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chososdiscordkitten · 1 month

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Synopsis: Reader asking to watch Choso jack off ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: porn w/ feelings, established relationship, masturbation, spit, pussy job, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms (m), rough sex, cream pie

MDNI

You had developed an enjoyment of watching Choso. Watch him talk, watch him breathe—your eyes would always be glued onto him when he did anything. And that little glimmer in your eyes would go overlooked by him.

You liked watching him reach into a high cupboard, the edge of his shirt revealing his hip in the slightest. Or when he would talk- most of the time, the words would be spoken, but your ears would hear them without registering in your mind.

You would only pay attention to his expression- his eyebrows furrowing with a sudden severity in his tone. Or when his eyes would spark in the slightest when you would agree mindlessly to what he was saying.

Usually, your face showed what you were thinking. Giving hints to what raced through your mind. And any hints your low eyes provided, or every half smirk that formed on your lips, Choso wouldn't acknowledge them.

Only Choso never could tell what you were thinking. Even if your expression should have told him all he needed to know. He never knew why you would look at him like that- or what it meant.

And when he asked you;

"Why do you look at me like that?" snapping you from the cloud of filth you would picture as he talked.

You only replied with an earnest smile, "I just like lookin' at you."

And Choso stayed with that idea- whenever he would see your gaze darken, he would remember what you said. Almost endearingly scanning the look on your face, as though your lowered eyes and lightly flushed skin meant that you were only looking. And nothing more.

So when the topic of masturbation came up- something about how he only does it when he knows you're too tired or when he didn't want to bother you. You couldn't help but ask him, "Can I watch?"

He looked off the side- furrowed eyebrows, unknowing why you'd want to watch him do such a menial thing- everyone does it, right? It's not some marvel and you gained no pleasure from it physically. But then he remembered what you told him.

'I just like looking at you.'

A few days had passed since that conversation- too embarrassed to tell you when he would do it- and ask if you wanted to watch. It almost felt like he was admitting that he wanted you to watch. Even if you were the one who told Choso you wanted to- coming to you and saying the words. It felt too filthy- even for him.

You had been catching up on school assignments for most of that day. Sitting on the couch of your shared apartment with a furrowed brow. Unaware of what Choso was concocting in his mind as you read through the work.

He had been working up the courage to ask you since the morning, along with thinking up a way to say the actual words. He mostly looked at you with sad puppy eyes, hoping you would look at him and know what he wanted.

All but begging for you to read his mind, just so he wouldn't have to say it.

Slowly walking past you with his eyes locked onto your expression, hoping you would look up and see the pleading look he held.

And when he sat on the other end of the couch, the ache in his sweats was too unbearable to continue waiting for you to pay heed to what he wanted.

Your focused gaze unmoved from the words splayed onto your screen, he called your name. Barely considered a whisper and with a sprinkle of a whiny tone- as though it was your fault he couldn't admit what he wanted.

Looking up from your screen- "Yes?" you spoke. Your tone was far too kind and tolerant for what he was about to ask of you.

"You remember when you." he looked away from your gaze, "When you asked if you could watch-" you raised your eyebrows- eager to hear how he would phrase it. "If you could watch, me." Bells ringing in your brain as he spoke.

"Watch you?" you asked- playing coy to what Choso tried insinuating. Looking down at your screen again and hearing a light sigh as he shifted on the other end of the couch.

Choso clenched his teeth- already flustered from what he was expected to say. "...Jack off?" he mumbled, facing away from you in shame.

You flashed your eyes back to him, seeing his ears flushed with a light blush. "Yes, I remember." You closed the screen of your computer, lightly tilting your head and awaiting his response.

"I was about to-"

You couldn't help the light grin that rose on your lips. "You want me to watch you?" spoken with a hint of tease as Choso tensed his shoulders at the words.

Still looking away from you- lightly nodding his head up and down. "I wanna hear you say it." You tapped him lightly with your foot- urging him to hurry.

"I would like you to watch me—" he inhaled, "Jack off." He turned over to you. You, holding the very same expression that would look back at him when he spoke most times.

And as you instructed him to go on as he normally would- "Pay me no mind." you grinned. Taking his shirt off before he eased onto his side of the bed, avoidant eyes and nerves spasming in his sweats.

Choso sat up halfway, his shoulders flush against the wall, his legs extended, hands planted on either side of his hips as he looked at you.

You sat at the foot of the bed, legs crisscrossed and waiting for him to start. Soaking in the sight of him- carved torso and blushy expression on his face.

As Choso flashed his eyes to yours- some kind of way of asking if he could start. You only raised your eyebrows, urging him to go on. He lightly gulped, placing his hands on the band of his sweats.

Lightly wincing when he pulled his firm cock from them- bordering on a purple hue on his tip, clear tears of his precum falling from his neglected cockhead, and his shaft lightly twitching against the sudden hit of air.

It looked pained, and based on his expression- bordering on dizzy as he took a few breaths in, he had been this way for a while. "Were you like this the whole time?" you muttered, watching his head lightly nod.

"Didn't know how to ask you." he spoke softly, tone bordering on a whimper and placing a hand onto his base. Tingles forming on his cheeks and falling down his broad shoulders.

You watched with intense eyes- his lips parting in a soft sigh as he slowly stroked himself. Choso's grip was light- some attempt to not cum as soon as he started. His body buzzed with shivers of exhilaration and timidity.

Soft sighs took the shape of low moans as your eyes made work of blinking down to his pretty cock.

Surrounded by his hand and stroking lightly. Building himself up as his eyes closed, looking at the curve of his neck. The adams apple in his throat bobbing with every light breath he took. Tipping his head back onto the wall with parted lips.

"You don't watch anything?" eyes filled with amazement, and your panties starting to soil as you watched his hand take on a tighter grip. Choso nodded his head 'no'- a little sigh leaving his lips with the upturn of a whimper.

Choso's chest lightly caved with an exhale, "I jus' think about you." he muttered, words he spoke without filter. Your cunt spasming at the declaration, making you consider forgetting this idea of just watching- wanting to give him more than your gaze in gratitude.

But the sound of a choked whimper leaving his throat snapped you from that thought- his hand taking on a slightly faster pace as his other fisted the sheets. Watching his hand smear beads of precum down his shaft and back up again.

You leaned over in the slightest- watching his hand start to lose its easy glide when he began. Somewhere in Choso's mind, he had thought you abandoned the idea of just watching as you tucked hair behind your ears. Looking down at his cock with a whimper, all but asking you to help him.

Collecting as much saliva you could on your tongue, lightly bending over, and allowing a fat glob to slip from your lips. The ache between your thighs becoming more and more apparent with every passing second.

A light huff in the shape of your name left his throat- his hand taking a faster pace from the action. Choso's tummy clenched in the slightest as he felt the start of his orgasm pool, smearing your spit with his pre in urgency.

His eyes scanned your expression- the same one you held when he would speak, only this time, he knew why you were looking at him like that.

And the slight shame of how good it felt to have you watch him with that look in your eyes- having you spit on him- made it all the more easier for his eyes to close. Huffing your name as though it was you who was stroking him.

Low eyes watching with your hands threatening to replace Choso's as his chest rose and fell in sync with his quick strokes.

His lips hung open in a silent moan- abdomen spasming as his tip oozed pearly tears onto his tummy. His shoulders shivered as he continued his hand's strides, slower and with a lighter grasp.

Working himself down from the orgasm that soiled his skin, the back of his hand falling onto the bed. Even if his breathing and expression seemed satisfied with one orgasm- his cock told you he wanted another.

Hard and twitching against his abs. At that moment- you lost the idea of sitting on the sidelines and rose to your knees. Watching Choso's expression steady with every deep breath he took. Slipping off your panties and scooching closer to him.

You planted one leg over his hip, hoovering directly above his laid cock and looking at his eyes blink up at you. The smile on your lips churning with intent as you placed your hands onto his shoulders.

Choso's made haste in landing on your upper thighs, delighted you abandoned the idea.

Kneading the plush skin in his hands as you lowered your cunt onto his shaft, trapping his cock between his carved tummy and your cunt. A soft sigh leaving your lips at the contact. Using your own slick mixed with his spend and pre, you slowly slid back and forth on his shaft- soaking in the expression he wore at the stimulation.

Leaning in with a soft whine and relishing the feeling of his lips against yours- slowly frotting your cunt back and forth against his cock. Similar to how he was stroking himself. But nowhere near as warm nor as slick as your core felt.

Your puffy clit brushing against his tip with every grind your hips made. Huffing heavily as one of Choso's hands slid beneath the band of your hoodie. His touch searing against your skin.

Your hands on his shoulders moving onto the side of his neck, bracing as your tongue slid against his.

Messy and uncaring teeth clashing against each other, proving to you, that the absence of your cunt swallowing his cock, frustrated him far more than it did you.

The hand on your thigh assisting in your slow glides, the one roaming beneath your hoodie cupping your breast.

Fervor and urgency filling every moan Choso's lips rumbled onto yours- his hold on your hip tightening to guide you into a quicker pace.

You pulled away from him, unable to withstand the heat boiling beneath your skin as your hands slipped off your hoodie. Tossing it aside, uncaring where it landed.

Choso's hand made contact with your breast again, a light groan leaving his lips as you connected your lips with his. His orgasm building again in his tummy. His grasp against your breast turning desperate- bordering on overstimulation as you slid against him.

You pulled away from him, looking into his hazy eyes, and raised yourself forward. His cock following your cunt as you felt his twitchy tip brush against your entrance. You huffed a flushed smile- lowering yourself onto his cockhead with a shared whimper.

Choso's hand trailing back down to your hip- whimpering at your walls sucking him in. Lips brushing against each other- not even trying to connect them, knowing it would be cut short as his tip nuzzled against your sweet spot.

And when his cock filled you to the hilt- you slowly started grinding. Ignoring the light sting from the stretch and watching his eyebrows knit, his lips parted in a drawn-out breath.

The urge in Choso's hips was unable to be still, causing him to place his hands on your waist, holding you still as he started rutting up into you at a quicker speed. Your hands gripping the back of his head, lightly tugging on his hair as he thrusts into you without a pattern.

You closed the little space held between your lips and his, callously slotting your tongue against his as he nudged into your sweet spot with every grind.

Choso trailed his hands a little higher on your waist, guiding you to tip onto your side- rolling onto your back with Choso's knees bent on the bed. Leaving him atop you with your thighs beside his hips.

Slipping his sweats lower on his thighs as he pulled back from your cunt- sliding back into you as he desperately wanted to when he was beneath you.

One strong hand on your thigh as he rolled his hips against you, moaning shamelessly into the air as the other planted onto your tummy with his thumb on your clit. Watching your face churn with small circles drawn against the sensitive bud.

The crude slapping of his balls against your ass, breaking up the joined whimpers that left your lips and his.

Your back arching against the sheets as he thrusts into you- so desperate for just one more as his hand on your thigh hooked behind your knee and started applying pressure.

Your pinned thigh gave his cock a better angle to mistreat your gspot with every rough thrust. Fever-filled eyes struggling to stay open with his hips taking on a furious pace- his lips mumbling words muffled by pretty whimpers.

Choso's face was adorned with the lightest sheen of sweat on his airline, furrowed eyebrows, and clenched teeth as he had his way with you.

His thumb rubbed harsher circles- so fucking eager to finish together as your moans drew clearer. Threats that he was close spoken in broken mutters- a breathy string of moans leaving your lips in response.

Air being knocked from your lungs with every mean thrust against your thighs- and with one guttural groan leaving his clenched teeth, Choso spilled his thick seed into your cunt.

His movements with his thumb refused to stop as the fulfillment of his spend pushed you over the edge.

Walls twitching around him as he slowed his thrusts, fucking his seed further into your as your breathing steadied. Choso's tired eyes looked down at you with a heaving chest- his back unable to keep his posture as he eased himself down onto you.

Pressing his ear against your collarbone and easing his hold on your leg. Allowing your thighs to press against his hips, arms instinctively thralling over his shoulders, a sigh laced with a moan leaving his lips.

Choso's softening cock twitched inside of you with every after-orgasm tremble that shook in his shoulders.

"So much," he huffed heavily, swallowing lightly. "-for just watching." he smiled, closing his eyes against your chest and feeling a half laugh rumble against his profile.

The realization of that expression you held while looking at him most of the time— meant pure filth. He hazily thought back to every time you looked at him with bedroom eyes and smiled to himself.

(a.n) tarde pero sin sueno, start of Choso week hehe

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sunkeji · 1 month

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Gojo is the type of guy who when you say you have a crush and it isn't him, falls to his knees and starts sobbing. His emotional support crew will have to do their usual support-ing during this time.

He's also the type of guy to say "we're dating but they just don't know it yet" and then gets sulky when you treat him like every other hoe (his words).

And if you say you like a sanrio or some other cute character, the next day he's pulling up with a cinnamonroll phone case and kuromi t-shirt. Nevermind the odd stares he's getting, He only cares if you're the one looking.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x reader imagines #jjk x reader drabbles #satoru gojo x reader headcanons #gojo x reader fluff #gojo x reader imagines

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teatreeoilll · 2 months

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Megumi has a diary. It's not like he calls it a diary - it's a journal, he thinks, as if it makes it somehow less embarrassing. He's got a lot of thoughts, so what the hell's he supposed to do with them?

And as always happens to diaries, it gets discovered by the last person he wished to find it. You looked through the leather-bound journal with guilt tugging on your chest, but your lips still curled up mischievously. It started out journal-y; what he did on a particular day, what he saw, a picture of the sky, a newspaper cut out. But the further you go in, you notice changes. Sentences now start with "I thought," and a few tens of pages in, they begin with "I felt."

Then, the most significant change - your name. It's all still informative at first, "Gojo introduced (Name) today. I don't know her cursed technique, but he seemed excited. I assume it's something interesting."

"(Name) seems nice. Itadori says he likes her, but he's the kind to like everyone."

You hear footsteps down the hall. You flip the pages quicker, trying to get to the more recent parts, your heartbeat deafening your ears from the fear of potentially being caught, but it's not enough of a threat to make you put the diary back in Megumi's bedside drawer.

"Itadori says I should ask (Name) out and that I blush when I see her. I don't think he knows what the hell he's - " And your reading gets cut off by the door knob twisting.

You fumble towards the bedside table but don't make it in time. Megumi's eyes narrow when he stands at the doorway, looking at you perched on his bed with the black leather diary still in the firm grasp of your fingers, "Did you read my journal?"

"I - uhm - "

"Can't leave you alone for five minutes," He sighs, reaching a hand to rub at his temple.

"I think Itadori's right," you smile, putting the journal on the bed, "You should definitely ask me out."

"What are you talking about?" Megumi puzzles, "We've been dating for three months."

"Well - yes, but I was the one who had to ask you out. So don't you think it's fair?"

"Alright, alright," Megumi sighs, closing the door behind him, "Will you go out with me?"

"I don't know, I'll have to think about it," you muse, bursting into a laugh when you see his exasperated expression.

"Why don't you think about it while you get dressed? We'll be late to the movie," he groans, tucking the diary away into the drawer.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #megumi x reader #megumi x you #megumi x y/n #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi fushiguro x you #fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x you #fushiguro x y/n #megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro x y/n #jjk x reader fluff #jjk x reader imagines #jjk drabbles

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roscgcld · 5 months

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DAYDREAMING!READER || so embarassing...

request: hi ! wondering how dd!reader somehow got drunk from a party and yuuta is protective of her (idk if they're old enough to drink but oh well - or yuuta would even let dd!reader drink) hehe~

note: my first bit of writing after being away for months! i am not really sure how things will go from here on out, since it really has been a hot minute since i’ve written anything. but i am hoping to be able to get back into the swing of things soon! xoxo

pronouns: she/her

!disclaimer! - mentions of alcohol and underaged drinking

daydreaming!reader masterlist | buy me a coffee?

“A party?”

Dark-blue eyes scanned over the ornate card that fell out from his morning mail, taking in the intricately written characters on the cream page. An engagement party between two smaller, but still influential clans, is to happen over the upcoming weekend. The newly engaged couple were a looker for sure, but Yuta wouldn’t put it past them to only be engaged for bloodline purposes. “Why would I even be invited to something like this?”

Still muttering to himself Yuta glanced away from the card onto the calendar that was on his wall to check his schedule. His eyes however would always drift from his messy calendar to the brightly decorated photobooth picture of himself and Y/N. and immediately, a smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Right, he is in a relationship with someone who was once the most sought after bachelorettes; and with his distant but constantly talked about (thanks, Gojo Satoru for not being able to keep his mouth shut when it comes to talking about his beloved students) connection to the Gojo clan, it was no wonder he gets invites to high profile parties.

Still - that doesn’t mean he wants to be. “I wonder if Y/N wants to skip this one or not..”

He got his answer not long after opening that invitation; and that is how he found himself scrolling mindlessly on his phone as he waits for Y/N to model another dress in a store that she had called in advance to shop in. Before this he had picked up his dry-cleaned suit, and after making sure it was ‘on theme’ with whatever dress Y/N has in mind, he was dragged into the dress store he is in right now. All in her quest to ‘find the perfect dress’.

“Okay, how about this?,” The sound of a familiar voice brought Yuta out of his mindless scrolling as he glances up; his eyes immediately landing on a pair of bright doe eyes looking at him expectantly. The dress Y/N had on was one was definitely one of his favourites - a soft swirl of reds, yellows, and creams over a simple spaghetti-strapped dress that ends around her knees. It hugged her figure well, yet being loose enough where it doesn’t seem like it’s about to break open if she chooses to take another piece of chocolate cake from the dessert table. “I think this is one of my favourites so far.”

Y/N huffs and puffs her cheeks out a little in thought as she spun around to check the length of the dress from the back; her mind seeming to wander as she gently runs her hands down the smooth fabric. “I like it too,” Y/N states finally as she meets Yuta’s eyes through the mirror, a smile tugging over her pretty features that had Yuta’s cheeks warming up from embarrassment. Now why is he still getting embarrassed whenever she smiles at him? “I think I am going to get it.”

“A good choice,” Yuta somehow replies back with ease as he watches her skip back to the dressing room, a soft chuckle leaving his chest at how adorable she looks. He was sure if he squinted hard enough he’d see happy cat ears on the top of her head wiggling in excitement, all because Yuta agreed with her on the dress. Yuta wasn’t too sure why Y/N would want his opinion, since he found everything she wore beautiful.

But this was also an excuse for him to spend more time with her, so he wasn’t complaining too much.

It didn’t take too long after that for them to be out of the store, Y/N waving at the saleswoman while Yuta held onto her hand and the bags over his shoulder along with his suit. “Should we be getting a gift for the new couple?,” Yuta asks Y/N curiously as they got onto the elevator to make their way towards another store to continue their shopping spree. “It would be bad if we showed up empty-handed.”

“A lil’,” Y/N admits as she looks up at Yuta, resting her cheek against his shoulder as he raises an eyebrow in response. “Usually ‘tosan would pick up an expensive bottle of sake. You know, those brands that are made by old families with old techniques,” Y/N continues as she leads Yuta off to a shoe store so she can browse for some heels. “I doubt we can get alcohol at our age...maybe something more useful? Like a toaster oven - everyone needs a toaster oven.”

The shopping day passed and before Yuta knew it, the engagement party day was upon them. Yuta and Y/N had decided to get that toaster oven that he had suggested at the mall, so they left their perfectly wrapped giftbox on the overflowing table at the entrance of the party before they made their way deeper into the ballroom. Y/N had immediately led them towards her parents, who greeted the teen couple with warm smiles and hugs.. “How has school been, you two?”

After some catching up Y/N and Yuta started to mingle with the others, slowly making their way towards the young couple to share their well wishes. The young man, Ida, and Yuta both hit it ofg; talking about a video game series they were both into as Y/N and the girl, Iori, fawned over the dress Y/N was wearing.

“Oh - how rude of me,” Ida comments after a few more moments, giving Yuta a kind smile as Yuta gave him a curious glance. The young man gestures for a server over, and Yuta’s eyes immediately caught onto the familiar wide-mouth glasses. As both him and Y/N were handed a glass each, Yuta leaned down to take a snip of the clear liquid and immediately caught onto the familiar scent of sake. “I know we aren’t supposed to be drinking until we’re of age..but what is a celebration without some alcohol? Of course, you do not have to if you don’t want to.”

Now Yuta is not dumb; although the laws are strict, it wasn’t uncommon for people to drink under the age of 20. Even more so when you come from a noble household; alcohol and politics tend to come hand in hand. And he wouldn’t lie and claim to be a saint either - he’s joined in on Yuji and Maki’s drinking sessions in their dorms as they played a few rounds of poker. It was through those experiences that he realises that he has quite the tolerance.

So he wouldn’t be opposed to taking a shot of two; but what he is worried about is Y/N. Who, now known to everyone, has little to no tolerance for alcohol. However, the few seconds he had taken to stare at the small ceramic cup and look over at his girlfriend, Y/N had already tipped head head back and drank half of her sake. Immediately he stared at her with wide eyes as she made a face at the taste of the alcohol, yet she put on a smile without missing a beat as Iori giggles and takes a more appropriate sip from her cup.

Since it would look odd if he didn’t do the same he took a careful sip as well, enjoying the distinctly nutty taste of the drink as he wraps his free arm around Y/N’s waist. “As much as I don’t want to be a party pooper, I do feel a little bad drinking below the age limit,” Yuta admits with a chuckle, wordlessly taking a glass of juice when a server passes by; handing it off to Y/N as she carefully finishes the rest of her sake so she can hold the glass of juice. The speed with which she did it had Yuta cringing ever so slightly in concern. “Plus, I am not sure if it is a good idea to return to campus drunk...”

“Ah, right! You and Y/N-san are both enrolled in Tokyo branch of Jujutsu Tech,” Ida commented with sparkling eyes, looking very interested at the idea of the school as Iori rolled her eyes fondly at her fiancé. Probably a conversation she has heard one too many times. “I am a little jealous. I’ve always wanted to enrol myself, since getting to work with fellow jujutsu practitioners my age may do me some good. But alas, I didn’t manage to pass the entrance exams myself. It would be great if you’d share some tips!”

‘Oh - uh..I can try?”

And just like that Yuta found himself talking to Ida about college, in between the splendour of other grand sorcerers and influential families around them rubbing shoulders. It is during this conversation that both himself and Y/N, due to the fact that they were just standing to the new couple, were offered a few drinks by the other party goers. No one seems to care about the fact that they were all underaged, nor the fact that giving them what seems to be unlimited amounts of alcohol to people their age can be quite an issue.

And unfortunately for the both of them, both Y/N and himself are people pleasers at heart; so every time they were handed a drink, they do not have it in them to say no. The difference however, is that Yuta can handle his drinks - Y/N, on the other hand...well, about two more glasses of champagne in and she was already giggly and seeming to be swaying on her feet. Immediately Yuta had his arm around her, calling over a server to bring him a glass of water quickly. “Alright, princess - that’s the end for you.”

“But whyy?,” Y/N lets out a whine as she stumbles into Yuta’s chest, giving him drunken puppy eyes that seem to work better than her sober ones. Maybe it was paired with how clingy she seems to get, pouting sadly like a scorned puppy as she seemingly tries to bury herself into his skin. But Yuta immediately felt his heart skip a beat as he stares down at the obviously intoxicated Y/N; who seems to have decided that she did not want to interact with anyone else, and want Yuta’s full attention on her and her only. “Y-Yuta~..”

“Hush,” Yuta mumbles with a soft chuckle as he thanked the waiter who handed him the glass of ice water, holding it up to her lips as Y/N whines and turns her head away from the chilled glass sluggishly. “Come on - don’t do this to me now,” Yuta said with a soft groan as he stills the pouty girl, coaxing her to drink from the glass slowly as Ida gave the couple an amused glance.

Yuta removed the cup after she took a few gulps, rubbing the small of her back as she rests her head on his shoulder with a huff. “You have quite the handful there,” Ida said with a chuckle, his words causing Yuta to let out a tensed chuckle as he gently strokes at Y/N’s waist. “Nothing new then,” Yuta replies back with ease just as a pair of footsteps made their way towards them, a familiar low whistle following soon after.

“Damn, the only day you two are allowed out and you guys are really making the most out of it.”

Yuta wasn’t surprised that his white-haired sensei was at the party - after all, it was an honour to have the most powerful sorcerer mingling amongst their guests. However, Yuta has a feeling that Gojo had only agreed because he had seen who had RSVP for the occasion. “As the responsible sensei that I am, I should be reporting you two to Yaga for breaking the rules.”

“G-Gojo-sensei!~,” Y/N greeted through a hiccup, forcing herself out of the warm hold Yuta had on her and stumble her way to the tall man with a giggle. Gojo, used to the antics of drunken people, casually opened his arms to catch his giggling student. His touch was respectful yet firm as he carefully glanced over Y/N’s face, shaking his head even as he carefully rests his hands on her shoulders. “Having fun, young lady?”

A drunken nod and giggle left Y/N’s lips as Yuta gave Gojo an unamused glance, handing the white haired man the glass of water Y/N was sipping on moments before. Gojo, not new to this rodeo, wordlessly grabbed the glass and had Y/N drinking from it with ease. Or more so he had a grip on the back of her neck to hold her in place as he carefully tilts the glass against her mouth so she can sip at it carefully. “How many did she have to drink?”

“From what I remember, the sake and some champagne. I drank the others,” Yuta said with a stressed sigh as he runs a hand through his hair, not noticing the guilty look Iori was sporting. Gojo noticed however, and just one simple glance at the younger girl had her shrinking behind her fiancé's shoulders. “W-Well...we may have had a shot or two of soju..”

“Who the hell is serving soju?,” Yuta asks in a clearly defeated tone, to which Ida just chuckles softly and gently pats him on the shoulder as a form of support. “Probably some of the other younger guests here. You can bring your own drinks in and have them with people,” Ida admits with an awkward cough before he gestures for someone to come over, giving Yuta a reassuring smile when the clearly stressed teen gives him a desperate glance in return. “We will prepare a room for you two to rest up first. Just give the staff a call and they will prepare a car as well. A simple gesture for dealing with my ramblings about college on what was supposed to be your off day after all.”

Yuta was relieved - at least he would be able to sit Y/N down and let her sleep the alcohol off for a bit before even attempting to make their way back to campus. So, with the help of Gojo, they managed to guide the clearly whiny and stumbling Y/N towards the back where there was a room prepared for them without arousing the stares of the other party goers around them. “Yuta, I thought you were more responsible than this.”

“You know her and her alcohol,” Yuta grunts as he kicks his dress shoes off messily, giving one of the maids a thankful look when she quietly states that she will bring more water for them. Ignoring the tsk that came out of Gojo, he leaves the man be to balancing a giggling Y/N as he bends down to unbuckle her heels. Catching onto her ankle so she does not kick his nose clean off his face once he managed to get the first one undone. “I *hic* c-can d- *hic* do it myself..”

“No, you can’t,” Yuta grunts as he managed to get her heel off before carefully setting her foot down, Gojo letting out a sudden grunt when she seemed to have stumble straight into his chest from that alone. Yet Yuta didn’t bat an eye as he quickly takes her other shoe off, taking the step up into the tatami covered floor leading into the room. “Alright, I can grab her from here. Can you go and lay some cushions together, sensei?”

“On it,” Gojo hums as he takes his dress shoes off with ease before he made his way into the room, where a maid was carefully laying out a mattress and some pillows for Y/N to rest on. “Alright princess, hands on my shoulders,” Yuta hums as he held onto Y/N’s waist, guiding her to take the step into the room before he carefully led her towards the makeshift bed pressed up against the wall. “And down you go.”

Y/N huffs out a giggle as she was sat on the mattress, giving Yuta a wide smile as he stares down at her with a blank look on his face. He was definitely not impressed at how mischievous she is being. “Do not even start with me,” Yuta sighs out before he waves Gojo off, since the older man knows that Y/N was going to get an earful. So all he did was wave at them with a cheeky smile of his own as he walked out of the private room, closing the sliding doors behind him to provide the couple with some privacy. “We’ve talked about taking drinks without thinking, Y/N.”

“Y-You’re not my d-dad!,” Y/N whines out with a huff as she crosses her arms over her chest with a pout, looking like a scorned kid with her sleepy eyes as she looks away from her brooding boyfriend. Yuta sighs and closes his eyes in defeat, quietly squatting down in front of her after shrugging his suit jacket off. “What am I going to do with you?”

Wordlessly he drapes his jacket over her shoulders before he turned to face the table behind him, intending to grab a glass of water for Y/N so she can drink from it again. However a familiar hand grabbed onto his shirt sleeve, causing him to pause before he looks back at Y/N. Who was now sporting tearful eyes as her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. “Oh...princess,” Whatever anger or annoyance Yuta felt immediately left his body as he turned to give Y/N his full attention again, scooting over the tatami flooring on his knees so he can wrap the sniffling girl up in his arms. “I know you didn’t mean to get this drunk..you just didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Y/N sniffles and buries her face into Yuta’s chest, completely forgetting that she was wearing a face of makeup that can transfer onto his white button up. Yet Yuta doesn’t seem to care either as he gently pats the back of her head, careful not to mess up her perfectly done updo while he tries to comfort Y/N. “It’s a simple mistake. Everyone makes them - don’t beat yourself over it, okay? I’m sorry for seeming to be angry at you, you didn’t do anything wrong alright? I just worry about you all the time..”

Another sniffle and a soft nod was all Y/N gave him, and without another moments notice he carefully collected her into his arms. Shifting himself about so he was now seated on the mattress instead; having placed Y/N so she was curled up against his chest comfortably. “Alright,” Yuta said with a sigh as he settles down against the wall behind him, crossing his legs in front of him as Y/N wraps her arms around the jacket she had over her shoulders still. “To be honest, as much as this is not ideal, I am not opposed to going home early.”

While Y/N didn’t show her tearful face, she did reach over to smack him on the chest gently; as if she was reprimanding him for once again giving into his anti-social behaviours. “I am being serious - I was getting kinda desperate when Ida wanted to talking about nothing more than college. If Jujutsu Tech needed a spokesperson, I’ll make sure to put his name down for the position.”

It took a few more moments of silence and gently swaying from Yuta’s end, but soon Y/N has claimed down and seems to have grown sleepy. “Are you hungry?,” Yuta asks her quietly as he quietly gestures for the maid to come over to bring them some food over, looking down at Y/N when made a face at the thought of food. However Yuta wasn’t sure if she had eaten anything before the party, as he hadn’t had time to cook them something simple before they left. It might explain how. after just a few drinks, she was as drunk and confused as she was. “I know you are going to hate me, but you need to eat some food before we try to get home, okay?”

All Yuta got in response was incoherent grumbling, but he chose to ignore that as he quietly thanked the woman who handed him a plate of finger foods for them to nibble on. Quietly Yuta picked up some karaage with his chopsticks before he held it up to Y/N’s lips, to which she drunkenly leaned forward before taking a bite from the fried chicken. “Careful,” Yuta coos at her and shifts his arm to pick up the piece of fried chicken skin that had dropped onto her chest, wiping at it carefully so he doesn’t end up smudging the sauce all over the fabric by mistake. Because he was sure that even at her drunken haze, she will not let him hear the end of it if he allowed for any of the food he was feeding her to stain her dress.

He fed her a few more bites of the different foods before she whined that she didn’t want anymore. So he just grabbed the glass of water that he had set aside and helped her to take another sip of water, giving her a smile when she takes a big gulp. “There you go. Good girl.”

(rose: the way i giggled at that line was embarrassing - one man should not have that much power over me T^T)

A soft burp was all Yuta got in response, to which Yuta just snorts before he opens her purse after struggling with the clip to find a packet of tissues. After a few more bites of snacks in between, and an entire pint size glass of water down, Y/N was starting to gain some of the colour back to her face. “I wanna go to the bathroom..,” Y/N whines as she gently tugs at Yuta’s shirt, to which he just raises an eyebrow at her before he nods and starts to help her up from the ground.

He did stand for a few moments and wiggled his toes so he can get the blood flowing back down his legs before he started to lead her towards the bathroom, noting that Y/N was not tripping on her own feet as much. He let her use the bathroom by herself, but he did make sure to keep close to the door so he can rush in if she falls.

Thankfully nothing happened, and when she did come out of the bathroom, all she did was pout before she rests her forehead against his shoulder sleepily. “Can we go home?,” She grumbles, to which Yuta gave her an amused glance before he held a hand out for her to take. “Yes ma’am. Whatever you say.”

Yuta, being a man skilled at avoiding people, somehow managed to navigate his way through the busy partying crowd to allow himself and Y/N to escape. They did stop briefly to inform the engaged couple and her parents that they were leaving, with Yuta buttering them up and informing them that they have other engagements while skilfully hiding how drunk Y/N still was. He assured her parents that she was just tired, as they did have a few back to back assignments and reports that they had to do before the dinner had begun. He didn’t bother to lie to Ida and and Iori - instead reassuring the young couple that they will make it home safely and that he will text them the moment they make it back to the dorms.

Although it was last minute, thankfully their driver had just rounded the corner after grabbing some dinner for himself. So he picked the young couple up, being quite concerned for Y/N as he rarely sees her as drunk and out of character. Yet Yuta reassured him that she was feeling a lot better; so the older man made sure to give Yuta a plastic bag just in case Y/N chose to loose the contents of her stomach before they drove off.

Y/N, although still drunk, thankfully did not suffer much motion sickness - so she just closed her eyes and rests her head on his shoulder throughout the drive. Yuta, deciding that it was too much work to wake her up and make sure she walks carefully down the long and winding hallways of their school, grabbed the keys to her room from her purse just as they were rolling up the front of their college dorm. He got out first, and after adjusting her dress carefully, leans inside to pick her up form her seat bridal style. “Do you need help, Okkotsu-san?”

“No, I think I can manage from here,” Yuta replies back with a warm smile, nodding for the kind man to drive off as he gently shifts the sleeping Y/N in his arms. With another round of mumbled pleasantries Yuta turned to walk back into the college, passing through the gates and into the familiar wooden hallway. Thankfully, as it was a normal school night, the others were either locked away in their rooms to sleep or are hanging out with one another past the curfew time. So Yuta managed to get them back into her dorm with minimal effort.

“Alright princess, here we are,” Yuta chuckles as he closes the door behind him, greeting Catoru with a coo as the furball ran towards them in greeting. “Wait first, you menace. Gotta put your mum to bed,” Yuta chuckles as the ball of white weaving around his legs, gently nudging the purring cat aside as he stepped deeper into Y/N’s room.

He carefully set her down in her bed before he started to get to work - taking her heels off before he proceeded to help change her into one of his shirts to sleep in comfortably. He even help remove her makeup with some micellar water, making sure to be careful to wipe her face bare of any products. He did attempt to recreate her skincare routine; but after being intimidated by the many bottles on her vanity, he just stuck to the basic toner pads and moisturiser combo.

It was better than nothing.

“Guard your mother,” Yuta mumbles to Catoru quietly as he reaches over to pet the resident cat, smiling gently when he made a noise while rubbing his head against his hand. After making sure Y/N was all tucked into bed (along with a plushie for her to cuddle with), he refilled Catoru’s water and food bowl. Deciding to let her sleep along comfortably in bed for the killer hangover he was sure she will have tomorrow.

And he wasn’t wrong - he was in the midst of pouring himself some coffee the next morning when he heard what sounded like an animal’s pained moan; followed by a sloppy knock being thrown at his door. Yuta lets out an amused chuckle as he walks over to the door and opens in, chuckling softly as he was met with squinted eyes and a pout that expressed pain and annoyance. “How bad is it?”

Y/N grumbles as she gently pushes her way through the doorway, planting her forehead squarely against his chest as Yuta closes the door behind her with an amused look. “Come on - I’ll make some brown sugar toast for you. The sugars will help,” Yuta chuckles softly as he carefully let Y/N into his room and onto his bed, immediately going over to his drawers to find some panadol for her to take. “Ugh..this is so embarassing...”

“You’re fine,” Yuta comments with a chuckle as he handed her the pain killers and a glass of water, going back to the kitchenette in his room so he can finish pouring his coffee and start on mixing the brown sugar and butter mixture for the toast. “You didn’t embarrass yourself too hard. Sure, a few people noticed, but so far no videos of anything you’ve done have surfaced.”

Even though it was all in gest, Y/N gave Yuta the dirtiest look she can muster at that moment before falling back against his pillows, cuddling up with Catoru who must have followed her in. “Not on my black bedsheets,” Yuta sighs softly to himself as he stared at the white furball happily rolling around on his comforter, knowing that he will have to lint roll it later so he doesn’t wake up with fur in his eyes or mouth until the next time he washes his bedsheets. Yet he made no other comment as he puts the buttered bread into the toaster oven, keeping an eye on it so it doesn’t burn.

Soon he was sitting down on the bed besides Y/N, a mug of warm tea in one hand and a plate with two pieces of sugary toast in the other; giving her a comforting smile when she peeled a sleepy eye open. “Breakfast is ready,” He coos down at her as Y/N gave him a gently but grateful smile, slowly sitting up as she reaches over to take a sip of tea. “Feeling a little better?”

“A little,” Y/N admits as she sets the mug of tea aside, thanking Yuta when she was handed the plate before taking a bite from the warm food. A soft hum of happiness left her lips when she tasted the brown sugar on her tongue, her reaction causing Yuta to smile gently as he adjusted himself against his bed. They were both silent as she slowly finished her meal; with Yuta going on his phone as he pets Catoru with his free hand, while Y/N quietly chewed on her toast while trying to make sure she doesn’t leave crumbs everywhere.

When she was done she sets the plate aside and wiped her mouth and hands clean, quietly making her way over to her boyfriend before she curls up into his side. Yuta just lifted his arm without batting an eye, giving her a warm smile when she leaned up so he can press a kiss on the top of her head. “What am I going to do with you?,” Yuta mumbles with a soft chuckle, cuddling her closer to him while Y/n just lets out a pained moan.

Yuta just rolled his eyes fondly before he turned his phone off, deciding to just cuddle her and baby her for the rest of the day. He knows he should reprimand her for what she had done yesterday, since it was irresponsible for her to do so. But he also knew better - so all he did was gently stroke her hair and made sure she drank enough water and felt comfortable for the rest of the day.

He’ll just talk to her about it tomorrow.

wanna read more? > daydreaming!reader masterlist | buy me a coffee?

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pseudowho · 20 days

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Kamo Choso Masterlist

Updated: 4th April 2024

REQUESTS OPEN!

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(help me find the Choso artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

🔥 Smut 💔 Angst 💕 Romance

☕ Comfort/Fluff 🤡 Clowning

🐙 Monsterfucking 📚 Education (*dirty laugh*)

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Bloodbound 💕☕💔-- Choso Kamo is able to use your blood with his ability, after the loss of a baby ties you to him for life.

Glory Glory 🔥☕-- 'Help, I'm stuck!' on a mission together, and virgin Choso is offered the opportunity of a lifetime.

Snowhere to Go ☕💕-- When your date plans are foiled by the snow, you and Choso make your own fun with a stack of old board games.

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his-lune · 3 months

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☾ inumaki toge masterlist ☽

-`♡´- key -`♡´-

angst (a) ;; fluff (f) ;; smut (s) ;; crack (c)

☾. one shots

ᯓ★ coming soon...

☾. series

ᯓ★ coming soon...

#inumaki x reader #inumaki x y/n #toge inumaki x reader #inumaki toge x reader #inumaki imagines #inumaki x reader imagines #inumaki oneshot #inumaki x reader oneshot #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x reader imagines #jjk x reader oneshot #inumaki masterlist

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hoshigray · 6 months

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𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐬, 𝐒𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 | toji fushiguro

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Your ex-husband bringing the kids over for trick-or-treating is one thing; him wanting to spend the night at your place is another. But it's just for the night. There's no way one night can rekindle some old feelings...right?

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: ex-husband! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - the reader is around their mid-30s - Tsumiki (age 11) and Megumi (age 9) - mutual pining - kissing/makeout sessions - unprotected sex - Daddy kink - breast sucking + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - spooning + mating press - cervix fucking - breeding kink - praise - clitoral play (pressing and grinding) - pet names (baby, good girl, mama, princess, sweetie, sweet thing) - you and Toji have been divorced for five years - cameos: Gojo, Utahime and Mei Mei - mention of drool/spit and tears - humor bc I'm [not] funny.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.6k (....dawg.)

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: happy Halloween, everyone!! so, randomly missed writing ex-husband! toji bc it's lowkey my favorite, soooo yeah, this is what we're doing to celebrate the end of the month! anywho, happy October, beautiful ppl, and tysm for reading my works!! Alsooo, ty for 2.8k!!!

“Trick-or-treat!!”

“Gasp—Oh my goodness!”

“We came to celebrate Halloween! Also, Megumi forgot his toothbrush here again.”

Opening your door to children at the sunset of Halloween day isn’t out of the ordinary or anything special. However, it’s always a pleasant surprise when it’s two kids you hold dear to your heart. You greet them with a hug, two siblings you know too well to say you’re acquainted with. If anything, you’re practically family.

The raven-haired brother, referred to as Megumi, speaks up. “It’s not my fault! Dad was rushing me last time.”

“Because you had to bring your stuffed animals last time, holding us back for your baseball practice.” Tsumiki, the older sister, snapped back. The two argue amongst themselves in front of you as you try to mediate. It’s no avail until another voice comes to the fray.

“All right, chill out, you two.” The voice belonged to the person approaching the porch stairs, your eyesight capturing the familiar figure walking up with two duffle bags. The one standing tall before you was the father of the children, Toji Fushiguro. Who’s also known as your one and only former husband. “Get inside and finish y’r homework, or else we’re goin’ back home.”

The siblings stop bickering and head inside, taking off their shoes at the foyer and walking upstairs. Now that they’re gone, you turn to the man with the jet-black hair, his viridian orbs focused on you. The weather was chilly, so the man wore his usual dark denim jacket over his plain black sweatshirt, matching his jeans. “You look good, big guy. What’s in the bags?”

He greets you with a curled lip, and the scar on the side of his lip lifts. “Picked them up from their after-school sports, so it’s their sports gear and costumes for tonight. Mind helpin’ me here?”

“Hmmm,” you merge your facial expressions to that of faux pondering, turning your back to Toji. “Nah, can’t. Got dinner to finish making.”

“Hmph, should’ve known.” He makes his way through between you and the front door. “Wouldn’t wanna break your pretty nails carrying heavy shit, huh, princess?”

You glare at him using the nickname, hating his patronizing gaze. “From what I remembered, you would never let me carry the heavy stuff because you thought I was too fragile and easy to break. So how about that, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor?”

“Really? I don’t remember sayin’ all that before. You must’ve put me in a spell.”

“Probably, I’ve been told I’m quite cute~.”

“Mmm, nah, more like an old hag of a witch.” Toji barks a laugh at your offended reaction, and he immediately ducks and heads for the stairs when you throw a sandal at him.

“At the very least, say I’m a cute witch, fucker.” You say the final word under your breath, grabbing the sandal you threw and heading back to the kitchen.

To say you and Toji were acquainted with one another would be the biggest understatement of the century. The two of you met a decade ago, fell madly in love, and married within a year of the relationship. When you tied the knot, Tsumiki had to have been two years old, and Megumi just turned one year old. You two had been together for four years after that, and you could confidently say those were one of [if not THE] best years of your life. You often second-guessed yourself being in a relationship with someone who had children, fearing that they wouldn’t like you or ignore you.

However, those worries were blown right away as the days went by. Every time you spent time with the children brought you three closer than ever; it was to the point that they saw you as their mother. How sweet! And there’s no denying that Toji loved you. The man would break someone’s nose for you — yes, it happened before, and it wasn’t pretty — for you were his sweet little thing that kept him going.

Well, if it was so great, why the divorce? Let’s just say you weren’t Toji’s first love. That title would have to be awarded to the Megumi’s mother. Even in her unfortunate passing, you can tell that Toji loved that woman like no other. It didn’t make you jealous or anything, seeing the man you love still mourn for a dead woman. Hell, you’d probably do the same if you were him. But, you can’t lie; it felt like you were cast over a “shadow” when it came to her influence. It was damn near suffocating to bear, especially in those four years of marriage. So, for your sake and his aching heart, you pulled him aside and suggested a divorce. And Toji didn’t fight you on the proposition, signing the papers and setting you free from the thick air.

Although things ended between you two, that didn’t mean things stopped being what they were. If anything, it was as if nothing happened at all. Even if you still don’t live under the same roof, you still make time to hang with the Fushiguros, whether invited to some occasion or exchange phone calls or texts to check up on them. Even now, five years after your separation, it warms your heart knowing that you get to interact with the people you care about.

There are moments you find yourself missing living under the same roof with all three of them and living alone can be pretty lonely. But all in all, as long as they’re comfortable and trust you enough to be around, there’s no need to change things up again. Like right now — the four of you sit at the dinner table eating before the kids go off trick-or-treating.

“Are you going to trick-or-treat with us, Y/n?” The brown-haired child sitting next to you asks while finishing up her dinner.

“Sorry, not this time, gotta be at a Zoom meeting for my job in a few minutes. But I do have someone else to take my place. Gojo will be here at around—Why are you two making that face?” You stop mid-sentence to notice Megumi and Toji at the other side of the table, displaying disgusted facial expressions at the mention of the white-haired other’s name.

“Why him?” They said in unison.

“Why not??” You question their irritation.

“He’s so annoying…” Again, in unison. Proof enough that they’re father and son.

You sigh as you get up to take your plate to the sink. “Oh, come on, you two, it’s not like he’ll be with you guys the entire night. He has a party at a friend’s he’s going to later.”

“Isn’t he too old to trick-or-treat?” Tsumiki questions, noting that Gojo is way past his undergraduate years.

“He is, but whatever gets that prick any free sweets,” Toji answers his daughter before getting up to put his dish in the sink.

You exit the kitchen, head into the living room, and sit on the couch. The laptop you had placed there was ready to open and unlock, and you clicked on applications and windows to look through before your meeting started in the next three to two minutes. He should be here about—

DING-DONG!!

Now.

Right on cue, you motion for Toji to grab the front door, and he follows your command. “Kids, Gojo’s here!” You shout out to the two kids who still sit at the table. “When you’re done eating, you can go upstairs and put your costumes on. But whoever finishes last has to do the dishes.” You can hear commotion from the table as the brunette rushes to put her dish in the sink and dash for the stairs. Megumi groans to himself; you giggle when you hear him mutter an “Aww man…”

You pull out your headphones to connect to your laptop, put them in their respective ears, and prepare yourself for the meeting. Ignoring the faint passive-aggressive tones of your ex-husband when greeting Gojo at the door…

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Your eyes flutter open, noticing the lighting change around the living room. The orange sunlight no longer decorated the space, substituted with the gradual darkness that overtakes you. The only source of light you can figure out is the flashing from the television screen.

Aside from the TV, there are no other signs of life. There aren’t any signs of Tsumiki or Megumi around playing or causing a raucous. It could only mean the two are still trick-or-treating with Gojo.

One blink, two blinks. I must’ve fallen asleep after the meeting… You hum while sinking to the couch, burying your face into the pillow.

But…since when did your pillow act like it was breathing with a heartbeat? And…I smelt that cologne before…How?

“Ya awake now?”

You raise your head, realizing you are not lying on your couch. Technically, you were; however, you were lying on something else on the furniture with you – more like someone.

It’s then you realize that you were lying on Toji during your entire slumber, him leaning on the end of the couch, one leg spread to make room for you to sleep on him while you sit on the other. And you can guess that you had your head on his chest, snuggling up to his warm figure. He looks at you with his green eyes now darkened by the room, yet you can see their glow from the television light. And that small smile he gives you, the scar on the right side of his lip lifted upward. The familiar butterflies in your stomach flutter like before. Like old times sake…That must be embarrassing, huh?

You frantically try to get off of him, “Sorry about that, I thought—“

“No, no,” Toji places a stern hand on your back, keeping you from moving further. “You were comfortable.”

You stare at him for a few seconds until your face contours to a look, and a smile starts to creep up while you situate yourself back to your original position, pressing your face back on his chest to listen to the beats of his heart again. “I recall having this couch all to myself not too long ago, so where’d you come from?”

“Well, I wanted to watch some sports highlights, but I figured you’d kick my ass if I pulled you off and had you sleep on the floor instead.” With the click of your tongue, he chortles. You bet your ass I would. “So, I decided to have ya sleep on me while I watch TV.”

“What’s wrong with the other side of the couch? It’s quite vacant and enough for a big guy like you.”

“True,” his hand rubs circles on your back, an old habit he did when he used to have you like this. “But then I’d be lonely.”

You titter. “That’s big for someone who said he thrives on being alone.”

“I thrive being alone when I’m working.” You’re glad he can’t see your eyes roll; he’d probably grab you by the cheeks like a child. “Besides, why would I wanna be alone when I have you for myself.”

And there it is, your cheeks begin to warm up. Or was it because you’re so close to him that his heat is transferring to you? That’s probably it, yeah. Let’s change the subject…”How long was I out for? I remember the kids left around 7:30-ish.”

“Mmm, it’s going to eleven right now.”

Three and a half hours? Damn. “It’s past their bedtime.”

Toji scoffs. The abrupt motion of his chest rising is satisfying in a way that makes you even more comfortable. “You still think they’re gonna sleep with all that sweet shit they got?” He snickers some more as you shake your head.

“They know better. When you guys get home, be sure to put their candy bags on the top shelf of the closet for the morning.”

“Still traumatized from that one time?”

“Uhhh, yes??” The memory flashes to you for a quick moment, but the dread from before still haunts you. Megumi was six years old and Tsumiki seven, returning home from trick-or-treating and immediately tasting their labor from that night. However, what you didn’t expect was for them both to eat almost half their bags. Let’s just say, thanks to their sugar rushes, they didn’t drop dead until the hour hand touched two of the morning. “Unless it’s the weekend, never again.”

The way the older man chuckles is so therapeutic — it nearly makes you want to fall asleep again. “You weren’t the one chasin' Megumi all over the place tryin' to get him to sleep. Little squirt gets his speed from me.”

“Awww, poor you~” You can sense the glare as you respond in a condescending, sing-song tune. “You and him are always butting heads. Like father, like son.”

“Tch, hate that sayin’ so fuckin’ much.”

“Why? ‘Because it’s true?”

“Shut up.” The hand he used to rest his head comes down to pinch your nose. You wriggle out of his hold with giggles, but he happily keeps you grounded to him with his stronghold and a leg wrapped around to prevent yours from moving. “He only listens to you. Such a sweet lil’ baby to you, huh? Puttin’ my own son against me.”

More giggles prompt out of tiny guilt, and you bring up a hand to rub on his chest. “He’s such a bright boy now. Growing up so big and fast.”

“Miki, too. That girl is way too smart fr' me to catch up. And she’s becoming so kind and strong, crazy to think she made me play teacups when she could barely go down the stairs by herself.” Toji hums, the vibrations felt on the pads of your fingers. “Think she gets that from you.”

You shook your head. “They’re your babies. They do amazing things because they have a big guy like you to catch them if they ever fall.”

“Hmm, fair…But let’s not pretend I’m the best dad in the world. Fuck, never in my life did I think I’d be a dad, especially with two kids. I didn’t know shit back then — still! I still don’t know shit.” You don’t say anything, just listening to him voice his thoughts to you. Because he knows you’d listen – you always do. “If you weren’t there for them, I don’t think they’d be shining like this. Y’re definitely the thing that brought us up together. They look up to you so much. Ya did so well with them.”

Nodding aimlessly, his black sweatshirt grazing on your cheek. “Thank you. Same to you. Didn’t do so bad yourself, big guy.”

“Mmm.”

Nothing is said between you two after that. The only thing that makes noise is the voices coming from the television. The volume lowered, an initiative you could guess from Toji wanting you to get some rest. The silence was too awkward that it might torture some, but it was fine where it was. There was no need to change it, especially when you were comfortable in each other’s embrace.

That is, until Toji asks, “Do you miss it?” The rubs on your back go slower, his fingertips drawing a ticklish sensation.

“Of course I do. All the time.” You answer honestly, turning your head to rest your chin on him. Your eyes glimpse directly at his, giving him a tiny grin. “Why ask? I know the kids miss me being around; what about you? Miss me nagging and putting you to work all the time?”

He sneers at your comment. “Every day.”

It was such a simple answer, yet it had the power to wipe that smirk right off your face. Your eyes locked in his sight, and your heart tuning to an irregular rhythm. Oh, come on, Y/n, get a grip! “Ahem—Toji, I hope you know that I never stopped missing everything we had — I never will. Those years that we shared were probably the best I’ve had. We had happy moments, others sad, of course. But, God, do I miss it all. I miss it so much. I miss having you guys here. Miki and Gumi and—“

“Me?” Good Lord, if this man doesn’t stop looking at you with those goddamn eyes of his, such captivating orbs that say more than he lets on. Your breath hitches, and so does the hand on your back. “Hmm? Ya miss me, baby?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why’d you have to call me that? And it gets worse when he places his free hand on your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin while the forefinger teases the lobe and tragus of your ear. Goddammnit…

“...Yes,” your voice was down a whisper, which could easily be mistaken with the television. But you know Toji heard you, loud and clear. “Especially you, Toji.” You said it. The words that he wanted to hear from you. They felt so forbidden to say, yet it was the truth. You avert your gaze away from him. But you knew that wouldn’t work, not right now. Toji taps your cheek with his thumb, and your eyes sheepishly return to his.

He doesn’t say anything, and that makes your heart beat at an unbearable rate. It’s all you can hear when you stare into his deep emerald eyes, the sound of it ringing your eardrums as if you could puke. Your throat running dry, so you gulp to ease the uncomfortable bob. If something could just happen to end this anxious torture, that would be great.

And then your prayers get answered: something does happen. Toji slowly brings his face closer to yours — your body goes rigid, and you instantly face away before the inevitable happens. No, I didn’t mean that!

“Aht aht, don’t do that, baby.” His hand slithers from your cheek to your chin, forcing you to face straight at him. “Lemme see you.”

“Toji, wait,” your voice travels out in a shaky breath. “We shouldn’t be doing this. We can’t cross this line anymore.”

He listens to your pleas, but his body does otherwise. Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead while the hand on your back snakes downward. “Why not?” His gruff voice dialed down to a whisper.

“Because—Mmmm…” Toji interrupts you by licking the helix of your ear. Oh, you slick bastard. “We’re supposed to be done…”

“That’s not stoppin’ me from takin’ care of my sweet thing.” Jesus Christ, you almost melted from the way he whispered that to your ear. He’s pulling out all the same old tricks, and it gets more hellish by the second as you try not to give in. “So, y're gonna let me take care of you like I always do, right, mama?”

Both his hands now rest on your ass, groping it while your hips sway as if they have a mind of their own. The leg between yours comes up slightly, making you ride on it. The heat on your cheeks has already blossomed to your ears, making it hard to think straight. Gripping his sweatshirt, your hips ride his thigh to ease the throbbing sensation that grows with every motion. Good God, you shouldn’t be doing this. You know you shouldn’t be doing this. However, it’s been so long that you felt wanted like this — wanted by him. It’s all the same – his voice, his hands, his words, his body, and the names he calls – yet here you are turning into putty.

“Haaahh, Mmmfff…Toji, please,” Toji withdraws his face from your shoulder, leaving him to examine your expression. You must look so dumb right now, with your hooded eyes and shivering lips. But, at this point, do you even care? “Please…Treat me right.”

One moment, you see his gaze narrow with a devious glint. Next, you’re taken aback when Toji slams his lips on yours, kissing and sucking your bottom lip until you give him access. With a moan, you open your mouth for him and sink deeper into the kiss. Your hands come around his neck, keeping him focused on you and you alone. Not that he would have it any other way.

His strong hands continue to knead your asscheeks while you hump and grind on his thigh. Nibbling on your lip, you whimper helplessly for him. It strokes his ego, knowing he’s making you like this, the fucking bastard. He takes in your tiny cries happily, shoving his tongue to play with yours. You give in to him, almost losing your balance riding his thigh, yet Toji’s lips never leave yours.

You break the kiss to get an imperative breath, panting loudly and sweetly for him as Toji kisses and licks your ear. The sounds make your lower region twitch. “Hnnmm, fuck…That’s my girl. So fuckin’ good fr’ me always, Y/n…” You can feel him slide a hand up to the hem of your leggings, forcing it inside for his thick fingers to brush up on the bare flesh of your butt. You gasp sharply. Him squeezing your butt has you biting down on his sweatshirt. “—Hahhh, Oh God, Toji,” With every squeeze, he inches closer to your panty-covered chasm, where you know he’d find a damp spot. Please touch me. Please, please, plea—

CLACK-CLINK!!

The two of you are frozen stiff when you hear the sound of the door opening and closing, the foyer lights turned on. “Alright~, we got you guys home. See ya later!” That was Gojo’s voice, indicating everyone was finally back from trick-or-treating. This means that Tsumiki and Megumi are about to see you on top of their father, his hand in your leggings and smacking lips with yours. Your eyes shoot wide with horror — immediately remove yourself from Toji and stand up from the couch to pull your bottoms up. You barely had the chance to peek at Toji because the kids already run to the living room to find you two.

“Y/n, Y/n, look!” The brunette was the first to greet you with her adorable pink Barbie cowgirl costume. She and her brother, dressed as Sasuke Uchiha, cheerfully showcased their pillowcases full of candy. “Look at all this candy we got!”

“Wooow, you guys really went on a haul,” you can only hope they can’t see you sweating bullets through your fake reaction. “Wh–Where’s Gojo?”

“He dropped us off here a few seconds ago and left for the party,�� The raven-haired boy answered while scanning his pillowcase.

You only nod along until you frantically wipe your mouth, realizing the tiny trail of spit from the corner of your mouth. “Umm—Ahem, well then, I’m glad you two got all that candy. Now, let’s hurry up and get you guys home so you can get ready for school tomorrow!”

But the children didn’t move an inch. Actually, they looked like they were going to tell you something. You lift a brow. Oh no, they’re going to look at each other. They looked at each other and then glanced back at you. Oh, God, no. “Uhhh, Y/n, we were thinking.” Big sister Tsumiki is always the one who asks the following question. “Can we stay over?”

You inhale a massive breath, yet you do your best not to exhale a heavy sigh. “Kids, you promised to keep the overnight stays to three at max per month. This will be the fifth!”

“Yeah, but it’s dark out. Plus, it’s way past our bedtime.” The younger chimes in with a tiny pout. “We’ll be asleep by the time Dad gets us home.”

And here comes Tsumiki with the tag-team response to add on. “And that means he’ll have to make continuous trips back and forth from the car. Picking me and Megumi up, getting our bookbags, the bags full of candy, the whole thing! We already packed up our PJs just in case.”

You stood there staring at the two in astonishment. There’s no way they thoroughly planned this out. There’s just no way… And to make it worse, they were making valid arguments. You open your mouth to say something, but the two give the best puppy eyes they can. The wave of guilt hits like a train, internally cringing. You turn to Toji, who still sits on the couch, and the motherfucker only gives you a shrug. Wow, what a helpful father he is.

You groan into your hands, shaking your head while looking at the kids who wait for your verdict. “…Alright, you can stay as long as you PROMISE to put those candy bags in my bedroom closet. Deal?” The happy smiles and aggressive head shakes should answer your question. “Good, now go ahead and take your showers before you head for bed.” They rushed to the stairs by the time you finished that sentence, so enthusiastic about staying the night at your house, and you can’t help but smile hearing their footsteps run up the stairs.

With that being said, you turn to the older man again. Your brows are trenched down, but your smile is still present. “So, you legit just sat there and let those two tag-team me like that? In my own house?”

Another shrug with a dumb smirk on his handsome face. “Told you: too smart fr’ me to catch up.” You shake your head before exiting to get the kids and guest rooms ready, leaving him with the television.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The midnight hour has finally danced its way into the darkness of the night. Halloween is finally over, and the month of October is no more. The pitter-patter sound of the rain cleanses the neighborhood of its merits and festivities that partook hours ago, ready for a new phase of the year to take over.

After having the guest room ready with sheets and sleepwear for Toji and kissing the kids goodnight, you rinse your stress off with a nice shower and put on your pajamas to get ready for bed. After you turn the lights off, you drape the comforter over your figure as your body sinks with the cozy sheets and pillowcase. Your eyes close while focusing on the curtains of your window, the only light piercing inside being the lampposts by the street.

…Well, at least that’s what’s supposed to happen. But that’s not the case because you’re not the only one lying comfortably on your mattress. Instead, Toji is here with you, in your room, on your bed, his chest to your back, and his hand roaming inside your oversized shirt. Your lips are now connected with his, sharing your erotic moans with his enticing groans, and you get a little louder as his fingers cup and play with your breast.

“Mmphh…Ahhhh, I thought I told you you’re sleeping in the guest room—Nmmff!” He tweezes your nipple with his forefinger and thumb roughly.

“And I thought you’d be smart enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.” Toji kisses the crook of your neck, drawing near your ear for him to whisper. “Besides, look at you. Still sleepin’ with no underwear on?”

“Hmph, only when I have a man around the house.” That answer got you another rough tweak on your nip and a purposeful gnaw to your ear. You knew he’d react like that, never liking the mention of another man leaving your mouth – especially during an intimate time like this.

“That so? What man you know that can handle all this?” Toji then moves from his side to be between your legs, pulling up your shirt to fully expose your chest. And your breathe hitches while his free hand travels down your abdomen to your bottoms.

“Ahhhh, no one. Just you...” You look at him with half-lidded eyes, taking in his reaction to what you said. The salacious grin on his face becoming broader should entail that he greatly loved that retort.

He brings his face to your other unattended nipple, “Good answer, princess.” The nub of your breast enters his mouth, and the wet warmth of his tongue greets it with lapped motions and grazes from his teeth. Despite that, it doesn’t distract you from the fact your bottoms are pulled down with ease and are thrown to the bedroom floor, leaving your cunt out for him, your erotic fluids seeping and glistening from the outside lights.

Toji plays with your folds until he can stuff his pointer finger into your chasm, the insertion resulting in your body’s jolt. It’s been a long while since you had his thick digit inside you, playing and scraping the inner walls to evoke whimpers. God, it felt so good, this satisfying feeling returning to awaken your body to his touch. He interacts with your body as if he’s the only person who knows how to get you going – and it’s the truth. No one can put you in a blissful haze quicker than this man. And you’d prefer to keep it that way.

The addition of his middle finger into your leaky entrance startles you, the thick digit making its way in with such vigor that he uses both fingers to scrape the velvety texture of your walls. Your eyes are now screwed shut at the growing commotion between your thighs, and the heat within your body flourishing all around gets to your head. “—Khmm, Oh fuuck, Toji. Please, don’t stop.”

With a soft ‘pop’ noise from his lips, Toji replies to your demands. “I’m sorry, what’s my name again?” You giggle with trenched brows. Of course, how could I forget?

“Nmmph, D-Daddy, pleaseee, I’m so clo—Ahhhann!!” He puts his thumb to your clit, grinding down on it unexpectedly. “I wanna cum, pleaseee…”

“Hmmm, good girl,” he teased, laying down kisses, nibbling on the skin of your stomach and inner thighs until he arrives at your leaking slit. Your body jerks up from the bed when you feel the cold, wet muscle slowly lick on your clitoris before ravaging your folds. The sounds of his mouth on your cunt are so lewd to the ear, slurping noises from his lips with the lapping motions of his tongue claiming your come are too much for you. And when he uses his hand to swipe and pinch your clit? Oh, it’s a wrap. Your release comes out without control, biting down on your bottom lip to make sure your cries don’t leave this space for the kids to hear. Their room is on the other side down the hall; tonight isn’t the night for too many risks.

When your trembling body calms down and subsides, Toji withdraws his face from between your thighs. Your essence paints his mouth, and he wipes his chin clean while licking the remnants that coat his scarred lips. “Hmph, missed tastin’ you like that.” You open your eyes when your high finally evades you, watching your ex-husband pull down his sweats. His erection springs out and hits his stomach, your mind going rampant with thoughts as you ogle at his freed limb. Shit, it’s been so long. Will that shit even fit me again?

“Don’t think it’ll fit, baby?” Damn him, he loves teasing you. Toji then discards his black wife-beater, at long last revealing his well-built, brawny physique that has you drooling for him. He uses his hands to maneuver your legs—your knees pushed to your chest as your legs propped up on his shoulders. A position you’re all too familiar with. Your eyes don’t leave Toji’s cock as he aligns his cock to your slick-coated folds. “Take some breaths fr’ me, sweetie. Can’t take care of you when you’re all tense.”

You take up on his advice and begin taking deep breaths, reminding yourself to maintain the steady pattern as he pushes the tip of his dick between the lips of your cunt. Every inhale is where he nudges into the hole of your inner cavern, and every exhale gives you time to breathe out the pain that comes in for a split second. This carries on until the cockhead wedges itself perfectly into your vagina, along with the inches of his girth that stretches until the base kisses your lips, the tip of him kissing your cervix. Tears swell up in your eyes, taking more deep breaths to prepare yourself for what’s about to come.

“Oooh fuuuck…Heh, yeah, that’s my baby right there. Fittin’ so perfect fr’ me, mama…” He puts his weight on you, keeping your figure unmoving under his bow.

“Nmmmf, Daddyyy,” you’re forced to take in all of him, and drool trails down your lips with no hope of taking care of it. “…I’m so full, you’re too much…”

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He wipes your spit after kissing your forehead. How gentle compared to what you’re about to go through. “Gonna move now.” His thrusts start slow for the two of you to adjust to each other; the feeling of his length’s veins coming in and out of your chasm is so euphoric, and the kisses to your cervix want your body to writhe and squirm. But you’re bent into this position for a reason: forced to submit to him no matter what. So you do just that.

Yet your horny haze gets more potent once he picks up the pace, rutting into you with increased speed. Your slit, still sensitive from earlier, gets overstimulated with the constant grazes on your gummy walls and jabs to your tender cervix. It takes everything in your power not to come so early.

“—Hahhhh, Nmmph. Oh, shit, shit, shit…” Toji groans above you, the thrusts of his pelvis increase to an irregular rhythm, grinding deep into your cunt to the point of uncontrollable babbles escaping your lips. His bullying on your insides results in you gripping his length hard, causing the older man to hiss and moan at your contractions. “—Ohhhfuuuckk!! Jesus Christ, baby. Y’re gonna make me go crazy.”

As if that wasn’t already happening now that he pistons his cock into your wetness, your brain turning into mush from the onslaught of ruts to your puffy wet chasm. Tears stream down your face, and more drool follows down with more precise hits to your delicate canal. The pounding in your head makes it hard to think of anything else, the squelching noises and paps of Toji’s balls hitting your cunt making it worse.

“D-Daddyyy, I’m—Ohoooo!! Oh, Jesus, ohhhshit!” You can’t formulate a proper sentence, too engulfed with the electrifying sensations coursing through your body.

“Damn, you feel too fucking good—Hnngh!!” Toji places his forehead on yours, resting his entire weight on you while his hips have a mind of their own. “‘Bout to make me knock you up…”

Oh, good Lord. The mere thought of having a child is the last thing that should be on your mind. But in a time like this, who in their right mind would be thinking straight? “Nnnfff! Oh God, pleaseee, fill me up, Daddyy!” Green eyes narrow with trenched brows. “—Pleasepleasepleaseee!! I want you to fill me up so bad, I want it, I want—Hyaaaaa!!”

How can he deny your desperate, teary pleas when you’re urging him on like this? “Heh, you’re so fuckin’ sexy, mama.” Toji captures your lips with his, your mewls taken by him as you sink further into your pleasurable thrill.

Sporadic thrusts of his pelvis produce more raunchy noises in the joining of your sexes, his heavy balls smacking on your cunt as he drives the base of his cock straight into you. Your slit is now a puffy mess, come and slick form a soapy mess that Toji now harbors a milky ring around his girth. A few rushed, sloppy thrusts heighten your high once more, and then Toji presses his pelvis down to the hilt on one final, harsh thrust, unloading his seed into your aching folds. And your climax follows in a few seconds, the walls of your cunt fluttering on his pulsating dick as your essence soaks him. Your muffled shrieks are received by him, quivering under him until the aftershocks wash through your body.

Once you two breathe at a steady tempo and the nerves of your sweaty bodies fall still, the kiss is broken with heavy pants and a string of spit that links you two together. Toji buries his face between your neck and shoulder, licking and kissing your skin as you’re allowed time to experience your clarity.

“Hmmm…You know I’m not done yet, princess.” Toji mumbles to your ear before stationing your legs off his shoulders for them to rest.

“Yeah, I know, big guy.” You tease him with a breathless laugh, kissing him on the temple. “Always wanting more…”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“…So, you’re telling me you had your ex-husband spend the night? Not just the kids?”

“Yup, that’s what happened.”

This morning was different from your usual routine – well, you can’t say it’s different if you have done it before, huh? After five years of divorce, you thought you’d be so used to waking up and getting ready for work without worrying about others. However, this morning proves otherwise.

It felt natural walking into the kids’ room and lightly shaking them awake, telling them to get ready while you whip up something quick for them to eat as Toji showers (using your bathroom, by the way). Watching the kids run down the stairs and eat breakfast puts a smile on your face, reminiscing about the good old days when they were younger and teenier. It sometimes feels surreal doing the same thing for them now that they’re getting older and taller. But seeing them bicker and interact with each other in your presence never fails to warm your heart.

When Toji’s finished freshening up and loading his kids’ stuff in his truck, it’s time to bid them farewell for their departure for school. You give them final touch-ups on their hair and outfits, reminding them to be safe and not get into trouble (especially Megumi, now that the boy’s been getting into fights). And before they rush to the car, you hug them and give each a kiss on the cheek. Here is where the warm feeling inside your heart begins to deteriorate, not wanting to let them go. Yet, for their sake – and education – you release them and hope for the best.

The last to leave was Toji, who came from the kitchen to the front door with a paper plate wrapped in foil in one hand. His name is written boldly by a black Sharpie. “This fr' me?”

“No, it’s for Shiu Kong, for dealing with you all the time.” You stick your tongue out at Toji as he glares at you, not even moving out of the way while he exits through the door. “You better eat that when you get to work, you have a terrible habit of skipping lunch.”

“Whatever ya say, mom.” He pesters you with the title, knowing you’re technically not a mother anymore. Yet it only makes you smile knowing he notices your maternal side.

“Don’t forget to text me when Tsumiki’s soccer game is next week.” You watch him go down the porch stairs.

“Will do.”He whistles.

“And Toji?”

The man stops walking to turn to you, his forest green eyes fixed on you so quickly that you almost forget what you want to say. Or what you wanted to do. You place your fingers on your lips and blow a kiss with an outward gesture. It was an old habit you did whenever he left, something you can’t seem to get out of practice with. It’s embroidered in your mind at this point.

And when he catches the kiss with his free hand and places it on his chest, it makes your heart skip a beat. Toji grins, “I’ll be damned if that was fr' Shiu, too.”

You snicker with a shaken head. “Drive safe, Toji.” Closing the front door, you stand there for a while. Your smile doesn’t falter; it gets bigger as you replay the moment instead. Thinking about him, hearing him, seeing him, it all drives you crazy. And that’s a good thing…right?

“I don’t know, sounds like you still kinda care about the guy.”

“Of course I do,” So here you are, sitting in your living room enjoying the rays of the sunset decorating the space, in a video call with your best friends, Utahime and Mei Mei. You reply to the former’s comment. “Just because I don’t have the ring on my finger doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about him. I mean, he’s the father of two lovely children.”

“Shoot, you’re better than me, then.” The dark-haired woman admits. “But you’re kinda proving my point, Y/n. Even when you don’t have the ring on, you two act like the same old couple, and it’s definitely not just for the kids’ sake. Let’s be real here.”

You try to interject, but the pale-blue-haired other, Mei Mei, intervenes, “I agree. It’s one thing if you let the children stay over, but he also wanted to spend the night. Sure, he could’ve been tired from driving all day and such. However, if you’re still seeing a man for the last five years – while legally unbound – and he says he wants to spend the night under your roof, which is rare, that should ring some bells at least.”

“I know, it did…” you nod along with what your friend is saying, throwing your head back with a heavy sigh. “But it’s not like he’s never spent the night here before, nor is he banished from stepping inside.”

“Oh? Then why is this time different from the others?”

Utahime jumps in after Mei Mei’s chirp. “Yeah, you’re telling us about all these nostalgic lovey-dovey feelings as if you’re falling in love with him all over again. What, did you two have sex or something?”

An open mouth, yet no words come out, leaving you in a predicament. You could’ve just lied or swerved the subject to something else. But you didn’t. And the two women on the screen lift their brows with hooded eyes, a look meaning a thousand words. You couldn’t even explain yourself either because a sudden knock on your door captured the attention of all three of you.

You stand up and walk towards the door, your friends still on call on the phone at hand. Opening the door, you’re almost stunned to see in front of you. Tsumiki and Megumi with nervous smiles, and their father at the car collecting the same duffles bags from last night. You’re kidding.

“Hey, kids.” The two of them gulped from not calling them by their names. You bring up the phone to face the screen to them. “Say hello to Auntie Mei Mei and Utahime.” The women on the line smile and wave at the children, who sheepishly wave back.

“Hi, aunties.” Megumi greets them, and then his eyes drift back to you. “So, Y/n—“

“What did you forget this time?” Straight to the point, no room for excuses.

“It was Miki this time! She forgot her soccer cleats.” The older sibling gawks at her younger brother for calling her out.

“Tsumiki, I know you have cleats at home.”

“I do, but these are special! You bought them for my birthday, and I’ve been wearing them to every game ever since! So, I was scared when I couldn’t find them at home.” The brunette was quick to defend her stand. “Also, Dad doesn’t feel like driving up here and then back. So…can we…”

You close your eyes and bring the phone to your face to shield your vexation. Twice in a row, the sixth time this month. You can hear the giggles of your friends from the other side of the phone, adding more fuel to the fire. You don’t look up until you hear heavy footsteps on the porch, seeing Toji holding both duffle bags with a hand and shoulder. He stares at you as you stare at him, a silent conversation on how to handle this situation. And when he shrugs with lifted brows, you realize it’s no use and release the long-awaited sigh.

“….If I see one more thing being left behind here, you guys can’t come back till December, understand?” It wasn’t anything serious, but enough for the kids to know you weren’t joking. They nod their heads in unison while you roll your eyes. “Okay, get in here.” They rushed inside with gleeful laughs, the shuffling of their backpacks following along with them. Your eyes then drift to Toji as he walks up to you. “Did you forget something here, too?”

“Yeah,” you lift a brow when he drops Megumi’s bag to the floor. Before you can register his hand on your chin, you squeak when he brings his lips to yours. It lasted for seconds, but the kiss was sweet and tender, sucking on your lip before letting go with a playful bite. “Meant to give you that when you woke up. Thanks fr' the food, mama.”

Toji picks the bag up and walks inside your home to put the bags in the rooms, leaving you standing on the porch with an astounded expression. You couldn’t appropriately calibrate your thoughts until you heard faint laughs from the phone. Then, you realize your best friends witnessed the entire scene that transpired.

Utahime, with the slyest leer, was the first to say something. “Oh yeah, he laid that pipe on you good, without a doubt.”

“Mhmm,” Mei Mei agrees with a chuckle. “And I'm guessing he’s gonna do it again tonight. Isn’t that right, Y/n?”

You end the video call with a heated face. “Sh-Shut your damn mouths!!” Again, you groan into your hands before returning inside. Thank God I still have those birth control pills...

♱ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

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ramonathinks · 7 months

Text

nanami drabble based on this (minors do not interact)

your sweet boyfriend nanami isn’t that old. but when he hears you say, “i want you to fuck me like a whore.” he gulps and almost spits out his drink.

“you want me to what?” he’s bouncing his leg and pulling you close against his chest to hear you say it again.

“i want you to fuck me.”

“don’t i always?” he chuckles, but the glint in your eyes are still there and a deep pout on your lips. “we always—”

“we make love. we have sex. but… i want you to fuck me. i want it rough and dirty—"

“do you know what you’re asking of me? i can’t… why would i want to be rough with my delicate baby, hm?”

“you can be rough with me and still show how much you love me… i love making love with you, but tonight i want you to just let loose and not so responsible,”

he thinks it over all night before he actually makes his way to bed. swallowing hard and his palms shaking. he’s never had this to be requested of him.

but when he sees you… naked and spread for him, he’s no longer thinking like the sweet man you know.

he’s flipping you over quickly and putting a hand over your mouth as he slips inside of you, no foreplay, just thrusting. a pinch of pain and your muffled voice making his eyes go hazy, his hips with a kind of their own as he pounds inside of you.

kissing and biting up and down your neck, he whispers words he never thought to urge, “you like when daddy fucks you? when i show you how this is mine?”

pushing your back down he continues, feeling you squeezing around him. tears streaming down your face and your eyes rolling back, “thought you wanted this? now you can’t speak? talk to daddy.”

but the only talking he can hear is the squishy sounds echoing off the walls as he fills your cunt, the fast thrashing of skin slapping together. “n-nanami—ah!”

your hands are pushing him away but he’s rubbing eagerly at your clit. “just a breakkkkk!”

“nuh uh. gonna break this pussy in, show her the new me.” your legs are shaking as he does a devilish smile, thrusting inside of you again

22K notes · View notes

osachiyo · 6 months

Text

"Mark me. Mark me so everyone knows who I belong to." | gojo satoru

⊹ pairing. . . gojo x fem!reader

⊹ cw. . . nsfw content (mdni), jealousy, biting, marking, face-slapping, hair pulling, oral (m receiving), light masochism, dom!reader, 1.5k words etc

not proofread so don’t come at me if there’s errors and I hope u enjoy !

⊹ event details & m.list

"woa− baby, feelin' feisty, are we?" satoru laughed as you shoved him against the wall as soon as you entered your apartment. "what was that? she was clearly flirting with you, 'toru!" you grit your teeth, trapping him further as you pressed yourself against him. now, he could easily get out of your hold and pin you around instead but− he wanted to see what you'd do− how far you'd go.

"ooh your muscles are s'big, mister!" you mocked in an obnoxious tone, rolling your eyes at the memory of the annoying lady who was very obviously feeling your husband up at the store. satoru only snickered, about to wrap an arm around your waist when you slapped it away− pinning it against the wall next to him. "no. you can't touch me," you scoffed, smirking at the way his face fell. "but babyyyy− what'd i do, huuh?" he whined, gasping when you unbuckle his belt and let his pants fall down his muscular legs. you quickly grabbed the belt and started to tie his wrists together− now, he could easily break out of your pathetic attempt at keeping him still− but even he couldn't deny how his cock strained against his underwear at the fiery look in your eyes. you looked like you wanted to ruin him and god did it make him stifle a groan.

it felt like hours since you've been edging him now− to him at least. you two had moved to the bed, with him being tied to the bedpost— you had all the power. his cock was throbbing in need, precum melting on your tongue as you suckle on it before taking him fully in your mouth− a nasty mixture of your saliva and his pre dripping down your chin and hands in stringy webs and it was fuckin' filthy. but god did it make his thighs clench when you looked up at him with those pretty eyes of yours− smirking devilishly before spitting on his cock and running your tongue up and down his slit. your hands were massaging his balls− which were swollen and tight from the need to just fucking cum. but you wouldn't dare not having some fun before actually letting him cum. he was drooling at his point, hips bucking up to meet your welcoming mouth as his eyes shut closed. fuck, this was absolute torture but why was he enjoying this so much? the way your pretty nails raked down his strong thighs to the way your gentle lips swallowed his cock− staining the sensitive flesh with your lipstick.

"god, satoru. you look like a mess already," you giggled, kissing the tip of his cock affectionately before taking him in your mouth again. he laughed− the sound breaking into a garbled moan as you dip your head further down to lick at his balls. as much as you liked satoru like this− at your mercy while you gave him the best head of his life− you couldn't deny the ache between your own legs, now getting too much for you to bear.

satoru groaned as you finally got your mouth off his cock− which was still throbbing with the need to cum. he watched as you sat across from him, legs spread and putting your soaked pussy on full view for him. and he felt borderline feral as you dipped a finger inside your folds before pulling them out− showing your boyfriend the sticky substance left on your digits. "mm, look at how wet you've made me 'toru," you slurred, needy eyes peering up at him as your glossy lips curved up. he only have a strained smirk in return, the sweat dripping down his body making him look almost ethereal. "shiit− baby, you're fuckin' soaked f'me, eh?" he gloated, piercing blue eyes holding nothing but mischief as he eyed your form. "why don't'cha lemme eat that sweet pussy of yours, hm? clean up the mess between your thighs?" satoru could almost feel his cock throb at the mere thought of tasting your cunt− licking his soft lips as if that would make you give in.

you only grinned in response, fingers circling that pretty little clit as you pretended to think about his offer. "hmm, don't know 'toru.." you hummed, tapping the pads of your fingers on your clit one, two, three times before crawling to your boyfriend. "want a taste, pretty boy?" holding your fingers up to his mouth, you giggled as he stuck his tongue out− lips twitching upwards to reveal a wolfish grin. he hummed when you finally stuck your fingers in his mouth− his eyes closing from the taste of your sweet cunt melting on his tongue. "can't get enough of that pretty pussy, sweet girl," he groaned, cock twitching from your taste. "though," he continued, pretty eyes staring up at your own, "you're anything but sweet right now, baby."

satoru was fighting the unbelievable urge to just snap out of his restraints− drool gathering in his mouth as his jaw clenched. you were straddling him now, circling the tip of his aching cock against your slit, coating him in your essence. "wanna go inside, baby? wanna feel this pussy 'round you?" you snickered− fingers tangling themselves in his hair before tugging hard. he moaned at the pain, hips bucking up to almost slip inside of you but alas, he failed. it was a pathetic sight, really− the gojo satoru underneath you, at your mercy.

once you finally, finally sunk down on his awaiting cunt, pussy engulfing him so fucking nicely he could practically see stars− and you barely even started. satoru's head would've been rolling back if it weren't for the tight grip you had on his snowy hair− lips parting in a silent moan as you started to bounce on his dick. his crystalline eyes travelled between your own to your bouncing breasts− fuck, did you look beautiful.

your hands moved from his hair to his muscular back and shoulders− nails digging into the smooth flesh as you bit down on his neck, making him suck in a breath, the pain felt so fucking good. holy shit, did you turn him into a fucking masochist?

all thoughts left his head when you clamped down on him, pussy sucking him in so damn greedily as you moaned his name. one of your hands flew from his back to cup and play with your breasts− eyes shutting closed as you bite on your bottom lip. you looked like a goddess to him right now− jumping on dick never looked so graceful, but you somehow managed to leave him stunned every time.

and in the heat of the moment, he thrusted up into you without thinking— making you gasp and moan loudly as your hips come to a halt. satoru only let out a frustrated groan at this, grumbling for you to keep going and— ‘slap!’ his eyes widened upon feeling a hot sting on the right cheek.

did you just fucking slap him?

“you forgetting who’s in charge here, satoru?” you spit, hooking your fingers under his jaw. “sorry, fuck— sorry, baby” he moaned,nails digging into the palms of his hands as you grind your hips.

“yeah? why don’t I mark you as mine, huh?” you groaned, lashes fluttering as you felt him twitch inside you.

“fuuck! yeah— yes, shit— please,” he felt himself drooling as you raked your nails down even deeper on his back— a little further and you’d draw blood, he thinks. “oh fuck yeah— mark me, mark me so everyone knows who the fuck I belong to!—“

you resumed your bouncing, ass slapping against his pelvis as you whimpered. your thighs were starting to hurt— you knew you couldn’t last much longer and you had to make him cum. now.

and as if right on cue— “shitshitshit—!!” satoru’s head fell back against the bed frame, cursing loudly as you still your movements, feeling his warm release filling you up.

panting, you slowly got up from his lap, hearing satoru hiss at the loss of warmth. “god, satoru. didn’t know you could be such a submissive lit—!” your eyes widened at the sound of leather ripping, whipping your head around to see your boyfriend rolling his shoulders.

he smirked at you, eyes turning from a crystal blue to a much darker colour. “you had your fun baby, and I must admit, you did better than I thought you would,” he started walking towards you with confident steps as if he didn’t get ridden to oblivion just a few minutes ago.

the next thing you knew, he had you pinned against the bed this time— thick fingers dipping between your legs to prod at your soaked cunt. “and I can’t have my girl not having the same amount of pleasure I had,” he continued, snickering at the lewd squelching sounds coming from between your legs. “toru, it’s fine I—“ “nuh-uh, sweetheart. you’ve played your game, and now it’s my turn.”

©sachiyoh— do not copy, plagiarize and repost my works to any platform, reblogs are very appreciated ♡

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chososdiscordkitten · 22 days

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You're Mine!

Synopsis: riding choso nd giving him hickeys hehe ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: No use of y/n, some plot, porn w/ feelings, bite marks, hickeys (m&f), lipstick prints, markings, topics of ownership, praise, riding, hair pulling (M), creampie

Dedicated to; this beloved anon, may your pillows be cold and fluffy 4 the rest of ur life <3

MDNI

Choso didn’t really understand the idea of hickeys and bite marks. Had he bitten you hard enough to leave a mark, wouldn’t it hurt? And aren’t hickeys just bruises made from his lips?

It didn’t really click in his mind, the idea of pain associated with pleasure- but if you asked him to, he would give you hickeys with a small nibble here or there.

Giving them was just another task he had to complete when it came to pleasing you- he would happily lap and suckle on the soft skin of your neck and leave blossoming marks on you if it meant you would be happy.

And when you gave them to him, he still didn’t get why. The process felt terrific, but the aftermath always felt raunchy. Like some horny teenagers who couldn’t control their affections. Or when people looked at the purpling marks on his neck with a little grimace on their faces.

But when you muttered something into his ear on your way down to the pale skin of his neck- “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” that’s when Choso started associating marks with some kind of ownership.

If little bruises and remnants of your lipstick where you had kissed him littered his neck, meant he was yours- that was something completely different. Gladly would he offer his skin for you to mark.

It changed the way Choso looked at the tedious process of giving you small hickeys on your neck and down the swell of your chest.

It transformed into a way of showing that you were his, just as much he was yours- and that no one else could come near you.

Wedding rings and necklaces with his initials were one thing—but having a reminder bruised onto your skin. There being no way of removing it other than with time. Just to show people you had a person and didn’t need another.

It made a particular depraved part of his brain twitch when he would see them on you. Even more when he would see them blooming on his own skin the following day.

Choso had half a mind to tattoo your name on him—just to have a permanent reminder of you etched on his body.

Nothing, not even time or soap and water, would remove it. But you swatted away those thoughts with the little tickles you would kiss on his skin.

Thinking how much more enjoyable hickeys and nibbles were than tattoos would be.

But then came the sad sight of the pretty, pinkish-purple marks fading to an ugly shade of yellow or green. Or the soap scrubbing away the marks your lipstick would leave on his pale skin.

It always made him mournfully graze the diminishing marks in the mirror.

Though that sight wouldn’t last long, you were always attentive to giving him fresh ones to look at when the fading ones would disappear.

What you liked most was how fucking sensitive he would get- a few open mouth kisses on his face or his neck, and he would be putty in your hands.

Even more when he’s sat on the couch beneath you- his hands lazily massaging the malleable skin of your thighs and his head to the side. Giving you the perfect angle to litter his skin with small circles of your spit- beneath the sheen of saliva, a blooming red mark left by your lips.

With every moan you would vibrate onto his skin- his hands would tighten their grip. Almost urging you to grind onto the growing tent in his as you lapped at his tender skin.

It didn’t help that you were barely wearing anything- a spaghetti strap tank that rode up your waist with every little grind his hands led you to make. And the only thing separating your core from his tented cock was a pair of panties.

Supposedly just to do laundry and watch a film while waiting for the first load to finish- your excuse being “There were no clean clothes.” when he asked why you were barely covered.

And him- a t-shirt and basketball shorts, no boxers because it was as you said, ‘No clean clothes.’

That’s what frustrated Choso the most. So fucking close to your cunt- but two stupid layers of clothing blocking his access. And his lips were far too occupied. Letting out small sighs of content mixed with little whimpers to voice his complaints.

But you felt just how desperate Choso was starting to get from the way his hips bucked up when you would lightly exhale onto his damp skin.

A wave of goosebumps rose on his skin with every nibble you would make.

Or how his soft sighs started sounding like whines as your soaked panties would press right against his leaky, clothed tip.

The whimper that left Choso’s lips bordered on a cry when you raised your hips away from him in the slightest. Inching your hand down his torso and dipping your fingers past the elastic of his shorts- your lips refusing to let up the peppering hickeys on his neck.

Your hand lightly grasped his eager shaft, smile forming on your lips against his skin as you released his cock from the prison of his shorts.

Pulling back and giving him a few gentle strokes as you gazing at Choso's expression. His eyes shut tightly, his bottom lip threatening to quiver with perched eyebrows. And the sharp hiss falling from his parted lips when the ridges of your fingers would roll over his tip.

Placing a soft kiss on his cheek before sliding your lips to his ear- “Pull them aside.” you commanded with a tone Choso swore you only used to get him to do what you wanted.

And it always worked.

His strong hand slid from your hip to your core- greeted with a drenched cotton center as you lapped at his sensitive ear. Whimpering from the light strokes mixed with every sweet exhale you made against the cartilage.

You couldn’t help the shuddering inhale that left your lips when his finger hooked onto the side of your panties and exposed your sopping cunt to the air. Wasting no time in sliding the tip of his finger up your soaked slit and feeling your hips rise from the feather-like touch.

As pent up and eager as Choso was- he's never been a monster. Didn’t matter how much precum leaked from his cockhead, he wanted to prep you before anything else.

But you, the complete opposite. Swatting away his eager-to-please hand with a playful scoff.

Choso parted his eyes and looked at you, pulling away from his ear with low eyes. His expression all but asking you if something was wrong.

You lip tucked between your teeth with a strong willed hand grasping at the side of his neck. Taking a humming tone, “Fuck the prep- I need you inside.” you whispered, rolling your palm over his tip and pressing a sloppy kiss onto his lips.

The kindness of granting you prep had slipped his mind entirely when you looked at him with hungry eyes. So fucking ravenous, you’d risk displeasure just to have his cock inside.

To have a part of him, inside.

Choso eased his grip on your sides, feeling your hand grasp right below his cock head and feeling your hips rise a bit more. A hand on the side of his neck with a tucked lip- bracing for the stretch.

The little moan that left his lips bordered on being a shuddering whimper at the heat emitting from your entrance. And when he felt the taught muscle of your cunt press right against his tip- Choso swore he would cum right then and there.

He had far too little time to prepare himself to not spurt his mess before any real fun started, and your denial for prep didn’t help. The look of pure and utter starvation in your eye, didn’t help.

The shared inhale of air as you lowered yourself onto him was saccharine to his ears.

Taught, slick walls that hesitated to welcome him, making his eyes shut again. As though Choso was inviting you to suckle on his neck again, he threw his head back onto the ledge of the couch with a throaty moan.

And your hips- stuttering with every inch you lowered yourself on. A sharp sigh left your lips before connecting them to Choso’s neck again. Littered with previous blooming marks of a reddish pink. Yet he wanted more.

And more, you had plenty to give.

Licking a soft stripe down his adams apple with moans vibrating against him. A soft huff leaving your lips when your clit was flush against his pelvis. Taking your hand and placing it on the hem of his t-shirt.

Pawing at his happy trail as you lightly rose yourself, your lips sucking on his neck with soft whimpers rumbling from his throat.

One of Choso’s hands rising up your side and taking the hem of your tank top with it. Pulling your lips from his neck as you slowly rode him. Arching your back to give him a better view of your clothed breasts and seeing Choso’s low eyes lock on them.

His hand rose past the mound of your breast and freed your nipple from the thin tank. His thumb gave a gentle swipe at the firm bud as your hips took on a frotting motion. His tip nudging right at the sensitive spot with every grind you made.

Choso broke the gaze he had on your breasts, batting his eyes up to you with a soft whimper. “You’re so pretty.” he hummed, leaning his lips onto the exposed swell of your breast, pressing a gentle kiss onto the soft skin.

Being able to feel his adoration in the sloppy laps and suckles he made at your chest.

Lips formed in a soft ‘o’ as your hands reached for the half-removed tank. Slipping it off in its entirety and feeling Choso's hand on your hip, dip beneath the cotton of your panties and grope your ass.

Your grinds grew in desperation with a slight ache forming in your inner thighs. Your hands slipping beneath his t-shirt and lightly clawing at his carved torso. The light stimulation of your clit grinding against his pelvis knocking more honeyed moans out of your lungs.

Barely able to withstand the burning in your lower spine from how slow you were going. You leaned forward, raising yourself from his cock and holding yourself mid shift. His mouth full of as much of your breast as he could have. (greedy)

Choso batted his eyelashes up to you, pupils in the shapes of hearts at the feeling of your cunt clenching around his shaft.

Trailing his hand from your rib down to your other cheek, two handfuls of ass being used as mounts as he rose his hips from the couch.

Unwilling to let go of your skin from his mouth- if anything sucking harsher as he plowed his hips up into you. A strained whine leaving your lips from the swift jab, giving Choso the confidence to continue his harsh thrusts.

Your hands roamed up his arms and settled in his hair, gladly ignoring the little chime that sounded from the laundry machine. Lightly tugging and feeling the grunts and moans rumble onto your tit with every harsh thrust he made.

The edges of your fingers lightly clawing at his scalp with an orgasm forming in your tummy. As though your twitching walls weren’t enough for Choso- he took his non-dominant hand from your ass, sliding to your inner thighs right where you connected with him.

Sucking harshly at any untouched patch of skin his plush lips could find.

His calloused ring and middle finger pressing against your puffy clit making your spine quiver with a shudder leaving your lips. A drawn-out curse littered between your moans was heard as a hymn to Choso's ears.

As though you were singing praise from the noises you couldn’t control. Looking up at you, the curve of your neck adorned with a light sheen forming from how worked up you were.

Releasing your skin from his lips with a little pop, his chest heaving with every whimper spilled from his lips. “Am I doing good?” he murmured against your skin.

A moan almost in frustration at the question left your lips. Choso’s fingers moving sloppily- unable to keep a pattern with his left hand as his relentless hips bucking into you, churning your brain to mush.

Placing his lips at your sternum- sucking harshly to create those little marks you so loved to see on your skin. As many as he could just to hear your compliments.

Barely able to comprehend his fish for praise- a sharp exhale left your lips. “D-doing so fuckin’ good.” was all Choso needed to hear to release that knot in his tummy he had been holding tightly from the second his tip pushed past your cunt.

Holding onto his orgasm for as long as he could- so fucking needy to have you finish before him.

But the twitching walls of your cunt made it too hard for him to keep his focus.

Pulling away from your sternum, Choso shut his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together and thrusting into you greedily- your lips barely able to form the words, “F-fill me up-” was the last thing Choso heard before doing as you commanded.

His hips rutted up into you in tandem with every vulgar spurt his cockhead made. White, thick and full of love coating your walls as he continued his mean thrusts.

Your mess mixed with his spend pooling at his base and dripping down his heavy balls. Choso’s fingers refused to let up- He needed to feel you cum on his cock.

And with your hands gripping vigorously at his hair- the moans that left your lips bordered on guttural as his hips continued their fast pace. Uncaring if he was overstimulating his cock- Choso was still hard for you.

His shoulders trembling with unfiltered grunts and whimpers leaving his lips against your skin as he continued.

Choso’s jaw was clenched, gripping so harshly at your ass his fingertips were turning white, his nose crinkled with his eyebrows pinched. His moans came out stifled from his nose, barely able to keep up the pace. Your tits bouncing in his face from his incessant jabs as you milked his cock for all he had.

Eyes rolling back from the harsh nudges his overworked tip made against your gspot, mixed with the merciless circles his fingers made against your cunt made your hands pull on his hair unwillingly.

A little tear falling down your cheek from the mouth-watering pleasure—and fucking finally. Your walls started fluttering around his shaft.

Choked whimpers graced Choso’s ears as his lips sloppily kissed at your sternum. Too overstimulated to give you any more marks of his adoration, and settling on a few lazy pecks.

Easing your hips back down onto his lap as your breathing steadied. Shivering inhales with lazy hands sliding from his scalp. Inhaling air with an upturn of whimpers as the remnants of his seed trickled out of you.

Resting your temple onto his shoulder with a pleased smile. His cock still throbbing inside of you as you caught your breath.

Blinking your eyes up at him as though you weren’t the one who instigated the mess that spilled between you.

Choso looked back at your pleased expression- fucked out and happy. A sprinkle of smugness in your smile, but still. you were happy.

Smiling to himself at how convincing the little glimmer in your eyes was- how you could convince Choso himself that you were innocent in all of this.

Knowing full well that he would be sent to go put that load of laundry to dry before coming back and giving you another load of his. And happy to do so.

(a.n) I doodled mpeg Choso, pregnant with my kids on company time. that's the level of insane im at rn

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gojonanami · 4 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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