part your lips, sticking your tongue out to circle around her nipple before placing it into your mouth.

He lets out a choked cry, and you feel his pussy begin clenching around your fingers.

“I - ah,” she whines, “feels weird again.”

You separate from her chest for a moment to comfort her. “It’s okay, just relax, let yourself cum for me,” you hum before latching your lips back onto her hardened bud.

She melts at your words, losing herself in the pleasure of your touch as she comes undone.

Letting out a moan, his body begins to shake as his cunt flutters around your fingers. She curls herself forward into your body, grabbing onto any part of you she can find as she digs into your skin, your warmth the only thing tethering her to reality as her vision goes black.

Your fingers slow as you coax her through her orgasm, holding her tightly against you. His breathing is ragged as he shifts to look you in the eyes, gaze full of awe. Her soft pink lips are parted as she pants, pupils blown wide in lust.

Pulling your fingers out of her cunt, you lift them to your mouth, placing them inside to lick her essence off them. As your tongue moves over your digits, a moan rumbles in your throat at her taste.

“God, you taste so sweet,” you whisper, a desire for more building in you.

If his mind wasn’t so clouded with the pure ecstasy you just brought him he would be more embarrassed, but all he can do now is give you a sweet, fucked-out grin. She leans down, lips messily landing against yours as she kisses you. Her tongue enters your mouth, the taste of her lingering on yours as they imprecisely meld.

Everything about her is impossibly soft, even the way she sloppily kisses you, her delicate hands moving to hold your jaw as her thumbs trace your cheeks. When she pulls away, a thin trail of saliva connects your lips as her gaze focuses on you.

Unsure of how to ask for what you deeply want, you mumble, “Choso?”

“Mhm?” he hums, still struggling to process his words.

“Could you…” you trail off, “could you sit on my face?”

Without a second of hesitation, she answers. “Okay,” she breathes, her glassy eyes lazily roaming your face.

At this moment, he doesn’t fucking care what you want to do - he’ll do anything if he gets to feel how he just felt; you can use him in any way your sweet mind can come up with if it means he gets to cum like that again. Right now, he is yours.

Trying to hide your surprise at her agreement, you nod, shifting down in the bed so you’re laying on your back, granting her enough space above your head. She settles in on top of you, gripping onto the top of the headboard as your hands make their way to her hips hovering just beyond your face.

Pulling him down, he slowly lowers himself onto your tongue, his taste making you shudder in excitement as you lick up him.

“Fuck,” she sighs out, biting down on her hand to silence her cries.

You shake your head into her core in disapproval. “Wanna hear you,” you mutter, breath hot against her.

She adjusts quickly, allowing her mouth to hang open as your tongue resumes its motion. You roughly circle his clit, gently sucking on it as he whimpers above you.

Choso was always vocal, but there is something so angelic about the sounds he’s making as he writhes above you, the shocked gasps and moans leaving his lips nearly enough to make you finish without even feeling his touch.

As you continue working her with your mouth, she begins bucking her hips irregularly, desperate for more. You bring a thumb down to her clit again, pressing rough circles into the sensitive bundle. All of your motions are ones you learned from Choso, and your chest warms knowing they affect him the same way they do you.

“So - a-ah - so good,” he whimpers, hips beginning to stutter as he approaches his release.

His entire body feels light as you moan into his wetness, your grip on his skin tightening to prevent him from floating away into bliss.

Another whine leaves her lips, sensing white hot flames prick at her stomach, the familiar sensation spreading through her body. “I-I’m gonna-”

Before she can get out the rest of her words, her entire body is racked in shivers as she loses herself on your tongue. Her juices flow down your chin as you desperately try to lap up every ounce, low groans vibrating against her cunt. Your name tumbles out of her lips between her cries of pleasure, her voice light through uneven breaths.

As she comes down from her high, her legs finally give out and she falls next to you in bed, completely spent. Your eyes meet her half-lidded ones, unfocused; her mouth hangs open, drool threatening to pool in the corner as she stares lovingly up at you.

Reaching a hand out, you stroke her arm, Choso shuddering at the touch. Her hair is now a complete mess, buns almost entirely undone as pieces fall around her head into the pillow, forming a small halo around her.

“Well?” you hum, leaning up to press a kiss to her flushed cheeks. “Do you feel better?”

A lazy grin tugs at one corner of his mouth as he nods, body numb in ecstasy.

“Good,” you smile, “I’m glad I could help.”

He cuddles up to you, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his head into your neck.

“Thank you,” he whispers, “thanks for lovin’ me no matter what I look like.”

You reach a hand around to the back of her head, gently taking out the buns and running your hands through her hair, slowly carding her black locks through your fingers and you swear you could hear her practically purr against your skin.

“Baby, I’ll always love you,” you wrap your leg around his waist to pull him closer. “You’ll always be my Choso.”

You fall asleep holding him, knowing you will love him, every version of him, forever.

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haruchuiyo · 18 hours

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husband nanami kento

content: loads of fluff + established marriage + fem!reader + even more fluff + nanami kento is setting the ground for how a man should be!

husband!nanami would put his legs or thighs over your feet if yours are cold. And he doesn’t mind when you cover your cold feet under his thigh, mumbling ‘you’re so warm’ to him. He finds it endearing.

—

husband!nanami is the type to tuck your hands into his own jacket pocket, even if you’re wearing a glove or if you’re warm anyway. He still intertwines your hands and tucks them into his pocket. He likes the feel of having something of you can he touch !

husband!nanami is the type to play with his wedding ring subconsciously if he’s in deep thought, doing simple tasks or taking a stroll down a pathway. Does that especially if he misses you.

husband!nanami would snap pictures of flowers he sees during his day and sends them to you, captioning it “pretty like you”. chuckles to himself when you playfully send him the emoji rolling it’s eye.

husband!nanami loves the moments he gets to introduce himself as your husband. So very proud of it, says with a pleased tone that he is your husband while smiling lightly with his hand on your waist and tucks you into his side.

— After having a small chat with some people, you and Nanami are alone together when he stands in front of you, and wraps his arms around your body and tucks you into his embrace. You hum in content at his touch, nuzzling your face into his chest. “Why the sudden hug, kento? You usually don’t like doing this in public.” You ask gently, wrapping your own arms around his body, lightly rubbing his back. Nanami hums while placing his chin on the top of your head. “Felt happy introducing myself as your husband, so I needed to hug you.” He answers softly while your insides warm up and your stomach is a fluttering chaos. You pull your head to look up at him and flash him a smile and Nanami smiles back at you. “You’re so sweet.” You tell him, beaming with happiness and Nanami chuckles while lightly shaking his head. “This is bare minimum, sweetheart. I’d want you to shoot me if I didn’t get happy introducing myself as your husband.” He tells you matter of factly and you giggle agreeing with him before leaning your head up, lightly puckering your lips and Nanami chuckles again before kissing you softly. —

husband!nanami the type to love ‘people watching’ with you, giving them made up stories, what they’re gonna do today or who they might be meeting. Feels proud himself when he says something funny in the storytelling which makes you laugh, lightly hitting his shoulder. Your happiness is one of the things about you that is everything to him.

husband!nanami when typing on his laptop, is always aware of what you’re doing somehow. Tells you to sit on his lap if you’re bored as he types away on the laptop, while you’re doing your thing, maybe scrolling on your phone, reading a book or quietly watching your husband work. He always randomly kisses you gently anywhere on your face as he is working. Maybe lightly squeezes your butt, making you yelp in surprise then giggle which makes him smile.

— you were sitting sideways on Nanami’s lap leaning on his chest with your shoulder playing some games on your phone before putting it away, starting to softly fiddle with the loose strings on Nanami’s shirt. You feel him press a kiss on the top of your head before adjusting your position on his lap. You nuzzle your temple on his chest, watching him type away on his laptop when you feel him squeeze your butt, making you yelp in surprise which in turn makes Nanami laugh lightly. “Are you bored, my love?” He asks as he keeps typing, you shake your head. “Not really, I’m fine.” You softly answer as he hums and you bury face into his chest and feel him gently pat your head with one hand. Then he stops typing and cups your face to turn your head up to face him. “Tell me when you feel tired, I pause this so we can go to bed together.” He tells you, rubbing your cheeks with his thumb. You nod your head, brushing your nose against his and he softly gives a quick kiss on your mouth. —

husband!nanami who sometimes comes home late from work and sees you asleep on the couch, clearly have tried to stay up for him. Smiles to himself as he carries you into his arms gently and lays you on your shared bed, kissing your forehead whispering a ‘goodnight, my love’.

— He put on his slippers and saw that the small light on the coffee table by the coach was lit. He sees your sleeping form on the couch when he gets there and smiles to himself. You tucked your hands below your cheek, sleeping sideways and clearly looking deep asleep. His heart fills with fondness and warmth knowing you tried your best to stay awake to greet him when he gets home. He gently carries your body in his arms bridal style, before walking to your shared bedroom. Lightly tucking you in before changing into his pyjamas. When he gets into bed, he pulls you into his embrace, kissing you on the forehead bidding you goodnight. —

husband!nanami who would greet you with a simple kiss on the forehead in public, but privately, when he comes home, he gently holds your face in his hands and presses a kiss on your lips muttering a ‘hello my love’ against your mouth.

husband!nanami is always telling you how proud he is of you, how happy he is to be your husband and how grateful he is to be the one at your side. Then finishes off with a ‘I love you’ with a soft kiss on your lips.

—

we all deserve a nanami kento (i need someone like him so badddddddd)

if you enjoyed this, leave a like and reblog and it would be incredibly appreciated mwah

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fushiglow · 1 day

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since we're all talking about idol au on twitter...

and i'm still keeping you guys waiting for chapter nine… enjoy this HIGHLY suggestive snippet from a VERY nsfw oneshot that i'll only post if you bully me into it 👀

heavy implications below the cut — you have been warned!!

‘Satoru, you and I both know there’s only one effective way to shut you up,’ Suguru growled. ‘And as much as I’d love to make use of it, my pay check relies on that lovely throat of yours being in tip top condition.’ This time, there was a dangerous twinkle in Satoru’s eyes when he dipped the spoon into the honey. ‘Everyone likes a husky voice, Suguru,’ he began, fingers twirling silver through liquid gold in a hypnotic, rhythmic motion. ‘Maybe I’ll sound even better a little roughed up.’ Because he was a weak, weak man, Suguru couldn’t help but follow the movement with his eyes when Satoru brought that spoon direct to his mouth, letting the sticky substance drizzle over his chin, his lips, his tongue. The entire time, those blue eyes never left Suguru’s. Once he’d made a mess of himself, Satoru pressed that pretty pink tongue against the metal, dragging it across the concave edge. He made a delicious little hum of contentment as he swallowed down the sweetness, taking his time cleaning his fingers one by one. Suguru was gripping the table hard enough to break it when Satoru finally spoke again. ‘Isn’t that your job?’ he sang, voice bright and beautiful and bell-like. ‘To make me sound the best I possibly can?’ Midnight overtook those sky blue eyes. ‘So it’s practically your duty, Suguru.’

HAPPY WIP WEDNESDAY TO YOU, i'm running away 🏃

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gojonanami · 3 months

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❝ 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐑 ❞

❝ PROF. GETO'S CLASS IS SO HARD, BUT HE'S SO HOT!! ❞

✧ pairing: professor!geto x f!reader (part one of the prof geto series)

✧ summary: you were a 4.0, straight A student, until professor geto's class, the same far too hot ethics professor fawned over by faculty and students alike. you didn't understand what was so special about him...until you start having dreams about him.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, a lot of smut (mostly fantasy), depictions of student/teacher relationship (only ok in fiction not irl!!!), reader is a grad student in my mind, but age is vague, masturbation (f + m), fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), getting off to his voice in recorded lectures, arousal from reading his writing, amateur's take on moral philsophy and ethics, art by @/jatinsohanvi, google scholar graphic by platonic loml @laneysmusings

✧ wc: 10,149 (i have a problem) | part two

“You’re late,”

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto’s class was that you could never be late again, unless you would like to be chided in front of all your peers for your tardiness.

Your first impression of Professor Suguru Geto himself was that he was truly the most breathtaking man you’d ever laid your eyes on. His inky black locks tied into a neat bun, his deep royal purple vest buttoned over a crisp white button up with pressed gray slacks, his pretty lips pressed in a small frown, as his dark gaze pierced through you. And you don’t know what stirs in your chest — a fleeting moment that is tucked away under a bite of your bottom lip and burning cheeks.

And now you knew why when you had walked into class, the amount of unfamiliar faces in this course had far outnumbered the ones in your usual course load — the same reason why this man undoubtedly had three chili peppers next to his professor rating on some website out there.

And now you were faced with him staring you down as you stumbled down the stairs of the all too full lecture hall.

As you muttered apologies, and took your seat far too close to the front of the class, smack dab in the very front of the very same professor whose eyes still were concentrated on you, before sliding back to the class at large.

“Now, where were we?” he says, continuing the lecture.

Ethics was not your major — you were a philosophy grad student, and although the two went hand in hand — no, they were not the same thing. Ethics are the moral principles — like rules to follow to live a moral life — people can follow, while philosophy is the study of knowledge, reality, and existence. And this class encompassed both — an ethics and moral philosophy class. Your eyes slid around the room — and compared to all the random majors stuffed into this classroom, you had no doubt you’d do well. Your eyes met Professor Geto’s — maybe one slight doubt.

And when you get your first essay back, you eagerly flip to the last page of the paper, wondering what accolades and compliments you’d receive this time. Your eyes find the grade, and your stomach drops, a gaping maw that consumes you from the inside out.

You got a B.

A B+ — an 88 on your paper in this course, and you stared at the grade on the very last page of the paper you had collected from his desk — Professor Geto had insisted everyone submit their papers both physically and electronically — his scrawl in red pen littered each page of what you thought was a thoughtful and even clever paper on the existence free will and the ethical and moral dilemmas that surround it. And he had given it an 88.

You had a 4.0 point average — you had gotten the highest scores in some of the most difficult courses required by your major, and now you were going to be derailed by a class you took on a whim? That’s not happening. No, you were going to get him to change your grade. You were seeing as red as the ink that tore your paper to shreds.

“Come in,” your knuckles had rapped against Professor Geto’s door, your heart in your throat, as you heard his reply, entering his office. His office was as pretentious as he was. A much larger office than you had seen before (poor Professor Ijichi had a shoebox of an office), while Professor Geto’s was three times the size, outfitted with large, beautiful windows, distinct bookshelves, and even a lovely deep mahogany colored couch with decorative cushions. And you knew why that was the case — Professor Geto was an expert in his field, revered, even at his relatively young age. And the university had coveted him, and managed to lure him to work behind these ivy covered walls. While other professors who have been here longer are stuck with offices that don’t begin to compare.

Academia was truly hell.

And yet, Professor Geto seemed to rule over it with an iron fist. Even now, you found your professor looking as annoyingly perfect as ever — his elbow resting against his desk, pen in his other hand, as he flipped through more papers on his desk, his hair in a messy bun, a few black strands falling across his furrowed brow, his pretty lips pursed in concentration, and his dark gaze flicks up from his work to you, and his lips curl, your name leaving his lips, “good to see you, please sit,”

You had planned to attend these office hours in victory, to apologize for your misstep in the first class, and let your professor praise your paper to no end — but instead you were going to see why your paper was graded so harshly.

Your speech was ready, you were going to lay it out, you had the perfect explanation and the excellent reasoning “Professor Geto—”

“I know why you’re here,” he cuts you off, lips forming in an utterly condescending smile, “you want to discuss your paper, correct?”

“I am, I wanted to—”

He sits forward in his chair, setting down his pen, “I’m going to save us some time by explaining my comments on your paper, do you have it?” and you close your mouth, pulling the paper out of your folder and handing it to him, “Your paper was one of the best in the class — it was thought provoking, grounded in research, persuasive, even made me consider some points I hadn’t before—”

You blink, his praise catching you off guard, your thoughts twisting in on themselves, “Then why did you give me B?”

“You didn’t allow me to finish,” he sighs, as he flips through your paper, looking up to meet your gaze, “your paper was excellent when it came to philosophical concepts, but your ethical conclusions on the other hand, could use some work,”

You gaped at him, “What did I possibly—”

“To put it simply, you were trying to use your knowledge of philosophy to cover up your lack of knowledge in the field of ethics,”

“I wasn’t—”

“And that’s okay, because that means I have something to teach you don’t I? That’s why you’re in this course, to learn,” he gives a tight lipped smile, tilting his head. Oh you’d like to learn a lot more from him — like the ethical dilemma of wanting to murder your professor, “and I’m here to teach — and this paper is a teaching moment — and from your expression, I assume you didn’t read the comments I left in detail,”

And your cheeks burn, as your eyes fall away from him, “Not fully in detail,” you still swallow your shame, and meet his gaze, “I don’t mean to be a bother, Professor, but how can my paper still receive a B — I’ve never received that low of a score on any single paper—”

“There’s a first time for everything,” and you have to bite back your retort, “yeah first time having an annoying prick for a professor,” and he rises from his desk to hand you back your paper, “the bottom line is, I know you’re capable of better, this class isn’t going to be easy — I’m not going to hand you accolades for no reason. You have to earn them — if you aren’t up for the challenge, you can drop the class.”

The option was there — you could simply drop the course, rid yourself of Professor Geto and his ridiculous criticism forever. You could take a class with one of the many professors who delighted in your papers (even the ones you’d written at 3 AM and submitted not proofread), and go on with your life and preserve your 4.0 GPA with ease.

But then you looked at him again. He was unfairly hot, even when he was fucking putting you down, he stood in front of you, offering your paper, his fingers long and thick brushing yours by mistake as you took back your paper, a watch on his wrist gleamed in the low light of his office. You glanced around his office, saw the awards on his walls, pictures of him giving lectures or receiving honors, and the books that lined his shelves weren’t dissimilar to your own academic shelf at home. And your eyes fell back to his, as he stared at you curiously, lips pursed, as your paper slightly crumples in your fist.

“Next paper is due in two weeks?” and he pauses, before his lips curl in that same grin.

“Yes it is,” and a smile graces your lips, lightning quick.

Like hell you were going to let him win. You were going to get him to praise your papers (and maybe that wouldn’t be the only thing he praised) — if it was the last thing you do. You’d get an A in his class, hell, you’d get him to beg you to be his teaching assistant (he’d look very nice on his knees for you, wouldn’t he?).

You rise from your seat, and grab your bag, “I’ll see you at your next office hours then, to discuss my paper topic,” and he watches you leave, his eyes piercing into your back as you do.

“See you soon.”

Oh, he would.

“Right on time,” Professor Geto barely looks up now when you knock on his door, his door now always ajar for office hours.

Now you had made a habit of showing up for his office hours, you’d bring your paper topic all picked out, along with your handpicked sources you had chosen for your paper, all typed up in a neat bibliography. And he’d kindly rip it apart with that same damn smile on his lips. It had been a few weeks, a few papers later — and you finally had worked your grade up to an A-, not quite an A+, but you’d get there. You had to.

Because it wasn’t just about your GPA now — you were going to get Professor Geto to praise you — through any means necessary. The man was stubborn, even when you’d come back with an improved draft, he’d only hand it back to you with a smile barely tugging at the corner of his lips, with no compliment to be had — only small check marks scribbled in the margins in your papers, with the occasional “good” written next to it.

“Well, we all know what happens when I’m late,” he laughs, a noise that makes the ice dagger clutched behind your back ever so slightly melt, “I made you laugh, extra credit?”

And he rolls his eyes, and you notice that his dark eyes are hidden behind glasses today — and god, why does it only make him even more gorgeous? He’s already brilliant, it’s unfair for him to look as if he was sculpted by the gods as well, “It takes a lot more than a chuckle to earn extra credit,” and you can’t help but bite your lip.

No, no, he’s the worst. It didn’t matter he was the epitome of every academic’s wet dream, you were above that. You had a goal.

“So, can we discuss my next paper?” you hand him your bibliography, and he takes it, delicate fingers flipping through, your mind notes the absence of a ring on either hand, before brushing the thought aside.

“You’re writing on the morality of good or bad actions,” he hums, as he looks over the sources you had chosen, “Scanlon, good — have you read—”

“‘What We Owe to Each Other?’ Only about a million times — well more like six,” and he nods appreciatively, “of course you’ve read it,”

“I didn’t just read it, I wrote a paper on it, similar to yours, actually,” and your eyes flick up to meet his, he’s leaning forward in his chair, red pen in hand, as he scribbles notes in the margins, as well as on the back of your bibliography, “of course I don’t have your penchant for rambling,”

You pout, “I don’t ramble — I like to make my point—”

“Many times, and the same one,” and your mouth opens, only to find a wry smirk on his lips, “I’m teasing, another one of my very tedious qualities, and how you stand it during class astonishes me,”

You cross your arms, unable to meet his eyes, as you choose to stare at your bibliography instead, “You’re not completely tedious, more like irritating,” and he huffs a chuckle.

You had to admit, begrudgingly, Professor Geto was a…good teacher. And you had your fair share of awful teachers — many of them were brilliant, accomplished people in their fields, but didn’t know how to translate and convey that in their lectures to students who simply knew less than them. But Geto…he knew how to break down complex concepts and theories of moral philosophy and ethics to a science, he knows how to make students understand these complicated topics that you had seen other professors fail to, and he does it while being an intellectual dreamboat to most of his students — the ones that swarm his desk after class, still there even as you slowly make your way out of the lecture hall.

“A rare compliment from you,” he raises an eyebrow, “I’m touched,”

“You’re one to talk,” you furrow your brow, and a smile pulls at his lips.

“Didn’t know you wanted my approval,” he tilts his head, leaning forward to lean on his elbow on the desk, “well, you have improved remarkably in the class so far, and if you keep going like this, I may have no choice but to praise you,”

“You will,”

“Someone is very sure of themselves,” a pause and then he adds with a quirk of his lips, “as you should be,” and he’s sliding your bibliography across the table again, and passes it back, “read the sources I recommended, and see about adding them to your paper — you may have some overlap in the other papers you chose so use your discretion on which ones you use,”

“So don’t repeat myself?” You raise an eyebrow, and he leans back in his chair, crossing his legs.

“You learn fast.”

And you do — returning to your apartment to work on your paper, as you flip through his notes — as much as you hate to admit it, his notes and criticism did help — annoyingly so. He was far more detailed and perceptive than any other professor you had. Most had let you skate by without a second thought, and you wrote papers like you deleted your internet history after a scandalous romp through elicit websites — tools, clear history — and then onto the next paper or exam. But Professor Geto forced you to face your shortcomings, face the things that you didn’t like to give a second glance to, lest your rejection sensitive self feel the agony of having to deal with criticism.

Each time you did it, you got a little better, and he had a little less to say — time and time again.

You leaned back on your bed, scrolling through the papers he recommended, but so what? So what if he was a good teacher? Doesn’t mean he has to be as infuriating as he is — he knew exactly what to do to get under your skin, and he didn’t prod at it, he scratched it.

And you found yourself typing his name (“suguru geto”) and T.M. Scanlon’s name into the search bar of your university’s library collection, and his paper pops up right on top.

You stare at the paper for a good minute, before you click on it — and you start reading. And reading. And reading — and fuck—

It was good. It was more than that — it gave you so much insight on this topic, it made you rediscover T.M. Scanlon’s work in a new light — and you bite your lip. And it wasn’t just the research — the way it organized, the way it was presented, the way it was written — it was eloquent, but it wasn’t unreadable or incomprehensible. It was…really good.

You imagined him, pouring over Scanlon’s work as he wrote notes in the margins of his copy, pages dogeared and passages highlighted, as he sat in his office typing away at this paper. His sleeves rolled up, his hair let out of his usual bun, his glasses perched on his nose as he read, only his desk lamp and computer illuminating his office. The keys of his computer clacking under his touch, lengthy fingers pitter pattering as he wrote his thoughts and analysis of Scanlon’s work — his brow furrowed in thought.

And you felt yourself flush, swallowing the lump in your throat, as you kicked off your blanket — it was so warm all of a sudden, pressing your thighs together. You shook the thoughts from your mind — what the hell were you doing? You glanced at the time, 2:39 AM it read back at you mockingly. You sigh, shutting your laptop down, and putting it aside — you need to do your skincare and brush your teeth. You glance back at your laptop—the familiar of your flush clung to your skin like a forbidden kiss—

And you clearly needed sleep.

“Can you read this passage to me?” Professor Geto’s voice said, as he stood in front of you in the lecture hall — as you stood behind the podium that faced the entire class — hands in his pockets, in an olive henley, his hair tied in the usual neat bun, his black bangs falling in his eyes as always, glasses on, instead of the usual contacts. The class sat all around you — his exercise in getting the class to participate and get comfortable speaking in front of others, just as philosophers had done in the past (his very own “literary salon” he called it).

You swallow, keeping your eyes fixed on the book in front of you, “‘When I ask myself what reason the fact that an action would be wrong provides me with not to do it, my answer is that such an action would be one that I could not justify to others on ground I could expect them to accept—’”

“What do you think Scanlon meant by this?” he asks you, but his gaze was different this time, it held the amusement it always did when it came to you, but it was warm — no — it was burning. His lips were pursed, as he crossed his arms, the henley’s fabric seemingly straining under the action.

“He meant that an action that is wrong in his eyes when he couldn’t expect others to accept the ground on which he could justify it,” and his lips curve into that damned smile, as he takes a few steps closer, rounding the podium, as he brushes past you, the brief touch of temptation incarnate — the dangling apple of Tantalus personified before you.

“And can you give me some examples of what kinds of actions would be wrong?” and he’s standing behind you now, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him — but you can feel his gaze on you.

“Senseless murder,” and he hums in approval, his breath felt like it was warming your skin, “wanton violence, reckless assault—”

“What other everyday wrongdoings could fall under this category?” and suddenly the class before you is gone, and it’s just the two of you in an empty lecture hall, “theft, lying, student-teacher relationships?”

And your breath catches in your throat, his cologne strangling any sense left in your mind, as his body heat nearly radiates off him, “Professor Geto—”

“Suguru,” he corrects you, and he’s reaching for you, but he pauses, “can I—” and you only can nod, and his fingers brush your hair aside, ever so gently, “would this be considered a moral wrongness, sweetheart?” his lips press a chaste kiss to your shoulder, and you shiver at the softness of his touch.

“Well, I am a student in your class, and even though I’m of age, it presents a power dynamic and a favoritism that might be—” and your sentence cuts off as his arms wind their way around your waist, pressing himself to your back, “I—”

“Go on,” he’s murmuring his words against the nape of your neck now, as he pulls his glasses off to place them on the podium, “might be what?”

“Might be viewed as morally wrong—” and he’s chuckling, the vibration sending a delicious shiver down your spine, as he presses more butterfly kisses to your neck.

“How can something be wrong when it feels so right?” he asks, and his hand is sliding down your side, “feels so good, does it even matter what society views as right or wrong? Do their rules pertain to what we’re doing here?” and his fingers toy with the hem of your pants, teasing and pulling, as he pauses, waiting for your answer, “what do you think—”

“Please,” you swallow, as you turn to look at him, seeing his lips in that same smile that haunted you, “touch me,”

And his smile only grows wider, “Good girl.”

BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Your eyes flutter open, your breath caught in your throat, as you stare at your ceiling, your hand reaching for your phone to silence the alarm. And you squeeze your thighs together, a distinct ache between your legs, your skin all too warm.

What the fuck was that?

You skip office hours the next week. You couldn’t bear it — you could barely tolerate going to class now, as the dream invades your nights, with filthy variations that leave you perturbed and horny (mostly horny). The common theme only being that each time you get close to anything remotely that’s anything (a kiss, a touch that’s more than a caress, anything at all), you wake up.

It’s as if your dreams are edging you — you groan into your pillow — and it was working.

You’re so wound up, you’ve even resorted to using your vibrator before bed, wondering if that would make a difference — it did, but only with you having a dream of Professor Geto using a vibrator on you during class — the vibrations growing even faster when you were speaking as he watched you—

You needed to stop thinking about this. But how can you?

God, it’s even worse when you’re in class. You sit in your usual seat, front and center — and why does it feel like his eyes are on you far too often? Even as he lectures Professor Geto attempts to catch your eye during his lecture, trying to make a point, you all but glue your gaze down to the textbook and your laptop, typing away his words, trying to drown out the whispered words and groans from your dream that ring in your ears. You can’t stop seeing him — unless you want to skip class, which you really couldn’t when attendance and participation counted for a good chunk of your grade.

Class ended and you were packing up your things. You had to weather the storm — avoid being alone with him until the dreams were just a distant memory—

And then you heard him say your name—

Your eyes flick up to meet Professor Geto — who had his usual swarm of students waiting by his desk, but he parted the crowd, he approached your own seat, hands in your pockets, “Do you have a class after this?”

“No, I don’t—” the words slip out before your sleep deprived mind can put the pieces together.

“Then can you please stay after class? I’d like to talk to you,” he says, and before you can say anything, he turns to speak to the students waiting for him.

And now you wait — your anxious energy singing at the frayed ends of your nerves, as you tried to hold yourself together — wondering what he could possibly want to speak to you about. His students dissipated one by one, until it was just you and him left in the lecture hall.

Just. Like. Your. Fucking. Dream.

You round the row you sat in, before walking down to speak to him, “Is there something wrong? The next paper isn’t due until the end of next week—”

“It isn’t about the paper,” and your heart squeezes, as you try to keep your breathing even, as he steps closer — and why, why did he have to opt to only wear a button up today — and a deep royal purple one no less, “I wanted to check in with you,” and he begins to undo the cuffs of his shirt, rolling them up — exposing his forearms and the pretty veins that ran along them — the same arms that he had used in one of your dreams to bend you over that desk, the whispers of heated kisses along your neck—

You needed to get out of here.

You blink, “I’m fine,” and he tilts his head.

“I only ask because you’ve looked tired the last two classes, and you didn’t show up for office hours this week,” he crosses his arms, unhelpfully, as he purses his lips, the lines of his brow furrowed.

“I’m fine, Professor, I appreciate your concern — I just haven’t been sleeping well,” you admit — it was the truth, “and that’s why I didn’t come to office hours. I was trying to catch up on sleep,”

He nods, sighing, fingers raking through his hair — those same fingers that would feel so pretty around your neck— “I know I’m hard on you,” oh he would be, “but it’s because I know you’re capable of more — most of these students are taking the class for an elective, but I know it’s more than that for you,” yes, it’s so you can finally earn his praise, “but I’m also here for your benefit, so if you need an extension or anything else, please let me know,”

God, all you wanted was for him to maybe wrap you in his arms and kiss you, or bend you over, pull your clothes off and fuck you, or just to leave you alone all together.

You weren’t sure which one you wanted the most at this moment.

“I will, Professor Geto, I appreciate it,” you murmur, biting your lip, as you try to focus on the task at hand — getting out of here, “I don’t think I need an extension, I’ve made good progress so far. I just need to finish it, so I can revise,”

“Well, let me know if anything changes,” his lips curl, “ok?” And you nod, and if you weren’t so hyperaware, you swore you would have imagined it — but you didn’t, “good girl,”

And you pause a moment — his lips did move, you pinch yourself discreetly — and you know it isn’t a fucking dream. You only smile in return, giving a curt nod and goodbye, before beelining out of the classroom.

But you didn’t stick around long enough to see the slight flush on Professor Geto’s cheeks — nor did you know that you two were thinking the same thing about yourselves—

What the fuck were you doing?

But to your relief, the dreams do subside, and you’re finally able to rest — but the thing that doesn’t subside is your awareness of your professor.

You sit in class, watching him teach — and you knew he was attractive, hell, it was one of the things that made you all the more embarrassed to have him ream you out — having your super hot professor rail at you for your mistakes wasn’t on your list of shining achievements (lest it was him actually railing you—).

You needed to stop doing that.

But it felt as if you weren’t the only one who was hyper aware. You felt as if his eyes skimmed over you during class this week, his replies to your weekly discussion board were less biting than usual, and his office hours were surprisingly canceled this week. First time all semester, but you weren’t so full of yourself that you thought it had anything to do with you — right?

Either way, you had submitted your paper and now you were done with this week—and as class finishes, you slowly pack up, looking forward to the week being over with and for a personal rendezvous with your bed. But as the usual gaggle of students make their way to chat with Professor Geto, your eyes flicker up to meet his, as he stares back a moment.

And you can’t make yourself look away, and for a moment, neither can he.

But then a student calls for his attention, so his eyes flicker away, a smile on his lips as he spoke — and you turn to leave, grabbing your bag, as you look back—

But why did his smile look so strained?

There must be something wrong with him.

Professor Suguru Geto drummed his fingers against his desk, but he felt more like shoving his things off his desk — if only to distract him for a moment. He pulls his glasses off, and runs a hand down his face—god, he hadn’t been sleeping well. No, his nights were plagued, plagued by you — you had slipped into his dreams ever since that day he stopped you.

Why had he stopped you?

It wasn’t the first time he had personally stopped a student who seemed to be struggling, he could count the times he had on both his hands.

But this, this felt different.

You were different.

But why were you different to him? He rubs his temples, from the moment you had stepped into his office he thought he had read you — an overachieving student used to getting their way, As handed out to them, and an inability to take criticism.

He knew, because he used to be one of them. But he knew you needed to be challenged to grow — but it was a matter if you would accept it. And from the moment you asked him when the next paper was due, he couldn’t help but smile.

And his time spent in office hours with you grew more enjoyable each time you came. And when you hadn’t last week, he couldn’t sit still, checking the time, checking his email, and even checking if his office hours had been accidentally listed wrong in his weekly email to the class (they weren’t). And the hour and half passed with many students hungry for his time and his charm — but not the one he was looking for.

Then those words had slipped from his tongue when he had stopped you, left his mouth like he was possessed, and now he had found himself here. Found himself thinking about how your lips parted when he said it, thinking about how you were feeling, thinking about you, you, you—

There’s a knock at the door, “Professor Geto?”

And it was you.

“I apologize, I know you canceled office hours, but I just had a few questions I didn’t get to ask you in class,” your fingers toy with the ring you wore, a folder in hand, a soft smile on your lips.

“Of course, come in,” and you did, your dress was painfully short, the fabric riding up as you sat, the folder in your lap, “is this about your paper?”

“It is, I was reading a few papers, and after our conversation, I couldn’t help but find your paper,” and he tilts his head, “and I want to include it as a source in my paper, but I had a few points you made that I wanted clarified,”

He raises an eyebrow, and he can’t help but tease, “Clarified or criticized? Are you planning on turning the tables on me?”

“Well I do have a red pen,” you click your pen, lips curved in a smile, and there’s a hint of heat that he wishes to unearth, pluck from the earth and possess himself, “but I promise I’ll be civil,”

“I have no doubt,” he had a million when it came to you — but that wasn’t one of them. He runs his fingers through his hair, a few strands coming loose, “of course, let’s discuss it,”

“You discuss Scanlon’s idea of a social contract, everyone within this moral society agrees on what’s right and what’s wrong — the basic principle is that if there is a rule no one can reasonably reject as a basis, but is there such a rule that can exist?”

He tilts his head, “Scanlon’s theory relies on this premise — are you questioning me or the premise?”

“Both, actually,” you shrug, crossing your legs, “is there a magic switch that changes every person to be rational? Because I think only rational people can agree on what rules cannot be reasonably rejected — what about people who are cruel, inconsiderate, self-absorbed? Do those traits go away when operating under Scanlon’s social contract? You propose in your paper that moral reasons are not subjective — nothing is uncolored by human opinion,”

“No, but—”

“How can we agree on what is truly right or wrong? How can one hundred people agree on that when everyone views these actions in different ways? Right and wrong? Black, white, or gray?” you rise from your chair to hand him his paper printed out, the paper more red than white with the amount of writing you’ve done, “like for example,” you lean forward, your hand braced against the edge of his desk, “can one hundred people agree that student-teacher relationships are wrong? Because one veto,” your hand trails ever closer to his, toeing that dangerous line either of you had even yet to approach to cross. But here you were, seemingly barreling toward it.

And he didn’t want to pull away.

He swallows, whispering your name, “This can’t—” and you were so close — too close, your perfume hypnotized him, your fingers brush against his and he can’t help but hold them, his thumb rubbing across your knuckles, “they can agree that it’s wrong — the power imbalance from the authority of the professor and the age difference—”

“I disagree, so the rule isn’t legitimate, right? Even if one disagrees, the rule cannot be make valid,” and his breath catches as your fingers slide up his arm now, resting on his shoulder, as you lean over his chair now, as your other hand toys with the loose strands of his hair, “if the two of us can’t even agree, then how could a hundred, or a thousand, or a million?”

“But—”

“But what?” you pout, your fingers dragging down his chest, toying with the top button of his button down, “I don’t see you pulling away, do you want me to stop, Professor? Because I will,”

And he swallows thickly, but he can’t stop you — he doesn’t want to, “But, we shouldn’t — it isn’t a reasonable objection—” he tries his hardest to stand firm, but he only crumbles when your fingers brush his cheek, tracing the cut of his jaw. And it feels like flames tickling at his skin, begging him to thrust his hand into the fire.

“Like I said, people are not reasonable,” your lips draw closer, and he can feel your breath warm his own, and god, why are you so tempting? And your lips stop short, barely an inch between your faces, “and besides, would you rather be reasonable or satisfied?”

And there’s only one answer — you.

He leans forward, lips nearly brushing yours—

RING. RING. RING.

He jerks awake from his desk, papers sliding as he does, his breath caught in his throat, and his eyes wander — and finds no one else there.

A dream. He runs his fingers through his hair again, crumpling the paper he had oh so lovingly drooled during his nap. He needed to get his shit together.

But his current predicament wasn’t making that easy — his cock strained against the fabric of his pants — was he a grown adult or a horny teenager?

Fuck. It wasn’t going away — no matter what he thought, his mind kept circling back to you.

And his eyes slide to the time: 1:40 AM.

Far past the time any soul would be here, even cleaning staff would have been long gone. It was just him—

And you.

“So good for me, baby,” he’s panting, palming his erection, an embarrassing amount of precum drips from his cock for a barely wet dream. He ignores the gnawing guilt in the back of his mind — but he can’t help but imagine the image of you, spread out on his desk, hiking that oh so teasing sundress up, only to find your underwear drenched — just for him.

His fingers would slide up your plush thighs, squeezing to draw a gasp from your pretty lips, “Professor—“ you’d say, unable to form a sentence, all those brilliant falling away under his touch, until it was just him occupying every crevice of your mind.

“Where’s that mouth now? So needy f’me,” he’d murmur, “but such a good girl,” and you were, his thumb tracing his slit, smearing his pre-cum, as he imagined you spread on his desk, your puffy folds nearly showing through your far too translucent panties, “my best student’s so pliant for me now,”

And his hand moves faster, and he can imagine your fingers reaching for him too, your smaller fingers wouldn’t be able to even touch as much as he can — but god it would feel so much better.

But he’d want you to feel even better than he did.

He’d tug your underwear down, stuffing it in his pocket (his fee for all of additional office hours), and he would prep you right — fuck you open with his fingers, two or three, before he tasted you. Your fingers would dig into his scalp as you moaned his name again and again, before you came all over his face.

He’d lick his lips clean of your release, before dragging his cock down your sweet cunt, watching his precum mix with your cum, as your walls flutter around nothing, craving to have him sink into you.

“Professor, please,” you’d beg with pretty, kiss bitten lips between pants, “please,”

“Where’s all those quips now, sweetheart?” he’d tease, as he would let his tip tease your clit, pulling a moan from your lips, “all those words fall away when you want this cock, don’t they? Been thinking about you like this, wondering what you’d look like spread out under me,” and he would lean down to kiss you, “it’s even better than I expected,”

He’s jerking himself off in earnest now, the lewd noises of his hand around his cock filling most of the silence, his low groans filling the rest. And he’d finally sink into you, inch by inch, until he’d kiss your cervix with his weeping tip.

And, god, he wishes his fingers fisted around his cock would be as good as your cunt would feel around him. He would fuck you slow at first, “I know those boys can’t fuck you as good as I can, as well as I can,” he’d tell you, as he would pick up the pace when you’d tell him to, making you cum again and again with his cock, thumb rubbing at your clit, until he was finally close. He’d either cum all over your stomach, marking you with his release, or if you’d let him, he’d cum inside you, filling you with his seed—and then he’d watch it drip out when he would pull out. He groans your name lowly, shuddering as he comes all over his hand, hard.

Fuck.

That’s the hardest he’d cum in a long time. He’s a mess — panting and flushed, as he leans back, head against the back of his chair, too spent to even clean up. And then he finally does, cleaning himself up well, and collecting his things to leave the office.

But he only treated the symptoms, not the problem itself. His hard-on is gone, but his mind is still filled with thoughts of you. How he’d kiss you sweetly after, how he’d clean you up, care for you gently, make you rest because you never seem to do enough of that, and he’d let you relax — finally relax, as you slept the night in his arms.

As he heads to his car, he knows that he’s utterly fucked (without even being fucked) because he has feelings for you. And he didn’t know if they were going to go away as easily as he hoped.

But he hoped they would. He owed it to you, your education, and your future career not to act on these feelings.

And he sighs as he sits in his car, starting it, but why did it hurt not to?

It was that time again.

Your next paper had come around again, and you needed to prepare a topic before you went to speak to Professor Geto. You had put it off, something you had never done with his class, but you wanted to limit the amount of time you spent with him, if only for the sake of your heart.

Watching him in lectures was bad enough, your thighs pressing together as you watched him speak, his impeccable looks and intelligence a deadly combination for your heart (and your body). You could barely focus, your eyes too fixed on the way he wrote on the board — his fingers too lithe and too thick, his voice all too alluring when discussing Kant and Aristotle and you can’t help but think what he’d sound moaning your name.

God. Fuck.

Either way, you needed to listen to the lectures again since you weren’t able to pay attention. Maybe without watching the video would be better, you settle on your bed, notebook and pen in hand, as you place your headphones on. His voice filled your ears, and you’re scrawling notes.

But your mind begins to wander. He’s lecturing on the deontological ethics, and all you can think about is how he could make you cum with just that voice of his.

Shit, you shifted your thighs again, feeling that familiar ache again. What would he sound like when he moaned? How would it sound to have him touch you, run those long fingers down your thighs, and whisper filthy things in your ear?

As you listened to the lecture, his voice became white noise as your fingers slipped past the waistband of your shorts, and you shut your eyes.

“That’s it, sweetheart, spread your legs for me,” he’d murmur in your ear, his chest pressed to your back and he’s urge your thighs wider, and his fingers would press against the wet patch on your panties, and he’d hum, “so wet f’me and I haven’t touched you yet, Princess,” his lips would kiss your pulse, “you like my voice that much?”

“Professor,” you gasp, as his fingers would tease you through your underwear, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, “please—“ and his thumb would ghost around your clit, teasing you, as his long fingers would piston in and out — they would reach so much fucking deeper “I need to—“

“Already begging? I knew you learned fast, but not this fast,” and his fingers would tug the crotch of your panties aside, his fingertips tracing around your outer lips, before a finger pushes past your sweet cunt, “fuck, my favorite student’s pussy is so fucking tight. These boys are not fucking you right,” and you whimper, his finger would be so much thicker than yours, as you glide another finger inside you, the two dragging against your walls, “listen to your pretty cunt,” he’d grin against your skin, “and the wet squelch of your pussy, “so pliant for me, takes my fingers so well,” he’d murmur with a chuckle, “practically swallowing me up,”

And you’re bucking your hips against him, wanting, needing him deeper, because your fingers don’t reach as far as his does, moans leaving your lips.

“I’m so—” you’re moving faster and faster, his lecture still filling your ears, your pre-cum soaking your shorts and onto the bed sheets, “I can’t—”

“Come on, Princess, use those big words of yours, you have no problem usually,” his hot words would whisper in your ear, and you’d hear him rub his erection against your ass, trying to get himself off, and you’d grind against him, wanting any friction, “tell me,”

“Let me cum, please,” and he would smile, running his fingers through your hair, before he bore his thumb down on your clit and sunk a third finger into your needy cunt, just as you did now. And it’s too much for you, your toes curl, your messy walls fluttering around your fingers, as you cum all over your shorts and sheets with a groan of his name. Your fingers were soaked, as you pant, trying to gather yourself, as you came down from your high.

“Fuck,” you murmur, tugging off your headphones, so your cunt doesn’t have to twitch listening to his dulcet words again. And you’re pulling your fingers out, your cum dripped down your fingers, as you shifted, far too wet underneath you, as you tried to slip off your bed to take a shower and clean yourself up.

And then you realized, you didn’t even hear any of the lecture.

Double fuck.

Why was this so difficult?

You stood near his office, trying to work up the urge to approach his door for office hours? Since it’s almost the end of the semester, there had been an influx of students attending office hours, and with everything, you had found excuses in your head to avoid office hours. But you couldn’t avoid him anymore.

For your final paper in the class, you had to have a meeting with him during office hours to discuss your topic, complete with bibliography and outline. And it was almost time for your meeting.

But you didn’t know how to go in.

The last few weeks in class have made things worse. You couldn’t help but watch the other students fawn over Professor Geto, his lips curled as he spoke to them. And you’d leave class without a word. You had to stick through the semester and your feelings would disappear with time. You wouldn’t have to see him, you wouldn’t have class anymore, and you couldn’t talk to him.

Or wouldn’t.

But now you had to. And you didn’t know how— otherwise than just to do it.

You knock at his door, “Come in,” and you open the door to see an empty desk, blinking, “I’m over here,”

And your head snaps to your right, and Professor Geto is sitting on his couch, his legs crossed with a stack of papers in hand. His jacket is slung over the side of the couch, his deep maroon button up sleeves rolled up, glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“I thought you lived at your desk,” you raise an eyebrow, “decided to change it up for the end of the semester?”

“Everyone needs a change of scenery,” he leans forward, placing the stack of papers on the table in front of him, “do you want to sit here or move to the desk?”

You shift in place, before moving to the couch beside him, “This is fine,” he stares, “what?”

“Just surprised, you always have something to say,” he leans on his elbow, “no smart remarks today?”

“Fresh out, can I offer you my proposal for the final paper instead?” You say dryly, and he cracks a smile, holding out your proposal. He clicks his red pen, readying his sword.

He takes it, his dark eyes darting back and forth as he reads, his brow furrowed in concentration — and you can’t help but want to reach out and smooth his brow for him, tease him that he’ll get wrinkles. But you can’t. Can’t because that would cross a line that neither of you should cross.

“You’ve come a long way,” he says, as he flips it back the front, writing only a few notes here and there.

“But?” You wait for it.

His gaze flickers up, a tilt of his head, “That was the end of my sentence,”

You pause a moment, “Really?”

“Really,” he scribbles a few more notes, “I look forward to reading the paper, it will be excellent I’m sure, maybe you’ll even get higher than a B+,”

“Oh, ha, ha,” sarcasm dripping from your tongue, but you can’t help but smile, “you’ll miss me and my endless need for academic validation,” but was it really academic validation you were after now — your eyes gazed at him sitting with the tip of his pen pressed to his lips — or was it his?

And it’s his turn to pause, and his lips curl into a soft smile, “I will,”

Your breath catches, “Really?”

He chuckles, “Really,” he licks his lips, his eyes glancing downward at your proposal than at your face, “I’ve enjoyed our chats this semester,”

“Have you? Even when I argued with you,” a half nervous half serious laugh dies on your lips when his gaze meets yours, far too serious for your heart to take.

“Especially then,” his fingers run through his hair a moment, before he speaks again, “I can’t say you could say the same,”

“And why couldn’t you?” his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t grasp fast enough, before it slips away into the depths of his dark irises.

“Because you stopped coming,” his voice is soft, his tone barely even, and this gives you a real pause, heat flushing your body, as if his words had set every nerve ending alight, your mouth growing dry along with it, and it gives him a reprieve he needs to brush it aside, “you don’t have to, of course, these office hours are not relevant to your—”

“I didn’t stop coming because I didn’t enjoy it,” you cut him off, swallowing the lump in your throat, “I stopped coming because I did,”

He stares, “What do you—”

“I don’t want academic validation anymore, I don’t care about my GPA,” you consider it a moment, “ok I do,” and he snorts, “but I care more about validation from you,”

“From me?” he says, and his gaze tries to meet yours and it can’t — but his fingers brush against your skin, making your breath catch, your eyes finding his, “and what kind of validation do you want?”

And you can’t find the words, and you hesitation makes him shake his head, “I apologize, I shouldn’t have—”

“Will you have a drink with me?” and he’s speechless for once, “after the semester is over, of course — I know it wouldn’t be ethical before,”

And his eyes find yours again, “Some would say it would be unethical after too,”

“I would say it depends,”

“On what basis?” and you can’t help but smirk.

“Am I being graded, Professor?” and you delight in a small crack in his smiling veneer as a light flush dusts the tops of his ears, “and if I’m good, will you call me a good girl again?”

He swallows, “I don’t want to cost you your education or your—”

“I understand the risks, but we aren’t contemplating shifting a trolley to hit one person or five, or murdering one healthy person to save five sick ones,” and he raises an eyebrow, “it’s a drink to celebrate the end of the semester,”

“And if it's something more?” he nearly whispers, the softness of his voice reflected in his features, as his fingers that rested on the couch twitched beside yours.

“Then we’ll cross that bridge then,” and then you add with a small smile, “Or hit the metaphorical person with the trolley,” and it pulls at the corners of his lips.

“You make a fair point,” and you gasp in mock surprise.

“The first time all semester you agree with me,” and he chuckles, a noise you wished you could hear him make innumerable times more.

“Not the first,” he replies, before leaning forward, pressing your outline back into your hands, his fingers brushing yours, “we both agree you’re a good girl, don’t we?”

And your breath catches, his words warm your skin, turning your blood to lava, “Professor,” and he smiles again.

“When we go for drinks, call me Suguru.”

~~~~

The semester wears on and finally draws to an end, but finals induced hibernation begins for you. A mix of papers and exams, you finish everything — including your paper for Professor Geto’s class. As always, he has you submit a paper and electronic copy, the paper copy to be dropped off at his office mailbox. And you do just that, the mailboxes being only around the corner from his office, and your heart squeezes at the thought of him. After this, the class was over, it was done. You weren’t his student anymore.

And you place the paper into the mailbox and sigh, chewing your lip as you pass by his office, but find the door closed (and locked, as you quickly turned the doorknob to test it). Where was he? This was the time he was usually in his office, but maybe he had left campus for the semester — had he forgotten about your drinks?

Fuck. You hadn’t even discussed a time or place, you had left it vague — “after finals.” Your cheeks burned at the memory, you were far too flustered to elaborate. And you had spent far too many nights imagining him calling you a ‘good girl’ in many other situations.

And then you heard a call of your name, your gaze snapping up, your heart leaping, but only to see the department head.

“Hi Professor, how are you?” and the two of you make polite chit-chat, until he asks you.

“Have you applied to be a T.A. for the department?” and you blink, “applications just opened and I think from what I’ve heard about you around the department, I think you would be an excellent candidate.”

“I’d love to be — how does the application process work?” and he explains that it’s a double blind process where applications are viewed without personal information of the candidates, and then matched with a professor based only on resume and writing samples.

You can barely listen to the department head, still far too distracted with thoughts of Professor Geto — so you agree to apply, if only to placate the department head, and make an excuse to leave.

It had been a week or so, as you lay in bed in your apartment, staring at your ceiling — you hadn’t even bothered to get Professor Geto’s personal number. You couldn’t even reach out to him if you tried, as the only way you could was through his university email, which was out of the question — the university had rules against a professor and student dating, and if anyone found that email — you sighed — it wouldn’t be good.

Maybe it was for the best.

The only communication you had gotten from him was an email from Professor Geto’s mailing list to the class from a few days ago, stating that he was out of state in a conference, and he would return soon, but your grades would be emailed to you. But the paper copies would be available to pick up in his office from 3:00 PM to 6:00 PM on Tuesday. It was almost time to pick up your paper, and your nerves bit at you as you thought about the possibility of seeing him. Who knows if he would even be there to begin with.

Would it be anything? Would it be nothing? Was there not any point to this at all?

Oh, great, you were becoming existential.

You sat up, the only thing you could do was go. So you do, taking your time to get dressed. If you were going to see him, you might as well look your best.

Fuck. You couldn’t go in. It had taken you longer to get back to campus than you thought, and now there were only a few minutes of his office hours left.

And you’re about to knock when the door opens, and you find yourself face to face with the man who has consumed every thought of yours for the last few months — good and bad alike.

“Late again?” and you can’t help but smile.

“I prefer fashionably late,” and his eyes rake over your outfit, making your cheeks burn.

“You certainly are,” and he steps aside to allow you into his office, and you glance between the couch and the desk, but he makes the choice and sits at his desk, “I have your paper right here,” and he’s rifling through his file of papers, “how did your finals go?”

“If I have an A on this paper, perfectly,” and a smile tugs at his lips, and you raise an eyebrow, “what? Something funny?”

“Not at all,” and he pulls your paper out, ha “I just recall you saying you wanted something more than, what was it? ‘My academic validation?’”

And your cheeks flush, “I did, but I also didn’t hear from you,” and your fingers reach for the paper, and he holds onto it, “Professor,”

“I couldn’t reach out to you because I was still your professor, but once you get this grade, I’m not anymore,” and his gaze is sharper without his glasses today, his dark blue Henley doing nothing to help the flush on your cheeks — memories of your dreams flooding your mind, “and once you get this grade back, I’m not anymore,”

“And what does that mean?” you can’t pull your eyes away from his, but his fingers let go of your graded paper, “how about you look at the last page of your paper and see?”

You pull the paper into your hands, flipping to the last page:

99 — I was impressed by this paper not only by the content but by its comprehension and use of both ethics and philosophy. But I was also impressed by the person who wrote the paper. You’ve shown determination and growth throughout the semester — and you have reminded me what we owe to each other. And I think we owe each other a drink, and a chance for this.

You feel his eyes watch you as you read, your eyes finally meeting his — his brow knit together, his lips pursed, concentrated gaze trying to decipher your reaction.

“Why a 99?” And his eyebrows raise, as if to ask, “that’s your question?”

“You had some spelling and grammar errors,”

“Really? You couldn’t let it slide?” And he tilts his head, before he sees your lips curling into a grin.

“So you think it’s funny to mess with your professor?” And his voice drops, a playful tone that makes you nearly shiver, as he leans forward, resting his chin against his elbow.

“You’re not my professor anymore, are you, Suguru?” he likes that by the way his teeth bite his bottom lip briefly, his eyes flitting to your lips for a moment and back to your eyes, “so I guess we’re using that trolley after all,”

“If you want to,” he says softly, “I wouldn’t blame you if you change your mind, it’s a risk,”

It was. It was a risk to your reputations, your careers, your futures — especially to yours. But, your eyes met his again.

“Contractualism is about avoiding risk,” and he nods, as his gaze falls away, “but some risk is necessary in life, and I think this is one that’s worth taking,”

“We will have to be careful,” he murmurs, but already his fingers are twitching, far too eager to touch you, “we can’t make any mistakes. I don’t want to hurt you,” he adds softly.

“I know, I don’t want to hurt you either,” and you rise before slowly rounding his desk, “but I want to know what it’s like,”

And he can’t stop himself — he gets to his feet, his fingers finding your cheeks and he kisses you. You can taste the black coffee on his lips, his kiss is gentle at first, so chaste and fleeting that you’d swear he didn’t kiss you at all — and so it’s not a second before your lips find his again, in a deeper kiss that steals every ounce of breath from your lungs, and leaves only heat behind. This was dangerous. The very risk you were both trying to avoid, but as he’s pressing you into the edge of his desk, you can’t find the logic you misplaced when those goddamn fingers you’ve been dreaming about squeeze your hips.

“Fuck,” he’s panting — god that word sounded more sinful on his lips than it should — as he presses sweet kisses to your neck, “we shouldn’t be doing this here,”

“Not very ethical,” you chuckle breathlessly, as your fingers rake through his now disheveled bun, “but I can’t find the sense to care,” your noses brush, as you can’t help but smile, “what would Scanlon or Kant say about this?”

And his arms lift you onto his desk, several papers crumpling underneath, “Who the fuck cares?” he’s hissing, his lips find yours in a searing kiss, as his thighs press yours apart, as he settles himself between your legs, his knee grazing your core, drawing a delightful gasp from your lips, “I know what I want,” and his eyes soften, his fingers tracing the length of your cheek, “do you?”

Before you can answer, two pings catch your attention — your phone and his computer lighting up with a notification, and you both pause a moment, as your eyes glance at the banner notification on your phone, skimming over the words. The T.A. positions have been assigned.

“Fuck,” you hear him mutter, and you gaze snaps up to his on his computer, the email now opened on his screen, “this can’t be right—”

“What is it—” and the question dies on your lips as your eyes find where his rested —

You — you were his T.A. for next semester — for the very class that you met in.

Fuck, indeed.

✧ read part 2 now

✧ a/n: lets all remember that student and teacher relationships are bad in real life. it's ok to live vicariously through reader but unfortunately no professor will be as hot as professor geto or gojo T_T. s/o to @/laneymusings and @bucky-of-the-opera for beta reading this for me and being just absolutely wonderful!!

✧ tag list: @sokkasmoon, @unoriginalideas, @waytootiredforthisss, @sinnerstardoll, @secret-pages-of-my-heart, @drthymby, @hanlay, @catsgomurp, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @esuz, @difficultdomains, @poopyface222, @iwassentfromhell, @diogodxlot, @totallynotcc, @llovekami, @deadmarygolds, @teatreeoilll, @carcarcraziiv2, @forest-hashira, @aliyalala, @esuz, @that-goth-bisexual, @hehehehesthings, @imjustmememe, @j1jay, @iwassentfromhell,

#sab [mlist]#sab series [prof suguru]#suguru geto x reader #suguru geto smut #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru imagines #geto x reader #geto smut #geto x you #geto suguru fanfiction #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #dividers by @/saradika

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chuluoyi · 5 months

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✎ wife

- gojo satoru x reader

in which the new batch of first years are unaware that their eccentric teacher's wife is the pretty woman roaming the school grounds

genre: fluff, crack, gojo being a silly little menace as always, yuji and nobara are confused, an attempt at humor, lovesick gojo, mention of breastfeeding

note: it’s so silly but i had fun writing this! based on a request by anon (thank you!) but i tweaked it a bit and partly inspired by this fanart. reader is also a teacher at jujutsu high and has a baby with gojo—loosely a continuation of protect

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

"Take that off immediately!"

"Kyaaah~! Yuji is here, you pervert!"

Yuji was a laughing mess. Megumi and Nobara collectively sighed. Nanami attempted to retrieve his once-immaculate suit, now a crumpled mess, from the one and only Gojo Satoru, who found humor in stealing his signature attire and impersonating the stern-faced Nanami in front of his fresh batch of first years.

"He is incorrigible," Nobara grumbled, her eyes slitting. They said that he was a strong sorcerer, possibly the strongest there was, but she found it really hard to believe.

Megumi threw her a deadpan stare. With many years of putting up with this kind of antics under his belt, he pitied her for not knowing that this was far from the worst. "Yeah, he is."

"How does anyone ever put up with him?"

That was actually a good question. "We don't..." Megumi paused, recalling each and every occasion where he tried to do so. "His wife is probably the only one who can."

Nobara sputtered, spinning towards him. "What the—wife? That annoying man has an actual, living, breathing wife?"

"Who? Gojo-sensei?" Yuji chimed in, jumping into the conversation, leaving the supposedly two adults in their catfight. Nanami was still clawing to get his suit back, and Gojo continued to giggle and evade him, playfully running away.

Nobara scoffed. "I bet the woman just married him for the money. He comes from prestigious clan, yes? That must be it."

Yuji felt his eyes would pop out of its sockets. "What are you talking about, Kugisaki!? What woman—"

"Shut up, Itadori! Don't be too loud!"

Nobara and Yuji's unharmonious ruckus irritated Megumi to the bone, and he decided that the best course of action now was to leave them all in the dust. With a glare and a shake of his head, he stalked away.

And thus the two new first years were left with half-truths that would lead them into a major misadventure later that day—

—which happened when they spotted Nanami with you, whom they were still unfamiliar with.

They were convinced that Gojo’s wife must be some sort of boring tramp eyeing his wealth and not this positively radiant, mature woman, and so ruling that possibility out, they positively swooned at the sight before them.

"He's irresponsible, egotistical—" snippets of Nanami's frustrated words conveyed enough to paint a picture of Gojo's character. He was definitely ranting about Gojo to you.

"Is that Nanamin's wife?" Yuji mused, a hint of pink tinting his cheeks. "She is so pretty..."

"They... look cute together," Nobara hummed with dreamy eyes, and then looked at Yuji sharply. "And yes, she's indeed pretty, but know your place, Itadori!"

"I know!"

Based on how the two of you interacted, they concluded that you must have been close, with the way Nanami visibly relaxed around you, and not as formal as he was with anyone else. They highly suspected that the two of you were married, as you wore a ring, which was the ultimate sign.

"And how's the baby?" Nanami asked then, directing the question to you with a smile on his face, prompting surprised gasps from both Yuji and Nobara.

You were glowing, to say the least, and when you let out a small giggle at his question, even both students couldn't miss the way your expression exuded pure happiness. "He is well. Ah, I really wanted to bring him along too, but he was a little messy after eating so I left him at home. You can see him later…"

Yuji gaped. "So it's true..."

"Oh my gosh... and they have a baby." Nobara almost squealed.

And that sealed it. The headline of the day: Nanami is married to this stunning woman wandering the school grounds.

So imagine their utter shock when the second time they found you, you were with Gojo, and he was shamelessly snogging you in the hallway.

“Why are you here?” Gojo was breathless after the soul-sucking kiss he smothered you. His tone remained playful yet carried a clear undertone of concern. "You're still on maternity leave. I'll make sure Yaga knows that."

“Satoru,” you whined, and the use of his given name made Yuji and Nobara gasp in disbelief. “I’m perfectly okay and I don’t need to breastfeed anymore. I should start getting back to work.”

Nobara seemed to finally understand the implication. But Yuji didn’t. His mind flitting from one scandalous idea to another—

Gojo-sensei seducing Nanamin’s wife? Nanamin’s wife cheating on him with Gojo-sensei?

In the brief period he spent with Gojo, Yuji realized that he didn't exactly have a reputation for decency. So despite himself, he could only muster up this one word: “Homewrecker. Homewrecker!”

Yuji’s shriek took all three of you by surprise, and now both you and Gojo were aware of his presence.

“You absolute idiot,” Nobara hissed, face-palming.

“Oh, Yuji? Nobara?” Gojo genially asked, his concern towards you quickly dissolved into a meaningful smirk on his face. “And what do you mean by—?”

Yuji yelped. “You! You are! You’re trying to seduce Nanamin’s wife!”

Silence. Gojo’s eyes twitched beyond his blindfold. You blinked. Nobara wanted to save herself from the second-hand embarrassment. And his loud voice caught the attention of Megumi too, who was close by.

“You seem to be mistaken. First of all, Nanami isn’t married,” Gojo said with a strained voice, maintaining his smile. He then gestured at you, showing you off with pride. “And this here, is my wife.”

“Y-your wife?!” Yuji exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger. “H-how?! I saw her with Nanamin! Talking about a baby—”

“That would be my baby.”

“But how?!”

“Yuji, do you want me to give you a crash course in baby-making—”

“Satoru!”

You sent him a glare and turned to the young first years with a smile. "You must be the new first years? I’m Y/N, and I’m in charge of the second years.” You gestured towards your husband. “And please, ignore most things he says. He’s a bit crass, and if you ever feel he's harassed you, don't hesitate to report it to me."

“Wifey! How could you!”

“Shut up, Satoru! You’re embarrassing yourself!”

“What are you doing here?” Megumi inquired with a deep frown, getting between Yuji and Nobara as they stared at Gojo in total bewilderment.

Yuji exclaimed in disbelief, pointing at you. “Fushiguro! Gojo-sensei’s wife is a beauty!”

“…I know that already.”

Nobara whipped her head towards him. "You knew?! Since when?!"

“They… took me in.”

“THEY WHAT?!”

Gojo grinned at their chorus of surprise. “And what a fine boy he turns out to be, eh?”

Megumi scowled, but Gojo wasn’t bothered at all. If anything, what offended him was—

"What makes you think my dear wife here belongs to Nanami instead of me?" he joked with a mock scoff, earning an eye roll from you.

Nobara and Yuji blurted out their thoughts simultaneously.

“They look good together?”

“Nanamin is dependable?”

Gojo gasped dramatically, one hand flying to his mouth. "So, not only do I not look good with her, but I also don't seem dependable enough?" He turned to you with the most aghast expression. “Tell me that isn’t true—”

You shot him a withering look, deadpanning, “Actually, you might be.”

And Gojo clutched his chest, letting out an anguished cry.

Epilogue

“Satoru… come on, you know I was joking.”

Your dramatic ass of a husband had his head on your lap, hugging your torso tight. The pout on his face hadn’t faded a bit ever since he was done with his class, and now on your marital bed, he was clinging to you with all of his might.

He shook his head petulantly, clicking his tongue. “You’ve embarrassed me in front of my students. You’re so mean!”

You sighed. “I’m sure you have made a fool out of yourself far often. This is insignificant.”

“Hmph! How could you say that?! I don't care if it's me, but I can't believe that it's coming from you! I shower you with my undivided love each and every day!”

“Yeah, yeah…”

Somehow seeing him like this made your heart lurch. He reminded you so much of your baby boy who was sleeping right in the next room that you couldn't resist smiling and pinching his cheeks.

“Okay, okay. My husband is handsome, looks good with me and definitely someone I can rely on,” you relented, and like a lightbulb going off, Satoru suddenly beamed so wide that you were certain his cheeks hurt.

“That’s more like it! Now, now, there’s only one way that can prove how responsible I am! Let me just fill you up with another baby—”

You smacked him on the head.

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gojhoes · 1 month

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boynextdoor!geto who is wanted by everyone in school but has only ever had eyes for you

boynextdoor!geto who teaches you how to kiss and insists that you practice with him every day after school

boynextdoor!geto who claims not to like pda but is always touching you whenever you're out together- he's an expert at driving you crazy with just a few fleeting touches and stolen kisses

boynextdoor!geto who lets you practice french braiding on his hair because he loves when you've got your hands on him

boynextdoor!geto who gets jealous over the smallest of things

boynextdoor!geto who sneaks in through the window when he can’t sleep because your touch always soothes him

boynextdoor!geto who is absolutely wrecked when you suck his cock for the first time- his usual arrogance is reduced to nothing but gasps and whimpers as your mouth does him in for good

boynextdoor!geto who takes up all of your time because he can’t stand the idea of sharing you even for a few hours

#jjk #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #getou suguru x reader #geto smut #geto x reader

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angelltheninth · 2 months

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Sukuna Fucks You In and Out of Consciousness

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Tags: nsfw, smut, rough sex, passing out, marathon sex, dom!Sukuna, double dick!Sukuna

A/N: If anyone would love doing this sort of shit it's Sukuna.

There were never any illusions you had over keeping up with Sukuna's stamina in bed. After all you were a human, a Sorcerer yes, but still a human and he was the King of Curses. The gap was always gonna be there but you tried your best for him every night.

It was a lot to constantly be filled by his cock and to have his other cock rubbing your poor clit over and over, never giving it a rest. Your vision was already beginning to go black, "'Kuna- coming!"

Your high pitched moans spurred him on, his hands angling your hips upwards so his cock would reach in deep, ramming against your womb. Stars danced before your eyes as your back arched, fingers intertwined with the ones of his other two hands. His name came out of your mouth like a prayer or a curse. Both were the same to him.

"Keep your eyes on me, you won't want to miss this, baby." You couldn't obey him this time. Your body already slumped back on the futon, legs going limp around him. "Don't you dare pass out on me!" He yelled at you and grabbed you by the throat, squeezing gently, enough to make you gasp for breath. "I want you to see the moment I cream your pussy! Look down at it!" His voice echoed somewhere in the back of your head, going in and out. "There she is." Sukuna smirked down at you when your eyes opened, looking at the fuzzy, blurry form above you taking a clear shape. "Look at me cocks." He repeated again, this time more gently, letting go of your throat and instead pressing his hand to the back of your head.

"You're still fucking me." Sukuna sorted at your obvious statement. To you his stamina was out of this world, to him this was a regular night. "This second one." You reached to rub the tip of his other cock, "I want it to come too." With your confession Sukuna fucked you with even more force, making your pussy feel hot, making it clench again, pushing your close to your next orgasm. It was too much, but you wouldn't tell him to stop and you wouldn't stop looking at the way he fucked you. As soon as one cock stirred so did the other, you felt them both but only saw the one that shot thick ropes of come not just across your body but also your face.

"Again." You thought he was talking about going again, "Come for me again. Show me how slutty your pussy is."

Even before that orgasm hit you, in the back of your mind you knew, you wouldn't be able to stay awake, "I love you so much." So you said what you needed to before your body shook with pleasure again, inner walls milking his pulsing cock. Sukuna's grinning, proud face was the last sight you saw before losing consciousness, and the first sight you saw when you woke up hours after.

#ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu sorcerer #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #sukuna #sukuna x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #sukuna smut #ryomen sukuna smut

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fushic0re · 4 months

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𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐀 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐓?

𝗗𝗔𝗗!𝗦𝗔𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗨 𝗚𝗢𝗝𝗢 𝘅 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟖 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝑹𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒏𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒅𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒂𝒓 ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ─ in which you and satoru finally have some alone time…except baby gojo is vigilantly watching for santa’s arrival.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ─ 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. SMUT; penetrative sex, trying to keep it quiet, getting caught. baby gojo being an especially cute cockblock.

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

“TORU–” YOU PANT AGAINST YOUR HUSBAND’S EAR.

Satoru grunts in response. His large hands tighten around the meat of your thighs, his fingers leaving an indentation against your skin from his grip. His hips move with more vigor, pounding into you wildly as he loses every piece of himself to pull of your velvety walls. Each thrust draws him deeper and deeper into your heat, a feeling he missed oh so much. While fatherhood was the biggest calling of his life and his proudest accomplishment, he definitely missed the spontaneous aspect of his relationship with you–quickies in places you most definitely should not be having sex in, watching you cook and deciding then and there to bend you over the kitchen counter to have his way with you, being late to commitments because he decided to spend an extra hour or two in bed with you, the whole nine yards.

You were everything–a mother, the woman who birthed the first Gojo heir in years, an amazing sorcerer. But you were his girl before everything else. And now that your son was asleep after the sugar crash he had from too many cookies at the Christmas Eve party, it was prime time for him to remind you of just how much he loved you.

“Hah…shit–”

“Mama? Dada?”

Time freezes for a moment as do you and Satoru, staring at each other as your bodies stiffen as if remaining oh so still will make your son unsee the sight before his innocent eyes. You quickly snap out of it, yanking the throw blanket hanging from the back of the couch and wrapping it around you both. To the innocent eye, it looks as if you and your husband were just having a cuddle. Satoru follows suit, lifting his blindfold off to stare at his son lovingly.

“What’s up, little man? You should be sleeping that sugar rush off.” He chuckles, completely unphased by the fact that your son had just walked in on the both of you.

The Gojo heir rubs his sleepy eyes with his small fists.

“Is Santa here yet? Y-Yuuji said he would be here soon…” He mumbles, his little voice raspy.

You look at Satoru with wide eyes for a moment before nervously laughing as you pull the blanket tighter around your bare forms.

“No, baby. Santa doesn’t come until very, very late when all you babies are fast asleep. Go back to sleep, you have nothing to worry about.” You assure.

Your son is just about to walk off when his eyes fully register what is in front of him. Under the impression that you have been fully caught, you slap your husband’s chest.

“Do something.” You hiss.

“I don’t know, babe, this is kinda funny–”

“I told you too much sugar would mess with his sleep schedule! I told you!”

“Okay, but how was I supposed to know Yuuji was going to get him all Santa-crazed–”

“Because you are his dad! Dads know these things!”

“...You sayin’ I’m a DILF?”

“A..Are you guys c-cuddling without m-me?”

You and Satoru’s incessant bickering comes to a halt. Both of your hearts break at the sight of those big blue eyes welling up with tears, that pouty bottom lip trembling as he clutches his blanket for comfort. Just like that, your shared kryptonite had rendered you both fightless. When your son cried, angels cried for him. Satoru springs into action, pulling on his boxers and scooping your son up into his arms. You try your best to, but the ache and empty feeling in between your legs cannot be ignored.

“I’m sorry, buddy. Your momma wanted daddy all for herself because she gets jealous.” Satoru dramatically wails, hugging your baby and rocking him in his arms.

You gasp as you stare at him incredulously. Was he seriously throwing you under the bus? Turning you against your own son?

“Excuse me?!”

“Come on, let daddy take you to bed for some snuggles aaaaaalll by yourself!” He cries out once more.

With that, Satoru easily diverted the situation. He grins at you as he carries your baby boy back to bed, the latter falling asleep in the comfort of his arms as he does so.

“Bad mommy.” Your little one murmurs as his father descends down the hallway, leaving you floored.

Satoru Gojo would receive one, and only one, gift that year….blue balls. And not in the form of ornaments.

#satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x y/n #dad!satoru gojo x reader #dad!gojo #gojo x reader #satoru gojo #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo fluff

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driaswrld · 7 months

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3:04am — gojo satoru.

“Satoru…?”

“Go back to bed, baby.” He’s standing at the balcony, elbows propped against the rail. His muscled back is facing you, gray sweatpants hung low on his hips.

You push the sheets off your body, ignoring him. You glance over at the clock on the bedside table, 3:04am. Shivering a little, you get off the bed, bare feet on tiled floors.

“It’s late—” Satoru starts, and if possible, you can feel his six eyes on you. Maybe it’s just the cold. He’s beautiful, you think. Just standing there and gazing out at the fluorescent city lights, hair tousled and back hunched, half naked.

You walk towards him, dressed in his t-shirt, placing a hand on the edge of the open balcony door. “I’m already awake.” You reason, and he raises to stand at his full height, palms grasping the railing, a few veins in his forearm visible in the moonlight.

He doesn’t sleep— hasn’t slept since Shibuya, never a full night, not even with you. Like everything else in his life, he’s good at masking it, but you’ve known Satoru Gojo long enough to know when he’s just about to fall apart at the seams.

“Sorry.” He mumbles, still refusing to look at you, perhaps afraid of what you’ll see. A waft of cold air from the cityscape rushes in, a leaf blowing high above the railing.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.”

The leaf bounces off in mid air, just before it touches him, getting stuck between one of the gaps in the metal railing.

Infinity.

“Oh, Satoru…” you mumble beneath your breath, he’s guarded, refusing to let anyone into that veil once he feels any remote sense of weakness.

You ease off the sliding door and take a few more steps further and outstretch an arm in contemplation. “Yes or no?” You ask, and before the words finish leaving your lips, your fingertips meet no barrier, palm already pressed to the middle of his spine.

“You don’t have to ask.” He whispers, leaning over the railing, elbows out. Your arms encircle his waist, chest meeting his back – he’s cold – and you flatten your palms against his abdomen, falling silent. “You never have to—”

“Except when it’s no.” You murmur, and you feel his muscles twitch under your fingers. Another gust of wind blows, the leaf escapes the metal and floats towards where your arms hold Satoru close. “If you have to—” Satoru starts, “—keep asking. I’ll answer it anytime you need.”

The leaf bounces off just inches away from you, and your eyes lock on it. Your mouth falls agape.

“But it's always going to be yes.” He says, and you hold him a little tighter, as he places a hand atop of yours.

notes ; obsessed w the idea of being inside satoru's infinity. god i can't breatheee i need him + also this is based on a snippet from a book called all for the game by nora sakavic (i was wayy too young to be reading that when i did 😭)

#📰 — archive #satoru gojo #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #satoru #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #jjk #jjk season 2 #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen drabbles #jujutsu kaisen headcanons

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madaqueue · 2 days

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Dripping in Gold | Chapter 9

synopsis: finding a job was never easy, and why even bother trying after you meet satoru gojo, a man with mysterious and exorbitant wealth, who wants nothing more than to spoil you with it? the only caveat to your little arrangement is that it can never, ever, become personal.

pairing: satoru gojo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au, sugar daddy gojo. language, smut. kissing, praise, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving). 18+, MDNI

word count: 2.6k

a/n: y'all idk what happened i swear i was in heat or smthn writing these last two chapters i promise we'll get back to plot soon enough

previous chapter | series masterlist | next chapter

You awake the next morning to Satoru softly snoring, his arms wrapped around your body and your cheek pressed against his bare chest. Tilting your head up at him, he looks truly angelic: the sunlight casting a glow over his white hair like a halo, his face flushed a soft pink in sleep, his lips parted ever so slightly through peaceful breaths.

Almost as though he could sense you, his eyes flutter open, long eyelashes batting against sleep as his gaze focuses on you.

“G’morning, sweetheart,” he purrs through his low morning voice, his arms tightening around your body and pulling you closer to him.

“Morning, ‘Toru,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his warm cheek.

The two of you have shared a few mornings together, but always in the unfamiliar setting of a hotel room, never daring to stay at your homes. And yet, here he is, in your bed, looking more perfect than ever.

His free hand reaches across you to run through your hair, stroking your head while you lean into him. The arm that wrapped around your body moves to your hip, inching further down ever so slightly.

Seeing you like this, all cozy and warm, waking up in the morning sun, does something to him: he simply can’t help himself when you look so sweet. In the past when you’ve spent the night with one another he’s planned something early the next morning, whether it be breakfast, picnics, massages, or any other way he could think to pamper you. Yet, today, your only responsibility is to soak in each other’s presence. He smiles to himself, knowing he can take his time.

Burying his head into your shoulder, he kisses along your neck. The faint scent of vanilla hangs on your skin, drawing him in as he nuzzles his face further into you. While he starts with soft, fluttering motions, they quickly become rougher as he sucks and nips against your skin with enough force to leave pretty little bruises.

“‘Toru?” you try to stifle your moan at the sensation through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

“You just look so pretty,” he coos.

Before you can quip at his non-explanation, you feel his fingertips brush between your legs, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

However, his hand stills with nothing more than a faint glide over your panties. You whine at the lack of stimulation, moving your hips down to try and grind against his palm.

He chuckles at the action. “So needy already? You went months without me, and now can’t even go a few seconds?”

You want to taunt him, glare at him, prove him wrong, but your body has other plans. Instead, you just continue attempting to get any sort of friction from his hand, imprecisely rubbing against him.

Pulling away, he shifts so he’s looking down at you through his long white eyelashes, his forehead pressed against yours. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not that cruel. All you have to do is ask,” he smirks, knowing how much he loves to hear you beg for him.

“P-please,” you whisper, voice shaky as you squirm in his hold.

He cocks his head to the side. “Please what?”

Trying to roll your eyes sarcastically, they instead nearly roll back as his thumb presses against your clit.

“More,” the only word you can moan at the sudden pressure.

He sighs through a smile at just how easily you lose yourself under his touch. Of course, he knows he’s not much better - he couldn’t even try to count the number of times you’ve grazed his crotch while on a date and immediately gotten him hard, having to take you to the nearest bathroom to fuck you then and there - but it still makes his heart flutter to see you this needy for him.

“As you wish, princess,” he breathes before roughly inserting two fingers into you. He enters easily, your insides warm and wet, all for him.

Your back arches off the bed as he fills you, his fingertips curling up to that sweet spot that has you seeing stars and makes you shut your eyes tightly in pleasure.

His voice is airy above you as he speaks. “Open your eyes.”

Complying, you are met with the sight of him smiling down at you, his white hair falling over his forehead and nearly covering his blue irises.

“That’s my girl,” he coos, the praise making your cunt flutter around him.

He pumps his hand into you, his slender fingers reaching into deeper places than you ever could. Soft moans and gasps continue to leave your lips as you stare up at him, eyes becoming increasingly glossy as he continues.

While he watches you, a sudden pang of jealousy hits him; he can’t believe he went all those months without this, without you. He’s angry at himself, and angry at anyone else who dared touch you, when you should have been his.

You sense the shift in his demeanor as he gets rougher, faster, his wrist moving irregularly as his palm begins to rub against your clit.

“M-mm, ‘Toru,” you whine, trying to grab his wrist but unable to steady his motions.

“Can anybody else fuck you like I fuck you, hm?” he asks, his voice low and gravely.

Shocked at his question, you try to stutter out an answer. “N-no, no one,” you answer truthfully.

In the time since you met him, the only other person you hooked up with was Toji, and it wasn’t nearly as pleasurable as anything with Satoru. He had that tender roughness you loved, the way he always and easily took care of you like it was second nature to him. While you were seeing each other he learned the intricacies of your body, knowing exactly where to kiss, rub, suck, press, to get the sweetest little sounds out of your mouth until you were both left panting messes.

While you were apart, you were only able to think of him on those nights where the throbbing between your legs became overwhelming. You’d think of his hands, his lips, his cock, anything that reminded you of the way he’d bring you wave after wave of pleasure. In fact, the only way you had been able to get yourself off was to imagine his fingers inside of you instead of yours. You couldn’t seem to replicate the way his fingertips pressed into that perfect spot, and having him here now was better than months of your imagination had proved.

Yet, Satoru didn’t know this: all he knows is that he never should have let you go, never should have let you be with anyone else. You were his best, you always would be. And he needed to hear you say it.

“Bet no one else makes you feel this good,” he growls, trying to hide his desperation as he awaits your answer.

You shake your head, biting your teeth into your lower lip as you look up at him with watery eyes. The pressure pooling in your stomach was almost too much to bear as he beckons you closer and closer to your release.

“Say it,” he hisses.

“No one, f-fuck, no one like you,” you choke out through moans. “N-ngh, the best, only finished, a-ah, thinkin’ about you,” you confess.

His eyes light up, sensing the truth in your words. “Yeah?” he whispers breathlessly. The idea makes his cock twitch, knowing that you thought of him just like how he thought of you.

“Mhm,” you nod, trying to cling to the conversation as you feel yourself getting pulled to the edge.

With new fervor, his fingers inside you speed up, bringing you closer and closer to your orgasm. When he feels you begin clenching around him he knows you’re close, and his mouth crashes into yours, locking you into a passionate kiss. Sucking gently on your lower lip, his tongue slides against yours.

Your nails dig into his arms as you feel yourself come undone on his fingers, moaning into his mouth as your vision goes white from pleasure, body shaking beneath his.

He separates his lips and looks down at you as you pant, desperately trying to fill your lungs with air as your head spins from the power of your orgasm.

He grins proudly, recalling your words. “So, you really thought about me when we were apart?”

Thoughts still fuzzy, you can only nod in response, staring into his mesmerizing blue eyes.

“Well in that case, guess I better give you somethin’ else to remember,” his smile becoming more devious as his gaze moves down your body.

Your eyes widening in surprise, you shake your head weakly. “C-can’t, ‘Toru, s’too much.” You still feel spent after last night, but you know that once he starts he can’t stop, especially now that he’s making up for lost time.

Tilting his head mockingly, he coos, “Aw, c’mon now sweetheart, you’re the one who asked for more, remember?” He shifts so his face is above your chest, trailing kisses across your breast as his tongue flicks against your hardened nipples, eliciting a moan from you. “I know you can take it, such a good girl, like always,” he whispers before continuing his path downard, settling between your legs.

His breath is hot against your core as he places his lips teasingly along your inner thighs. Your hands move to his hair, unknowingly pulling him towards you; your mind may not know it, but your body understands it needs him.

A chuckle escapes his lips as he feels you tug him in, his tongue licking a wet stripe up your folds. An unashamed whimper leaves your throat as you arch off the bed, holding him against you as you grind up his face.

“See, ‘knew you wanted more,” he whispers into you.

He once again dives into your sopping cunt, desperate to please you. As he coaxes an immeasurable number of orgasms out of you with his tongue and fingers, he laps up every ounce of your essence, slick coating his mouth and down his chin. He relishes the way you moan each time, chasing the high of hearing his name leaving your lips.

What feels like hours passes with him never relenting until you both are sweaty messes. Your grip in his hair is loose, barely holding onto any piece of reality, when he finally pulls away from you.

He adjusts to lay next to you in bed, taking in the sight of you as he peppers your face with kisses. Your pupils are blown, nearly black from lust, mouth hanging lazily open in a fucked-out grin, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth, too weak to wipe it away.

As he looks at you, his heart swells with love - how lucky he is to have you next to him, so content, all thanks to him.

“‘Toru?” you whisper, his name the only word you’d been able to utter, hell, the only thing you’d been able to think, for the past few hours.

He brushes hair off of your forehead as he gently presses his lips against your skin, hot and covered in a thin layer of sweat. “Yes, princess?”

It takes all of your concentration to find the words you want to express, wanting to make him feel as good as you do in this moment. “You didn’t get to finish,” you manage to choke out, voice hoarse from moaning.

Laughing softly at your concern for him, he smiles, continuing to stroke your hair. “It’s my only job to make you happy, don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

You pout, knowing that you’d be even happier with his cock down your throat, the desire to please him becoming overwhelming.

He chuckles again until he’s cut short by your hand reaching down, your fingertips gently stroking the underside of his dick as he inhales sharply. “S-shit,” he breathes shakily, not realizing just how sensitive he had become while going down on you.

Looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes, your hand grasps weakly around him, gingerly spreading the precum that had pooled at his tip down his length. “Please?” you whisper.

God, he needs you.

Without another word he adjusts in bed, sitting so your head rests against his thigh, his back hot against the cool wood of your headboard.

Now level with his cock, you loll your tongue out, lazily licking up the smeared precum. Parting your lips, you slide his flushed red tip into your mouth, creating a gentle suction against him.

His hands find their way to the back of your head, guiding you further down his length. He’s normally not this needy, this desperate, but with the taste of you lingering on his tongue, the warmth of your mouth around his cock after months without it, he can’t help himself.

When you near his base, he thrusts his hips up into you, pushing his tip to the back of your throat. A helpless whimper escapes his throat at the feeling, holding you in place.

“T-that’s it, just like that, sweetheart,” he whines.

You hum in response, the vibration along his sensitive cock almost enough to send him over the edge.

Slowly pulling your lips up his length, your tongue slides along him, his legs shaking as the cool air hits the space where your mouth had been.

However, your lack of urgency drove Satoru crazy. “Can I…fuck…” he barely manages to choke out, his entire body begining to tremble from temptation.

Your half-lidded eyes flit up to his, and the sight of you, lips parted around his cock, drool now making its way down your chin, the pure filthy mess you are, makes him shudder.

Understanding what he was asking, that he needs more control, that he needs to fuck your throat, you hum again in confirmation. You barely had the energy to get this far, so it was truly a blessing when he grabs the back of your head and neck, steadying you in place.

He bucks his hips up into you mindlessly, only knowing that he craves the warmth of your mouth. The lewd sound of hills balls smacking against your chin, coated in a mix of saliva and his precum, echoes through your apartment.

The only other sounds are his pathetically sweet whimpers, praises falling from his lips as he leans his head back against the wall. “Takin’ me s’good,” “S’perfect,” “Mouth was made f’me,” the constant stream of words filling the air.

Without warning, his movement stutter as a guttural moan escapes his throat. His whole body trembles as he pumps thick ropes of cum into the back of your throat, holding you against him as you swallow it, grounding yourself to reality as you savor the taste of him.

His shaky hands release their grip on you as he collapses into the pillows, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling. Your lips finally separate from his cock as you lean up to him, his chest heaving under your hand as you rest your body against his. Your fingers trace along his jawline and he shivers at your touch, opening his eyes slightly more to look down at you.

Both of you now absolutely fucked-out messes, glazed-over eyes scanning each other’s faces as you melt into the bliss of the moment. He kisses you softly, breath still unsteady as his arms loosely wrap around you, holding you to him.

This is what you had been missing for all those months without him - the warmth of his embrace, the tender love, the peace in your heart. As you drift back into exhausted sleep, you hear him whisper something as he places his lips against your forehead, something that sounds an awful lot like “I love you.”

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inupibaldspot · 2 months

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Wingman ain’t subtle.

Paring: Gojo Satoru x reader

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : This takes place when Gojo and the rest are students and you are one year senior/older than them

Gojo thinks today is a bad day.

“y/n-senpai apparently only dates guys older than her” Shoko says she sucks the drink from the straw. As much as she’d like to be smoking, it wasn’t allowed on campus.

The lollipop in Gojo’s mouth falls to the ground which makes Geto snort.

“Sucks to you Satoru.” He comments. “If only you were born a year or two before you’d have a chance.”

Gojo winches as he looks over to Shoko with eyes pleading that she was lying “For real?”

“Yeah.” Shoko and you shared being gifted with Reverse Cursed Technique so they’d spend a lot of time training together so the two were close.

Ever since he learned that fact, Gojo had Shoko be his wing man on learning to be and also learn about your type. She was hesitant at fist but oh boy! Gojo was so hopelessly in love with you she kinda felt bad. Shoko adds. “She thinks older guy make her feel protected.”

Gojo huffs, his stomach churns with jealousy. “I’m literally the strongest…” who else would you need to feel protected?

To add on the fact that learning about him having no chance with you because of the year he was born — ‘Satoru was spawn killed.’ Geto would add— he and his classmates had forgotten to put up a veil during a mission which triggered Yaga’s, their teacher in charge, wrath.

Yaga takes in a deep breath“How many times do I have to tell you to put up a veil ?!”

Gojo really couldn’t careless as his teacher yaps away and probably neither did both of his two friends. He could see Geto nod at times as if acting like he was taking Yaga’s word to heart and with Shoko dozing off with her eyes open.

He does his best to fight back a yawn as something suddenly grabs his attention. You. His eyes trail to you ,who was a year senior to him, walking along the hallway, revealed by the long strip of windows between the classroom and hall. Gojo thinks you’re the loveliest piece of existence in the planet as you gently tug a piece of hair behind as you talk with Utahime.

Feeling a piercing gaze — or maybe it was Yaga’s shouts— you look over inside the class as meet your eyes with beautiful vibrant blue ones of your junior, Gojo Satoru’s.

When you give him a smile and a small wave, you weren’t expecting him to straight up beam at your direction and full on wave as if a kid would wave at an airplane passing by.

Of course this angered Yaga further as a nerve pops on his forehead and hands clenched. “Pay attention, Satoru!” He swings his fist at the boy.

The impact of his teacher’s fist on him sends him flying. If he weren’t such a good student he would have actually used his limitless to block such hits but alas— it may not look like it but he was. “Sensei—! Hitting your students should be against the law.”

He sees Geto sent him an amused smirk and Shoko,who finally woke up, trying to figure out what was happening and to his horror, you were giggling at him. Not many things can make Gojo feel embarrassed but his crush laughing at him when he got hit was one of it.

Yup-! That’s exactly what he needed; his crushing laughing as he gets beat up and lectured by his teacher. His day was going fan-tas-tic!

The day goes on with with the remaining classes. Evening classes were usually training so Shoko was in infirmary with Gojo and Geto on the training grounds but one thing bother Gojo was that the ‘hit’ from Yaga earlier did leave an impact. The back of his head a aching and even made him jump when Geto applied the slightest bit of pressure.

Call him dramatic but he didn’t want the ache to go on further so there he was on his way to the infirmary. He really needed Shoko to patch him up.

He slides the door open as he starts to complain. “Shoko heal me up. Yaga’s hit really did some damage on me”

“You’re hurt?”

Hearing a voice which wasn’t Shoko’s and with almost a magic like ability to make his heart race grabbed his attention. He turns to see you who was near the storage cabinet as if you were arranging something.

“I- uhh…” Suddenly his throat constricted and he couldn’t speak. His face heats up as you tilt your head waiting for an answer as he clears his throat. “Just a bit, y/n.”

“Shoko is out though. She got called to assist in a mission. ” You smile as you sit on a near by chair, pulling another chair beside.

You smile at him as you pat the chair beside yours indicating him to sit down there which makes him tense up slightly but he does as told. “Also you should be calling me ‘senpai’. Utahime-senpai was complaining that youth these days have no manner.”

You laugh. “Now tell me where you’re hurt.”

He sits beside you as he tilts his head and points at his sore spot. “Here.”

Gojo watches you raise your hand and inspect his heat, the places where your fingers grazes heats up which makes him gulp deeply. You laugh as you see a swelling on his head. “Wow- Sensei really did hit you hard…”

The white haired boy relaxes as he he feels the calming sensation on his head which means you were using your technique of healing him. “Does age really matter that much?”

You hum as if thinking through your answer. “Of course. Even a year older means you’ve been in this world for a year longer. That in itself is commendable enough.”

“I heard from Shoko that you like guys older…” Gojo says no longer trying to contain the jealousy in his voice. “Is it because of the same reason?”

Gojo watches your eyes widen and blink in confusion; he thinks any expression you make is so so adorable. You then proceed to giggle. “Just because I dated people who are older than me doesn’t mean I have a type.”

Damn that Shoko probably messed around with her wording. Gojo curses as the girl made it seem you would only date guys older than her.

“For example…” You hum as you bring your finger up to your lips. “Right now I like a guy who is younger than me who never respects his elder.”

Hearing her words, every restrain in his body breaks free and Gojo stands up from his seat ; before he knows it his lips are on yours. He hold your face in place, cupping both side of his cheeks.

Gojo kisses you. Your lips are softer than he imagined it to be and when you let out a small moan he deepens it, stronger and desperate as if trying to memorize every inch of you.

He brings one of his hands to the back of your head, as he runs his hands through your hair. His lips keep moving as if he had lost his mind; deep and urgent as if he couldn’t waste a single second.

Out of breath, he pulls away and looks at you who was breathing heavily and lips slightly plump from his desperate tugs and bites. He watches the same lips curl into a smile as you give him a teasing smile. “Also tell Shoko to quit being your wing man,Satoru. She isn’t quite subtle about it.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo imagine #gojo imagines #gojo satoru imagine #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jjk imagine #gojo Satoru x reader #gojo x y/n

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teatreeoill · 4 months

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Roommate!Sukuna who sits in the living room squinting his eyes at the letter he pulled out of the mailbox, trying to make out what it is the blurry words say because he would never admit how badly he needs glasses.

He watches you shuffle through the room on your way to the kitchen, stretching your arms, mind preoccupied with choosing what you want for dinner. “Come here.” Sukuna’s tone is always commanding, and although you’ve lived with the man for over a year, you would still roll your eyes at his lack of refinement.

“Don’t you mean ‘come here please’?” You decide to ignore his request as a punishment.

“No, I mean come here.” He retaliates.

You pity him a little as you watch him struggle with the piece of paper, changing your trajectory to shuffle yourself on the couch next to him, “Let me see that.” You grab the letter from his hands.

It’s just the electricity bill, you sigh. But it’s still good enough opportunity to mess with your stubborn roommate.

“Oh god,” you put on the best horrified expression you can manage while trying not to grin, “Did you pay the rent?”

“I thought it was your turn last month.” He furrows his brows, watching you pretend-read the tiny letters.

“My turn? I asked you to do it a thousand times!” You didn’t, “I can’t believe you forgot!” You hide your face in the palms of your hands in an attempt to suffocate your laughter, “It says -“ you fake-sniffle, “it says they’re evicting us!”

Sukuna’s eyes widen. He looks distraught, harshly grabbing the letter from your hands.

You can’t stop the fit of giggles that follows, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-“ You repeat through your laughter, “It’s a joke, it’s just the electric bill - now how about you get a pair of glasses, hard-head?”

“Shut it, brat.” He huffs.

Sukuna did get a pair of glasses after that, but still avoided wearing them when you were around - since every time you caught him putting on the black-rimmed frames you’d grin and say, “What’s on the syllabus today, professor?” Which made his face grow red like a pre-schooler׳s.

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #inspired by this one fanart in which sukuna wears glasses and oh MY GOODNESS #sukuna x reader #sukuna drabble #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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yasu-1234 · 2 months

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losing your virginity to suguru geto.

pairing: suguru geto x afab reader words: 3,600 contains: oral sex, virginity loss, fingering, and suguru talking you through it. mood: soft, sweet, and tender. author's note: this was one of my favorites to write and i thought i should share it here too! also, let's be friends (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

You wonder what’s so different about this one Sunday morning.

You wake up with Suguru’s body pressed against you from behind. His lean arms wrapped around your torso. His cheek is pressed against the back of your neck, breathing and snoring softly, deeply, down your shoulder. He holds you as he always does: firmly, as if he was carrying you, and yet gently, as if you were fragile.

This isn’t the first time you woke up in his apartment, and it’s not the first time he ever spooned you in your sleep. Yet somehow your body feels warmer than before. And your skin feels more sensitive to his touch. His sweet and woody scent is heavy and enveloping, lulling you into a dizzying state of comfort. Not quite asleep, but not quite lucid and awake.

You feel him shift from behind you. And you feel something press against the back of your thighs. Something hard and thick and warm. Your legs flinch and your heart starts beating faster as you realize what it was. Suguru wakes up from the slightest tremor in your body. He raises his head to look at you with bleary eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice still deep and gravely from sleep.

You turn your head to meet him and smile, “Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry to wake you up.”

He nearly melts at the way you’re nestled comfortably in his bed, in his arms. Your smile looks soft and pretty under the ray of sunlight pouring through the window. He hugs you tighter and nuzzles his face against your cheek, your neck. “I’m poking you aren’t I? Sorry.”

You blush and laugh softly, “It’s okay. It’s not like you can control it.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He points his hips away and lies his head back down the pillow. You feel your chest strain and your body ache from the loss of pressure and warmth. You pull his arms closer, tighter, around your torso like a blanket.

Suguru has always been so careful, so respectful. And so attuned with the ways your body reacts to him. He can feel the way your heart is pounding inside your chest as blood rushes from your heart to your skin, warming your entire body. He can hear the way your breath deepens as a strange sensation overcomes you. Heat. Desire. Lust.

Suguru nuzzles against your cheeks once again.

“Do you want it back?”

You lean towards his face, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yes.”

He turns his hips again to press his cock against you. Then he slides his leg in between yours. You didn’t even realize how badly you were aching for him, until he pressed his thigh against your cunt and relief washes over you. You hum in pleasure against the pillow.

“You need me don’t you?” he asks, as your thighs start squeezing and rutting his own, enjoying each pulse of pleasure against your clit.

You nod, biting your lip in anticipation.

“Okay,” he whispers. “We’ll take it slow, okay? You can tell me when to stop… when we’ll keep going…”

He starts moving his hips, grinding his cock languidly against your backside. You start rutting against his thigh in a similar rhythm. His fingers brush your hair to the back of your neck and start kissing an electrifying trail from under your ear to your collarbone, sniffing your scent as he goes. His lips are a bit dry from sleep, but you enjoy the contrast between the roughness of his lips and the softness of his kisses.

He pressed his hand firmly against your chest, grabbing a handful of your breast. Then it wanders down to your stomach, to your hips, to your thigh. It lingers under the hem of your shirt–his shirt. That you wear each time you sleep in his place. You take his wrist and pull it upwards, letting him touch your skin.

“I’m gonna raise your shirt. Is that okay? We’ll use the blanket if you’re cold,” he asks, with that smooth, gentle voice. As if his words are melting on his tongue.

“Okay,” you sigh. He reaches for the blanket pooled by your ankles and pulls it over you. Then he raises your shirt to your armpits and starts caressing your breasts. You shiver from the lightness of his touch.

“You’re so soft,” He sighs, rolling your breasts with a warm hand. He relishes the way your nipples shrivel in his fingertips. “So pretty…”

He pulls you gently by the shoulder, wanting you to face him. Your lips drift towards his. Suguru hums in approval, parting his lips to let your tongue meet him. He rolls over on top of you and lets the bare skin of your torsos press against each other, seeking comfort in the warmth and smoothness of your bodies.

Every kiss and every touch, even the scent of his skin, the taste of his tongue, and the small hums and groans from deep in his chest rushes straight down your spine and to your crotch. You pull away, forming a trail of saliva from your tongue to his. You look between his legs and notice his head peeking from under his waistband. The slit glistening with pre-cum.

“I wanna touch it,” you whisper.

“Please,” he replies, almost immediately. His voice is shaking now.

He takes your wrist and lets you fondle him over the fabric. His sweatpants barely cushion his massive length and girth. You caress him with a light and measuring touch. Sliding your hands up and down his hardening shaft, then cupping his balls, feeling how soft they are in the palm of your hand.

“What do you think?” He asks, smiling at the way you look at his crotch with lust-drunk eyes, your lips parted as you feel him. “Keep touching. Get used to the feeling.”

“It’s… thick,” you whisper with a mix of fear and hunger in your tone. Your hand sinks past his waistband, grabbing his shaft. His head drops down your neck with a hiss. His hips start to move, fucking your closed fist. His skin feels even smoother and thinner against your palm, textured slightly by the soft veins snaking underneath.

“I knew it,” he hisses between gritted teeth. “I knew your hand was gonna feel this good.”

He motions you to sit on your shin while he lies on his back. He pulls his sweatpants down to his thighs, exposing the thick cock laying heavily over his abs. He takes you by the wrist and wraps your hand around the shaft, just underneath the crown.

“Keep playing with it, baby. Make me feel good,” he mutters as he wraps his hand around your fist and starts jacking. Teaching you to his preferred rhythm and grip. “I know you can do it.”

You follow his instructions, gazing into his eyes as you gauge his reaction. His cheeks are flushed deep red, his eyes glazed over as he bites his lips and watch your hand slide up and down. He reaches towards your waistband and sinks his hand under your panties from behind.

You feel his finger slide between your lips.

“Aah!” You whimper and shudder. Your hand stops moving as he glides his finger back and forth against your slick cleft.

He wraps his free hand around yours once again and urges you to keep pumping.

“Try to concentrate,” he says with a gentle tone. “I’m just making sure you stay wet while you’re working on me.”

You nod try your goddamn best. But his fingers just feel so long, so smooth and slick, as he teases your bud with each languid stroke. You knew that Suguru had some experience, but it was only around now that you realized the depth of his skill. You start twitching and throbbing against his finger. Your thighs squeezing his hand to trap him in place.

“So sensitive. Have you ever touched yourself? At least once?” He asks, a playful smile on his face. He seems to be enjoying the way you struggle to stay upright and still.

“Of course I have,” you reply, pouting. “But it feels different when it’s you.”

“Oh yeah?” He smiles. “Do you think of me?”

You blush and look away. “I mean, who else do I think about?”

You feel his cock spasm in the palm of your hand. He chuckles softly.

“I think about you too. But this feels better than I imagined.”

He slides a second finger between your lips, now drawing circles on your aching clit. You grunt and whine. The ticklish sensation is too dull, too soft, to relieve the ache building between your legs. You look at him and notice that slight, mischievous slant on the corner of his mouth. He knows he’s torturing you. He’s relishing that starved look in your eyes.

Indignant, you bend down and give a soft lick on the tip of his cock.

“Fuck!” He grunts. His breathing grows heavier as you glide a soft tongue around and around the slit. “Hah… Holy shit.”

“Not so fun when you’re the one being teased, right?” You ask.

Suguru huffs and laughs.

“Are you kidding? I love it,” he replies. “Fuck me up, babe. Make a mess out of me. I wanna beg.”

You bite your lip and smile. Emboldened, you bend down and wrap your lips around the crown of his cock and start coating him with your mouth. Absorbing him, caressing him with your lips and tongue. Suguru groans low, his thighs nearly vibrating underneath your palm as he summons all of his will not to shoot his hips up and gag you with his length.

The taste of his dew drop reminds you of all things honeyed and sweet—ripe mangoes, fresh peach, a drop of caramel, enhanced by the delicate saltiness of his skin. His scent is warmer and smokier like burning wood. And somehow thick and sweet like amber. You dip your head down, wanting to taste more. You want to feel his veins against your tongue, his tip on the roof of your mouth, inching closer to the back of your throat. You suck him with eagerness and hunger that provokes his greed.

“Keep stroking me, baby. Suck the tip and stroke the rest,” he mumbles. “Stroke me while you suck me. Please.”

You wrap your hand around the base of his shaft and start sliding in tandem with your mouth. Suguru groans louder now. The balls of his feet digging and dragging against the mattress. His fingers circle harder on your clit, rewarding you with mutual pleasure.

"Mmph… " You hum as you start rutting against his fingers, and his cock nearly bursts from the vibrations in your throat.

“Oh God, wait. Baby–baby wait. Not so fast,” he gasps, grabbing you by the hair to keep you steady. But you move your head faster anyway, your hand tightening and swiveling around his shaft, wanting to drag him to the edge and lose all control.

“Okay–No–stop, stop, stop,” he pants, pulling you upwards by the scalp. He pries your mouth out of his cock with a wet smack. “Don't make me cum just yet. Not there.”

He sits up and slides you down the bed by the hip, pulling your crotch towards him. Suguru sinks between your legs and pulls your panties to the side, peeking like a chef with his pot. Not only have you soaked through the thin, lacy fabric, he can also see the way your clit and your folds flutter and quiver in anticipation. The feel of his heavy breathing alone is enough to make your hips jump.

“All this for me?” he teases. “I’m touched.”

You bite your thumb and grin towards him. Like a child about to be handed a new toy. Suguru pulls your panties off and starts kissing and nipping the inside of your thighs.

“My turn to take care of you, okay?” he asks, his lips seeking permission, hovering so close to your bud. And when you nod, he dives in. Suguru cycles through several techniques, trying to gauge which one you like best–a wide soft tongue, perhaps small precise licks, hard or soft suckling. And once he finds the right brain-blasting combo his mouth becomes relentless. He spreads your thighs and pins them unto the bed, giving him more access. You grasp, white-knuckled, the pillow underneath you. And you release a low, animalic grunt.

“I know, baby, I know,” he mutters before he dives once again. “Just keep feeling it. Feel good for me, baby. You need to be ready.”

“I am ready,” you plead. Every fiber of your muscle begs for release. Your hips begin to squirm away from him, trying to save your pussy from overstimulation. Suguru had to shift his hands and pin your hips down. “Please just-”

“Not yet,” he cuts off. He reaches upwards to hold two fingers near your mouth. “Spit.”

You look at him, bewildered. He commands you again.

“Spit.”

Reluctant, you gather saliva on your tongue and pour it down his fingers. Suguru sinks back down and starts teasing your entrance. Then he slides a finger. And another. Loosening you up with his lips around your clit.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, as he moves his fingers in and out.

You shake your head, “No. But it feels stretched. Right around the entrance.”

“You need to relax,” he murmurs. “Play with your tits for me, will you?”

You nod and slide your hand on the underside of your breasts, rolling them together, teasing your sensitive nipples. You watch Suguru work his lips and fingers on your core. His hair pooling between your legs. His eyes hazy with love and concentration as he makes a mess out of your cunt. Dribbling all the way down his wrist and chin. Eventually, the stretching sensation fades and you feel softer, more malleable, under his touch.

Suguru sits up and starts jacking his cock. His eyes wander over the flushed and dripping mess of flesh he made out of his own girlfriend. Panting as he imagines his cock driving straight inside you. He leans down and aims his tip between your legs. You flinch and look away in a sudden spike of nervousness.

“No, baby. Hey, look at me,” Suguru says with a soft, low, voice, tilting your face towards him. You look up and meet his gentle, earnest eyes. “I love you, okay? It’s just me. You know I won’t do anything to hurt you.”

He starts kissing your forehead, your lips, your neck, your shoulders. You try to focus on your breathing, drawing on every pleasurable sensation you’ve felt before this moment.

“It’s just a new feeling. You just have to get used to me. You just have to get used to feeling this part of your body.” he whispers, as he starts prodding you with the tip of his cock, coating himself with your fluids. “And once you’ve done it… you’ll crave it again.”

You nod, taking in his words. "Okay. I trust you."

"Good. Good girl."

You grit your teeth and whimper as you feel him enter. He thrusts into you inch-by-inch, pushing and withdrawing and stopping as necessary. It hurts. Then it doesn’t hurt. It’s uncomfortable, and then it’s not. You wrap your arms around him and pull him closer to your body, wanting to be crushed by his entire weight. While somehow wanting to push him away. While wanting to strangle him. While wanting to embrace him. To caress him. To scratch him.

He plunges into a place in your body you never realized was there. And more of him keeps coming and coming. Pushing towards an unknown depth you can never reach on your own. But it’s just him. It’s just Suguru. And you know that he’ll always treat you with unrelenting tenderness and soothing. He’ll never hurt you.

You dig your fingers on the back of his neck as you gaze into the ceiling with bleary eyes. Your head spins. You don’t know for how long you’ve been holding your breath. And if he hadn’t held you the way he did, perhaps your soul would have fallen backwards from your body.

“Yes, God, yes. Just take me, please,” he pleads as he kisses your neck. “I’m almost in…”

He leans down and takes your nipple in his mouth. The sudden prick of pleasure drives him further inside of you, all the way in, until he’s buried to the hilt with a long, satisfied groan. Your cunt clenches and quivers, plugged to the stomach by his girth, surprised that you managed to take this much of him.

“Do you feel that? That’s all of me,” he says, caressing your cheek with tender fingers, laughing softly in wonder. “We’re gonna make love. God, I love you.”

He laces his fingers between yours and kisses you deeply. And even the spaces between your fingers are sensitive to his touch.

"I love you too," you whimper. "I'm all yours."

Suguru’s hips start swiveling in circles against yours. Letting you get used to his length and girth. Then he rocks his hips back and forth in slow, shallow strokes. Fucking you with impossible gentleness. Measuring how fast and how hard he can go before you start to hurt again. Like you have all the time in the world. But you bury your face in his neck, biting his shoulder as you take more and more. Soon, you feel even looser, more comfortable, and the pleasure begins to overtake all else.

You start moving your hips in tandem with his.

“Yes, fuck,” he hisses against your neck. “That’s right baby, make love to me. Feel good with me.”

He picks up the pace, slamming his hips against you and nearly driving you towards the headboard. He’s stretching you again, his shaft slicing against your tight entrance. But Suguru angles his cock and jabs a spot underneath your belly that nearly makes you cry. You no longer mind the pain that’s so deliciously mixed with pleasure. And you notice that any coherent thought escapes you, and any words you want to say dies in your throat. You barely have enough air in your lungs to even moan his name. Or any strength in your arms and legs to keep clinging to him. So you simply lie there and feel him. Feel the way he thrusts and sinks into you. Feel his smooth hand on your waist. Feel his breath against your face as he rambles sweet degeneracy into your ear.

“You’re so tight. So fucking tight. Oh, you’re gonna milk me dry,” he mutters under his breath. “A good girl with a good pussy. I’m so fucking lucky.”

You feel the pleasure build from under your belly, on your clit, your nipples. And then you shatter. Your stomach tightens like a board and your body recoils as the pleasure overtakes you. White hot light bursts in front of your eyes and splatter into pinpricks of color. You scream and cry against the crook of his neck. Your pussy clamping around his cock. Suguru hooks his arm under your waist and thrusts even faster; eager to milk himself while you’re still wound up and tight from your orgasm. The pleasure starts to feel rawer, searing like an electric shock. A gradient from pleasure to pain.

“I know baby, I know, just bear with it. Just bear with it for me. I’m so close,” he grunts, face tight from euphoria. “I’m so close, please, let me cum.”

His jaw clenches and you feel a burst of warmth right inside of you. His hips stutter helplessly by the strength of his orgasm. And then it finally stops. He holds still. His hard grunts melt into soft moans and heavy breathing. Together, you hang onto that boneless, satisfied trance; your minds slipping into reverie. His cock stays buried inside of you for moments, but it feels like a part of you now. Even as he slowly pulls away you still feel him under your skin. The feeling of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the weight and thickness of his cock when it dwelled inside you, feels less of a vivid memory. And more of a phantom sensation that will linger for as long as you let it.

Suguru props himself with both elbows and gazes upon you with love and reverence. He plants a tender kiss on your lips.

“Thank you.”

You laugh weakly, “Thank you? ”

He nods. “Yes, thank you. For the memory, for the trust, for the love.”

Suguru brushes your hair away from your forehead and kisses you there. Letting his lips linger. Then you gaze at each other in euphoric wonder. You have melded with him in body and soul. In pleasure and love. Your skins are matted and slick with sweat, and you can feel his semen dripping down between your thighs; the light from the window bears down your heads like halos. You feel anointed and transformed. And your bodies now feel less like a mystery to yourselves and to each other. Everything has changed now. And your relationship with Suguru will never be the same. The memory of your lovemaking will lie in the undercurrent of your every interaction, now that he has untethered a craving inside your minds. That ever-present need to feel this sense of closeness once again.

Suguru nuzzles his face against yours. Holding your bodies completely still as you take a shared breath and bask in the intimacy, in the sacredness, of this moment.

thank you for giving this fanfic a chance! pls excuse me if the grammar, dialogue, choreography, and narration is awkward. english is not my first langauge and a lot of things get lost in translation inside my head. originally posted on ao3 art by m_mifmr on x

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xxsabitoxx · 6 months

Text

Sweet Girl~

Mentor Nanami x Fem Student Reader (early-mid 20s)

Warnings: descriptions of hand jobs, blow jobs, saliva...lots of drool, ball fondling, gagging, deep throating, Nanami walking you through it, Nanami throat fucking you, gagging, did I mention drooling? Pet names, dirty talk, praising, being aroused, getting impaled on a fat cock, creampies, breast sucking, its a lot of filth

Synopsis: Nanami is your mentor and you've finally convinced him to let you pleasure him. This is pure smut with literally NO plot

WORD COUNT: 4856

You stared at it with an apprehensive look, your thighs squeezing together as you sat on your folded legs. You weren’t sure how you would even go about getting your mouth around him, nevermind deep throating him like you desired to. “Nanamin…” you breathed out, pupils dilated as you roamed over the length of his cock. “Hmm?” the blonde hummed softly, reclined in his armchair as you knelt before him. “You…it’s so…”

You swallowed, unable to tear your eyes away from his weeping cock. “Big?” the sorcerer conducted for you, a smugness to his tone, one you didn’t expect. “...and thick.” you added in a near guttural tone, aching to trace every vein with your tongue. “You don’t have to take me in one go, sweet girl.” He murmured softly, trying not to show how much he was getting off on the hypnotic trance his cock had seemed to put you in.

“But…” you breathed out, watching a pretty bead of precum leak from his bulbous tip before sliding down his tanned length. “...But nothing, I don’t want you hurting yourself trying to please me.” Nanami’s hand came to grab your chin, gently pulling your gaze away from his cock so you could properly meet his eyes. You hadn’t even touched him yet, but you looked utterly fucked out. “Nanamin…” You used the name again, not missing the way his cock twitched in response.

“Show me how you like it… please… use my hand.” You pleaded with him, placing your hand on his bare thigh to encourage his decision. “Alright, sweet girl. I’ll show you how I like it.” He practically purred, the tone so sultry and almost felt foreign coming from his lips. Nanami grabbed your wrist carefully, wrapping your fingers around the shaft of his cock. He huffed out a bemused laugh when your fingers couldn’t wrap around him fully.

“Your hand is much smaller than mine, sweet girl.” There was a strain to his voice now, as if he too had fallen under the hypnotic daze you were in. “It’s okay… Nanamin just show me how to please you… I want to make you feel good.” Your lips were parted, still slick and slightly swollen from the intensity of the kisses he had given you only a few minutes prior. “Okay, okay, I will. So eager…” he cooed, warm hand still covering your own around his cock.

“Like this…” he added softly, guiding your fist up and down his length. “I like pressure…” he added with a small hum, squeezing his hand around yours to create enough pressure that his head nearly fell back. “Not too fast, but not to show.” the drag of your soft fingers along his cock had his throat constricting, your hand was a world of a difference when in comparison to his. It was smaller, it was softer, warmer, just a little gentler, and fuck did it glide perfectly.

“I like to play with the tip…” he mumbled, watching your lips part further when you mewled for him. He guided your fingers around the dull head of his cock, he let go for a moment to give you free reign. You took the initiative to massage the head gently, running your thumb along his slit and collecting the shiny precum that spilled from it. You enjoyed the groan that seemed to vibrate Nanami’s chest as you did so, more precum spilling from the tip as you toyed with him.

You let your mind wander, imagining Nanami after a long day of work stripping down to nothing and playing with his cock until he blew his load all over his fist and stomach. “Nanamin…” you breathed out, mind going even further. Maybe he humped his pillow, or maybe he even had some sex toys he used… the thoughts were driving you wild, encouraging you to be a little more bold with your exploration of his cock. “What is it, sweet girl?” he questioned you softly.

“How else have you gotten off?” You questioned softly, fighting off the urge to reach forward and lick along the column of his shaft. It was just as girthy as it was long, surely your jaw would kill after. That was, if you managed to get him in your mouth to begin with. “Oh? What an interesting question.” He groaned as your hand slid down his shaft again with no instruction, turned on by the fact that you were taking it from there. “I want to know how much of a perv my Nanamin is…”

You used your other hand to gently rest on his other thigh, your fist gliding up and down his heavy length. Your fingers were itching to cup his balls, needing to feel the weight of them on your palm, to feel how full they were. “Are you asking me if I’ve used toys?” He mused, getting a little more comfortable as your hand worked wonders on him. “Mmhmm. I want to know… no I need to know, Nanamin.” You batted your eyelashes at him, shameless in your pursuit to gain the knowledge you desired, cunt clenching around nothing at all.

You inhaled at the realization that the tantalizing cock before you had somewhere else it would need to fit. “You’re unrelenting…” the blonde groaned out as your hand slid back down his shaft. “No, I’ve never bought a pocket pussy if that’s what you’re asking me, sweet girl.” Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip at his crude wording, it sent heat straight through your body. “So you’re not all that adventurous, huh?” Your fingers returned to his tip, massaging again as your head slowly moved closer to him. Your intent was still to suck him off.

“Not using proper sex toys makes me unadventurous?” he countered you as his cheeks flushed pink, large hand gripping the armrest of his chair tightly as he watched your head move closer. “Proper? You’re saying you’ve used other things, Nanamin?” You smiled innocently at him before dragging your lips along his bare thigh. “Clever girl.” He praised you, his other hand coming up to cover the lower half of his face as you trailed your tongue along the tensing muscles of his thigh.

He wanted to touch you, fuck did he want to touch you so bad. But watching you move as you pleased, toy with his body as you pleased… he felt it would be wrong to interrupt you. You hummed in acknowledgement, cunt throbbing as you waited for him to explain. “I have a vibrator…” He admitted as his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red. You froze, leaving a wet mark on his inner thigh from where you had sucked a hickey. “You’ve used a vibrator?”

Nanami’s hand let go of the armchair, moving to rest on your cheek instead. “Do you think you can take my cock now, sweet girl? If you can, I’ll indulge you and your little perverted fantasies.” Any anxiety you had about trying to fit him in your mouth was gone, completely forgotten at the promise of the typically reserved man telling you about his alone time. You nod, pushing yourself up on your knees to hover over his tip. “Easy, sweet girl, I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Nanami’s hand was still on your cheek, thumb brushing along your cheekbone as you licked your lips. “Take it nice and slow, I promise I’ll tell you everything you want to hear.” You nodded, mouth opening to let saliva drip freely. You both watched as your spit fell onto the head of his cock, dribbling over the top and down his shaft. Your hand was still resting on the base of his cock, your saliva meeting where your hand was wrapped. “Good girl, nice and slow.”

Nanami encouraged you, his voice thick with lust as he watched you work. When you were satisfied with the amount of saliva on him, you began working your fist up and down his length. Nanami watched you jerk him off with a lazy smile, pleased to see that you had grown confident enough to take the lead. “You don’t have to take me all at once, just start with the head.” Nanami’s hand guided you lower, watching your tongue dart out to just barely ghost him.

Still, it was enough to have him exhaling shakily. “Good girl, kitten licks are perfect.” You felt hot all over at his praise, clinging to every word he spoke. You stopped hesitating after that, tongue moving to flatten against the underside of his cock. You locked eyes, body tingling at the thought of how lewd this must look. Nanami nodded slightly, lips parted and unable to speak as his chest rose and fell rapidly, all due to the soft, wet warmth of your tongue.

Nanami couldn’t recall the last time someone had gone down on him, and he was glad he didn’t because despite walking you through it, he felt like he was getting this done for the first time all over again. Though, it was probably second nature for him to guide you. You were always so excited to ask him for guidance, so eager to take his advice, full of the desire to please. You broke away first, eyes focusing on the crumbled blue of his dress shirt.

You moved your head up and down, gliding your tongue along the underside of his shaft until you could work up the courage to try and wrap your lips around his head. Nanami watched you, pupils blown wide as you stopped licking him, lips parted and hovering just above the weeping head of his cock. “Nanamin… you’re so big.” You were prolonging it, not because you were scared, but because you enjoyed the way his abdomen tensed each time you stopped.

“Thank you, sweet girl…” he murmured softly, biting his tongue and holding back the words he really wanted to speak. He wanted to feel your soft lips wrapping around his tip, your wet tongue on his cock. Fuck he wanted to feel your throat constrict around him. Nanami cleared his throat, cock twitching from his own thoughts. “Bet you’d feel so good…” you murmur again, eyes meeting his as you breath fanned over his wet tip. “Fuck…” Nanami choked out, he needed you.

“Please… sweet girl please… I need you…” he nearly dissolved into his seat, shocked those words had even left his lips. “You do?” a little lower now, your bottom lip pressing to the head of his cock as you looked at him through your lashes. “I do, so, so bad… I just need to feel your mouth.” Your tongue darted out to lick up his slit, listening to his breathing stutter as you did so. “I’ll try my best to make you proud, Nanamin~” you no longer felt any anxiety about making him fit.

Your jaw relaxed, lowering your head to wrap your lips around his head. Nanami groaned, deep and unrestrained as your cheeks hollowed. Your body felt electrified at the noises he made, cunt throbbing with need as your thighs pressed together. “G-good, just like that.” He encouraged you, trying to hold on to whatever composure he had left as you eagerly lowered your head more. Your jaw strained a bit, the urge to gag making your throat constrict but you managed to stave it off for the time being. You recovered easily, tongue dancing around what you could manage.

You had maybe one fourth of him between your lips, heavy on your tongue and slightly salty. He smelt good too, his natural musk making you whine around him. You wanted to take him all, but you knew you needed to pace yourself if you wanted it to be enjoyable for Nanami. “Good girl, you’re doing so good… bob your head a bit… like this.” You moaned as Nanami’s hands came up to cup your face, gingerly guiding your head up and down his shaft.

Your jaw slackened completely, eyes watering a bit as Nanami pushed a little more of his length into your mouth each time he dropped your head down. Drool was seeping down your chin, covering the rest of his shaft in your shiny saliva and making Nanami’s brain buzz with possessiveness. You looked so pretty with your mouth shoved full of his cock, eyes watery and lips swollen. “Good girl…so good… so fucking good… relax.” His head nearly fell back as he brought your head further down on him than he had previously.

You gagged, the noises sending vibrations straight through him. “Sorry… sorry fuck…” he tried to guide your head up but you refused, tears dripping down to his groin as you relaxed your throat and tried to take what was left of him. You were so close to your goal, you needed to feel his entire length down your throat. A strangled noise left Nanami’s lips as your nose brushed his pubic bone, scrunching slightly as blonde hair tickled you. Nanami felt suffocated, utterly transfixed on the fact that his entire cock had disappeared down your throat.

It made his mind melt, not a single thought passing through his head was coherent. You held yourself in place, taking shaky inhales through your nose as you swallowed around him. It made your stomach lurch, the mild fear of your airway being obstructed made you feel weightless. Reluctantly, you pulled up again, pulling off of his cock all together. You gasped for air, lips swollen and wet with your drool. “S-shi– are you okay?” A sheen of sweat had formed on Nananmi’s brow, his cock still standing proudly, covered in your shiny spit.

“Yeah…” You whispered, voice mildly hoarse already. “Do you need a break…?” Nanami’s face was flushed, cock weeping precum still. He hadn’t realized how close he was to coming until you stopped. “No…” was all you uttered as you moved to take him again. Nanami couldn't speak, every word dying on his lips as your mouth was back on his cock. “Oh…oh shit…just like that sweet girl… fuck your mouth takes me so well…” You glanced upwards, watching his throat bob as he tilted his head completely back. A low, guttural moan left his lips as you swallowed.

“You’re going to make me cum, sweet girl. Fuck you’re gonna make me cum so hard…” You whined at that, sending more vibrations down his length as your nose brushed his pubic bone again. Feeling bold, your head began to bob at a steady pace, nails raking his thigh while the other hand reached down to cup his balls. The sound he made was nothing short of animalistic, making your cunt clench around nothing at all as you fondled him.

“Gonna cum… sweet girl… fuck I’m gonna cum…” his jaw was clenched tight, one hand fisting your hair as he guided you up and down his cock. If your mouth wasn’t occupied, you’d be encouraging him to just let go. You were desperate, you needed to feel him cum in your mouth. So, you worked harder, hollowing your cheeks with every pass over his length, pushing your head up further with each go so you were nearly taking him whole over and over. Your fingers were massaging him gingerly, his balls felt hot and heavy in your grasp.

“Shit…oh fuck… fuck fuck…” Nanami’s tone was hoarse, those words leaving his lips in a steady mantra as you felt him start twitching in your mouth. You tried to encourage him by squeezing a little harder, eyes widening when a higher pitched whine left his lips. You repeated the motion, sinking your mouth all the way down as Nanami came hard down your throat. You swallowed eagerly, taking everything he had to offer you and not pulling away until you felt his body relax back into the seat. Carefully, you pulled off of him, shocked when he wasn’t softening.

“How was it?” you choked, wiping your mouth and slightly numb lips. Nanami, on the other hand, was still trying to blink the stars from his vision. “Nanamin?” you asked him again, blinking up at him with way too innocent eyes. “Na-na-min?” you teased him, pushing off your sore knees to stand before him now. “Earth to–” but he finally responded this time, hand running down his face before looking up at you with lidded eyes. All it took was a single movement, one finger beckoning you forward. “Sit on it, sweet girl… if you think you can take it.”

You blinked, lips opening and closing a few times but no words were coming out. “Are you still shy, sweet girl? C’mon, I’ll help you.” Nanami encouraged you, the teasing tone was still wrapped around each word but you could tell he was genuine. You nodded, moving to pull off your underwear, leaving your skirt and top on just to tease him. “Undress for me, sweet girl.” Nanami sighed, one hand pressed to his face as he watched you try and walk towards him. “Why is that, Nanamin?” You froze, hands tucking neatly behind your back as you tilted your head.

“You’ve seen all of me, sweet girl. It’s only fair that I get to see you…” he cooed, straightening again in the armchair as he waited for you to mount him. “I…” you trailed off, you couldn’t really deny him when he put it that way. “Fine, Nanamin…” but he cut you off with a click of his tongue. “Kento, sweet girl, call me Kento.” You felt your face grow warm, lips parting before quickly closing again. “O-okay, Kento.” You shifted your weight from foot to foot before giving in again “I’ll undress for you, since you asked so sweetly.” You teased with a grin.

The blonde watched, eyes following your hands as you easily undid your skirt and let it drop to the floor. Fully exposed to him now, you couldn’t help but feel warm all over as he took in the sight of your bare cunt. “Cmere…” he muttered as you moved to undo the buttons of your top. “Leave those for me…” He smiled at you despite the persistent throbbing between his legs. Despite coming once, Kento was still hard and eager to feel you. Only your cunt could offer him the relief he so desperately desired.

You moved forward again, this time climbing onto his lap and setting your weight against his thighs. You glanced down, his cock still erect and standing proudly between the two of you. “I got you really worked up, didn’t I, Kento?” he nodded, breathing stuttering at the sound of his name leaving your pretty lips. “You know just how to get to me, sweet girl.” You shivered as his hand came up to caress your cheek, the other nimbly began undoing your buttons. “Let me return the favor, you did so good for me, sweet girl.”

He motioned you towards him, lips meeting yours in a kiss that was far more gentle than any that he had bestowed upon you. Kento sucked your swollen bottom lip between his teeth, biting on it softly as he popped open yet another one of your buttons. Your hips were growing restless, the persistent throb and deep ache in your gut were making you impatient. “Kento…” you groaned, muffled by his lips. He only hummed, working another button open as your cunt just barely brushed his length. “Need you…” muffled again, but he understood.

Pulling away, Kento smiled at you. “Needy… so adorably needy. I haven’t even prepped you.” but you shook your head, mind cloudy as you uttered the next words. “Just take it slow, I’ll be okay… I need you Kento… can’t possibly wait any longer…” tears shone in your eyes and he knew he was a goner. There was no way he was denying you of what you so clearly needed. “Okay, okay… no need to cry sweet girl, I’ll take care of you… Nanamin will take care of you.” you shivered, hearing the nickname leave his lips made your own mind go blank.

“Lift your hips…” he commanded softly, all the while his hands were abandoning their previous tasks and moving down to grab your ass, supporting you as you moved up. “I’ll take it nice and slow for you, just say the word and I’ll stop.” Your lips were parted, breathing heavily as you gave him a delirious nod. “I need to hear your words.” He spoke softly, making sure your eyes were meeting his as he spoke. “Will you tell me to stop if it becomes too much?” Kento asked again, fingers thrumming against your ass as he waited. “Yes, I will. Promise, Kento.”

“That’s my good girl.” he cooed, watching your brows crease at his praise. Slowly, he started to lower you on his cock, pressing his head into your entrance slowly and studying the way your face morphed into surprise. “Shh, it’s okay…” one hand left your ass now, sneaking around the front of you to slip two fingers between your thighs. “You’re doing so good for me…” he whispered as he began to rub steady circles on your throbbing clit. The pain subsided a bit, a breathy moan slipping past your lips as you began setting yourself down on him even further.

Kento’s lips quivered, eyes moving down to watch where his cock was slowly but surely disappearing between your thighs. “So good… you’re taking me so good.” His fingers continued their rhythm, sending waves of arousal straight through your body as you finally settled into his lap. “F-fuck…Kento.” you whined, walls clenching and spasming around his length sporadically as you tried to adjust to his cock. “You’re doing so good, sweet girl.” His voice was thick, breathing just a little labored as he tried not to think too hard about how you were suffocating him.

“Just…just stay still for a few minutes okay…” Kento’s other hand left your ass and began popping open the last few buttons, watching your top fall open to reveal your bra. Kento wasted no time pulling down the front of your bra, groaning as your breasts spilled out for him. “So pretty…” he muttered more so to himself than you, eyes zeroing in on the pliant skin as he leaned forward. You couldn’t form a coherent thought as Kento’s lips wrapped around the pebbling skin of your nipple, paired with his fingers still toying with your clit and his cock stuffed inside of you.

“Kento… oh fuck Kento please…” your hips began moving on their own, head falling back as his teeth sunk into the tender flesh. Your hips moved half hazardously, not really in a position to be able to ride his cock the way you’d want to. Not that Kento cared, his fingers were growing slick with your arousal just as he was wetting your breasts with his saliva. Every sense was engulfed in you, that’s all he could ask for. He pulled away for air a moment later, tilting his head up to see you looking down on him. “Keep trying to ride me, sweet girl, it’s cute.”

You felt your face grow warm, eyes squeezing shut as your hips lost their barely there rhythm. “Oh, did I make you shy?” he hummed against your skin, littering your breasts with kisses as he used his free hand to try and guide your hips into some sort of rhythm again. “Answer me when I speak to you, I need to know you’re enjoying yourself…” You whined as he spoke, eyes opening slowly as you let him guide you into a steady but shallow rhythm. “I-You…yeah you made me sh-shy…” You choked out as he chuckled, pressing a chaste kiss to your sternum.

“Good, that's a good girl…” he murmured, feeling your walls twitch around him as he praised you. “You just love it when I praise you, don’t you?” Kento hummed yet again, tongue flattening against your breast as he never broke eye contact. “Y-yes…Kento.” You moaned as your orgasm built, the pressure in your gut intensifying as you began rocking your hips in time with his shallow movements. He was meeting you now, each barely there bounce was met with his hips leaving the chair to meet you. “I’d rather… fuck you on… a bed… ya know…”

He spoke in between the kisses he showered your chest with, a terrible time to really complain but he couldn’t care. “I always envisioned taking you on my bed, ya know, laid out nice and pretty for me, at my mercy… a chair limits our possibilities.” He sighed, rubbing your clit just a little quicker as your breathing turned more ragged, you were close. “You’re always so obedient in my fantasies…” he smirked as you let out a strangled whine “you thought I forgot about my promise, didn’t you?” you nodded, having completely forgotten Kento’s promise in the first place.

“I would never break my promise to you, Sweet girl. You wanted to h-hear about my fantasies, so I’ll tell you all about them while your pretty pussy suffocates my cock.” You felt like your bones had been liquified, every vulgar word he uttered made your body react. If you weren’t careful, you’d be coming and overstimulated in seconds. “T-the vibrator, Kento tell me about the vibrator you use…” You nearly squealed, the tension in your gut building until it nearly rendered you speechless. Every drag of his cock over your velvety walls felt like molten pleasure.

“Course you’re still hanging onto that, clever girl…” he kissed your chest again, smiling up at you before leaning back to give himself better leverage to thrust upwards. “The damn thing is pink, hot pink too. Never f-fails to remind me how fucking lonely I was.” He seethes, ears dark red as he reveals his darkest secret. “I use it just how you’d think, I drag i-it along the underside of my cock…” he inhales sharply as your hips jerk, orgasm nearly upon you. “When I’m really fucking lonely… fuck when all I could think about was your pussy…” you cut him off with a loud moan.

You were close, so close you were certain he wouldn’t get to finish his story before you were coming all over his throbbing length. “...You haunted my every thought, sweet girl… to the point only that hot pink fucking toy could get me off the way I wanted…” he was trying his hardest not come yet, needing to feel your orgasm completely untouched by his own. “Kento…close…” your hands found their way to his shoulders, hips bouncing harshly as you chased the high that was just within your reach. “Then come for me, sweet girl, I want to feel it.”

Your head shook, suddenly embarrassed at the fact that you were about to cum all over his cock. “Don’t get shy on me now, sweet girl.” His fingers tightened on your clit, smirking as your hips jerked erratically, your orgasm hitting you hard as your hips sunk completely onto his cock. Kento didn’t slow, fingers still toying with your clit as your walls stuck to him like a vice, spasming every time you took a labored breath. You couldn’t see, nevermind hear. Your vision was covered in spots as you tried to calm down, ears ringing loudly before you slumped forward.

Nanami huffed out a laugh, finally removing his fingers from your over stimulated and puffy clit. Both arms wrapped around your middle, his hips still moving in and out of you shallowly as he whispered you endless praise. “I’m gonna come, sweet girl, just another minute… won’t overstimulate you for too long…” his brows creased, focus crossing his face now that you were burying your own into the crook of his neck. He had been trying so hard to maintain an easy going look, not wanting to scare you during your first time together.

Kento mumbled praises to you, quieting your whimpers as his cock pressed into you one, two, three more times before coming to a stuttering halt. You shivered, feeling his sticky release spurt into you, painting your velvety walls in white, hot cum. “Good girl, my good, sweet girl… take it all, it’s all for you…” He babbled as he came down from his own high, settling you gently into his lap, length still buried inside of you. Silence fell over the two of you, saved for some labored breathing before finally calming down. You were the first to break the silence.

“D-did I do good for you, Kento?” his first name was still foreign on your tongue but you were quickly becoming addicted to the way it sounded. “Did you do good? You did amazing, sweet girl. Nothing… no one… will ever compare.” His endless praise set your heart on fire, face nuzzling closer to his sweaty skin before placing a few chaste kisses along his racing pulse. “I love you.” So soft you were shocked you even dared to say it, but Kento heard you, of course he did.

“I love you too, sweet girl… get some rest. I’ll take care of you. “

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