🏩 "𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑶 𝑵𝑨𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑰," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ sfw nanami takes care of you while you're on your period ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: official jjk art plz reblog / like 2 support ⠀ ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 0.4k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
#⃝ 𝓦ARNINGS ◦ ₊ㅤ ㅤ﹙ fluff reader is nanami's wife she/her pronouns used Nanami is the sweetest husband eva only tooth rotting fluff you and nanami were high school sweethearts reader & nanami are mid-early 20s modern au / no sorcery 2nd person perspective
໒ִ 𓈒ིྀ ˚ ℳINA'S 𝓝OTES ⫽ ୧ྀ ─ I actually don't like writing for nanami that much masterlist <3
KENTO NANAMI placed his hand over your abdomen, gently sneaking his hand up your shirt to cup at the pouch where your womb was.
His lips brushed over the back of your hair, while you were pouting, eyes closed in the constant ache. “I feel so gross…” you mumbled, groaning when you felt that one cramp shoot to your rear in eye-watering pain. The first two days of your period were always the worst, you didn’t even want to get out of bed, too tired and sore, not wanting to deal with any daily tasks.
Kento was gentle, the sweetest husband, even.
“I’ll make you warm tea, my love, you can eat it with the chocolate chip bread rolls I bought recently,” He hummed in his deep voice against the back of your neck. Soft lips pressed against where your scalp faded into your neck, warm breath ghosting over the back of your neck in a comforting brush. His thumb moved gently over your skin, pressing just firmly enough to give you some sort of relief.
Kento had always been the person to look after you on your period, even back when you two were in high school, between the lines of friends and dating. He had wrapped his sweater around your waist at one point when you had bled through your school pants. “My tummy hurtsss… and can people still see?” You pouted, turning around so that nanami could check you from the back. His eyes had bored down your figure before shaking his head silently, “you can’t see,” he had said monotonously.
You had sighed, smiling before reaching over and pecking his cheek. His face burned up almost immediately, “thank you, Kento!”
And now, almost a decade later, as your husband, he was bringing you warm tea. Watching over you, keeping you safe, and loving you. Kissing your forehead, still blushing every now and then whenever you kissed him, but he was mostly used to it now.
"Kento... you're really sexy when you take care of me," you whined playfully, rubbing your eyes to turn over in bed to see what he had brought you. Nanami was frozen, setting down the tray on the bedside table, face flushed a deep red.
[looking at people younger than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at people older than me] you have your whole life ahead of you [looking at myself] its over
you insisted on going to the horror movie night with your new boyfriend, sukuna, after overhearing his idiot frat brothers whispering about you.
“she’s really soft.”
“i've never seen ryo with a girl like her.”
“watch her piss herself at the first jumpscare.”
laughter all around.
and maybe it was stupid, but you wanted to prove them wrong. prove you could handle the same things as the girls he usually kept around. cool girls. confident girls. mature girls who didn’t cling to their boyfriend’s sleeve every five minutes.
so you sat beside sukuna and in that freezing theater, chin lifted stubbornly, pretending your stomach wasn’t already twisting from the opening music alone.
for the first thirty minutes, you held it together.
barely.
you got by closing your eyes at the scarier parts and subtly whispering to sukuna to tell you when it was over.
then the movie hit you with the most horrific, satan-spawned jumpscare imaginable.
you shrieked so loud the entire row flinched.
your hand jerked violently.
and your ice cream launched directly into satoru gojo's face.
silence.
then satoru yelling, “WHAT THE HELLY?”
suguru and toji snickered.
and suddenly you were crying.
partly because you’d just assaulted sukuna's friend with matcha soft serve after you'd spent a whole minute outside the theatre convincing all of them you weren't scared in the slightest before you'd gone in.
partly because that was some really good ice cream you'd just wasted.
partly because everyone was staring.
but mostly because that movie was fucking terrifying.
sukuna immediately grabbed your wrist and stood up. “aight, we’re leaving.”
you hid your face in his arm while his friends snickered behind you. humiliation burned hot in your chest as he guided you out of the theater, your legs still shaky.
outside, the cold night air hit your cheeks.
“sorry…” you mumbled miserably.
sukuna snorted. “it's fine, baby. gojo deserved it, he was being an asshole."
you whined, covering your face. "i wasn't talking about that!"
he laughed under his breath, but there wasn’t an ounce of cruelty in it. just amusement. then he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your temple, “i’ll take you home, yeah?”
you sniffled and nodded. “that was scary.”
“i know, babe. i'm sorry,” he opened the passenger door for you, buckling your seatbelt himself with surprising gentleness. “should’ve known that shit would freak you out.”
“it was my idea…” you hiccuped.
“i still shoulda said no.” he shut the door and rounded the hood of the car.
the few seconds you sat alone were awful. your eyes immediately darted to the rearview mirror. the backseat looked way too dark. you stared at it, fully convinced some horrifying demon woman was about to crawl over the seats and kill you.
the driver door opened and sukuna slid in and caught you staring.
“…you looking at your little friend back there?”
you gasped, “kuna, don’t SAY that!”
he barked out a laugh while starting the engine. “you want another ice cream?”
your watery eyes widened hopefully. “…yeah.”
“thought so.”
by the time you reached your apartment complex, you were clutching a drive-thru soft serve with both hands while sukuna walked beside you toward your door.
you were finally calm again.
until he kissed your forehead, patted your ass lightly, and turned away. “see you tomorrow, babe.”
terror immediately flooded your face. you grabbed his arm so fast he almost stumbled back.
he looked down at you with a blink. then sighed. “…should’ve expected that.”
your eyes welled up again. “y-you’re leaving?”
“nah.” he unlocked your apartment and walked in beside you. “just wanted to see your face.” sukuna lied smoothly.
you blinked. “…oh.”
“cute reaction though.”
you huffed at him before setting your ice cream on the counter. “um… i need to pee.”
“okay?” he said, lifting a questioning brow, not quite sure what this has to do with him.
you awkwardly twisted your fingers together before looking up at him nervously.
a beat passed.
then sukuna sighed the sigh of a man accepting his fate.
a minute later, he was inside your bathroom aggressively yanking the shower curtain open .checking the cabinets. looking behind the door.
“there.” he deadpanned. “no demons.”
you stood in the doorway anxiously. “is it safe?”
“yes.”
“…promise?”
“baby, if something attacks you while you piss, i’ll personally beat its ass.”
you considered that seriously.
“…okay.”
you stepped inside cautiously.
“stand by the door.”
“stand by the—” he repeated in disbelief, before he stopped himself with a long exhale. “fine.”
“and turn around.”
“baby, i’ve literally seen you naked—”
“TURN AROUND.”
“bossy as hell,” he muttered, turning around anyway.
“and cover your ears.”
he stared at you over his shoulder in disbelief. “why?”
"i don't want you hearing me pee!"
sukuna sighed slowly. then lifted too resigned hands to his ears.
“not all the way though,” you continued nervously, “or you won’t hear me scream.”
sukuna closed his eyes and covered his ears, “that all, princess?”
“mhm!” you chirped brightly, kissing his cheek. “thanks honey. you’re sooo brave.”
he looked up at the ceiling like he was asking the universe for strength.
choso is a firm believer that pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything.
it’s not something he’s ever said out loud, not in those exact words, but you see it in the way he kneels at your feet when your evening slippers are pinching, in the way his hands steady your ankles as he slides them off.
you see it in the careful, reverent way he unties the laces of your dress at night, his knuckles brushing your spine, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.
"cho, i can do that myself," you protest for the hundredth time, reaching for the hairbrush on your vanity. you’ve just returned from a work dinner, your face aching from smiling, your scalp tender from the weight of your responsibilities.
"don't be like that," he says softly, taking the brush from your hand. he’s already behind you, his reflection meeting yours in the mirror. he’s wearing a simple black sweater now, his pigtails undone, but he still looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room worth seeing. "let me help you."
"you’re going to spoil me rotten," you murmur, but you’re already sinking back against him, your eyes drifting shut as he starts working the brush through your hair in slow, even strokes. the bristles scrape gently against your scalp and you make a small, involuntary sound of pleasure.
"that’s the point," he says, his voice low. he sets the brush down and reaches for the cloth and cleansing oil. "you're too beautiful to even lift a finger, baby."
he’s wiping the rouge from your cheeks now, the kohl from your eyes. his touch is so gentle, so methodical, like he’s polishing something precious. you let him tilt your chin up, let him clean away the day’s mask. when he’s done, he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.
"cmon, bed." he commands. not harshly—never harshly—but with the quiet authority of a man who knows exactly what you need.
you stand, your hand in his, and let him lead you to the mattress. he undresses you slowly, layer by layer, the silk pooling at your feet. when you’re down to your thin shift, he pulls back the covers and tucks you in like you’re something fragile.
"sleep," he whispers.
but you catch his wrist. you’re not sleepy. not anymore. the tiredness has shifted into something else, something warm and heavy low in your belly.
"stay," you plead.
he hesitates. "you’re tired."
"i want you," you clarify, your thumb stroking the inside of his wrist. "but i’m... i’m exhausted. but— but i want you— but i don't want to do anything—"
something dark flickers in his eyes. understanding. hunger. devotion.
"then don’t," he says. he climbs onto the bed, fully clothed, and crawls up your body until he’s hovering over you. "don’t do anything. don’t even think. just let me make you feel good."
"choso—" you start, already feeling guilty, already reaching for the hem of his sweater.
he catches your hands and pins them gently above your head. his fingers twine with yours, pressing your palms into the pillow.
"no, sweetheart." he says, his mouth brushing your ear. his voice drops, rough and reverent. "you don’t do the work. you never do the work. you just lay there, princess, and let me take care of you. let me please you. let me—" he grinds his hips down, and you feel how hard he is, straining against the fabric of his trousers, and you gasp. "—let me do everything."
he releases your hands only to finally pull his sweater over his head. you watch the muscles of his back shift in the warm light of your tablelamp, the old scars, the lean strength. when he turns back to you, he’s already unlacing his trousers, pushing them down, kicking them off.
he kneels between your thighs, his dark eyes raking over you. "open up," he murmurs, his hands sliding up your legs, pushing your shift higher. "be good for me, okay?"
you spread your legs, trembling. he’s already so hard, the pink tip flushed and wet, and he wraps his hand around himself, stroking once, twice, his eyes never leaving your face.
"you don’t even have to move," he says, leaning down, caging you in his warmth. "i’ll do all the work. i’ll get you ready. i’ll make you feel so good. all you have to do is look at me. can you do that for me, princess? can you let me love you?"
"yes," you breathe, your voice cracking. "yes, choso, please—"
he kisses you then, deep and filthy, his tongue sliding against yours in a rhythm that makes your toes curl. his hand slips between your legs, his fingers finding you already wet, already aching. he doesn’t make you ask, nor does he make you work for it. he just pushes two fingers inside you, curling them, stretching you open while his thumb circles your clit.
"that’s it," he praises against your lips, feeling you clench around him. "that's my girl. just lay there and take it. let me get you ready for my cock."
you moan, your head falling back against the pillow. he’s relentless, his fingers pumping in and out, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur. you try to rock your hips, try to chase the sensation, but he stills you with his free hand on your hip.
"no, angel." he says, his voice firm. "don’t move. let me. i want to feel you squeezing my fingers while you just lay there and let me fuck you open."
you whimper, your hands gripping the sheets because he won’t let you touch him. he’s leaning over you, watching your face, watching the pleasure overwhelm you, and his expression is something almost feral. like this—serving you, controlling your pleasure, doing all the labor—is exactly where he wants to be.
"look at you," he breathes, his fingers moving faster, harder. "so pretty. so perfect. you're doing so well, baby. letting me make you cum. can you do that for me? can you cum on my fingers like a good girl?"
"choso!" you sob, the pressure building, your body tensing.
"there she is," he croons, his thumb pressing down. "cum for me, make a mess of the sheets."
you break, your orgasm crashing over you, your walls clamping down on his fingers as you cry out. he rides you through it, his hand moving slower now, drawing out every wave until you’re shaking, boneless, your hair fanned out across the pillow.
before you can catch your breath, he’s moving. he hooks his arms under your knees, spreading you wide, his hands sliding up to grip your hips. he positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressing against your still-pulsing heat.
"now," he says, his voice rough with restraint. "i’m going to fuck you, and i’m going to make you cum again. and again. until you can’t think. until you can’t even remember your name."
"please," you gasp, your hands reaching for him again, wanting to touch, to hold.
he catches your wrists and presses them back into the mattress. "no," he says, his eyes dark. "be good, or i'll stop. understand?"
you nod, dizzy, your body still throbbing.
he pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, filling you completely. the stretch burns so perfectly you cry out, your back arching off the bed, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your hips.
"fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to your shoulder. "so warm. so tight. and you’re just— letting me use you— shit—"
he starts to move, a slow, deep rhythm that has you seeing stars. he’s doing all the work—his hips rolling, his cock dragging against your sensitive walls, his hands holding you exactly where he wants you. you try to move, try to meet his thrusts, but he growls and pins you harder.
"stay still," he orders, his voice strained. "let me do this for you. you had a hard day. you smiled at people who didn't deserve it. now you just get to lay here and take my cock. that’s all. that’s your only job."
"ch-choso!" you sob, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. it’s too much, the pleasure, the devotion, the way he’s using his body to serve you. "i love you— hic!— i love you so much—"
"i know," he breathes, his thrusts speeding up, becoming harder, more desperate. his skin slaps against yours, the bed creaking, but he never lets you move. he holds you open, holds you down, fucks into you with a single-minded focus that’s entirely about your pleasure. "and i love you more. god, i love you so much more."
his hand slides between you again, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles. you’re so sensitive from your first orgasm, every touch is electric, overwhelming. you can’t move, can’t do anything but lay there and take it, exactly like he wants, and the helplessness of it, the sheer luxury of being cared for so completely, sends you over the edge again.
you cum with a scream, your walls clamping down on him so hard he chokes, his rhythm faltering.
"that’s it," he gasps, fucking you through it, chasing his own release now. "atta girl. just— shit— i-im gonna—"
he thrusts deep one last time and stills, his cock pulsing inside you as he comes with a broken groan against your neck. you feel the heat of it, the way he spills into you, marking you, claiming you, all while you lay there trembling, his hands still gripping your hips, his weight pressing you into the mattress.
for a long moment, neither of you moves. he’s breathing hard, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. slowly, carefully, he pulls out and collapses beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms. he’s still panting, his heart hammering against your ear.
"okay?" he whispers, his hand stroking your hair again, back to the gentle, domestic touches.
you nod, boneless, drifting. "more than okay," you murmur. "felt so good."
"that’s the point," he reminds you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "pretty girls like you shouldn’t have to do anything."
you smile against his chest, your eyes already closing. "then i guess i’m just going to have to let you do it again tomorrow."
nerdjo’s glasses slip down his nose as he stares at you between his knees, mouth already running even while you’re bobbing on his cock.
“fuckkk, that’s so good—shit, wait, did you know that like… most guys only last like five minutes with head? which is, y’know, kind of embarrassing considering the male refractory period—”
his words stutter when you swallow around his sensitive tip, spit dripping down your chin. “ohhh god, okay, yeah, that’s—fuck—that’s definitely less than five minutes for me.”
your tongue presses under his tip and he whines, still running his mouth.
“ahhh—shit, baby, did you also know semen actually has, like, fructose in it? it’s literally nature’s energy drink—ohhh fuck, your tongue—wait, wait, don’t stop—” his whimpers comes out shaky, hand twitching like he wants to push your head down but can’t decide if it’s rude.
you take him deeper, throat tightening, and he slaps a shaky hand over his mouth, eyes rolling back behind his lenses. he tries to muffle a moan but it comes out anyway, high and desperate.
“o-okay, okay, uh—s-science says sucking dick releases oxytocin—hahh, f-fuck—bonding hormone, y’know? so technically, we’re like… getting closer right now.”
you hum around him in agreement and he gasps, words spilling faster. “shitshitshit, baby, you’re—fuck, your throat’s so warm, you’re making me cum—ahhh, oh god, wait, I’m serious, I’m—”
he breaks off with a choked moan, cock twitching as he shoots thick cum across your tongue, still babbling about “increased intimacy” while you swallow every drop.
★ . . “don’t leave me.” mid-makeout with ex husband!nanami.
you sink down onto him slow, thighs trembling as his thick cock stretches you open inch by inch.
nanami’s hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, breath ragged against your mouth while you settle fully in his lap. the bedroom is dim, just the low lamp casting gold across his bare chest and the way sweat already beads at his collarbone.
he kisses you like he’s starving, tongue sliding deep, tasting every soft sound you make. your fingers thread through his blond hair, tugging lightly as you start to roll your hips, riding him with that slow grind that makes his thighs tense beneath you. wet sounds fill the room each time you lift and drop, slick coating his length and dripping down to his balls.
“fuck,” he murmurs into your lips, voice hoarse and wrecked.
one hand slides up your back, pressing you closer until your breasts crush against him. his other hand stays on your ass, guiding you, helping you bounce a little faster. every drag of his cock inside you hits that spot that makes your toes curl.
you lean in to kiss him deeper, tongues tangled, breaths shared hot and messy. his hips buck up to meet you, driving himself even deeper. that’s when he breaks the kiss just enough to pant against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours, eyes half-lidded and desperate.
“don’t leave me again,” he whispers, the words raw and trembling right there in the middle of it all. his voice cracks just a little on the last syllable, like the thought alone hurts. he pulls you back into the kiss before you can answer, hungrier now, teeth grazing your bottom lip as he thrusts up harder.
you ride him through it, clenching around his cock with every rise and fall, skin slapping softly together. his hands roam like he can’t get enough of you, palms mapping your waist, your ribs, the curve of your spine. he groans low when you grind down and circle your hips, milking him just right.
“need you here,” he breathes between kisses, “right here with me.” his thrusts grow erratic, chasing that edge while you keep riding him steady, lost in the heat of his body and the way he holds onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.
Fratjo breaks up with you and instantly regrets it
The first time Satoru Gojo realizes he made a mistake is when he can’t find you on campus.
At first he thinks it’s funny.
You’ve always been easy to find. The west library corner seat by the window. The campus café at 10:30 with a vanilla latte and that same notebook you pretend isn’t a diary.
But after the breakup?
You vanish.
Not metaphorically.
Literally.
Your Instagram, phone number, Snapchat — blocked.
He stares at his phone in the Alpha Tau living room while music blasts around him and someone hands him another drink.
Blocked.
“Damn,” one of the guys laughs. “She actually did it.”
Gojo scoffs like it doesn’t matter. “I’ll get her back,” he says cockily.
Like he’s not the one who said it. I need to focus on football.
The lie sounded convincing at the time. The scouts were watching. His coach kept yelling about discipline. Everyone said relationships were a distraction.
So he broke up with you.
Clean and quick.
Two weeks later, he’s drunk at three different frat parties, shamefully sneaking out of sorority house hookups before the sun even rises.
And somehow that’s when he realizes something feels wrong.
———-
The First Attempt
He tries texting.
It doesn’t go through. Still blocked.
He laughs to himself. “Dramatic much.”
But that night he still walks across campus toward the all-girl dorms.
Except the front desk girl just shrugs. “She’s not here.”
Gojo frowns, “What do you mean she’s not here?”
“Means she’s not here.”
He stands outside the dorm building for ten minutes before leaving.
The next day he tries again. Still no sight of you.
Flowers
A week later a bouquet arrives at your dorm. White lilies and baby’s breath.
Attached card: —SG <3
He doesn’t even know if you like lilies. You used to talk about flowers sometimes, but he never listened carefully enough to remember, and now he regrets it.
The desk girl tells him later you picked them up without saying a word.
Still no message back.
The Letters
Then the letters start. The handwritten notes made him feel romantic, he was sure this would get a response out of you.
The first one is simple.
I know you blocked me. I deserve it.
Let me know if you wanna talk
-Satoru <3
No response.
The second one is longer.
I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I thought I was doing the responsible thing.
Please unblock me xoxo
The third one is messy.
He writes it at 2 AM after a party he left early because some girl laughed too loud in a way that sounded a little too much like you.
I keep looking for you around campus.
You used to sit by the west library window. I checked yesterday. You weren’t there. Are you avoiding me?
- Toru
Your Favorite Snacks
The dorm desk starts receiving packages. Your favorite chocolate. Spicy chips.
Strawberry gummies you always bought from the vending machine during late-night study sessions.
Deliveries of your favourite bubble tea.
The desk girl starts recognizing his name. “Another one from the football guy. I told him you weren’t here again like you asked.”
Meanwhile
Gojo’s reputation doesn’t change. He’s still the star player. Still the loud one at parties. Still the guy everyone thinks has everything.
But lately he keeps checking doorways. Scanning crowds at football games. Looking for someone who isn’t there.
The First Time He Sees You Again
It’s raining. He’s leaving practice when he spots you across the quad under a blue umbrella.
For a second he thinks he imagined it.
But then you look up. And your eyes meet his.
The look on your face isn’t anger. It’s worse.
It’s indifference.
You turn and keep walking. Gojo’s heart drops straight into his stomach. He can’t let you escape after all this time of chasing you.
“Hey—!”
You stop slowly. You look over your shoulder. “…What?” Your voice is calm.
Gojo suddenly forgets every speech he rehearsed. “I—did you get the letters?”
“Yes.”
“…And?…will you please talk to me?”
You stare at him for a long moment “Goodnight, Gojo.”
Then you turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, watching you disappear.
he loves fucking you in front of the mirror because he gets to see how your eyes roll back and brows close in as you cum all over him.
he pulls your hair back tightly so he can see the expression you make in the reflection— it's so mesmerising to him.
"ngh— cum, cum," he pounds you hard, feeling your gummy walls tighten as he speaks. "let me see your orgasm face, let me see the faces you make when you cum,"
the snap of his hips quicken, excitedly thrusting into you faster so he can see you make a mess.
"fuck— 'toru," you moan, wanting to rest your head on the mattress but he won't let you because then he can't see.
he goes faster until you start to twitch and pulse around him.
the pleasure takes over your mind, hips moving along to him. it hurts. your lower body is throbbing but you don't care. you need his cock inside you so bad. you need to cum desperately.
satoru's hand tightens a bit more as he feels you release all over him, admiring the lewd look on your face as you coat him with your essence.
"mmh, baby you look so hot when you do that," he moans, suspending your head up in the air, not letting go anytime soon.
your body starts to cool down and that's when he releases you to collapse on the bed.
a/n ; gosh he would be too gorgeous if he was real.
“Hey, don’t—no need to be so gentle…” Jinshi groans as you wrap your fingers around his cock for a better grip. You’ve always loved taking your time with him.
well, no one loved your blow jobs more than him.
You unhook your jaw to take Jinshi in all his glory—his 8-inch cock, a beautifully trimmed purple-haired base beneath it—watching the mess of your spit dribble down as you leaned into it like the slutty girl you were.
“Nngh— I just need to be inside of you… please, let me—” he whines, voice on the verge of breaking as you pull your mouth from his cock.
“But then I wouldn’t be able to see you like this… you’re so pretty like this, Jinshi,” you grin. “Aren’t you?, my pretty boy?” His face almost crumbles when you glide your mouth back down onto his shaft.
“Mmmph—you’re so hot… I am,” he groans, the sound dragging from his cock all the way up through his chest as he bucks his waist into your mouth, practically face-fucking you. “M’ your pretty boy…” he mumbles, like he’s right on the edge of cumming.
But no—no, why would you let him?
You pop your mouth off his cock, a string of spit still attached to his pink-tipped length, making him reach for your face. “Hey—no, I was gonna…”
And before he could finish, you were already rising up to sit right down on his cock. You could see tears welling up in his eyes as you lowered yourself onto him, in response he throw his head back, all those long purple strands falling onto the pillow.
“It’s too good… it’s too fucking good,” he says through him biting down his lip as he grips your waist, guiding you up and down on his cock.
“You look like you’re gonna cryyy…” you hush out at him as tears roll down his face, he then pulls you down into him. He feels your tits against his chest, that only made his cock twitch even more… and he wraps his big arms around you.
Only to start Jackhammering his cock into you.
“M’sorry… I’m sorry, it just feels too good,” he whines, tears running down his cheeks.
“It’s okay shi— you can cum in me… whenever you want…” you babble out “be good and cum…” diving your face and spilling words coaxingly into the crook of his neck, still restricted by his arms as he fucks you like a fleshlight.
“Oh fuck—I’m cummin. Come on, cum with me, please—I need it…” he slurs out as he feels your walls flutter against the tip of his cock. “Your pussy is basically—nngh… swallowing up my cock. You wanted it too…” he says in a soft coo. “So you can’t be mad…”
Mad? He was fucking you until you saw stars, and he was worried—he thought you’d be mad, so you only ground your ass back down.
“Never—shi… I could never be mad at you…” you flutter almost falling apart, and for a second, you saw his face light up.
And with a single swipe of his hand, he guided your hips down onto him, his palm pressing your ass down. You felt the warm, flashing rush of your orgasm and his cum spilling into you and for certain, not a drop was wasted.
Once you take a breath and he releases his arms from around you, you sit up, feeling your back arch away from him…
Hardening again?
“Can we go again… please?” His long eyelashes were slick with tears, and his cheeks and nose were a bright pink all the while he looked away covering his face, and your heart throbbed, he was... embarrassed.
How could you say no that that face?!
please do not plagiarize, repost, or translate any of my works on here or any other websites. do not feed to ai
Plot: You accidentally eat something you weren't supposed to. Turns out it was laced with an aphrodisiac, lucky for you, your master is more than happy to lend you a hand.
Author's Note: I had intended to post this wayyyy sooner, but things are about chaotic rn and I kinda forgot about it. So here it is!!! (expect typos) This is straight filth, no plot.
It was left on an unnatended tray in the outer pavilion of the rear palace, it looked harmless and appeared to be the remnantsa of one of the concubines.
Since it was destined for the wash bin anyway, you slipped it into your mouth, letting the rich, honeyed flavor melt over your tongue.
Heat spread like wildfire, pooling heavy and thick between your thighs.
Your breath hitched, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over you as your skin grew entirely too sensitive.
Even the light friction of your servant's robes felt like sandpaper against your chest, making your nipples harden instantly.
You trembled, dropping your cleaning cloth as a soft, involuntary whimper escaped your lips.
"You're making a terrible mess of things tonight."
The smooth, melodic voice made you gasp, your heart hammering against your ribs.
Jinshi was standing by the window, his gaze heavy and analytical as he tracked the erratic rise and fall of your chest.
He took a slow, deliberate step toward you, his usual angelic, otherworldly smile replaced by something far narrower. Far more dangerous.
"Your face is entirely flushed, and you're sweating," Jinshi murmured, closing the distance until the faint scent of incense clinging to his robes enveloped you.
He reached out, the back of his knuckles brushing lightly against your burning cheek.
You couldn't help it you blindly leaned into the cool contact, a soft cry leaving your lips as you practically begged for more of his touch.
Jinshi’s eyes darkened, a sharp glint of realization crossing his beautiful features. "Ah... I see.
It seems you've put something in your mouth that wasn't meant for you. A rather potent aphrodisiac, judging by how thoroughly it's ruined you."
Shame warred with the overwhelming waves of pleasure crashing through your veins.
You dropped to your knees, bowing your head to hide your desperate expression. "M-Master Jinshi... please excuse me. I need to leave—"
"And go where?" Jinshi intervened, his voice dropping an octave into a rich, commanding purr.
He knelt down in front of you, his long, elegant fingers gently catching your chin to force your gaze up.
His expression was a dizzying mix of intense desire and cruel amusement.
"You can barely stand. If you wander out into the corridors like this, someone far less accommodating than me will find you."
He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear, sending a powerful shiver straight down your spine.
"Since it’s my duty to keep order here... I suppose I can offer to lend you a hand."
The heat of his words hit you before his touch did, the reality of your predicament crashing down as Jinshi’s gaze trapped you.
You could only offer a weak, trembling nod, the aphrodisiac completely stripping away your ability to protest.
"Good girl," Jinshi purred, his demeanor shifting into something entirely dominant, stripping away the flawless facade of the ethereal bureaucrat.
He didn't waste another second.
Reaching out, he hooked his fingers into the collar of your servant's robes and pulled, the cheap fabric giving way with a sharp rip that exposed your flushed, sweating skin to the cool air of the pavilion.
You gasped, your hands instinctively coming up to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists in a single, unyielding grip, pinning them easily over your head against the floor.
"Don't hide from me," he commanded, his voice tight with an underlying current of feral hunger.
"You wanted a taste of something that wasn't yours. Now you belong to me until every drop of that poison is worked out of your system."
He leaned down, his mouth crashing against yours in a bruising, possessive kiss.
It wasn’t the gentle touch of a master taking pity; it was demanding, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth to claim you entirely, drinking in your frantic, needy whimpers.
While his mouth kept you thoroughly occupied, his free hand slid down the length of your body, bunched up your skirts, and found the slick, burning junction between your thighs.
The moment his long, elegant fingers brushed against your dripping slit, your hips jerked upward, an unbidden cry muffled against his lips.
"Look how ruined you are," Jinshi whispered against your mouth, a dark, satisfied smirk tracing his lips as he felt the intense heat radiating from you.
Without hesitation, he drove two fingers deep inside your tight, soaked cunt.
The sudden fullness made your eyes roll back, your walls clamping down around his fingers in a desperate, pulsing rhythm.
Jinshi let out a low, guttural growl at the sheer tightness of you.
He began to pump his fingers in a ruthless, unyielding pace, deliberately hooking them upward to strike the sensitive bundle of nerves inside you over and over again.
"M-Master Jinshi—ah! Please!" you cried out, your head tossing from side to side as the pleasure became blinding.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, accelerating the wicked pace of his fingers, sliding them entirely in and out of your dripping heat, turning you into a sobbing, trembling mess beneath him.
"Beg for it."
"More... please, more!"
Instead of giving you his length, Jinshi suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you feeling agonizingly empty.
Before you could protest, he shifted down your body, parting your thighs wide and anchoring his hands firmly on your hips.
He leaned in, his beautiful eyes darkened with pure, primal lust, and buried his face directly into your soaked cunt.
The first swipe of his tongue across your swollen clit was so intense your back arched entirely off the floor.
Jinshi was relentless.
He used his tongue with devastating, expert precision, lapping up your sweet, juices while keeping his thumb pressed firmly against your entrance.
Denying you the fullness you craved. He sucked on your hyper-sensitive nub, his breaths hot and heavy against your dripping flesh, driving you ruthlessly toward the edge.
The coil inside you tightened to an unbearable point. "Jinshi—I'm going to—I can't—!"
"Come for me," he ordered against your slick flesh, his voice a commanding rumble that sent shivers straight to your core.
With a few more fierce, demanding strokes of his tongue, your body fractured.
You screamed out his name as a violent, rolling orgasm tore through you, your thighs twitching as your juices spilled heavily onto his lips and chin.
Jinshi drank it all in, looking up at you with a completely feral, unhinged expression, his face smeared with your slickness.
The sight of him so thoroughly undone by your pleasure was the final blow to your sanity.
But he wasn't done with you. His own patience had completely worn thin.
He stood up, unfastening his heavy, elaborate robes with frantic urgency until he was completely bare.
His cock was massive, throbbing, and slick with pre-cum.
He knelt back down between your trembling legs, his large hands gripping your thighs so hard his fingers dug into your skin, pinning you down.
"You're not finished yet," he growled, his voice completely stripped of its usual elegance.
He aligned his tip with your pulsing, dripping entrance and, with one brutal, unyielding thrust, buried himself entirely inside you to the hilt.
A sharp gasp ripped from your throat as the sheer fullness of him stretched you to your absolute limit.
The sudden, unyielding invasion made your vision blur, your fingers digging frantically into the cool floorboards of the pavilion as your body tried to accommodate his massive size.
Jinshi didn't give you a moment to adjust.
The restraint he had maintained all evening was completely shattered, burnt to ash by the sight of you unraveled beneath him and the heady scent of your arousal.
He gripped your hips with a bruising force, his knuckles turning white as he anchored you down and began to drive into you with a feral, relentless rhythm.
"Ah! Master Jinshi—hangh!" Your cries were frantic, broken by the heavy, wet sounds of your bodies slapping together.
Every thrust was deep, brutal, and thoroughly dominant.
He wasn’t matching the careful movements of a court gentleman; he was taking you like a man possessed, his breaths coming in ragged, guttural growls against your neck.
He buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, his teeth biting down sharply on the sensitive skin of your collarbone, marking you as his own while he ruthlessly claimed your heat.
The combination of the lingering aphrodisiac and his savage pace drove you straight back over the edge.
Your walls clamped down hard around his thick length, pulsing in desperate, tight waves that threatened to break his control entirely.
"Look at me," Jinshi commanded, his voice a rough, gravelly growl.
You forced your heavy eyelids open, meeting his gaze.
His eyes were entirely blown out, dark with an unhinged, primal lust that made your heart hammer against your ribs.
He quickened the pace, his thrusts becoming faster, shallower, and incredibly intense, targeting the ultra-sensitive bundle of nerves inside you with devastating accuracy.
"You're mine," he growled against your lips, slamming into you one final, deep time. "All mine."
The words triggered a violent, rolling orgasm that tore through your body, your internal muscles squeezing him with an agonizing tightness.
The overwhelming sensation shattered what little control Jinshi had left. With a low, animalistic groan.
He buried himself to the absolute hilt, his entire body locking up as he poured his thick, hot release deep inside your pulsing core.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of your ragged, synchronized breathing.
The manic energy that had consumed the pavilion slowly dissipated, leaving behind a thick, suffocating warmth.
Jinshi stayed buried deep inside you for several long moments, his heavy frame pressing you into the floor as he recovered.
Slowly, he pulled away with a soft, wet sound, causing a warm mixture of your shared fluids to spill out onto your thighs.
The sudden emptiness made you shiver, the cool night air hitting your thoroughly wrecked body.
Instead of turning away with the cold indifference of a master who had used a servant, Jinshi gathered you into his arms.
He pulled your trembling, exhausted body against his chest, unheeding of the sweat and slickness coating both of you.
His long fingers gently brushed the damp hair away from your face, his expression softening back into something resembling his usual beauty.
Though his eyes still held a lingering, possessive dark glint.
"Rest," he murmured softly, his voice returning to its smooth, melodic tone as he pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead.
You closed your eyes, completely spent, the artificial heat finally fading into a deep, heavy exhaustion.
As you drifted off, the tight grip of his arms around your waist made one thing abundantly clear.
Your life in the Rear Palace would never be the same again.
clingy gojo never gets tired of hearing you say you love him.
“baby.”
you woke up to the familiar sound of exaggerated sighing coming from the other side of the bed. not just any sigh –no, this was the full satoru gojo special: a long, theatrical exhale that somehow managed to sound both heartbroken and annoyingly smug at the same time. you cracked one eye open, already knowing what was coming.
“do you even love me?” he whined, voice muffled against the pillow he was now clutching like a jilted lover.
you groaned, burying your face back into your own pillow. “satoru. it’s literally seven in the morning. i haven’t even had coffee yet.”
he rolled closer, slinging a long arm over your waist and yanking you against his chest with zero effort. “exactly. seven in the morning and you haven’t said it once. not a single ‘i love you, satoru, my handsome, amazing, perfect boyfriend who deserves all the sugar in the world.’ i’m dying here. wasting away. look at me– i’m practically translucent from neglect.”
you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out. this was routine. as routine as his daily sugar intake and his insistence on wearing those stupid designer sunglasses indoors. you’d been together for twenty five months, three weeks, and four days (he kept count, obviously), and not once had the man gone more than twelve hours without fishing for verbal confirmation that you were still obsessed with him.
you wrote him letters. you baked him those stupid mochi waffles at 6 a.m. on sundays. you once spent an entire evening color-coding his sock drawer. it didn’t matter that you left sticky notes with terrible poems on the bathroom mirror (“roses are red, your hair is white, i’d fight a bear for your morning bite”): he’d decided your full-time job was proving your affection on demand.
you twisted in his arms, cupping his ridiculously pretty face in both hands. “satoru gojo, i love you more than i love sleep. more than i love the last slice of matcha kasutera. more than i love when you shut up for five whole seconds. happy now?”
he leaned in, peppering your face with loud, obnoxious kisses until you were giggling and shoving at his chest. that megawatt grin probably got him out of traffic tickets and into your heart in the first place.
“say it slower. with feeling. and maybe throw in something about my calves.”
you flicked his forehead. “you’re such a drama queen.”
-
you were flipping blueberry pancakes –extra chocolate chips, edges slightly burned because he once declared ‘crispy is a personality trait’– when familiar arms wrapped around your waist from behind. a chin that weighed approximately one metric ton of clinginess dropped onto your shoulder.
“baby.”
“yes, satoru?”
“you love me?” he purred, voice still sleep-rough.
you didn’t miss a beat, sliding a pancake onto the plate. “satoru, i woke up just to make these because you sent me three tiktoks about them at midnight. i think the answer is yes.”
“okay, but do you really love me? or is this all an elaborate prank because i’m too hot and you’re trying to humble me?”
you flipped a pancake with more force than necessary. “i wrote a haiku about your eyes last week. again. and i hate poetry.”
he chuckled. “read it to me. right now.”
“i’m not reading anything out loud again. you recorded the last one and set it as your ringtone.”
he pouted –full bottom lip jut, baby-blue eyes wide and glistening like he was one second away from fake tears. “so you don’t love me.”
“satoru.”
“it’s been twenty whole minutes since you said the l-word. i could die.”
you rolled your eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “i love you.”
he tightened his grip and hummed like he was thinking very hard. “okay but… would you rather get your entire face atrociously burned off in a freak pancake-related grease fire… or watch me go on one single date with another woman?”
you froze mid-flip. the spatula hovered. you slowly turned in his arms, eyebrows raised so high they were basically in your hairline.
“are you serious right now?” you poked his chest with the spatula. “satoru, i spend forty-five minutes on skincare every night so i can look like a glazed donut. i visit my dermatologist once a month, that gives you a hint of how vain i am. besides, our face is our calling card to the world. so yeah. i’d rather watch you go on a date with someone else.”
he gasped like you’d stabbed him. “you’d let me date another woman?!”
you couldn’t resist him when he got like this. you wiped your hands on a dish towel, pulled open the junk drawer, and retrieved the folded papers.
“i’d sit in the café across the street, eat my feelings in the form of their entire pastry case, and then kidnap you on the way home while blasting our song. because i’m not an idiot and i know you’d text me memes the whole date about how bored you are.”
he stared at you for half a second, then burst out laughing so loud the neighbor’s dog started barking. he scooped you up, spun you once, and planted a sticky chocolate-chip kiss on your cheek.
“you’re so mean when you’re logical. i love it. marry me right now.”
“you already asked yesterday. i said yes. again.”
“yeah but you didn’t say it with enough enthusiasm.” he stole a pancake straight off the spatula, burning his fingers and not caring. “say it like you mean it this time.”
you sighed, clearing your throat. “satoru gojo, light of my life, thief of my pocky, i would marry you in a denny’s parking lot at 3 a.m. wearing crocs and a trash bag if that’s what you wanted. now sit down before i actually burn my face on purpose to escape this conversation.”
he cackled and plopped into his chair like an overgrown puppy. you set his plate in front of him –extra whipped cream, because he was a child– and sat across from him with your own.
“there. evidence of love. delivered fresh daily.”
-
you were comparing two brands of hojicha powder when satoru materialized at the end of the cart like a teleporting menace, holding up a family-sized bag of strawberry kitkat.
“baby,” he said, voice dropping into full dramatic mode as usual. “how much you love me?”
you didn’t bother to look up. “i love you enough to let you buy the jumbo pack even though last time you ate them all and then complained your stomach was staging a coup at 2 a.m.”
he abandoned the kitkats in the cart and draped himself over the handle. “would you rather break your nose and never have it set properly again… or break up with me?”
you finally met his eyes. he was using his letal weapon: pouting. the characteristic bottom lip, sparkling blues, the whole oscar-worthy performance. a passing grandma actually slowed down to stare.
you leaned on the cart, deadpan. “seriously? i need my nose to breathe, satoru. besides being functional, the nose determines the shape of the face. and i am allergic to dust. having it permanently broken would cause me a lot of trouble. so yeah. i’d rather break up with you.”
he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. “you’d break up with me?!”
you patted his cheek. “i’d cry for three days straight, eat ice cream in your purple hoodie, and then show up at your door with a powerpoint titled ‘reasons we should get back together’ that includes graphs of how much i spoil you. because i’m logical, not suicidal. now help me pick the good hojicha before i add ‘makes me answer dumb questions in public’ to the breakup slide.”
he stared, then started laughing so hard an employee three aisles over dropped a jar of mayonnaise. he rounded the cart, lifted you clean off the ground, and spun you until you were both giggling like lunatics between the wasabi and the instant ramen.
“you’re ridiculous and i’m obsessed.” he murmured against your hair. “i’m keeping you forever. even if you’d dump me for breathing.”
“only temporarily. i have receipts for every sweet i’ve ever bought you. that’s legally binding in at least four countries.”
-
evening rolled around and you were curled up on the couch watching some mindless action movie he’d picked because “the explosions remind me of how my heart feels when you walk into a room.” (his words, not yours.)
you were half-draped over his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back under your shirt. all of your letters were proudly taped to the fridge like kindergarten art projects, as they should.
during a quiet scene he suddenly tightened his hold. “baby.”
you already knew. “yes, satoru?”
“do you even love me? like, love-love me? the forever kind?”
you twirled a strand of his snowy hair. “i spend fifty minutes every morning rhyming your name with something different each time. i think we’re good.”
he looked down, chin digging into your head, eyes sparkling with revelry. “would you rather i move to another country… or get hit by a bus?”
you blinked slowly, processing the new level of ridiculous. “that’s not even the usual format. but i’d rather you get hit by the bus. at least then i could camp out at the hospital, yell at doctors, bring you all your favorite sweets, and nurse you back to health while you’re stuck being extra clingy and dependent on me for months. if you move to another country, i’d be stuck with long-distance, terrible time zones, crying over video calls, and worrying you’re out there eating better yakitori without me. no way. i’d take the bus every single time.”
he tried to hide his smile. “you’d let me get flattened for dairy?!”
you booped his nose. “priorities, bae. i’m keeping you near me. now shut up so we can finish this movie.”
he tackled you into the cushions, kissing your face so aggressively his glasses went flying somewhere into the void. between kisses he kept muttering: “you’re so mean… so logical… i love it so much… more than sweets… more than winning… more than–”
you laughed and cupped his stupidly pretty face, kissing him quiet. “i know, you big dramatic baby. and i love you so much it’s embarrassing. i write you letters because texts feel too temporary. i say it every day because you deserve to hear it every day. i put up with your ridiculous hypotheticals because they make you smile like an idiot and i’m weak for that smile. you’re my favorite person in the entire world, satoru gojo.”
he melted and pulled you closer, burying his face in your neck with a happy little hum. “you’re the best, i swear.”
-
you were half-asleep, curled against his chest, when the question came again, softly into the dark. he couldn’t help it.
“baby… do you love me?”
you didn’t open your eyes. you just hooked a leg over his waist and mumbled. “yes, honey; enough to spoil you rotten and be logical about it. now go to sleep before i change my mind.”
for a long moment, there was only silence. no dramatic gasp, no theatrical clutching of his chest. just the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your hair, the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the half-drawn curtains. then his arms tightened around you –not the usual playful squeeze, but something deeper, almost desperate.
“god, i love you.” he murmured in a way that made your sleepy heart stutter. his fingers traced lazy circles along your back, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked just a little. “i never got to hear those words before. no one truly loved me until you came into my life. you choose me every single time, even when i’m such an insufferable brat. i don’t know what i did to deserve you, but i’m never letting go.”
you felt the heat of his smile against your temple, soft and genuine. tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.
“you big sap,” you whispered, voice thick with affection. “i’m keeping you forever too. even if you keep asking me every day for the rest of our lives.”
-
the next morning, gentle sunlight slipped through the curtains as satoru slowly woke up. his arm reached out across the bed on instinct, searching for the cozy warmth of your body curled against his. instead, his fingers met cool, empty sheets.
he blinked, lifting his head with a sleepy little pout.
“baby…?”
before disappointment could settle in, his eyes landed on a neatly unfolded napkin resting right on your pillow –your fancy handwriting covering it in careful black ink.
he sat up, a small smile already tugging at his lips as he picked up the note and read:
« my dear satoru,
i woke up early because i saw online that a super special limited edition of those premium sakura daifuku from the exclusive wagashi shop just dropped this morning. i ran out to grab a fresh box for you before they’re gone. i’ll be right back! but in the meantime, i hope this will be enough:
i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you (x∞) ♡
ps: missin ya rn. »
satoru stared at the paper, his thumb gently tracing over your enthusiastic words. his heavenly irises softened in that rare, unguarded way only you ever got to see. another warm, genuine smile bloomed across his face as he pressed the napkin to his chest, right over his heart.
in that moment, with your loving note in his hands and the promise of your return, satoru knew without a doubt that true love only comes once in a lifetime.
kento x f!reader. MDNI (18+) ― “ i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you there. ”
⠀→ cw : public sex (consensual voyeurism?), blowing nerdy bf k. nanami off etc.
sometimes, all kento takes you is to the library for a study date; but this time, you're definitely not sorry for giving him the best head of his life from under the table instead.
"you've been smiling from ear to ear today, baby," he muttered, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose before turning to meet your gaze, "you have something evil going on in your mind or wha-"
you grin wider, mouthing a 'you bet' before slipping under the table swiftly. the place is quieter than usual, a boring thursday when there are fewer heads buried in the books; and you wanna take full advantage of that.
you feel him looking down at you as you reach for this belt, his eyes warning you that it's not the place for sex but the only reaction he gets is a tiny, sweet smile of yours.
"you're gonna be quiet for me, kento?" you mumble as you watch his glasses slipping off his nose, probably due to him being too sweaty all of a sudden. his breath hitches, fingers twitching against the edge of the table; halfway between pushing you away and pulling you closer.
the zipper gives way with a soft pull, and then there he is. warm, thick, already twitching at the open air. you glance up just once, catching his bitten lip, the flush crawling down his neck.
good. you wrap your hand around the base, giving a slow stroke before leaning in to lick a flat stripe up his length.
a sharp inhale. his thighs tense. "fuck.. b-baby.. not here please, you're gonna-" his whisper breaks the second your lips seal around the head, hollowing your cheeks as you sink down. the table rattles. a book slides to the floor. nobody comes to investigate.
his fingers weave into your hair, not guiding, just holding, like he’s anchoring himself. you hum around his length, low and sweet, as his grip tightens. "shit, you're.. too much.. gonna get us caught," he breathes, but his hips lift just an inch, feeding you more.
you take it all as tears prick your eyes, swallowing him to the root with your throat fluttering. he curses under his breath, voice cracking. "goodness- look at me.. look at me when you do that, baby.."
he watches your lashes fluttering up, eyes glassy and dark, mouth stretched perfectly around his cock. his breath comes in ragged bursts. "you win," he manages, choking out, "you always win.. and please just- god, keep going-"
and you do; slow, deep pulls, every flick of your tongue deliberate, until his thighs shake as his warning turns to pleading. when he finally spills, it's with your name like a prayer on his lips, muffled into the crook of his elbow as he tries to stay quiet.
you slip back into your seat like nothing happened, smoothing your skirt and sipping your coffee. he stares at you, dazed, glasses fogged.
"so next time," you whisper, crawling back into your seat while adjusting your skirt with a smirk, "i think you might wanna bring another pair of pants, i mean.. we wouldn't want people knowing how thoroughly you come for me, right ken?" ;)
