➶-͙˚ ༘✶ THE F*CK LIST (extras)

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐌 𝐓𝐎𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐍!

ft. shinichiro, kakucho, inui, ran, rindou, sanzu

tw. fem!reader, m!oral, cursing, dirty talk, praise, secondhand embarrassment, fingering, f!oral, cockwarming, pussy drunk boyo, needy boyo, soft dom! w/ sub! reader

an. sometimes the pussy is just too much <3

𖦹 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎

shinichiro lives for the moment when he finds your body nestled between his legs, cock perfectly placed in your hands and the tip melting on your tongue. the length throbs when your mouth engulfs him, swallowing his cock practically whole and the tip being met with the back of your throat, “god—s’good for me” shinichiro slurs, fingers digging into your scalp and his digits twitching when you only can gag around him. he doesn’t understand why you sucking him off feels so good today—better than it normally does. and shinichiro can’t control the way his hips buck into your face, slamming you down on his cock—or the cum shooting straight down your pretty little throat. shinichiro gasps, whimpering when your lips catch the sensitive head as you pull from his lap, “d-did you really just cum?” you question—meet with your boyfriend’s bright red face and avoiding eye contact, “i am so sorry princess, i-i just thought about how much i love the way you suck my cock and—shit” shinichiro hisses when your face bends back down to his crotch, tongue swirling around the length, “i’ll cum again you know? i bet my pretty girl wants another load huh?”

+ how does he make it up to you?

the only way shinichiro knows how, making you sit on his face and cumming on his tongue over and over. he really does feel bad for earlier but maybe if you’re so high on the bliss of his tongue prodding deep in your hole—you won’t mind <3

𖦹 𝐊𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐎

doesn’t grasp true reality right now when you’ve got kakucho lying on his back while you fuck his cock however you want. he likes the angle, the effortless beauty captures through each sway of your hips bouncing on his length and the way you’re taking charge, fucking him into oblivion—kakucho has self control, he knows when to clench from the waves of bliss rolling through his body but this time it’s different, “ridin’ this cock so well angel, i’m all yours, keep goin’.” but it’s better said than done because another movement of your body and everything feels—like it shouldn’t. kakucho letting a broken moan erupt through his lips, fingers pulsing through your hips and the willpower he had was filling your hole and eyes rolled white as kakucho dwindles through his high. before you can even talk he’s throwing a hand over your mouth, arm wrapped around your waist and bringing you down to his level, “just give me a minute, just give me a fucking minute” kakucho mumbles in your neck, the swell of his cock throbbing through your clenching walls. “proud ain’t ya princess? making me cum so quick” kakucho mumbles into the skin, though you can’t see his face—you’re sure he’s blushing through and through.

+ how does he make it up to you?

kakucho let’s the embarrassment wear off before he’s on you again, this time he’s the one fucking you into a limitless void of toes curling, moans spilling and his thighs splattered with a mixture of his seed and your juices—yeah, so what if he came early? not going to stop kakucho from fucking you until you’re dripping from his from his cum for days.

𖦹 𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐈

lives for the moment when he makes you feel so fucking good—if it’s the amount of squelching sounds radiating the room or the pure filfth of your juices coating his balls—inui puts your pleasure above his own, every single time. “cum for me, angel” inui whispers against your ear, hot breath creeping onto the shell while he lingers nimble fingers down to your puffy clit. inui watches the blossoming effect his cock has on you, splitting your pussy in half whilst his fingers bring your orgasm to the surface. your spasms coat his length, eyes screwing shut while you feel the orgasm brushing through your body—within a reach of paradise it’s abruptly cut short when inui lets a high pitch groan shrill your ears, panting above you and almost buckling over from his orgasm—your eyes sneer red. without another word spoken inui runs to the bathroom—bashful tones whimpering from his voice when he tells you he’s sorry, you almost want to be angry if it wasn’t for the way inui looked almost angelic crumbling to your pussy.

+ how does he make it up to you?

inui might of came too quick but that doesn’t mean he’s going to let it get the best of him— asking you to sit in his lap while he slowly rubs small circles against your clit. overstimming you until you can’t even remember why you were mad at him to begin with <3

𖦹 𝐑𝐀𝐍

with his tongue swirling on your clit, hips bucking against the sheets as your hands bring ran even closer to your throbbing heat—it doesn’t get much better than this. ran mindlessly licks and spits into your soaking cunt, groans vibrating through your core when another orgasm taints his tongue—ran has already spent an hour between your legs, he thinks what’s another more? but you’re on edge, wanting something thicker than two fingers curling along your walls and the soft whines of his name drags ran from his realm of your dripping cunt to your perfect face, capturing your lips on his and the taste of yourself spent in his mouth seeps through to your tongue. “you taste so good for me” ran moans against your lips, spreading your legs wide and motioning his cock into your hole but the overwhelming heat, silky juices from your pussy become so much ran is helpless succumbing to his ecstasy, spilling his load in a one single stroke. “you didn’t just fucking cum” you hiss, and ran drops his face into your neck, slowly reeling his hips before ramming his cock back deeper inside you, “i have no idea what you’re talking about pretty girl, i’m just getting started.” ran haitani has never lied to you but tonight, he had—a little white lie, that you totally don’t know anything about.

+ how does he make it up to you?

ran? cum? too fast? he says you’re just imagining things, he’d never do anything that embarrassing—maybe if you’re too caught up in his brutal thrusts, fingers mercifully swipes to your clit, you’ll completely ignore the fact he came inside you like it was his first time.

𖦹 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔

rindou doesn’t have time to fuck you, he’s on a tight schedule for work so maybe just pulling you in his car while he rolls his clothed bluge against your fabric covered cunt will do. maybe was what rindou thought but as hands tugged against his colored strands, coats of whines cascaded over his ear and the sheen patch of your slick stained his pants has rindou struggling. “wanna fuck this pretty pussy so fucking bad baby, just need to fill this hole” rindou pants against your mouth, needily bringing his hips down to grind against your core and he’s keeping the coil deep in his gut stagnant, hoping—praying nothing will come out of this but your panties being ruined. yet the ache grows by the minute especially when he feels your hand rub on his bulge, fingers working through to his sensitive head. a hiss bleeds through rindou’s teeth till white stars dance across his vision and rindou throws his head up, whimpering when you feel a wet patch scold his pressed pants. “did you just—” you look up at him and rindou looks the other way, biting down on his bottom lip, “do not look at me, if you do anything—don’t look at me, i am so pathetic.”

+ how does he make it up to you?

doesn’t make eye contact for a week afterwards but rest assured you sit rindou down and explain to him that mistakes happen and he’s more than happy to show you how much he needs you—he got what he wanted, filling your messy hole but rindou never says how long that’ll take. <3

𖦹 𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐙𝐔

it feels like an eternity since sanzu has fucked you and maybe that’s why everything feels like the first time all over again. his strokes are shallow, shaky breaths expelled from his lips and even the slightest gaze upon your naked body makes him shiver. “missed you so much, princess” sanzu mumbles against your lips, tracing the curves on your body with his calloused fingers while his tongue dips into your warm mouth. sanzu could last forever just like this, the swell of his cock sweetly nestled inside you, soft hands cupping his warm cheeks and a singe of pleasure jolting up his spine. sanzu ignores it at first, he’s too caught up in the way you make him feel, alive—burning from combustion and craving more. “fuck i think i’m gonna cum” sanzu gasps and normally that’d be okay but time has slowed down and sanzu has only been inside you for a minute. “s-seriously?” you squeak back, noticing his lashes fluttering closed and your thighs slathers warm. “i can’t help it, fuck—” sanzu pumps another load inside you and his hands weakly fisting the sheets beside your head, “you’re gonna cum tonight, j-just let me use this hole, o-okay?”

+ how does he make it up to you?

cockwarm your precious boyfriend, that’s what sanzu wants and needs besides it keeps his cum in and the way your cunt clenches as he makes you cream on his length is a win-win situation <3

WHO DECIDED TO GATEKEEP THIS.

credit: haekz (ig) I WAS TOLD THIS BY A COMMENT!!

name moodboard: sibel

Rindou introducing his big brother

actually, not just at cats

❝ 𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐃 ❞

❝ EVERYONE WANTS SATORU GOJO, SO WHY ARE YOU THE ONE STUCK GUARDING HIM ? ❞

✧ pairing: rich boy! gojo x bodyguard! reader

✧ summary: after the gojo family receives threats to their lives, you're hired to protect the heir to the company, satoru gojo - you just didn't realize how charming the rich heir would be - and just how hard it would be to resist his advances.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, reader is around the same age as gojo (both in their 20s but age is vague), virgin! gojo, switch! gojo, oral (f + m), handjob (m), dry humping, fingering (f! receiving), sex (p in v), depictions of violence, mentions of yakuza, dirty business dealings, gojo's made up dad and suguru make an appearance

✧ wc: 15,311 (i don't know what to say at this point)

✧ for my 2k celebration event: item 1 has been sold to @forest-hashira and two anons!

“So, is this your first time?”

Satoru Gojo would be the end of you — one way or another. 

One way would be you sacrificing your life to protect him — fairly run of the mill when it came to guarding someone, the risk of putting your life on the line, though the chance of death usually was fairly slim. You had only come close — twice. 

You didn’t care to make it a third. 

The other, increasingly more likely, way was that you would lose your mind to his incessant yammering before you even had a chance to neutralize any threat to his life. 

You nearly spit out your drink at the question, wiping your mouth with a napkin, before managin to choke it down, “Excuse me?” 

And his lips annoyingly curl, “Your first time guarding someone,” 

The heir seemed fairly nonchalant, even after his father had sat the both of you down in a room filled with more security agents than the prime minister of Japan himself had, and had lectured him about the importance of staying with you the entire time and to respect your authority — well one out of two wasn’t bad. He’s eating a piece of cake instead of a meal, his fork digging into the back of the cake again and again, toying with his food as he did with you, “I mean, you seem fairly young, but old enough to be entrusted with my safety,” 

“Well, since you insisted on going to school, your father needed someone unassuming who looked around your age,” you lean against your hand, your other drumming against the table, as your eyes scanned the area — table of frat boys, group of girls sneaking glances at Gojo, various other students, no real threats — unless you counted the girls’ death daggers towards you, “someone who wouldn’t look out of place with you, raise any suspicions, but who could still protect you,” 

His lips curl, as your eyes find their way back to the young heir, “So basically, you had to look like my girlfriend — shouldn’t I hold your hand? Sell the act? All in the name of my safety,” 

You jerk your head towards his group of admirers, “I think what we’re doing now is plenty — unless you’d like your guard to get mauled by a bunch of hormonal college girls,” 

His eyes slid to his adoring fans, as he pities them with a wave, erupting squeals from them, “I think you could take them,”

“How flattering,” you reply drily, picking at the food in front of you, “now finish your lunch so we can get to our next class on time,” 

“Are you still upset that we were late this morning?” 

“No, I’m upset that we missed half the class and I had to take the fall for it,” the heir had oh so kindly told the professor that you had made them run late (even though he was the one who spent far too long in the bathroom). 

And even though you wouldn’t be attending this school for long, you hoped that you wouldn’t have to make yourself look like a fool the entire time you were here — but — your eyes found Gojo’s again — sticking with Satoru Gojo almost made that a guarantee that you would look like a fool — one way or another. 

And you were already the fool — for thinking that a college aged boy would have any real food in his refrigerator. Although, Satoru Gojo was a different breed — instead of alcohol and questionable containers of takeout, there was...sweets. 

So. Many. Sweets.

Not just cookies and candy — but literally six different kinds of mochi (for some reason?) and almost any pastry you could possibly think of was stocked in the house. And the freezer was more of the same — seven different containers of ice cream and one aged bag of edamame stuck in the back. 

“Gojo?” you stare into the open refrigerator, while Gojo lays back on his couch, scrolling on his phone mindlessly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Do you have any food?” 

“What do you mean? The refrigerator is full of food?” and his voice is thick with genuine confusion and you’re almost wondering how this man survived to this age. 

Oh yeah, he’s rich. 

You sigh, closing the refrigerator doors, and striding over to him, only to snatch his phone out of his hands, “Sweets are not real food — how do you eat like this and function?” 

He only shrugs, lips curled into a grin, “I’m just built different,” 

“You mean like a person who won’t make it to age fifty?” you toss his phone back at him, “get up,” you grab your sweatshirt hanging by the door and throw his jacket at him. He barely catches it, as he sits up, his face displeased with your sudden need to get him up. 

“Where are we going?” 

“So,” Gojo says, his hands in his pockets, as you both walk the aisles of the grocery store, “why did I have to come with you?” 

“Because I’m going to show you how to actually shop for groceries, so you don’t have a heart attack and die before my stint with you is up,” you grab essentials and basics — oil, rice, cereal, pasta, spices, flour, sugar (although did he really need sugar with the amount he was already consuming?), “you know it would suck if my client died before we eliminated the other threats on his life,” before you add with a smile, “though I think your eating habits are more likely to kill you,” 

“You know men really hate sarcastic women,” he bites back, before something catches his eye in the aisle and he places it in the cart, “major turn off,” 

“Well, mission accomplished then,” you roll your eyes, as you look back at the cart to see a box of cookies, “you know when I said you were a moron, I was half kidding, but now,” you lift up the box of cookies, “you have a million cookies at home,” 

He pouts — why do you feel like a mother refusing their child their candy at checkout? — “Not these ones,” you take the box and put it back on the shelf where it belonged, and he relents. 

“Did you eat like this before college?” 

He shook his head, “My meals were prepared for me by the chef at my home, I never really had much of a say in what I ate, or anything really,” and you shake your head, “my father wasn’t really the type to let me handle anything on my own — thus the need for a babysitter,” 

You nod, “So no one really taught you how to take care of yourself?” and he shakes his head. 

“Guess not, but I guess no time like the present to learn,” he examines the box of baking powder you had just placed in the cart, “like what this is,” and you snort, taking the box from him and placing it back in the cart. 

“Maybe by the end of this trip, we’ll have you making it past the age of forty,” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I thought you said fifty?” 

“The cookies made me lose more faith in you,” 

The two of you continue to shop, as you help him pick out vegetables, meat, and other necessities for the house. You separate the things for you and for him meticulously, as the two of you head over to the checkout, and he’s placing everything on the conveyor belt together, including your own things, “No wait, those are mine—” 

“Consider it payment,” he stops you, as you continue to try to argue, but he’s only blocking you from the conveyor belt with a raised arm, a real smile on his lips, “just let me do this for you,” And you can’t find any words, so your mouth shuts, and you nod — as you watch him speak with the older cashier with his patented charm. 

And the cashier stops you right as you’re leaving, whispering, “That’s a good one, don’t let him go, ok?” and you pause, her words sinking in as blood rushes to your cheeks. 

“We’re not—” 

“I know,” the older woman chuckles far too knowingly, as she hands you the receipt, “but you never know.” 

“You coming?” Gojo calls, turning to look back at you, as he pushes the cart of groceries, and you look from the cashier to him, before fleeing with a quick ‘thank you.’ 

And as you go home, you glance at Gojo, maybe there was more to him than you initially thought. 

“This is so boooooring,” Gojo’s whining for, what you assume is, the billionth time, “I hate philosophy, moral arguments? It’s such bullshit,” 

“You know philosophy is literally a subject that encompasses everything right?” you tilt your head watching him lay on the floor as the two of you sit at the table, his head right next to you, as you sit cross legged, “there’s no avoiding it in life,” 

“Well can’t I avoid it in school at least? Because college feels very different from real life,” and you roll your eyes, flicking him between the eyes. 

“Just write your paper, I already finished mine,” and he perks up. 

And he slides his laptop over to you, “Then you can write mine,” 

“That’s not happening,” and he groans again, “you know if you spent all the time that you whined working on your paper then you’d be done,” 

“Were you this much of a buzzkill when you were in college?” Gojo stares at you, “what do you even do for fun?” 

“Why is this relevant to you writing your paper?” 

“Why is writing my paper relevant to protecting my life?” and you open and close your mouth, “c’mon give me something, anything,” 

“How about this — when you finish a page, I’ll answer a question, any question,” you offer, and he grins, as he sits up and begins to type away at his laptop. 

You sit back, lying back and using your phone, until about fifteen minutes later when he’s holding his laptop up, showing you that he completed a page, “That fast?” you’re skeptical, and then you grab his laptop, skimming the page, wondering if he was trying to trick you — he wasn’t. It was good, more than good — it was a wonderful discussion of deontological ethics. 

“How did you finish this so fast?” you raise an eyebrow, “you complain so much, but you wrote this page far too quickly,” 

He shrugs, “I’m good at everything, sweetheart,” and you roll your eyes, “jealous?”

“Totally,” you scoff, before grinning,  “so get back to work,” and he gapes at you, before groaning dramatically, lying back on the floor again. 

“Ugh, this is too much work,” he whines again, “I don’t know why I had to take this stupid class,” he grumbles. 

“Then why did you?” you scroll through your phone, checking for any new alerts or updates from his father or any other member of the security team, “you have a choice in what classes you sign up for, don’t you?” 

And for one of the first times, you saw Satoru’s playfulness ebb away, replaced with almost a bitterness — as bitter as his words were usually sweet, “Maybe most college kids do, but I don’t have a choice in most of the things I do, including the classes I pick,” 

You tilt your head, “Your father?” And he nods, “did you even choose your major?” 

His eyes drift to the ceiling, “Is it a choice when your father tells you you’re either being groomed to run his company when you graduate or he’s not paying for you to go to school at all?” 

“No, it isn’t,” you admit, “but it could be worse, he could have stuck you with a glorified babysitter on top of it,” 

He cracks a smile, “I don’t know, maybe I have a thing for babysitters,” and you roll your eyes, cracking a smile. 

“Get back to work.” 

“Fuck,” Satoru muttered, watching the rain come down as he waited outside the university awning of the building he had just finished his class in. You had left him to go to class by himself — you trusted him enough not to get murdered while in class and on the walk back (high praise) — and said you’d likely just meet him back at the apartment. But now, he didn’t know how he’d get home without getting soaked. 

He checks his phone for any rideshares nearby, but there were none. And he would rather go drown in the rain than call his father’s driver, and guarantee a lecture about being prepared for “any given situation.” 

Shit. Maybe he would just risk walking. 

So he did. The rain soaked through his clothes all too quick, the wet fabric clinging to his skin, and the cold leeching the warmth from his body. And he couldn’t help but think if you were with him, you would have remembered to bring an umbrella. 

Weird, when did he ever really rely on anyone else? 

Yes, his father had maids, cooks, and personal shoppers when he was growing up — but they weren’t people he relied on — he did, but it was expected. It was their job. And yes, he was a job for you too — but…it was different. 

Satoru didn’t know when it happened but he had gotten used to your presence in his life. Whether it was at home or in class, you were always there. And it wasn’t as annoying as he thought it would be. It was…nice to have someone there to lean on. But, as he glanced up at the storm clouds, holding a hand above his eyes — rolling dark clouds with no signs of the rain letting up — this would be his reality once the threats were a distant memory. 

“Gojo!” He blinks, his eyes snapping forward, and he sees someone coming over the horizon. 

It was you — umbrella in hand, as your footsteps echoed with the splashes of water from the rain that collected on the ground. And you found your way to him, holding the umbrella over his head. He stared at you as you grew closer, wondering if you were real. And he wasn’t surprised you found him —

“How did you know?” He asks when you stand, catching your breath, short pants, as your eyes flicker up to his. 

“You always forget your umbrella, so I figured you needed one,” you shrugged, “plus I finished my meeting early so I came to get you,” and he only stares at you, “what?” 

And he only shakes his head, as he takes the umbrella from your hand, fingers brushing, as he holds it up over the both of you, your shoulders brushing as you begin to walk home. And he found himself wishing for a split second that the threats would never stop. 

“Just wondering if it’s in your job description to protect me from colds too,” and you snort, lips curling into the same smile he loved to see. 

“With you? It is.” 

“A party?” 

“Yes, known as a gathering of people where—” 

“I don’t need you to define the word,” you grit your teeth, as you watch him pull out shirts from his closet, holding them up, before shrugging, “do you know the kind of danger you could put yourself in by going?” 

“I know, the party might go into a frenzy at the sight of me, think of all the students who’d glare at you then,” he grins, as he finally settles on an outfit — charcoal gray shirt and a blue button down, “might have to call another bodyguard to guard you instead, princess,” 

“Aren’t you the princess if you’re the one being guarded?” you bite back, and he only laughs, hands in his pockets, “Gojo, you have serious threats that have been levied—” 

“Against my father—” 

“And you, the heir to your father’s company,” you cut him off, crossing your arms, “are you seriously going to risk our lives because you want to get drunk and fuck around with a bunch of idiots?” 

The answer was yes, of course. 

And now here you were, stuck babysitting this spoiled heir at a party. You hadn’t really been to any parties — hadn’t bothered to. You had gotten through college at a young age, perks of skipping a few grades, and you ended up in the family business regardless — so you didn’t bother to party much. Not when you had things to accomplish — babysitting a drunk heir wasn’t one of them. 

It has started as you expected. Gojo had flitted away from your side the first moment he got, disappearing into the throng of horny and drunk college students. You wove your way through the crowd, careful not to trip over the students making out, dancing, or drinking on nearly any available surface. The smell of beer and cheap cologne wafted through this dorm. And you had almost given up on finding him when you spotted him stuck to the sides of three girls, all of them far too eager to hang off his every word. 

You sighed, this was going to be a long night. 

“You one of Satoru’s girlfriends?” you glance to your side and see Suguru Geto in person. You had learned all about Satoru Gojo and the people he hung around. Like those three girls — one of them had a long distance boyfriend, the other had a cheating situationship she was trying to make jealous, and the other just wanted to fuck him for the experience. Suguru Geto was one of the only friends of Gojo you had liked from what you had read about him — humble background, on scholarship at the college, but one of the best students here — and a philosophy student of all things, the very subject his best friend hated. 

You want to say no, but unfortunately, you have no idea what the idiot has been saying to other people, “Something like that,” you sip at your drink to make the bitter words slide down, “why? Are you?” 

A chuckle slips past his lips, as he takes a swig of his drink, “Well I already like you better than the others. You have a sense of humor and seemingly more than two brain cells,” 

“Don’t give me too much credit,” you snorted, leaning against a wall, “I did end up here after all,”

“Fair enough, how’d he convince you to come?” And you shake your head — good question. What choice did you really have? You could have let him go alone, but probably not a good look 

“I don’t even know honestly, feel like I’ve been dragged here to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid,” you glance at him and the gaggle of girls, “though maybe I already fucking failed at that,” 

Geto shrugs, as his gaze slips from Gojo to you, “I mean until he sticks his tongue down one of their throats, I think you’re doing pretty well,” 

You laugh, “Good to know,” and you both continue to chat, and unbeknowst to you, while your focus is torn away from Gojo, his attention is fully on you. 

If looks could kill, Satoru imagined his crystal eyes were nothing more than daggers ready to strike, as he watches you and Suguru talk. 

It was his fucking idea to come to this party, so why were you having more fun than he was?

He swirled his drink miserably — he had barely taken a sip of the beer poured for him — why would he when it tasted like piss? He didn’t understand why people liked to drink — especially when they could eat mochi instead — but now, as he stares at you and Suguru, maybe he was starting to understand. 

He can’t hear what either of you are saying over the blaring music and the chatter of students surrounding him, but he can see the smile on your lips and the laugh that left them. 

Why the fuck do you look so happy to talk to Suguru? 

You seemed so bored when he was with you—and did you just fucking laugh again at something Suguru said? 

The crinkle of plastic and the distinct feeling of a spill made his gaze snap to his hand — he just crushed his plastic drink cup. He sighed, as he simply placed it among the other abandoned drink cups on a nearby table, before wiping off his hand with a napkin. 

Why did he even care? You were nothing but a nuisance anyway. All you did was follow him around, make him go to class on time, make sure he was safe, care about his well-being— 

What the fuck was he thinking? 

His eyes couldn’t help but slide back to you as he tried to enjoy the girls' company, their slight touches and soft pouts and sweet words not going unnoticed by him. But that was how it always was. Once people found out he was rich, people wanted to be his friend, they wanted to date him, they wanted him — but not really him, they wanted his money. 

First world problems, right? 

But you — you hadn’t been like that. You were irritatingly punctual, unfazed by his money, didn’t care in the slightest about his father or who he was — you just wanted to do your job. And he was your job, for the time being. 

And now he got to see you smile — your lips perfectly curled in a smile that both he wanted to see all the time and grated on his nerves — but you were smiling at someone else. And Suguru no less. 

“C’mon Satoru, you gonna make eyes at your boyfriend all night?” Aiko said, nudging him teasingly, her words far too slurred. 

“Help us finish these shots,” Yumiko whines, as she offers him a shot, urging it into his hands. 

He’s grimacing, he hates alcohol — he hates how he feels during and after; he hates the disgusting, metallic taste; and if it couldn’t get worse, he’s a lightweight. He stares at the shot. 

“It’s just one shot,” Misaki grins, holding up her own, clinking hers to his, “you’re already three shots behind everyone else,” 

And he’s about to open his mouth to refuse — make up an excuse of having to wake up early or stomach being unsettled — and that’s when you catch his attention. You were laughing now, a noise far too pretty for his liking, as you shoved Suguru’s chest playfully. 

Fuck it. 

He downs the shot, the liquid searing down his throat, dragging down until it settles in a burning pool in his stomach. Finally he tears his gaze away as the girls offer him another shot — as you grin at Suguru — this was going to be a long night. 

“Hey,” Geto jerks his head, “you might want to deal with that,” 

You whip your head around. 

“Oh what the—“ 

Gojo was hanging all over the girls he was with, barely able to stand on his two feet, as he swayed from side to side — his cheeks glowed with the telltale glow that told everyone he had been drinking (if that wasn’t obvious by literally everything else). 

Fuck. 

You had kept an eye on him. You swore he had only taken two shots of alcohol, how was he this drunk already? You examine and sniff the two shot glasses he used — no peculiar smell or residue — you run through the gamut of tests you could do on hand and conclude two things: 1) Gojo wasn't drugged and 2) he was a lightweight. 

But that didn’t stop him from acting like he wasn’t, as girls egged him on to take more shots, and from the way they were eyeing him, their intentions were anything but pure. 

You sigh, walking over, slipping past a drunk couple making out, a person passed out and sleeping on the floor, and a cluster of cheering onlookers as a student chugged what you can only assume was a disgusting concoction of alcohol. 

Until you finally reached his side. 

“I think you’ve had enough, isn’t that right, Satoru?” And he’s blinking at you, before he’s grinning, slurring your name.

“You’re no fun,” and he’s clinging all over you, his hands curled around your waist, “such a buzzkill, don’t even like to have any fun with me,” 

“Looks like you had too much fun without me,” you murmur, your arm slinks around the middle of his back, “let’s get you back to your dorm,” 

“Hey he’s fine, he’s having fun with us,” Aiko glared at you, a hiccup leaving her lips, “don’t go crashing our good time because he’s not interested in you,” 

“Yeah why don’t you go hang out with Geto or whatever? We’ll take good care of him. C’mon Toru, let’s go to my place in Shibuya, I have a huge house there,” Yumiko says, barely coherent, and you raise your eyebrows at the nickname, as she leans in to whisper, alcohol wafting off her breath, as she lifts up her middle finger, “fuck off,” 

Honestly the only reason you can understand the gist of what she meant was because of her middle finger. Their other friend is passed out on the couch. 

“I don’t think any of you can even care for yourselves,” you scoff, and Satoru is hanging all over you already, mumbling words you can’t make out in your ear, “I’m taking him home, you should take your friend home,” 

“Geto, wanna help me out?” And Geto nods, trying to take Gojo other arm, but Gojo pushes him away, instead clinging to you, you stumble a moment before catching both of you, “Gojo—“ 

“No, wanna go home with just you,” he’s officially whining, and you’re having flashbacks to the summer you spent babysitting, but — you look at the drunk white porcupine clinging to you — somehow this idiot is worse than the kid. 

You sigh, “Geto, make sure that girl gets home safe,” you gesture to the one passed out on the couch, “I’m going to deal with this one,” 

Geto stares at the two of you, the far too tall Satoru hunched over onto your body, “Can you—“ 

But you’re already walking away, able to drag Gojo away with relative ease (it’d be far easier if he’d pull his own weight, but at least he was quiet). 

That was, until you got outside. And then the whining began again. 

“How can you treat me like this?” Gojo’s hands cling to your arm, his face buried in your shoulder, “you shouldn’t ignore the one you’re supposed to protect!” and he’s shaking his head like a petulant child, his bottom lip quivering. 

“You’re the one who left my side, not the other way around,” you grumble, as he’s finally beginning to walk by himself but he’s still stuck to your side like an overgrown cactus, “you’re the one who wanted to go to this goddamn party,” 

“Yeah but you’re the one who's supposed to protect me,” he pouts, as he stops right in front of his building, “I can’t do your job for you,” and he’s finally standing in front of you, his cheeks and nose still flushed from the alcohol, his hand still clutching at yours, “do you even know how to do your job?” 

You grit your teeth. Would punching the person you’re hired to protect be a breach of contract? You rub your temples, it may come to that. 

“You’re an idiot,” you jerk your hand away, shaking your head, “my job is to protect you, not to stop you from doing stupid college boy shit,” 

He’s crossing his arms, “I could have been in danger — what if that alcohol was poisoned? I feel really sick,” he grips, holding his stomach with pursed lips, and you’re thoroughly unimpressed. 

“I looked at it, it wasn’t poisoned,” you raise an eyebrow, before sighing, and shrugging your shoulder bag off your shoulders, rooting around in the pouch, “but if you want, I have something in my bag that will turn your stomach inside out and we’ll be sure to get the poison out,” 

“Nooooo, no! I’m fine,” he’s shaking his head, his voice grows soft, “I just need to get to bed,” he mutters, and you roll your eyes, but grab him by his wrist. 

“Come on, we’re going inside,” and it’s a struggle to get to his apartment — more like a luxury penthouse — on the top floor, but somehow you get him inside and shepherd into his bedroom. And he’s shrugging off his button up before pulling off the shirt underneath. 

Your gaze snaps away, cheeks burning, your eyes trying to erase the glimpse of his fucking unfairly chiseled physique — complete a surprisingly broad chest and shoulders — how the fuck was that hiding under his clothes? He looked like a stick normally with his clothes on. 

“See something you like?” he’s snickering, as you hear the click of his belt and the and sounds of rustling — assuredly stepping out of his jeans. 

“No, just not used to clients stripping for me,” you turn your back to him, as you hear the creak of the mattress and the crinkling of his comforter and sheets. 

“Am I just a client to you?” his words were still mildly slurred, and you knew he’d be pouting if he had enough brain cells to do so, “you can turn around, I’m under the covers,” he adds with a grumble. 

You turn and see him curled up under his blanket and you have to bite back your smile — now he most assuredly looked like one of the kids you used to babysit. 

“Well what else am I supposed to see you as, Gojo?” you cross your arms, and he’s muttering under his breath, “what?” 

“That’s just it. You don’t even call me by my first name,” he’s brooding, face twisted in a scowl, “I don’t have a lot of people I trust. Most people are just after my money or my looks,” he looks at you, “you’re different. Kinda weird,” 

You quirk an eyebrow, “is that a good thing?” 

“Well I trust you,” he admits, and you note the tips of his ears barely visible outside the comforter are red — is it still the flush from the alcohol? “I don’t really have many of those,” 

And you’re taken aback — you thought you were nothing but a nuisance to this party obsessed prince, but maybe there was more to him than you thought. You toyed the ring on your finger, maybe you had more in common than you thought. 

“Thank you, I’m glad you do, because you can, trust me that is,” you say softly, “good night, Satoru.” 

And he does sleep after that, as you spend the night keeping watch, half to ensure his safety and the other to make sure he slept on his side in case he threw up

(and he did, twice). 

“I need to talk to you,” Suguru Geto barely looked up from his phone when he saw Satoru in front of him, his best friend looking more irritable than usual — his usually bored affect seemed to be on holiday, “Suguru?” 

“I heard you the first time, what is it?” and Satoru snatches the phone from Suguru’s hands, “what the fuck—“ 

“What were you doing last night?” and Suguru tilts his head, before rubbing his temple.

“Give me my fucking phone—“ 

“What did you talk to her about?” And Suguru stares at him, his brow furrowed, smart mouth ready with a reply about a stint in a spa or a retreat was needed before his lips curl. 

“Oh. Her,” and he’s leaning back, a lazy shrug, “this and that,” 

“Cut the shit, Suguru, do you like her or not? Did you get her number?” And Satoru is trying to unlock Suguru’s phone, as Suguru watches with a tilt of his head and a wry grin on his lips, “huh? what is it?” 

“So you like her, that much is clear,” and he’s crossing his arms, “I assume you didn’t tell her or you wouldn’t have come in swinging and stealing?” 

Satoru stares at him, slack jawed and cheeks turning a deep pink that only carnations could rival, “No! She’s just a…friend of the family, and she’s not supposed to be with—“ 

“She told me she liked you,” his heart catches, mouth falling open, before Suguru’s lips curl, “well, she said that she was one of the many, rather,” 

Satoru’s cheeks burn, “It’s not like that, she barely even fucking looks at me. Can you believe that? Me?” and he gestures up and down his body. 

“I see your ego is still intact,” Suguru scoffs, shaking his head, before leaning back on his palms, “just tell her how you feel, Satoru, what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is I have no idea how she feels and it’s all your fault!” And Suguru raises an eyebrow, “you charmed her and I’m sure you’re the only one she’s thinking about now,” he covers his face, “and after what I said to her last night…” he couldn’t believe he admitted that you were the one of the only ones he trusted. And he called you weird. 

He honestly didn’t know what was worse. 

“What did you even say?” 

“Say to who?” and Satoru turns, finding you standing behind him, arms crossed. 

And Satoru cuts Suguru off before he can say a thing, “Not important. What are you doing here—“ you grab him by the wrist, a wave of heat makes his nearly burn red as you begin to drag him away, “what are you—“ 

“Bye Geto,” you say, waving at the raven haired student, before taking Geto’s phone and tossing it back to him, “I’m taking the idiot—“ 

“HUH?” 

“Good luck. He might need to be fed — he’s in a mood,” and he waves back, same smile on his lips. 

“What did you two do, adopt me?” Satoru grumbles as you pull him away, “where the hell are you dragging me? How did you even find me?” 

“The post hangover suits you well, we have to get to class, and I placed a tracker on you,” and he’s jerking his hand away, staring at you, “I have to be able to find you, don’t I?” 

“Where?” 

You tilt your head, “Why would I tell you? Don’t worry about, I’ll remove it after we’re done here,” 

You weren’t going to budge on this — and if he argued more, you would take it up with his father. And he would like to avoid that as much as possible. He sticks his hands in his pockets, , “I’m tired, can’t you just go and take notes for me?” 

“I thought you’d be more concerned about the threats against your life, instead of sending your bodyguard off to your class for you” you hiss, and he’s pouting again, unable to meet your gaze, “what’s your problem, Satoru?” 

And he pauses, the retort on lips dying as his brain looped in an infinite spiral of his name on your lips, “You called me ‘Satoru,’”

You tilt your head, “you told me to last night,” and then you add with a wicked grin, “remember? When you said I was one of the only people you trusted,” you tease, but he’s too busy hearing his name repeat in his head again and again, “Satoru—“ 

“Better be careful, sweetheart,” his lips curl into that annoyingly charming smile, “keep calling me by my first name and I may fall for you,” 

You glare at him, before rolling your eyes, “I see you’re feeling better now,” you walk forward, glancing back at him, “you coming?” 

And his wrist tingles still tingle from your touch, his lips quirk into a smile, “Yeah.” 

“Why did you become a bodyguard?” Satoru asks you, the movie you had haphazardly chosen still ongoing had all become background noise while you spoke, the illumination from the television screen being the only thing that kept your faces lit in the dark living room (he had insisted on shutting the lights off for an “authentic movie watching experience”). 

It had been a few weeks, with no signs of the threat posed ever being eliminated — still new threats were being made, and the Gojo family was still on edge. 

But you were on edge for a whole other reason. 

His fingers were still shoved in the bag of kettle corn he had been snacking on this entire time, but you could feel his gaze on you, instead of the movie. 

“What do you mean?” your eyes slide to him, as your phone’s ringer goes off with a spam email, and you silence it, keeping it on vibrate for emergencies, “and what’s with the sudden question?” 

The two of you had settled into your routine — days spent in class, meals shared, grocery shopping, and nights spent either in or out — but again, always together. And, it wasn’t bad — some of it was fun, to the point you almost forgot you were working. 

But you were working. Even now, as your legs are thrown up on the couch, crossed underneath you, your knee brushing against his thigh. 

He shrugs, “You owe me a question, remember?” and he reminds you of your promise from weeks ago — you had wondered why he had never asked you anything that night, “You never talk about yourself. You implied you have your degree, but not much else. From what I’ve seen of you, you’re intelligent — you could have done anything, why this?” and his lips curl into that mischievous, “unless you just had to guard me when you found out it was me,” 

You toss a throw pillow at him, but he catches it with ease, “If only your body was as bulletproof as your body,” and he huffs out a laugh, as you sigh, “why are you interested anyway?” 

“Because I am,” you scoff. 

“Nice reasoning,” he only grins, a thousand watt even in the dark. 

“I thought so,” and he’s holding the pillow to his chest, “c’mon, can you not tell me even one thing about yourself?” 

He wasn’t going to let this go was he? And you relent, chewing on your lip, “My family has been in this business for years — my grandfather, my father, my uncles, and my cousins, and I wanted to be one too. To protect people — it’s a lot more work than it seems. It’s quick thinking, critical reasoning, and analytical skills. It’s all I ever wanted to do after watching my dad do it,” you say softly, “but he didn’t think I was capable of it. He thought I was too soft. Too weak. So I decided to prove him wrong,” 

“You weak? Has your father met you?” and you huff a laugh, “I’m serious,” his cerulean pools meeting yours with not a ripple of hesitancy in them, “I’ve seen you — I don’t I’ve met anyone this determined, or stubborn,” he adds with a smirk. 

“I’m stubborn?” you gape at him, “this coming from the king of stubborn,” 

“Only if you’ll be my queen,” and you roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn, as your gaze turns back to the movie — why did your heart catch at his words? “but trust me, I’m very flexible in other aspects,” 

“Oh my god, is every other sentence that leaves your mouth a pick-up line?” and he opens his mouth, “don’t say ‘only for you,’ or I will be the only threat you have to worry about,” 

“Promise?” you grab another pillow, but he catches your wrist before you can toss it. Your breath catches, and you can’t meet his gaze — you can’t, because you know if you do— but then he whispers your name. 

And you can’t help it. You look at him. His eyes are so pretty. They were really the first things that struck you when you met him — that was before he opened his mouth. They looked like they contained multitudes, a far too beautiful ocean tucked behind sunglasses and an irritated scowl. But it wasn’t a secret that Satoru Gojo was attractive — especially not when every other person glared at you for simply being in his presence. But physical attractiveness meant little if a person wasn’t good — because superficiality could only take you so far. 

And you knew what it was like to be only judged superficially — and by the way Satoru’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes when these people chatted him up, he was far too used to it. 

And once he did speak, you had written him off as another rich kid — you had seen them a dime a dozen throughout your schooling and from the people your family was protected to hire. But there was something about him — something you couldn’t quite shake, even though every part of you was telling to do so. 

“What is it, Satoru?” And his fingers tug you a little closer, gently, his hand loose enough for you to slip away, but you don’t. Why don’t you? 

“You don’t always have to have your guard up,” his voice is soft, far too soft for the far too loud heir, “it’s okay to open up,” 

You shake your head, but still unable to pull away, “It’s dangerous,” and he laughs, a sound that only warms the thin icy barrier between you both, melting it to nothing. 

“Isn’t danger the whole reason we met?” And now his thumb brushes up and down against your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel your pulse roaring just underneath. 

You pull away again, shaking your head, as you cross your arms, trying to hold your resolve together, “I can’t do my job if I’m distracted,” and you couldn’t, even now, you weren’t evaluating any risks, you weren’t trying to find the source of the threats — no, you were too busy trying not to inch closer to your client, trying not to look at his lips, trying not to give in to what you wanted. 

“And I’m a distraction?” he looks far too pleased, but a thought seems to sour his smirk, “I thought Suguru was more of one,” and his lips are caught in a slight pout. 

“Geto was just keeping me company while you entertained those girls hanging on your every word,” you can’t dull the point to your words, and it replaces his pout with a grin. 

“So you were jealous,” 

“You’re the one who was jealous — you could have killed Suguru with your glare alone,” 

“But you didn’t deny it,” and it makes you stop — why didn’t you deny it? 

“I can’t do this,” and you’re pulling away, before flicking off the tv and rising from the couch your phone in hand, turning towards the hallway, “it’s late we should go to bed—“ but he’s catching your wrist again, “Gojo—“ 

“Satoru,” he corrects, and you hated how gentle his fingers felt around your wrist, “how are you supposed to protect me if you’re too busy running away from me?” 

“I’m great at multitasking,” and he’s drawing closer to you, his soft footfalls against the carpet, even as you step away from him, “my job is to protect you, we can’t get distracted—“ 

“I thought you were so good at multitasking,” he chuckles, his fingers find your wrist again, slipping to intertwine with your own, fingers interlaced, and your phone falls from your fingers and onto the couch, “what I said that night when I was drunk was true — I don’t have a lot of people I trust. People don’t understand. They put me on a pedestal or they don’t want me, they want the concept of me — not the reality,” 

“I’m not licensed as a therapist you know,” and he’s sighing. 

“Do you always have to deflect with humor? Because if we both do that, we’ll never get through a conversation,” and he squeezes your hand, “which I guess I don’t mind if that means you’ll stay,” 

“Satoru—“ 

“We don’t have to do anything now — we don’t have to do anything at all,” and you can feel his words warming your skin, “but don’t you feel something?” 

You hesitate, and you can’t look at him,  “No, I don’t,” 

“You’re not a very good liar — don’t they teach you that in bodyguard academy?” 

You snort, holding your head, “Is that where you imagined I got my training done?”

“Well, you don’t exactly like to share, now do you?” he’s stepping forward again, and you can’t bring yourself to run away anymore. 

“I shouldn’t,” and you hear the faint sound of his breath hitching, “but I do,” 

You don’t need to look at him to hear the smile on his lips, “so maybe it’s a distraction worth having,” 

“But—” and he’s gently turning you to face him, his fingers brushing a stray hair from your face, heat blooming with his touch, “Satoru…” 

“Why do you keep saying my name when you know I like hearing it?” he’s teasing, but you’re not shying away from his touch, as his fingers cup your chin now, upwards, so you meet his gaze, “maybe we should have had you pretend to be my girlfriend,” 

You chuckle, “Oh I could see that going wrong in so many ways,” and he’s leaning even closer, as he’s left the line you’d drawn far behind, marred it with his touch, and is luring you over to stumble over the edge with him. 

“Is this one of them?” 

“Probably,” and his lips brush against yours — he tastes sweet, the taste of kettle corn lingers, as his fingers cup your cheek now, and find purchase on his shoulder. It’s brief, a soft press that leaves you far too breathless, as if his touch had taken the air from your lungs, only to leave heat behind, “definitely,” 

“Is that a good thing or—” and your lips find his this time, a gasp you swallow with a smirk, and he melts into your touch, eager fingers grasping at the front of his shirt. And he responds in kind, his fingers tracing a path, as they tuck a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand settles on the back of your neck. 

His touch set every nerve ending on fire — a desperate wildfire that burned a trail across your mind and body — leaving only the crave of his touch behind, that left you wanting more, needing more.

“Was that good?” you murmur, as you take in your handiwork, his pink lips were bitten red by your kisses, his marble skin a lovely flush, and his gaze far too needy. God, it’s far too easy to get lost in him — pull your anchor from the shore and get lost in his gaze and touch, “god I shouldn’t ask that, we shouldn’t be doing this—” but your body refuses to pull away, and you don’t think by the grasp he has on you, that you’d be able to anyway. 

But he only gives you the same answer to each of your statements — he kisses you again, slower and more languid this time, as the two of you walk towards the bedroom, your hands reaching for each other and the walls, as you both stumble into his bedroom. 

“We don’t—” he says, between kisses, “I didn’t—” 

“I didn’t either, but—” you can’t stop touching him, you don’t want to, despite the logical part of you screaming at you to leave his room, it’s overridden by just how much you want him. He’s frustrating, he’s an idiot, he’s sweet, he’s cute, and he’s a little pathetic — but you liked that in a man. Every sense of logic is screaming at you to stop — but it all turns to white noise  “but I don’t want to stop.” 

He’s grinning as he pulls you into another kiss, his arms wrapping around his waist, pressing you against him, “That addicted already?” lips parting as he kisses down your neck, pulse jumping under his touch. 

“You’re just lucky Geto didn’t get to me first,” and he furrows his brow, before his teeth graze against the juncture of your neck and shoulder, drawing a gasp from your lips, “Satoru, what was that for—”  

“So everyone knows you’re mine? Including Suguru,” he’s sucking lightly at the mark, soothing his tongue, “and I’ll make sure he knows,” 

“Oh, I trust you’ll be subtle,” and he’s guiding you towards his bed, both of you falling onto it, his knee pressing your legs apart, as he hovers over you, his ocean gaze dark as a storm ridden sea. 

“Oh you know me, princess,” and his knee presses against your clothed cunt, rubbing against it teasingly, “subtlety is my specialty,” 

“Subtle as a truck,” you murmur, and he’s laughing as he kisses you again, making your lips curl, as his hands slide up your sides, squeezing your hips, “Satoru, please,” 

“What’s the fun if I don’t get to tease you?” he’s kissing needy kisses to your neck, as his knee doesn’t relent, grinding lightly against your increasingly wet core, slick leeching through the thin material of your shorts, “gotta make sure you want it right?”

“You treat all the people you bring home this well?” and he’s pausing, lips against your neck, “I didn’t mean anything—” 

“You’re the first,” you stare up at him, and he’s hesitant for once when usually he’s always barreling forward, “I’ve never brought anyone here,” and he licks his lips, a deeper flush settling over his porcelain skin, “I’ve never actually—” 

And you blink, “Really?” 

He huffs, “Is it that surprising—” 

“I mean a little, from the way everyone acts around you, and the way you act—” 

“Well, ‘act’ is the key word, now isn’t it?” he’s licking his lips as he looks down at you, “it’s easy to act when you know what they expect from you — a role to play,” 

“Well, the role’s been filled, so how about you just be yourself for me?” you murmur softly, a featherlight touch as you trace the curve of his jaw, and his lips find his smile under your delicate touch, “so I can ask, is this your first time like you asked me?” 

And he’s leaning up to kiss you, your hand resting against his chest, his heartbeat galloping under your touch, “And if I said yes?” 

You smile, before flipping him onto his back, his gaze wide as he stares up at you, “Then we better make it memorable.” 

“Please, I want to—“ his soft pants left his perfect lips, chest heaving as your fingers curled around his erection, far too hard from just what you had done. You’d stripped yourself and him bare — your inhibitions left far behind — as your lips kissed the tip of his aching cock.

“Lemme make you feel good, Satoru,” you murmur, looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your fingers smearing his pre cum along his length, and he’s pressing his head into the pillow, “s’big, can’t wait to feel you inside me,” you murmur, and you slowly pump him, drawing moan after moan from his lips. 

“Won’t last long—can’t—“ he’s biting his lip, his hips thrusting into your touch, before your lips suck at his tip again, and he’s gone, cumming hard all over your face and fingers. God, it never felt that good when he touched himself. Your fingers even brushing against him made him want to cum almost instantly, your soft touch and lips were enough to send him over the edge over and over again.  

He’s panting, eyes fluttering open to see you licking your lips clean with your tongue, as you meet his gaze with a grin, slowly sucking on each one of your fingers until you’ve cleaned yourself of his cum. 

“Princess, fuck,” he’s lying back on the pillow, as your lips slowly kiss back up his body, your tongue dragging between the fluttering muscles of his stomach and chest. 

“Already hard again?” You murmur, a smirk on your lips, “so sensitive for me,” 

He’s keening at your words, a whimper leaving his lips. His eyes are blown out in pleasure as he meets your gaze, and you kiss him again, sloppy and messy, as his tongue brushes against yours, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection. 

“Please,” he can’t help the words leaving his lips, “I need you,” 

“Is this the first time you’ve begged for something?” You tease him, smirk on your lips as your thumb teases one of his nipples, pulling a gasp from his lips, “such a good boy,” 

He hissed at your praise, “fuck—“ 

And you’re grinding against him, he’s already embarrassingly hard, blood rushing back to his cock as if it never left, as it drags against the all too wet fabric of your panties. And every small moan that leaves your lips leaving him needing more, his pre cum mixing with your cum that seeps through your panties, and is the second time he comes with you gonna be just grinding against each other on this bed? But he can’t help it if you keep nibbling at his neck like that, your pretty little pants in his ear, the head of his dick catching on your clit — so fucking good. 

“Toru, c-close, ngh, g’nna cum—“ and he’s nodding, forcing his eyes open to watch you cum, your chest shaking, as you hover above him, your eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as you said his name. 

“S’good,” he’s grunting, “Cum f’me,” and you both do, the slick and stickiness between your bodies almost unbearable, as you both pant, as you rest your head against his shoulder. 

The silence sinks in for a moment, as you kiss his cheek, “we can stop here if you want,” your voice is soft, nose brushing against his neck, “don’t want to make you—“

And he’s flipping you onto your back, his fingers finding the waistband of your shorts, your breath hitching as he drags the material down your legs, and tosses it behind him, “I want this, I want you, and I won’t stop saying it until you believe it,” he leans down, breath warming your breasts through your shirt, before his lips suck at your clothed nipples, making you shiver, “you like that, huh?” 

“Shut up,” your cheeks burn, but he’s only tugging your shirt over your head and off, his gaze hot as he drags his eyes down your exposed body, and it makes you squirm, “Satoru — please—“ 

“Now who’s the one doing the begging?” he leans down to suck on your nipple, while his fingers toy with the other between his thumb and forefinger, “I wanna learn what makes you feel good — wanna make you cum under my touch, wanna taste you,” he switches sides, his teeth grazing the skin of your breast, sucking a mark before soothing it with his tongue, “mine,” 

“Satoru, fuck, I want—“ and his fingers trace down your body, making you gasp, he’s kissing down your chest and then your stomach, tongue dipping into your bellybutton, “you fucking—“ 

“Gotta make you feel good don’t I?” he has a shit eating grin on his lips, as he settles between your thighs, and his fingers press against the growing wet patch on your panties, “though it looks like you’re already feeling good,” 

You bite back a whimper, “Are you gonna make me feel good or are you gonna keep talking—“ you moan when his thumb bears down on your needy clit, rubbing it through the nearly translucent fabric of your underwear. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” And he’s snapping the waistband of your panties against your skin, “couldn’t hear you,” 

“You fucker—“ and he’s kissing your clothed cunt through the wet fabric, nose brushing against your clit, making you nearly shake, as he inhales before he moans. 

“So sweet, must taste even sweeter,” he murmurs before tugging your underwear down, before you’re kicking it off, making him chuckle, “so eager,” and you scowl up at him, ineffective from the way lips are parted, “you’re so cute,” 

“I’m not cute,” you pout, and he’s laughing, a noise you could drown in, just as you do his eyes. 

“You’re very cute, and I’ll tell you as many times as it takes you to believe it,” and his lips press soft kisses to your thighs, “my cute bodyguard, you gonna guard my heart as well as you do my body?” 

And before you can reply his breath is warming your soaked cunt, his fingers parting your folds apart, your clit was puffy, your sex slick with your mixed juices, “so pretty, this all just for me?” And you hiss as he holds your outer lips apart, “so this is what your pussy looks like, huh?” And your thighs are twitching, trying to shut, but his palms hold you apart, his heated gaze meeting your shy ones, “you’re perfect, don’t hide from me, you’ve done enough of that,” and he kisses your clit, making you moan, “and I won’t have that anymore,” 

“Satoru—“ and his tongue drags over the length of your dripping pussy experimentally, tip of his tongue flicking against your clit, fuck, how can he this good at this? Your toes are already curling as he groans, his fingers sliding under your thighs, and tugging you impossibly closer to his face. Your fingers weave into his white locks, “‘ngh— 

“Be a good girl and take it,” he grunts against you, slurping your juices, the sounds of his tongue buried in your cunt, fucking you open, dragging across your walls, “taste s’fucking good, how’d I hold out this long without tasting you?” And your eyes flutter open at his groans, seeing him grind down on the sheets, so fucking horny from eating you out, “g’nna just cum from your taste alone, Princess,” you’re so incredibly soft, so soft, despite your walls being so tough, and it makes only eat you eat you from the inside out. 

You’re so close, and all you hear is the sounds of his greedy tongue swallowing you whole, and the sound of your heartbeat and short gasps. Your walls flutter around his tongue, your thighs twitching under his touch, hips jolting forward to meet his touch, his tongue so fucking deep that you can’t see straight, “Toru, please, I’m so close—“ 

And you feel him groan into your pussy, redoubling his efforts before his fingers find your clit and rub at it while he sucks at your cunt. You cum hard, fingernails digging into his scalp, as your back arches as he eagerly eats you out through your orgasm. The wet squelch of your cunt and his tongue slurping against you, drinking every drop you offer him. 

And then finally he’s pulling away with a pop, his chin and mouth dripping with your release and his spit, pink tongue darting out to clean up your cum from his face, wiping off the rest as he looked up at you from white lashed half lidded eyes. 

And you can’t even speak, still coming down from your high, as he kisses up your body again, your thighs still shaking from your orgasm, your fingers reaching for his cheek, tracing his jaw, before cupping his cheek. 

“How the fuck do you know how to do that well?” And he flashes a pretty smile, as he drags his thumb down your lips. 

“I said I was a virgin, I didn’t say I didn’t know how to do some things — and as you know, I’m an excellent student,” and you huff, raising an eyebrow, “and I’m naturally good at everything,” 

“And always so humble,” he laughs, before he kisses you again, letting you taste yourself on his sweet lips, and you’re rolling him over onto his back, his erection slick with precum, pressing against your sensitive cunt, “let me make you feel good now,” you murmur, his cock twitching against you, “wanna ride you, Toru, need you in me,” 

And he’s hissing, as he moves to sit against the headboard, “You keep talking like that princess, I’m g’nna cum before you even—“ and your fingers are reaching between your bodies, and you’re stroking him, smearing his precum over the length of his shaft, making his hips jerk, “fuck—” 

You’re so fucking pretty — your teeth baring down on your bottom lip, as you straddle him, hovering still, his aching tip barely brushing against your dripping cunt, “are you sure?” you murmur, eyes meeting his own, and his lips quirk into a smile. 

“Never been more sure of anything,” and you sink onto him, thick length parting your folds, and he groans, as you fit him in your pussy, inch by inch, until your hips are flush. And fuck, he’s never felt anything better — pleasure runs up and down his body, as his hands find their way to your hips.

You’re tense at first, your back slightly arched, and when he shifts under you, a moan is ripped from your lips, as you begin to adjust to his size, “s’big, Toru, gonna make it hard for me to last too, feels too good,” you’re mumbling, and he’s holding his hips taut, making sure not to move — or else, he’s sure he’d cum in one stroke, “g’nna move ok?” and he’s nodding desperately, your walls already fluttering around him — slick and warm, better anything he’d ever felt. 

You lift up to the tip, before beginning to rock steadily up and down, as he moans, your sweet cunt swallowing him eagerly, as you began to fuck yourself on his cock. Your chest bounces as you ride him, and he can’t resist leaning forward to take a hardened bud in his mouth, your moan making his cock twitch inside you. And he knows why people become addicted to sex — hell, he knew was an addict for it now, but only with you. 

“Fuck, never felt anything this good before, sweetheart, feel s’perfect for me,” he’s grunting, the coil in his stomach growing tighter, as your pace grows more and more sloppy. He wasn’t going to last long, and neither were you from the way you were groaning his name again and again. The wet squelch and smacks of your bodies meeting again and again, only making it harder to hold back, and when he looks to see a white ring of your precum pooling around the base of his dick, he’s nearly gone, “fuck, baby, need you to cum with me,” 

“It’s okay, pretty boy, cum for me,” he keens at the praise, but he’s stubborn, as you established, and he won’t cum until you do too — and so he ensures it, reaching between your bodies to rub meanly at your clit before meeting your thrusts with his own. 

And his tip brushes against that spot that has your vision blurring and toes curling, “Toru, ngh, I’m—” and you’re cumming hard around him, making him spill his warm and thick seed inside your cunt, and he’s groaning you name as he does, your body slowing as you both come down from your highs, your head resting on his shoulder, as your bodies grow limp, resting, his back pressed to the headboard of his bed. 

His fingers trace the curve of your back gently, as he turns his head to press soft kisses to your neck, “Am I still just a distraction?” his lips curled into a smile, and you chuckle, burying your face in his shoulder. 

“Definitely,” but you lean back to cup his cheek, and look at his pretty face again, “but one worth having.” 

You don’t wake from your alarm the next morning. 

Instead, you wake to banging on the door. You both jolt awake, and he’s pulling you into his arms, even as you move to get up, he won’t let go, strong arms around your waist. You’re easing his arms off, trying to be gentle, “Toru, let go, and wait here, your father had a panic room installed in your closet, you hear anything, go inside—” 

“No, I’m coming with you,” and you shake your head. 

“I’m hired to protect you, not the other way around,” you leave his embrace, and face him, his crystal eyes blurred over with worry, “I can handle this,” you reassure him, your fingers intertwining with his, as you press a kiss to his knuckles, “I promise,” 

“But—” and you kiss him gently, silencing his protests, before you slip away into the hallway. 

You enter the living room, shutting the bedroom door without a sound, stalking through the hall, as you grab a knife and pepper spray from the chest of drawers that was pressed to the wall of the hallway — you had several self defense tools hidden all over the apartment. Your heartbeat thunders in your ear, mouth dry, as you approach the door from the side. 

“Who is it?”

“It’s Mr. Gojo, open this door,” and you sigh, relaxing, as you check and unlock the door for him. 

Shinsaku Gojo was only a man you were able to meet once before your work for him began. And it was a privilege even to see him then. His schedule was always packed — multiple meetings, multiple clients, and multiple women, all vying for his attention. Even as you spoke with him the first time, his eyes were on his phone the entire time, except when he had warned you, not to let anything distract you from protecting his son. 

And you had done just that — and even worse, his son had done the distracting, “Mr—” 

“Where’s my son? He hasn’t answered his phone all morning, and neither have you—didn’t you hear from your agency?” his voice is raising, as he dials your number again, and your phone vibrates on the couch. He scoffs, disconnecting the call, as his hard gaze turned back to you, “what if there was a threat? You left your phone—” 

“Dad,” Satoru emerges from the room, his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, “it’s not her fault, she forgot it last night when we were watching a movie,” 

“Watching a movie?” he sneers, his cerulean gaze the same as son, but without any of the warmth Satoru had — an icy tundra compared to a warm pool, “she should be watching you, that’s her job—” 

“She was watching me — something you never bothered to do,” and his father’s eyes narrow, “she’s shown more concern for me than you ever had — and she only met me a few weeks ago. What’s your excuse for being a pathetic piece of—“ 

“Satoru,” your fingers brush his shoulder, shaking your head, “sir, I take responsibility for this lapse of judgment. Don’t blame your son,”

Satoru lowers his voice, “it’s not your fault—“ 

“It is. I disregarded by duty to protect you,” your cheeks burn with shame — “what if i had missed an alert you were in danger? What if I failed to protect you because I wasn’t focused? What if—“ 

“Nothing happened,” he says softly, and the twitch of his fingers tells you he’s gonna reach for you, but you step forward, shaking your head. 

“Nothing did,” and you turn to his father, “I’ll protect Satoru until you can find a suitable replacement for me. But I compromised my mission to protect him. I would like to resign as soon as possible,” 

“No! I—“ 

“Agreed,” his father says, “I’ll have your replacement here in an hour, make sure you’re packed up by then,” and his father leaves without another word. 

You brush past him to gather your things, but he’s caught you by the wrist, “Why did you do—“ 

“Gojo,” and you can’t bear to see the hurt in his eyes, “I can’t let my feelings get in the way of keeping you safe—“ 

“I don’t care—“ you cut him off. 

“I do, I couldn’t stand if something happened to you because of me. What it was an emergency last night and you got hurt because of my own carelessness—“ 

“It wasn’t careless what happened last night—“ 

“It was,” you say, walking to your room, “and it won’t happen again.” 

You left. You had expected a fight, an argument, a dramatic show of tears — but nothing. Satoru hadn’t even opened his door to watch you leave. The other bodyguard arrived quickly, and you left the penthouse and didn’t look back. 

It was for the best. 

You had a duty, a role to play, and more than that, you couldn’t let him get hurt because of your inability to compartmentalize. Even so, Satoru’s father was kind enough not to have told your father what happened — or you supposed it was pity in exchange for your quick and easy resignation. 

Fuck. Why were you still thinking about this? You rolled over in bed, burying your head under your comforter. A week out, and you still couldn’t stop worrying about Satoru, about his safety, about the hurt on his face, about that night… 

You had fucked everything up, and fucked Satoru up in the aftermath. 

You poke your head out, and stare at your phone on your bedside table — 7:45 PM, no new messages — you had written out six different messages to him again and again, before deleting them. You wondered how many more you’d write before you finally would rid your mind of him. 

Would you ever rid your mind of him? 

And that’s when your phone rings. But it’s not flashing Satoru’s number — it’s his father. You scramble for the phone — why was he calling? And you can only think of one reason. You can’t say a single word when you pick up — his father already hissing his first question.  

“Where is he?” your words are lodged in your throat, stuck on your heart that had leapt from your chest. 

“What?” 

“Where’s Satoru? He came to you didn’t he?” he growls, and you hear a slam, assumedly his fist against his desk, “he shook off his new bodyguard, and his phone is off,” 

“He hasn’t — I haven’t talked to him since I left—” your mind is running a mile a minute, racking your brain, placing the call on speakerphone, as you text Satoru, where are you? “Where did the bodyguard see him last?” 

“He had him at the dorms, he said he was going to see a friend, and then gave him the slip,” his father groans, “you hear anything from him, otherwise—” 

“I’ll let you know,” you cut him off at the threats — you had more important things to do. You checked your messages, but your messages hadn’t gone through, and you tried calling him — but it went straight to voicemail. Satoru was upset — he could’ve blocked you or turned off his phone to piss off his father, but you didn’t see him doing that. He was an idiot, but he knew his father would lose his shit. 

And then you remembered. The tracker you placed on Satoru — you never took it off. You had sewed it into the insole of his daily shoes (the man had far too many clothes and shoes, but he rarely found the energy to not wear anything besides the shoes he always wore). 

You turned it on, biting your lip as you watched the tracker loaded, and his location popped up — and it wasn’t at his apartment. 

It was in Shibuya — you typed in the address and he was at a house. 

You furrow your brow, who did he know who lived in Shibuya? And then it clicked. 

Fuck. 

Those girls. 

Satoru groaned, fuck, why is his head hurting so badly? 

It wasn’t exactly unusual the last few days. He hadn’t been sleeping much since you left, he spent most of his nights watching TV and rotting in his bed. But everything reminded him of you — his bed, his couch, and even the shows he watched (he had continued one of the shows you both had started one late night). 

His apartment was a disaster — a mess of empty soda cans, empty wrappers of candy and old takeout containers. But he couldn’t be bothered with it — to clean it up or call someone to clean it up. His bodyguard had taken up residence in your room — or rather the guest room — and hardly emerged, keeping an eye on him through cameras his father had installed around the doors and hallway. 

Not that he really needed to, Satoru rarely left his apartment, even had skipped classes for a week — sending an email that he had a very contagious illness and that he’d be happy to attend class if necessary. They sent him materials to work on classwork from home, piled untouched on his kitchen counter, with a possible smudge from the hot fudge he had last night. 

He had made progress — instead of staying in bed, he moved onto the couch for his afternoon nap, and he had just fallen asleep when there was a banging on his door. He groaned into the couch pillow he had just gotten comfortable on, before pulling it onto his head, trying to block out the sounds of the knocking. 

“Satoru! Open up,” he hears Suguru’s voice through the door, “open the fucking door, I know you’re not sick,” 

He pulls himself up, groaning, as he wipes the small amount of drool from his lips, as he meanders to the door, throwing it open. 

“You look like shit,” Suguru says, brushing past him to enter. 

“No ‘hello, you look like shit?’” He mumbles, still rubbing his eyes, “what are you doing here?” 

“I should be asking you that,” he stands, hands in his pockets, as he takes in the mess with a wrinkled nose, “although I see you’ve decided to redecorate,”

“Hilarious,” Satoru replies, lying back on the couch, “did you come here just to hassle me?” 

“I’d be lying if I didn’t say that wasn’t part of it, but the other was to see if you’re ready to pick yourself back up after your breakup—“ 

“It wasn’t a breakup,” Satoru snaps. 

“If it wasn’t, then why does it look like you haven’t showered in several days since she left?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, and Satoru scowls. 

“I’m sick,” he turns away to face the couch, “I don’t have the energy to shower,” 

“But you have the energy to eat about half a dozen mochi doughnuts?” Suguru holds up an empty doughnut box, and Satoru holds a couch pillow to his chest, “Satoru, come on, it isn’t like you to wallow like this,” 

“I’m not wallowing—“ 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re sick, right?” Suguru says sarcastically. Satoru doesn’t need to look at his best friend to know he’s rolling his eyes, “well you don’t seem like you’re sneezing or coughing so go take a shower or something,” Satoru gives a weak fake cough, and he could feel Suguru’s glare, “fine, rot in bed, but you have to get up sometime, just text me when you’re ready to,” 

And Satoru hears Suguru’s footsteps recede to the door, swinging shut with a click behind him. He buries his face in the pillow. It wasn’t a break up. How could it be when you didn’t even have a relationship to begin with? You had made that clear enough when you left without another word to him. He didn’t leave his room until he heard the door shut behind you, and he made his way out to watch you leave out the front door of the apartment. And you didn’t even look back. But you weren’t the type to. 

He felt like he was always looking back — one way or another. 

And even now, as he came to — he was trying to remember what he had done after Suguru left. Someone else had shown up — knocked at his door. Offered to get him out of the house — offered him free alcohol and a distraction. 

And he had agreed — if only to forget about you for a moment. Drinking was the only thing that made him forget — if he only could somehow forget how terrible alcohol tasted. 

His head spun, so was this a hangover? It’s certainly worse than the one he had before — the last one felt like his brain was fuzzy and nausea clawed at his stomach — this time, it felt more akin to someone taking a blender to both of those organs. And his neck, he stretched it both ways. How had he fallen asleep? 

And then he tried to lift up his hand to rub his eyes, and he couldn't, wrist straining against something — his brow furrowed, what was arm caught on — and his eyes fluttered open. It was dark — the only light came from another room, peeking through the crack at the bottom of, what he assumed was, a door. And then as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he looked at his arms. 

Ropes. Twisted around both his arms, binding his wrists and forearms to the arms of a chair, and his vision blurs — what? His legs jerk instinctively, but ropes dig into the flesh of his ankles, and he glanced down only to find what he expected. 

“You’re awake,” the light flicks on, he lifts his head, blinking away the fog in his head and the burning tears slipping from his eyes, “didn’t realize the drug would knock you out for that long,”

He blinks again and again, light flooding his eyes, until he can see and sees a familiar face — “Misaki?” the light sends a piercing jolt through his head, “or is it Yumiko?” 

“Well that’s flattering, you can’t even remember my name?” she sighs, crossing her arms, “well I unfortunately don’t have the same luxury,” and then she adds with a quirk of her lips, “it is Yumiko,” and she steps forward, as his eyes squeeze shut, his head still banging, “sorry what I gave you to knock you out can cause some light sensitivity,” 

It’s slowly sinking in, “I don’t know what kind of weird kink you have, but I’m not interested,” and she scoffs, pressing her knuckles to her chin, “where am I?” 

“Do you think I’m really going to tell you that?” she raises an eyebrow, “I did send you threats after all, you don’t think I’d be that stupid to tell you where I am,” 

He needed to buy time, he needed to find a way to get out of here, and to do that, he needed time, “What? Are you obsessed with me or something? Do you want my body?”

“I’m going to stop your overinflated ego there,” she sighs, leaning against a table that was behind her, “I have a debt to pay and you’re the price,” 

“Debt?” he repeats, “is this where you explain your whole plan? And villain speech? Because I usually I could care less, but I’m feeling a little generous with my time, as I’m a little tied up at the moment, so—” 

“Do you ever shut up?” 

“It’s known to happen on occasion,” she rubs her temples, and then something occurs to him, “how did you get my address? You showed up and invited me,” 

She shakes his head, “You think I couldn’t find out your address after sending you threats?” and she sighs, “You know this is why I tried to do this at the first party — get it over with so I wouldn’t have to deal with this. But then you crushed your beer cup, your little girlfriend got in the way, and that idiot Misaki accidentally switched her shot glass with yours, so I couldn’t get you dosed,” she grits her teeth, “and then the rest of the semester, your girlfriend was up your ass the entire time — but she wasn’t your girlfriend was she? She was your bodyguard,” he says nothing, “you don’t need to confirm it for me, I already found her information, her name, her address—” 

“What do you want? Money? My father will pay anything to get me back. Tell me who you need to repay and he’ll do it,” and her lips curl. 

“So serious now — and so cooperative, maybe I should have kidnapped her too while I was at it,” she shrugs, while she grabs her phone from the table — a burner — “my father will be here to escort you to where you need to go. The yakuza will take it from there,” his blood runs cold, “Don’t cause a fuss and i can promise your girlfriend will stay safe,” 

He grits his teeth — he was so stupid. This was exactly the kind of shit you were trying to protect him from. And it was the thing he landed himself in the moment you left. But he didn’t care — because it was better this way, because you were safe this way.

“Wow, you’re pretty cute when you’re all quiet,” and she’s walking over, and he’s flinching as she drags a manicured nail down his cheek, before tilting it up, “it’s just that mouth that’s a problem,” and her thumb brushes down his lips, “don’t bite, or we might have a problem,” 

And he doesn’t, but then he smiles back, “you might like it when I bite,” he smirks, “why don’t you come here and find out?” And she raises her eyebrows, leaning closer, and he smashes his forehead into hers, “fuck off,” 

She stumbles back, losing her balance, and leaning against the table as she clutches at her forehead. Satoru watches her, trying to wriggle out of his constraints, rope chafing against his skin, red welts rising on his skin, but he only manages to get one hand free before she’s starting to get her bearings, and then he’s trying to free himself, his chair tipping over. And now he’s lying helplessly as she stumbles forward over to him, clutching a knife she grabbed off the table. 

“I have to hand you over to the yakuza, but they didn’t say you had to be completely unharmed,” she presses the tip of the knife to his cheek, “maybe we’ll do something to that pretty face of yours,” he grits his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut. 

CRACK. 

He hears a body slump over, and the clatter of the knife against the cement floor, and his eyes open to find you kneeling beside him. He’s blinking, murmuring your name, “What are you—” 

“Well I never did remove that tracker did I?”  You’re cutting the ropes on his wrists and ankles with the knife, “and I’m lucky you wear the same damn shoes everyday,” 

“Why did you come for me?” he says, as you finally free him his restraints, your fingers gentle as they examine the welts and bruises left on his skin, “you could have just told my father where I was or the police,” 

“I could’ve. I saw where you were and I figured it out—“ and your voice wavers, “but all I could think was that I wanted to find you. And I didn’t wanna wait for anyone else. I didn’t want something to happen just because someone else was too slow,” the lump in your throat grows only larger, as you sit, “I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you,” 

“Why?” he asks softly, his fingers brush against your cheek, and he knows why — he does, but he needs to hear it. 

“Because I just want…to be the one to protect you,” you admit, tears burning at your eyes, as your thumb traces over his rope burns and bruises, “I wish that I could have,” 

“You did a pretty good job, considering I almost was about to get my face cut up,” and he gently wipes your tears away, “imagine what a tragedy that would be,” 

You give a watery chuckle, cupping his cheeks, “I’m sorry,” and he opens his mouth, “no i really am. I shouldn’t have slept with you, only to cut and run after. I thought…I thought I was doing you a favor,” 

“How?” And you sigh, blinking away your tears. 

“I put your life in danger by doing that. I couldn’t do that. I knew the only way you’d let me go is…if I lied to you and said I didn’t care about you,” you bite your bottom lip, “and I’m sorry because I only hurt you more in the end,” 

He kisses your lips gently, chastely, his breath warming your lips as he parts from them, “you did,” and you scoff, pushing him playfully, “but as long as you promise not to do it again, I think I can find it in my incredibly generous heart to forgive you,” 

You kiss him again, softly, your fingers sliding to the back his neck, into his undercut, “I promise,” and he grins, before leaning back to kiss you again, when a cough behind you catches your attention. 

“My father will be getting here shortly you idiots, while you gaze fucking stupidly into each other’s eyes,” she sneers, and you raise an eyebrow. 

“You think I’d come here without calling the police? They already have picked up your father — and they should be almost here—“ and the sounds of an ambulance and police sirens come into earshot. 

“Good timing,” Satoru mutters, as Yumiko tries and fails to stumble to her feet, and you get up and pin her to the ground. Satoru raises an eyebrow, and watches, as you glance back at him, tilting your head in question, “nothing, it’s just…hot to see you in action,” 

You laugh, “Did she hit your head too?” And he shrugs, as he gets onto this feet with shaky legs, “Satoru—“ 

And he sits next to you, leaning on your shoulder, “just let me rest here for a minute,” he mumbles. 

For the first time since you left, Satoru felt like he could finally rest. 

And Satoru did rest, he realized as he blinked awake to the ambient sounds of the hospital room, the distinct beep of the heartbeat monitor, the dim light of the moon filtering through the shades, and the distant sounds of people walking through the hall. He hears the sounds of sheets rustling, and his gaze snaps over to his left. 

His gaze softens. You were fast asleep beside him, your arms tucked under your head, your breaths were soft, as they were the night you two had spent together. He sat himself up — fingers running through your hair gently. You had fallen asleep before him that night, face buried in the crook of his neck, and your legs entangled with his. And now you slept beside him on a chair, leaning on his bedside. 

His fingers carded through your hair again, and you stirred, as he swore under his breath, your eyes fluttered open, “Toru?” you mumbled, still half asleep, and he hummed. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he sighed softly, “why are you sleeping here? You should have gone home,” you sit up, stretching, as you furrow your brow, eyes scanning him for any sign of an injury or distress. 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay — you were unconscious, but no concussion thankfully. I tried to wake you up but you wouldn’t wake,” you sigh, words tumbling out almost faster than you can think of them, “they mostly kept you for observation, but are you feeling okay? Should I get the nurse—“ 

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms wrapping around you, as he sighs, burying his face in your neck, “I just want to stay like this for a while,” he murmurs, “I got everything I need right here, got it?” He feels you nod, and he feels the hint of your tears on his skin, but says nothing, only his lips quirk, “you did mean your promise?” 

“I did, I won’t leave like that again,” and he’s leaning back, head tilted, and you chuckle, “I mean I won’t leave you at all, how’s that?” 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, leaning closer, and his heart squeezes when he hears your breath hitch as he does. His eyes flicker to your lips and back, “can I kiss—“ 

But you kiss him first, softly, your fingers brushing his cheek, and god, why was it that a single touch from you melted him away to nothing? Whittled his world view to a pin where all he could feel, all he could see, was you. 

And then you kiss his cheeks, his chin, his jaw, and then your teeth graze the soft part of his neck, drawing a pretty gasp from his lips, as you suck lightly on his skin. 

He’s whispering your name, breath sucked from his lungs as if your teeth had pierced through his throat instead of just his skin, “what was that for?” 

And you smile, “so everyone knows you’re mine.” 

“You’re changing your major?” Suguru raises his eyebrow, as he lounges on Satoru’s couch, holding his head up with his elbow propped against the top of the couch, “your father must’ve been thrilled about that,” 

“He lost his shit, but that geezer can fuck off,” Satoru shrugs, “he threatened to not pay my tuition, but once I threatened to go public with his dealings with the yakuza, he saw it my way,” 

Suguru tilts his head, “His what?” 

You bring over tea from the kitchen, placing it on the table, “After what Satoru found out from Yumiko and her father, their debt to the yakuza would have been paid off by kidnapping one of Satoru’s father’s close relatives, but I was wondering why was the yakuza so eager to do so?” 

“Apparently my old man had the brilliant idea of entertaining the yakuza on some deal he was making,” Satoru explains, leaning back on the couch, as you sit against his legs, “and when he backed out, the yakuza wanted to push it through anyway — and well, thus their blackmail of Yumiko’s father, once they found out his daughter went to school with me.” 

“Yeah, turns out her father had gambling debts owed to the yakuza,” you sighed, “she got caught in the crossfire — I almost feel bad,” 

“Speak for yourself, she drugged me, tied me to a chair, and held a knife to my face,” Satoru scoffs, sipping his tea that he had you drown in sugar. 

“Well you didn’t complain when I did that last night,” you reply, making both Satoru and Suguru choke, and you laughed, squealing when Satoru lifts you into his lap to bury his face into your back. 

“You two are officially sickening to be around,” Suguru grimaces, still coughing from choking down his tea, “I think I liked it better when he was wasting away in his apartment,” 

“You wasted away after I left?” You turn to look at Satoru, who shoots a glare at Suguru, “sorry Geto, that’s not happening again,” and Satoru softens his gaze, pressing a kiss to your head. 

“Alright, that’s it, I’m leaving,” Suguru gets to his feet, as he glances back at you two, “don’t rush to get up, I’ll see myself out,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t worry we weren’t going to,” Satoru pulls you closer, and Suguru narrows his eyes, before his lips curl into a grin. 

“Just for that, I’m sending your girlfriend a picture of the mess you looked like when she left,” Satoru gapes at him, while you bite back a laugh. 

“Suguru!” Satoru calls, but the door’s shut, and you’re starting to giggle. He’s pouting now, “so my girlfriend thinks it's funny to see me in the pathetic state she left me in?” 

“Oh your girlfriend finds it very funny, and she might even make it her boyfriend’s contact picture,” you smirk, and he’s biting back a smile, “What?” 

“This is just the first time we called each other that,” he mumbles, a slight dusting of pink on his cheeks, “it’s nice,” he admits. 

“Well, I am yours, aren’t I?” you smile, and he presses a kiss to your lips, as he would again and again. 

“My one and only.” 

✧ a/n: so this fic was so freaking long. i'm sorry it took so long to post this - i got a little sidetracked by prof geto haha. but i'm hoping to start on the next one soon :). i think i'll put a poll up on which one i should write next! edit: forgot to tag the people who requested this, its now added in T_T

✧ taglist: @teatreeoilll, @intrxspectiv, @marvel-fanaticz, @ilovemybabes, @lwustyz, @jayathelostdragon, @vampzys, @sleazymac-n-cheesy, @soilmayo, @iwassentfromhell, @lobotomy-kaisen, @gojoallmine, @forest-hashira, @h3artpiecexx, @lailarratx, @gummibat, @hanlay, @ilovewoo9, @nvmlolo, @h6avenly, @eriyvesa, @alexandraioann4, @eclipsephase, @sokkasmoon, @aizzon, @makotome9, @daddytojji, @fluffy-pancakes01, @imjustmememe, @spookyy-gracee, @forest-fruits-jam, @that-goth-bisexual, @hatsunemitskislobotomy, @lookinreality,

mondstadt | liyue + childe | others/general | 1k special

started 3/1/21

🐝 = favorites, click on text NOT stars

☆ he accidentally hurts you (angst) - sfw 🐝

☆ wearing black lingerie around him - slight nsfw

☆ someone else buys you a drink - sfw 🐝

☆ trying to get baby to say dada - sfw

☆ laying head in lap - sfw

☆ use of safe word - light nsfw

☆ meeting baby for first time - sfw

☆ kaeya w/ autistic reader - sfw

☆ kaeya and diluc crushing on the same reader - sfw

☆ fluff hcs - sfw

☆ reader w/ an eating disorder - sfw

☆ scared/fear - sfw 🐝

☆ argument and comfort - sfw 

☆ getting caught - nsfw

☆ honey - sfw (kaeya x m!reader, cw homophobia) 🐝

☆ seasonal hcs - sfw (kaeya x reader)

☆ cherry - sfw (kaeya x reader x diluc)

☆ reader feels like a second choice - sfw

☆ reader can fall asleep anywhere/anytime - sfw

☆ holding/massaging your boobs - nsfw

☆ platonic kaeya + diluc - sfw

☆ philocaly - slight nsfw, reader has a nightmare 🐝

☆ compulsion - sfw, reader has mental illness 🐝

☆ eclipse tent scene - sfw, romantic kaeya 🐝

☆ he helps you move into a new apartment - sfw

☆ doubts - sfw

☆ he saves you after an attempt - sfw, tw

☆ piercing - nsfw

☆ three times he lets you see him cry - sfw 🐝

☆ washing your hair - sfw

☆ flirty reader - suggestive, sfw

☆ making him a bracelet (tiktok trend) - sfw

☆ tonedeaf - sfw

☆ eclipse tent scene - sfw, platonic diluc 🐝

☆ he accidentally hurts you (angst) - sfw 🐝

☆ reader calls diluc pretty - sfw

☆ wearing black lingerie around him - slight nsfw

☆ someone else buys you a drink - sfw 🐝

☆ single dad diluc p2 (dating him) - sfw

☆ making out - slight nsfw

☆ reader has monotone voice - sfw

☆ father’s day with diluc - sfw 🐝

☆ laying head in lap - sfw

☆ unknown god possesses reader one shot - sfw 

☆ use of safe word - light nsfw

☆ s/o is good at singing and playing piano - sfw

☆ unexpected pregnancy - sfw     (part 2 here)

☆ meeting baby for first time - sfw

☆ kaeya and diluc crushing on the same reader - sfw

☆ scared/fear - sfw 🐝

☆ diluc x reader that feels like second choice - sfw 🐝

☆ getting caught - nsfw

☆ diluc x reader w/ doubts about relationship - sfw 🐝

☆ cherry - sfw (kaeya x reader x diluc)

☆ single dad hcs - sfw

☆ lone star: diluc x f!reader, tw abortion - sfw 🐝

☆ family portrait - sfw

☆ reader can fall asleep anywhere/anytime - sfw

☆ reader is part of the fatui - sfw (kinda spicy at the end)

☆ platonic kaeya + diluc - sfw

☆ diluc with a cat + a dog - sfw

☆ he helps you move into a new apartment

☆ ace reader x diluc

☆ catching diluc over the phone - nsfw 🐝

☆ he saves you after an attempt - sfw, tw 

☆ reader is afraid of the dark

☆ reader has a small chest - sfw

☆ washing your hair - sfw

☆ reader finds the ring - sfw

☆ soft sex - nsfw 🐝

☆ making him a bracelet (tiktok trend) - sfw

☆ tonedeaf - sfw

☆ ice skating with diluc - sfw

☆ holding/massaging your boobs - nsfw

☆ reader has a monotone voice - sfw

☆ laying head in lap - sfw

☆ unexpected pregnancy - sfw      (part 2 here)

☆ serenitea pot domestic hcs - sfw

☆ kaebado v-day short - sfw

☆ klee and albedo short - sfw

☆ family portrait - sfw 🐝

☆ mona helps reader through a panic attack - sfw

☆ cuddling hcs - sfw

☆ razor and noelle fluff - sfw

☆ razor and xingqui learning literacy hcs - sfw

☆ fischnett harry potter au - sfw

☆ fischnett comfort hcs - sfw 🐝

☆ fischnett first date - sfw

☆ fischnett harry potter au - sfw

☆ bennett x calm reserved reader - sfw

☆ fischnett comfort hcs - sfw 🐝

☆ fischnett first date - sfw

☆ venti dad hcs (reader is other parent) - sfw

☆ holding/massaging your boobs - nsfw

#MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE SERIES

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

— PAIRING: Gojo Satoru x Female reader

— GENERE: angst

— C.W: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , Geto Suguru x female reader , dark themes , insecurity , mature themes , 16+ at least.

TAGLIST [FULL]

@3zae-zae3 @sexeyess @silkija @dancinhhillary @musicarose @vanevafu @labelt-san @cl16void @feellaaya @animechick555 @nanmiik @ichikanu @cupidszvlvr @pinksaiyans @phoenix666stuff @coffeeluvr96 @alpha-mommy69 @isaacdaholi @xx-rfg-xx @3sodoney @ambalikadubeyy-blog @certainduckanchor @r0ckst4rjk @xxemmarldxx @starrylibras @lady-cryptstone @sparklydhokla @hoeforchoso @sweetlilhoshi @getou0309 @n8mareee @integers @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @skittleabyss @softnorth @maliakealoha @avalordream @dazaisfavgf @thebacksack @darkphoenix3432 @mwtsxri @nothisispatrick300 @andioopsworld @sup-hoes-its-me @yihona-san06 @s3r-en-d1p-ity @mandysfanfics @adanfore @rainydayssmokescreens @luvvmae @aquamarine001 @chilichopsticks @tinyjeo @adoretaylor @girlsvvish @misfits1a

CHAPTERS

CHAP 1

CHAP 2

…+

© fvsm4x do not repost, translate or copy!

JJK men thinking of you while masturbating

NSFW / Minors don't interact / female reader

Summary: The title describes it perfectly, I have nothing to add haha. For Gojo, Nanami and Choso. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

Warnings: fantasies about blowjobs, handjobs, spanking, sex etc. + low-key some of them are getting caught in the act

Satoru Gojo

Gojo lets out a long breath when he closes the door to his office behind him. He plops down onto the couch, hiding his face in his hands. Fuck, he should really pull himself together. But since you’ve started working as a teacher at Jujutsu High this has been increasingly difficult for him. 

Today you really tested his patience. He felt your boobs pressing against him when you hugged him and he scolds himself for turning off his infinity, allowing you to do that. And then your delicate hands smoothing over his arm. Sometimes he has the impression that you do all of that on purpose; bending down in your short skirts, touching him, looking at him with these fucking eyes. 

Satoru is the strongest; but just thinking about all of this, about you, has his dick straining hard against his pants. He lowers his hands and sees the outline of his cock pressing against his trousers. This really is a problem. He has to do something about that. And he knows; if he goes about his day without getting a release he’ll get hard just laying his eyes on you. And he can’t let that happen.

So he lifts his hips up to pull down his pants and boxers. His cock springs free and he wraps his hand around it. He hesitates shortly. He feels guilty, perverse even for what he is about to do. But when his palm drags slowly along his length Gojo feels relief spreading through his body. The urge to get a release clouding his mind. 

He loves it when you touch him, fleeting and shy, as if you’re testing the waters. But now he would love nothing more than to have your pretty, delicate hand wrapped around his throbbing dick, pumping into his swollen, flushed tip.

He lets his head fall back against the backrest, closing his eyes so he can picture you better. He imagines it is your warm palm that drags along his shaft. In his fantasy you’re kneeling between his spread legs. You’re peering up at him, your eyes observing him thoroughly as you fasten the movement.

Gojo increases his pace, suppressing a groan that dares to slip past his lips. He imagines you lowering your head, taking him into your mouth. He just knows you would be amazing at sucking him off; your cheeks hollowing to suck on the tip of his head before you take all of him inside. He imagines it’s your mouth instead of his hand that wraps around his dick. Fuck, you would look so beautiful with your plush lips around him, looking up at him through your batted lashes. A low groan rips past his lips as he feels a bead of pre-cum sliding down his length. He spreads it, coating his dick.

He imagines you bobbing your head, his hand nestling into your hair to guide you. “Such a good girl,” he mutters to himself. He sees your face in front of his eyes; the tears daring to spill over as you deepthroat his dick, the look of pure devotion in your hazy eyes. He sees the string of spit connecting you to his glistening cock when you pull away to catch your breath. Gojo increases the pace of his hand, concentrating on his sensitive tip. 

His motions comes to an abrupt halt when he feels a familiar energy approaching. He shallowly lets his hand drag along his length when he hears the knock on his door. Shit. He perks up and opens his eyes. Gojo lets out a shuddered breath when he hears your voice from the other side of the door. His dick twitches in his hand and he tightens his grasp, almost punishingly, when he hears his name dropping from your lips.

And just for a short second he debates whether to just let you come in. To just let you see what you do to him. You would find him, his legs spread on the couch, his hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes half-lidded and his dick almost painfully throbbing in his large hand to get a release. His desperate state; all because of you.

But he doesn’t. “I’m busy. Come back later,” he calls out and hopes that you can’t hear the yearning in his voice. Because he isn’t sure if he would rather have you coming in, finding him like this. You call out an okay, and he still hears your retreating steps as he resumes his movement. 

He lets his head fall back again and imagines that you came into his office. The look on your face, your flustered expressions and wide eyes as you find him jerking off to the thought of you. Satoru feels his orgasm nearing as he wonders what you would do to him; maybe helping him, jerking him off yourself. Or how you would wrap your mouth around him. Or maybe you would lose all your clothes, allowing him to watch you as you play with your tits before your hands glide lower down your body. 

A deep groan rips past his parted lips and he concentrates on his sensitive tip as he wonders how your pussy would look and how it would feel as you lower yourself on his dick, inch for inch. His hips jerk up into his hand, two, three times before he tips over the edge. He groans as he imagines plunging his cock deep inside of you.

Gojo curses under his breath as his orgasm washes over him. His thighs tremble slightly as his hot, white cum shoots out of him. He jerks through it until he is left panting breathlessly and the drag of his hand is almost unbearable. Then he opens his eyes, watching the mess he made, a clear indicator that he must do something about this attraction towards you. Because he knows; next time he won’t be able to say no if you knock on his door.

Kento Nanami

It’s one of these late evenings again where Nanami is glad that he decided to stay longer at work. The office is vacant, the space only dimly lit, as he stares straight ahead into his computer screen, trying desperately to concentrate on the numbers in front of him. But he can’t. He is tired and his eyes always dart back to you.

You both are the only ones that have stayed behind, continuing to work. He loves when that happens, because then he can observe you more openly. And he can see you like the other colleagues can’t; a little more relaxed, a little less composed. This might be one of the reasons why Nanami loves staying so late; working longer than the others just to see you in this state, admiring your features as the dim lights paint you in a luminous glow.

You sit on the desk in front of him, slightly to the right. He watches you work like that, your beautiful hands flying over the keyboard. He gets lost for a few seconds; watching you put your hair up, exposing your long neck to him before you stand up. You turn around, slight surprise in your eyes as you catch him looking at you. You shoot him a small smile “I’ll be right back,” you whisper before you walk out the door. 

Nanami smoothes his hand over his face, letting out a long sigh. He really shouldn’t be such a creep. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But his tiredness wears him down, making his mind slow. He resumes his work and only looks up when he hears you coming back. 

And when his eyes find you he’s afraid that they are about to plop out of his head. At first he thinks he is imagining it but after a few seconds he is sure that he isn’t. Even in the gloomy light he can see that you must have taken off your bra. Fuck. He tries not to stare, but he can’t tear his eyes away from your tits bouncing ever so slightly, your nipples outlined against the sheer material of your blouse. 

Nanami clears his throat, his gaze trailing up to your face. You catch his eyes and there it is again; that sweet smile of yours. And even through the darkness he sees the glint in your eyes. Do you know what you do to him? Do you do this on purpose? His tired mind is too bleary to process what this would entail. 

He tries to concentrate back on his work, this time not letting his eyes trail back to you. And after a few minutes he sees you moving from the corner of his eye. He perks up and sees you putting on your coat. You turn back around to him and he isn’t sure if he is only imagining the disappointment in your eyes. You’re probably just tired. “I’m heading home now. Are you staying?” You ask him.

Nanami clears his throat. “Yes, just a few more hours. I have to finish something.”

You nod, smiling at him. “Alright. Don’t overwork yourself, Nanami,” you mutter. He shoots you a small smile before you turn back around and leave.

He leans back in his chair when you have vanished. You really are going to be the death of him. He always tries to stay respectful; not once has he ever actively thought about you when he was touching himself. Every time he thinks about you in that way he scolds himself, feeling so guilty. He is a gentleman, through and through, and he shouldn’t do something like that. 

But now he is just so tired. And so riled up from watching you. As he tugs down his pants and boxers he promises himself that this will be the first and the last time. This now will be the only time he will allow himself to indulge in the dirty thoughts he has about you. 

Nanami closes his eyes, exhaling deeply as his hand wraps around his hard cock. He moves his hand up and down his length, slowly and thoroughly. He sees you in front of his eyes; sitting so prettily under his deck as you take his dick inside of your mouth. Your enticing eyes would look up into his as you let your tongue glide along the underside of his dick. 

“Just like that,” he mutters to himself as he imagines you hollowing your cheeks, tears prickling at the corner of your eyes as you try to accommodate everything into your mouth.

Nanami increases his pace, smearing his pre-cum over his length as he imagines you bent over his desk. He would tug up your skirt, pulling your panties to the side to reveal your beautiful pussy to him. And then he imagines sinking into you, wondering how your walls would feel when they welcome him, warm and wet. 

And then he would glide out of you again, watching your pretty pussy gush around his cock. His hand jerks his cock faster now, mimicking how he would pound into you. He sees your beautiful ass, jiggling with every one of his hard thrust. He feels his orgasm nearing, his flushed tip increasingly sensitive.

And he just imagines the sinful noises filling up the desk; the lewd, squelching sound of your dripping pussy and your breathless moans and whimpers. Your name slips past his lips and he groans quietly, as his thighs tremble. 

Nanami is too wrapped up in his fantasy to notice the elevator dinging. He only perks up when he hears your sweet voice calling his name. And at first he thinks you’re calling out his name in his dream but then he sees your silhouette leaning against the frame of the door.

He is on the verge of cumming and he can’t help it, because then his name falls from your lips again. Your voice is soft and full of aspiration and the sound of it makes him go feral. He always loves when you say his name. But now that his hand is wrapped around his dick this alluring sound alone pushes him over the edge. Nanami loses any kind of shame. He cums, hard.

He tries his best to stay silent and struggles to keep his face straight. And as his mind is clouded he desperately hopes you can’t see anything. His dick twitches in his hand as the hot cum coats his fist white, dripping down his thick shaft and his balls. He hopes you don’t hear the quiet curse falling from his parted lips. He hurriedly lets his pulsating cock fall heavy against his thigh. 

Nanami hears your voice and tries desperately to comprehend your words. But he still feels like he is wrapped in cotton, the lust cursing through his veins like honey. You ask him something, if he knows where your phone or keys are or something like this. His gaze is still a little hazy as he watches you walking further into the room. Your eyes widen slightly when you notice his half-lidded eyes fixed on you, almost deliriously.

“I didn’t see anything,” he mutters, his voice is strained and hoarse as he answers you.

“Uhm…Are you okay?” You ask, your face is painted with worry, as your eyes trail over his flustered face. 

No, he obviously isn’t fucking okay. He is far from it. Because now after he has thought about you he knows, no other fantasies will compare to the ones he has about you. 

Choso: 

“Thanks for letting me stay over,” you thank Choso before you say goodbye and head home. He mutters a goodbye and closes the door behind you. His walk is sluggish as he plops himself back on the couch. He buries his face in his hands, before he opens his eyes again. And then he sees it; the shirt he has lent you to sleep in. It’s placed right next to him, folded together neatly. 

A smile tugs at his lips as he thinks about how tidy you always are. He noticed that since a few months; you often creep into his mind and a smile appears on his lips like he is in love with you. But he isn’t of course. You’re just his friend. You two are friends. 

And when he lays in bed, late at night and he tosses and turns you often appear in his thoughts. He knows he shouldn’t do what he does then; moving his hand to palm his cock, ashamedly thinking of you. He always feels bad after he comes down from his high. He is sure he shouldn’t think about his friend in that way. 

And now his eyes are fixed on the shirt laying next to him. Choso can’t help wondering if you wore something underneath. He’s pretty sure that you weren’t. Just your panties and his t-shirt. He gulps. And before he knows it the shirt is in his hand. The material is soft, worn in from him. And now from you as well. His cheeks burn from the slight shame he feels but his hand moves nonetheless. 

He presses the material to his face, inhaling the scent. Your scent. He can smell you clearly. And now you come alive in his imagination, Choso remembers how you looked wearing his shirt. The loose fit not able to conceal your tits or the curve of your ass.

And without warning his cock strains against his sweatpants. He sighs and he proceeds like he always does, tugging his pants down hurriedly, just to get this over with. He is disappointed at himself for failing like this again, for failing to stop this sexual attraction he feels for you. He wraps his hand around his cock, almost angrily. 

He curses under his breath as he drags his fist up and down his cock, pumping into his swollen tip. He watches himself doing so for a few seconds. Then his thumb drags across his slit to collect the pre cum to smear it over his swollen tip. 

He imagines you laying here in his lap, his large hands coming down on your ass, again and again. He would continue spanking you until the red mark of his hand can be seen clearly. And then he would plunge his fingers inside of your pussy, feeling how wet you are. He would tell you how dirty you are for getting so wet, asking you if you do this with all of your friends. A groan rips past his slack jaw as he imagines fingering you slow and teasingly. His calloused fingers rubbing your sensitive clit until you beg him to finally fuck you. But he won’t; he will take his time with you. 

Choso increases the pace of his hand, urging himself closer to his orgasm. He thinks about you squirming in his lap as he thrusts his long fingers inside of you, again and again. He nearly feels your plush walls spasming around him, as you drip all over his fingers, even coating his wrist with your arousal. And he will continue to tease your clit until he has you gushing and whining. 

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he mutters, as if you were actually there with him.

And in his fantasies you look at him with beseeching eyes, wanting him to finally pound into you. Choso imagines sinking inside of you, bottoming out, feeling you wrap around his leaking cock so heavenly. And he would fuck you deep into the mattress, your drool staining the fabric dark until his name is the only thing that you can moan. 

A whimper falls from his parted lips, the image of you screaming his name pushing him over the edge. His fist squeezes his cock impossibly tighter and with two fast pumps he cums. A deep groan falls from his lips, alongside your name, drawn out in a moan, like it so often does when he orgasms. His dark eyes fix on his hand, watching thick beads of cum sliding down his length, his hot cum dripping down his twitching balls. 

He chokes on a moan when he continuous to pump into his overly sensitive tip, smearing his cum messily all over his hand and throbbing dick. He shallowly thrusts up into his fist to ride out his high, not being able to let go of the thoughts about you. That is until he grits his teeth, hissing and whining quietly from the overstimulation. 

And you would probably not recognize your friend like that; his dark hair disheveled, his flustered face and the lust-drunk look in his eyes borderline feral. Normally, Choso is calm and collected, sometimes even withdrawn. But when he thinks about you like that he can’t keep himself quiet. At night or at day there are comments and sounds slipping past his lips he could never utter to you in real life, lewd, lecherous words. Desperate moans, breathless whimpers, choked groans as he gets lost in his depraved fantasies about you and your body, imagining drawing one orgasm from you after another. 

And when he comes down from his high, his clouded mind slowly turning back to his normal state, he feels the guilt again. He grimaces at his soiled hand. He should stop with that, he really should. But Choso already knows; he simply can’t.

©sweetdreamlandstuff

love confessions

pairing — haitani rindou x f!reader

summary — in which sanzu and ran have to deal with rindou, his relationship problems, and alcohol

note — spoilers, alcohol, intoxication. likes and reblogs are always appreciated

“So, like, what happened?” Sanzu questioned curiously as he watched the younger Haitani finish his eighth liquor glass of the night, the loud music and bright neon lights of the nightclub only further adding to his intoxicated and volatile state.

After all, for a married man like Rindou, he should’ve been at home with you, his wife, not drinking himself to death in one of Roppongi’s famed nightclubs at one in the morning. Yet here he was, looking pathetic as he poured himself more alcohol in a useless attempt to forget about how much he missed you. It was a truly pathetic sight, one that brought Sanzu much happiness and great sadistic joy.

“It’s stupid,” Rindou proclaimed in annoyance, his gaze unfocused as he leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “She got angry at me for getting too close to Reina again. It’s not my fault I had to look over Reina’s shoulder to read the damn report. Everyone knows I have terrible eyesight!”

“Reina?” Sanzu repeated with a now amused, almost mocking smirk. He knew that you and Rindou had gotten into a fight today, but he didn’t know that it involved your husband’s hot secretary. “You mean the same Reina that’s been trying to sleep with you ever since she started working for us? That Reina? Yikes. No wonder your wife’s not talking to you.”

Keep reading

the daddyfication of ran haitani (part 2)

a/n: thank you for the love on part 1!!!!!!! i hope i wrapped this lil story up okay, feedback is so welcome and appreciated please enjoy!!!

content: pregnant reader, mentions of drug use sanzu does some coke oop, angst, angst, angst, comfort!

word count: 2.6k

taglist: @purplesweethart @124925sblog @trashmemebitch @lunaticlunar @bekky06 @dazaisleftballsack @rinrinfoxy @soraxdarwin @gojoscumslut @wakasa-uwu @sh4nn @suzuyamitsuki @luvmatchamilktea @hollypastl <333

part 1

the car ride home from the hospital is tense. ran tries to speak but you shut him down with one word answers or by not responding at all. you feel yourself slipping into a foul mood and desperately want to fight against it so it won't be such an awkward drive, but you can't help it.

you accidentally make it worse by asking, "can you drop me off at my apartment?"

ran gives you a look like you're insane.

in the last few weeks you've only been to your apartment once and it was just to drop off your rent check. you'd slowly started spending more and more time at ran's, moving clothes and items over so that you practically lived there with him. he was too proud (and nervous) to ask you to move in properly, so he did it by suggesting you take more drawers in his closet, bring over more necessities so you'd feel more comfortable at his place. your asking to go there suddenly and without reason felt like a punishment to him.

"why?" he responds simply, eyes fixed to the road again. you watch him adjust his grip on the steering wheel.

"i just... ran, i don't want you to be upset, okay?" you mumble, wringing your hands in your lap. his jaw tightens, "that's not a fuckin' answer."

"please don't be upset," you huff. "i just want to be alone tonight. i feel like shit."

he pulls up to a red light and then turns to you, "you really want that?"

any time he looks at you, and you don't see the mischievous twinkle in his eye or the teasing smirk on his lips, your heart sinks. this time is no different. "yes," you force out. "just for the night. please, please try to understand where i'm coming from."

the light changes. he nods once at you and redirects his attention back to driving. your chest aches knowing that he's hurt, but you need some time on your own to take in everything that's happened today. you needed privacy to receive the doctor's phone call and maybe to buy a fucking drugstore pregnancy test, too. everything still felt like some kind of sick prank.

it wasn't like you'd never thought about having kids before. and after almost a year of being with ran, you'd definitely had your share of wonderings and daydreams about him as a father, of raising a cute little kid together with your eyes and his charming smile. you just hadn't expected to have to confront these imaginings so suddenly.

the rest of the drive is silent. ran pulls up outside your place and says nothing. "ran," you squeak, hoping he'll look at you. when he glances over, his well rehearsed facade is up, smirk and all.

"get inside quick, baby," he jerks his head toward the door. "it's cold."

you can't help but frown at the way he's bounced back so quickly, how he's so unaffected while you feel like you're crumbling. he puts a hand behind your neck and drags you toward him to plant a kiss to your forehead, "love you."

"love you, too," you give him a weak smile that doesn't even last until you get out of the car.

------------------------------------------------------------------

the ding of your phone's timer makes you nearly jump out of your skin. it's the next day, and you're sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, leg shaking anxiously, staring at the little plastic wand on the counter. part of you doesn't want to look at the test at all. it would be much less stressful to toss the thing in the trash without checking the results, wash your hands, and pretend this whole ordeal was just a bad dream. but the vomiting had been real. the emergency room, the dizziness, the sobbing in ran's arms, the doctor's words.

that had all been very real.

you force yourself to your get to your feet and pick up the white and pink stick with trembling fingers. before you can muster the courage to look at it, you bring your attention back to the box the test came in.

one line, not pregnant. two lines, pregnant. simple.

you squeeze your eyes shut and hold the test in front of you. counting backwards from 3, you suck in a shaky break. 2, you grit your teeth. 1, your eyes crack open.

two lines.

two fucking lines. clear as day, there was no mistaking it.

you meet your reflection in the mirror and see that you're crying. you turn away and head into your bedroom, climbing into bed and making the decision to sleep for the rest of the day. ------------------------------------------------------------------

across town, ran is sitting in the back office of sanzu's strip club with sanzu, kokonoi, rindou, and kakucho, waiting for koko to finish looking over sanzu's books so they could all get to the restaurant where they were planning to eat.

"did you have to do this now?" kakucho groans as koko turns another page then turns it back to double check his own work. "i'm fuckin' hungry!"

"i told you we were working," koko replies without looking up.

rindou rolls his eyes, scrolling on his phone. ran is leaned back in a chair, absentmindedly watching sanzu do coke off a mirrored tray on the other side of the desk from kokonoi.

his pink haired head pops up after a line. "stop whining," he sniffs, dabbing at his nose with his sleeve. "i'm runnin' a fuckin' business here."

ran's phone vibrates in his pocket, distracting him momentarily from the euphoria episode unfolding in the stuffy office.

"ran haitani," he answers formally.

a moment later he's on his feet, "uh, yes...but that's not–okay... mhm.... yes.... i understand."

in true ran fashion, he starts to pace down to the far side of the office and back. "i'll call back," he grumbles, the professionalism all but gone from his tone. "right... thank you..."

for a few seconds, nobody says anything. ran's back is to the others, his grip tightening around his phone in his hand.

"you good, haitani?" kakucho's voice startles him. when he turns back to the group, he's wearing an unreadable expression.

"that was the doctor," he's stunned to the point of being unable to produce any emotion at all. "apparently my girl's pregnant."

the responses come all at once, blurted in shock and sympathy:

"shit, dude..."

"i'm sorry, man..."

"wow, what the fuck."

"what the hell are you gonna do?"

ran's staring down at his phone with unfocused eyes, "i have no fuckin' clue."

ran feels a bit stupid. he feels like he should've fuckin' known. the random bi– sorry, moodiness–, crying over anything, the vomiting, the fucking jeans that didn't fit and made you cry... how had he not realized??

admittedly, ran had gotten girls pregnant before. he'd even told you about it vaguely, never wanting to hide who he was from you, who he used to be. receiving an “i’m pregnant” text used to hardly even phase him. each time, he would simply shell out some money to make sure they'd handle it, then promptly ghost them and move the fuck on. the situation had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience, a problem neither him nor any of the women he'd been sleeping with had any difference in opinion about how to deal with.

but now he was with you. and he wasn't so sure that he wanted to do away with this like he had been so used to doing. and, more importantly, what did you want to do? the doctor said she'd told you already it was 99% sure, so why the fuck hadn't you said anything to him?? he didn't want to face the most obvious answer.

you obviously didn't want that with him.

"i'm gonna go," ran croaks, throat suddenly tight and dry. without waiting for any acknowledgement, he disappears out of the office and leaves the club through the back door.

ran would never admit it, but he had spent many nights lying awake thinking about the future he hoped to have with you. getting married, buying a house, growing old together... a huge part of it always included having a kid with you. he loved imagining how you’d be as a mother. he was sure the kindness and patience you showed him on a daily basis would only increase for your child. sure you loved him, but it almost made him jealous sometimes to imagine how much you'd love that fuckin' kid.

sitting in his car, ran realizes the reality of your pregnancy is not anything like he'd imagined. he's not feeling overjoyed. he's not rushing over to kiss you and celebrate. instead, you're hiding the pregnancy from him, alone at your apartment instead of with him at his and he's sitting in his car outside sanzu's fucking strip club. ran feels cheated somehow. why didn't you tell him?

of course he understood if you didn't want to have his baby, as much as that would tear him up inside. he knew he wasn't dad material; his business was dangerous, the lifestyle he'd led for so long was definitely not suited for children. as many nights as he'd spent imagining being a dad, he'd spent just as many worrying about not being good at it.

what would he do if he ended up being a shitty dad like his own had been?

you were his complete opposite: soft, understanding, empathetic. you'd be an incredible parent, you'd make it look effortless. and he would probably just fuck his kid up or leave.

ran presses his fingers against his temples, as if trying to physically work the thoughts out of his head. one thing was clear, he needed to talk to you. soon. immediately. before he can talk himself out of it, he turns on his car and zooms over to your place. ------------------------------------------------------------------

you try your best to ignore the knocking at your front door but the sound won't let up. dragging yourself out of bed, you shuffle through your apartment and open the front door without checking who it is.

"i think you owe me an explanation, sweetheart."

the words are said so calmly but they still make you want to physically leap away. ran looks disheveled, frustrated, and honestly, close to tears. he's watching you with a blank expression but you know him well enough to see the hurt in his eyes.

"come inside," you mumble, leading him toward the couch. he follows wordlessly and the two of you sit on opposite sides, facing each other.

"why didn't you tell me you're pregnant?" he asks, getting straight to the point.

you pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them tightly, "i don't know."

"that's a shit answer and you know it," he snarls.

"i don't know!" you repeat, louder. "i panicked, honestly. i still don't know how i feel about it, and i didn't know how you were going to react..."

"but you should have told me, baby," ran's fists are clenched at his sides as he tries to keep himself calm. "we don't keep shit from each other especially not important shit like this!"

"don't yell at me!" you feel tears prickle in your eyes. "i got fucking scared of what you might think. and i had to know what i wanted before i talked to you. and, honestly, i figured i could probably guess what you'd want right now and that it was not being a father. sorry if that was so wrong."

"i can be a fuckin' father."

"well, just because you can doesn't mean you should."

the words strike him like a slap in the face. "i see."

"ran," you regret the words the moment they're out of your mouth. "i don't mean that. i just, i'm so fuckin' confused, i don't mean to–"

"nah, you don't sound confused," he smiles darkly, condescending. "it sounds like you know exactly what the fuck you want."

"don't do that," you cross your arms tightly over your chest. "don't make me the fuckin' bad guy just for being scared."

"you? scared??" ran asks incredulously, sarcasm dripping from his words. "of what?"

"um, i don't know, of growing a fucking human being?" you sputter. "of having to clothe it, and feed it, and raise it to help it become an actual person without fucking it up??"

"oh, please, you're gonna be fuckin' mother of the year and raise the happiest, smartest, most well adjusted little brat in history."

"but you don't know that."

"i do," he bites back. "and so do you. fuckin' admit it, you're scared you might be stuck with a guy who's gonna fuck up your kid."

"ran!" you recoil in shock at his words. "is that really what you think??"

he lays his head back against the couch cushion, deflating, "it's obvious. why else would you hide it?"

you watch him sink back into the couch, notice how his jaw clenches and unclenches under the skin of his face. he's so tense you can practically feel it radiate off of him.

"can i–?" you start to move toward him. he's tired himself out now, said everything he needed to say. he nods in defeat and you climb onto his lap.

you tuck your head under his chin, curling up against his chest. just having you in his arms– having your body so close to his– calms him down significantly. ran has always said that none of the bonten men would ever believe how quickly he loses fights when they're with you. the man who would be excited to take on an entire gang on his own and maybe even actually stand a chance of winning, folds immediately at the hands of one woman.

your hand cups his cheek tenderly. he leans into the touch, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "you know i love you more than anything, right?"

he's surprised by the words, especially right now. he felt the same way about you, but doesn't usually think about or assume that it's reciprocated. god forbid he got too comfortable and something happened to prove him wrong.

"you have so much love to give, ran," you hug yourself closer to him. "you protect the people you love with everything you have. our kid is gonna be so lucky to have you as a dad."

he's silent for a few moments, then groans out a soft "fuck" that almost makes you laugh.

"you were caught off guard, too," his voice is low, the words are coming out slowly, like he's analyzing each one individually.

"i made it about my fuckin' self when you were just... also scared. jesus christ.

"mhm," you mumble. he rubs your back as he senses you aren't mad at him, "why do i do that shit? i almost fuckin' blew it."

"no, baby," you reassure him. "you didn't. and i obviously wouldn't let you get away that easily."

"oh yeah?" he smirks, heart soaring with the chance to speak normally with you for the first time in what has felt like many weeks. "think you've got me locked down now that you're my baby mama?"

"shut up," you burst out laughing. he kisses your forehead lovingly.

"you know, if it's not the right time now, we don't have to rush it," he tucks your head under his chin. "we can try again when we're ready."

"maybe we're ready now," you say softly. ran doesn't reply. he must've misheard you.

"now?" he repeats.

"you're gonna be good at this," you turn your body to straddle his waist. "our kid is gonna love you so much."

ran takes a shaky breath as he smiles at you. "you think?"

"obviously," you nod enthusiastically. "because i'm the one cooking him and i love you so much."

"there's a lot i'd like to unpack there."

"too bad," you giggle, hopping off his lap. "i'm hungry and you were mean to me."

ran reaches for his phone to order dinner, "yes, mrs. haitani."

"not quite."

"not yet."

"okay, honey. one thing at a time."