hi pretty! i'm yves, a 19 y/o black writer! my pronouns are she/they, and i write for everyone!
requests are closed for now!
certified sports babe!! you will see a lot of sports au’s here!
rules! ♡
fav baddies! ♡ (you don't love them more than me.)
kento nanami, jason todd, bucky barnes, rhaenyra targaryen, leone abbacchio, giorno giovanna, and daenerys targaryen luvr!! #teamblack truther!!!!
fandoms! ♡
marvel
dc
the world of ice and fire (hotd, got, akotsk)
jujutsu kaisen
haikyuu
the last of us (1&2)
attack on titan
jojos bizarre adventure
baldur's gate 3
my hero academia
choose your baddie! ♡ (masterlist!)
recent victims! ♡
older bf!joel taking your virginity
imperator | stsg teaser!
keep it cute, sukuna ryomen! teaser
the short gap between vermax’s death and those arrows must have been the worst minute of jace’s life. he lost his revered symbol of legitimacy and had to imagine a life as a dragonless targaryen prince. his final, self-loathing thoughts must have been the most bastardphobic thinking ever conceived of in all of westerosi history
evening light came streaming in through the windows of your chambers, lighting the space in a soft yellow glow as the sun begins its journey behind the distant hills. dappled sunlight catches in your eyelashes as you blink from where you hunch over on the bed, writhing on your hands and knees.
your husband’s hands are tight on your hips, gripping the flesh as he splits you apart on the thick of his cock, grunting little obscenities as he ruts you deeper and deeper into the feathered mattress, your hands and knees pressing indents into the silk.
but you’re wriggling too much. you can’t help it. pleasure sits hot in the pit of your womb, a sticky sort of pressure in the base of your spine too, and you just can’t help the way you wriggle your hips to chase it away, or tremble on your hands and knees when it starts to be too much.
you can’t help it, but maekar can.
you pitch a whine from the back of your throat as his cock spreads the wet clutch of your pussy apart, dragging deep towards the plug of your cervix as he ruts into you, hips smacking against the flesh of your arse. but that’s when you feel it—the solid mass of his chest and abdomen as he leans over you, crowds you, then the thick, scarred column of his arm as it wraps around your throat.
you yelp when he hauls you up until you’re kneeling with him, your sweat-slick back flush with his chest. the corded muscles in his arm contract as he pins your neck into the crook of his elbow, his head coming to rest directly beside your ear.
you suck in a gasp at the new angle and the way the head of his cock pushes up deep inside you. the pressure makes you keen, moaning his name as he traps you against his chest. your hands find his arm, nails dimpling the sun-kissed skin, as he noses at the shell of your ear, his hips rucking upwards.
“you’re restless today,” maekar mutters, tip of his cock nailing that perfect spot inside you. you mewl, clutching his arm as your pussy flutters around him. he pants against the pulse point below your ear. “you just couldn’t kneel there and take it, could you? were you waiting for this, sweet girl?”
his cock hits deep, the velvet ridges along the length rubbing against the slick walls of your cunt. you take him so well, squeezing tight each time he thrusts in and out, slick dribbling from you as he takes what he needs.
you whine in response. “no, maekar, i’m—”
“s’alright, s’alright…” maekar coos, his other hand curling around your waist to press flat to the mound of your lower belly. “i’ve got you, sweet girl. can’t go anywhere now, can you?”
the strong mass of his arm presses tighter to your throat, and you suck in a sharp breath. you hold his arm too, anchoring yourself as he fucks you, your entire body shifting with each of his movements. he’s grunting in your ear, and a couple of damp, white strands of hair fall across his forehead and rub near your temple.
“that’s a good girl, that’s it,” he whispers, feeling your pussy flutter around him. he’s holding you firm against him, the space between you nonexistent and boiling hot. the hand on your belly presses in, the added pressure making you cry out his name. he kisses your cheek softly. “s’alright, don’t fuss, sweet girl. just take it—just fucking take it.”
you can’t do much but take it, really. you’re pinned to his body, heat radiating from him. the bed creaks softly as his hips slam up against you, and he groans right in your ear. you moan his name in response, the vowels stretched around a whine, and he kisses the heated skin of your cheek again.
“my sweet girl, my best girl,” your husband rambles, breathing harshly as his cock ruts in and out of you, the wet heat of your cunt sucking him in. he groans, “i think you’ll take my seed just as well as you take my cock, won’t you?”
you whimper, gasping through the sound as the head of his cock grinds up against that spot inside you that has stars exploding behind your eyelids. the heat in your belly and the pressure in your spine threatens to shatter within you, and you clutch maekar’s arm in support as he fucks you. he groans, revelling in the tight squeeze of your pussy and the way slick dribbles from you, wet across the seam of his balls as he moves.
“she’s begging me for it,” maekar utters, holding you tightly as you flutter around him. “she wants me to fill her, doesn’t she? she wants me to fill her, sweet girl, i can feel it.”
you moan. “maekar, please, please, please—”
“i know, i know, i’ve got you,” your husband mutters, kissing your cheek as the heat and pressure inside finally overwhelm you. he feels your body seize up, your cunt clenching vice-like around the thick of his cock, and he knows you’re on the edge. his hand on your lower belly presses down even firmer. “let me feel you.”
you splinter from the inside out, orgasm racking through you as heat bursts like stars in your veins, and the pressure in your belly dissolves into the marrow of your bones. you come with his name on your lips, moans filling your chambers as your body trembles against his, nails digging into the scarred skin of his forearm. he fucks you through it, trapping you against him as you tremble and whine, pleasure flushing through your veins.
“good girl, there we go,” he mutters, practically bouncing your spent body back onto his. your head rolls back onto his shoulder and he plants a wet kiss to the junction of your jaw. his hips snap, then snap up again, and he growls where he kisses you, his balls drawing tight. “gods above, you’re so fucking tight. she’s begging for a babe, isn’t she? cunt’s pitching a right fit—doesn’t want to let me go.”
you mewl softly, eyes closing as maekar barrels towards his own release. there’s a sharp pressure in the base of his spine, and you can feel the desperation of his movements as he chases that pressure towards its breaking point.
maekar groans, thick and rumbling. “i’ll spill inside you, alright, sweet girl? fill you with my babe—fuck, you always look so fucking good when you’re with child, when you’re round with my babe. yeah, fuck—fuck, my sweet girl, my perfect girl—”
he’s rambling now, and that’s when you know. maekar groans your name right against the shell of your ear as his hips stutter, the arm around your throat pinning you back as he spills inside you. the pressure in his spine snaps and spreads, and he moans deep from his chest as the heat of his orgasm crashes over him. his cock nudges deep inside, right at the base of your cervix, and paints you in thick, hot ropes.
being filled has you leaning back into his hold, whimpering across a sigh as he ruts a few more times, emptying himself completely as your pussy pulls tight, milking him. he kisses along your jaw, cradling you as his cock jerks, then softens where he’s buried, slick and seed drooling slowly from where you connect.
“there we go…” maekar whispers, large hand rubbing across your belly as if that’ll help the taking process. he kneads the soft fat there with calloused fingers. “nice and full, sweet girl.”
you whine, pliant in his arms, blinking the setting sunlight from your eyes.
he kisses your cheek. “always do so well for me—” another kiss, then another. “—i love you, sweet girl.”
spencers!worker geto who quirks his pierced eyebrow up at you when you’re here at his register for the fourth time in two weeks for another vibrator. you stand there in all of your pretty pink, bimbo glory as you slide the six inch rabbit toy across the counter. “just this one please.” you say so politely, just like every other time. geto smirks, packing the box neatly for you into a bag.
“boyfriend not doing the job?” he asks, eyes lingering on the slither of brown skin where your thin thong was resting, tracksuit pants even lower down your waist, and a hoodie short enough to show off your blinged out belly. your curls shook with your head, expression cute and frustrated.
“no, your stupid toys can’t make me cum, they’re broken!” he could eat you whole. a cute little thing like you just wanting to find the perfect toys to stuff her cunt with. “this is my last try!”
he sucks in a breath of air. “wellll if you want, we just got a new shipment in today,” he dragged, “let’s take you for a look mama.”
you nod excitedly, watching geto place a “back after lunch” sign on the counter. you thought finally, after so much time you’ll get to cum again after your bad bad luck with toys. so that’s how you found yourself in the storage room with your pretty pussy split open, tight walls dragging down his thick, veiny dick. boxes of dildos, butt plugs, and vibrators scattered across the floor, crashing down around you due to the relentless way he pounded into your cunt.
“shhiiiitt ma~” the air was thick, smelling of nothing but your sweet, pink cunt and aunt jackie’s curling custard. he had your thong pulled to the side, watching you use his cock as if it were one of the toys you pulled off the rack. geto watched you go absolutely dumb. eyes rolled back, pussy clenched, and drool seeping from your mouth, smudging your lip combo across your face every time you wiped the corners.
“getooo—“ you mewled at the same time as your pussy, both of you making sweet sounds for the spencer’s worker.
“yeahh baby—putting that pussy on me real good.” he rewarded you with a slap on your juicy, fat ass. “better than those stupid toys huh? they be diggin’ in you like this?”
“mmmff-mhmm!” you whimper out, too fucked out to give him anything more. at your brainless request, it isn’t long before he’s cumming deep in your cunt, hot seed filling you to the brim. it’s such a pretty sight when he places your tiny thong back over your hole, both of you watching his nut slip right out of you, the thong doing not a damn thing to keep you full.
keep it cute snippet bc i’m taking a bit longer than anticipated…love u guys
Sukuna Ryomen.
The name haunts you from its place in your search bar, the letters whispering cruelly to you as you finally press enter. The Golden State Warriors’ General Manager called you about an hour ago, practically pleading with you to agree to a contract with them for their power forward. You know of Sukuna, but all of the knowledge you’ve acquired is from rumors, drama, or statistics. You know him as the ‘Disgraced One’, or rather the ‘King of Curses’ as of late.
Every time he’s fought a player more than once during a game the team’s season has tanked no matter their previous stats. Hence why they’re calling him the King of Curses. Maybe he really was cursing these teams after beating up half of their starting lineup.
You sigh gently as dozens of articles appear in your field of vision. Most of them are the same, talking about his violent streak and his various fines. However, one in particular catches your eye.
Power Forward Ryomen Sukuna’s Career In Jeopardy?
Normally, you’d ignore it but you know the person that authored this article. Yuki was a good friend of yours, and because of that you knew anything she put out was true. Yuki always ensured her articles had reliable sources and sometimes had personal interviews to back it up. Your favorite sports reporter has yet to fail you, and you thank her silently as you click on the hyperlink.
The article is standard. It details his NBA journey, something you don’t care too much about, and how he’s gotten to where he is. From what you know, Sukuna began with the Sacramento Kings before requesting a trade and getting in agreement with the Golden State Warriors. A shocking deal at the time, given he was the son of the King’s GM and the Warriors are their rival. You were busy working with the Rockets at the time, but it was impossible to miss the buzz of it all that day.
“The 4x All-Star has racked up a whopping $2.3 million in fines, and the number continues to grow. If he doesn’t slow down any time soon, not only will his funds run out but so will his career.”
synopsis: your remote internship at gojo enterprises is going rather well, or you think so, anyway. you sort of relish in how incapable your wildly successful boss is with technology, and at every turn you’re there, prompt and available on slack: his sweet IT intern who pushes her hours to help.
it's all very professional…right?
pairing: ceo!satoru gojo x intern fem!reader
tags: modern au, keeping secrets, SMUT!!, thigh riding, unprotected piv, oral (m!receiving), face fucking (who said that?), sorta rough sex but not really, dirty talk, an overall foulmouthed satoru gojo, creampie, semi-public sex, inappropriate workplace conduct...and one extra tag that i won't say cause it'll ruin the surprise ;)
wc: 11k
a/n: um...so actually what happened was...um...uhhhh
masterlist
18+! mdni <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Satoru Gojo 5:27pm
Still not working.
the message blinks at you from your computer screen.
you really do enjoy your job. you like both of them, actually.
your internship with gojo enterprises came up sort of serendipitously, happening upon a listing for a paid remote IT intern right as you found a truly beautiful apartment on the outskirts of shibuya. you needed more income to cover the rent, and it wasn’t like your other workplace required that you use your degree.
and you’ve found there is something delightful about putting your college years into practice, particularly because it seemed for so long like you never would. rummaging through the backend of one of the most affluent corporations in the country thrills you a little bit, as silly at it sounds. curled up in your duvet and splayed about in silk pajamas, you pry open the metaphorical breakers of an economic giant and fiddle with the wires.
you suppose, as different as this line of work is from your other job on the face of things, it appeals to the same sort of animal in your belly that drew you to nightlife. you like feeling in control, enjoy the subversion of being so pretty and young and self assured.
you are delighted, too, by how often satoru gojo needs your help.
he has lost his email password at least three times in the last two months, accidentally deleted his own profile from the internal website, and filed his income tax forms in the shared google drive.
each time you have been there, fingers flying over your keyboard in your slack dms as you sort through his technological missteps. it’s only made more entertaining by how intelligent he clearly is—you are under no illusion—it seems simply his single blind spot rests securely over your area of expertise.
he is…not what you expected. he seems to respect you far more than you had anticipated a CEO to respect his remote intern. he knows that, as it relates to IT, you know better. there is no denial of his mistakes, no shame, only a brief request sent your way with a hint of playful self-deprecation. you like him.
this most recent problem has spanned almost all afternoon. he’s been locked out of his internal account, it seems. you bite back a smile as you respond to him.
You 5:27pm
Hmm. I’ve scanned backend three times now, and everything seems to be working. What’s the error message exactly?
Satoru Gojo 5:28pm
Says I don’t have permissions.
now you really are smiling, responding immediately.
You 5:28pm
Oh, well I can fix that here, but that’s something another admin could have done, too. Probably not a system error. It says here the other admin is Suguru Geto. Would he have changed permissions for some reason?
he drafts a few responses to that before going silent. suguru geto has never needed your help and is thus wholly enigmatic to you, though you know he is satoru’s CFO; you also know—certainly not because you poked around in their personal slack messages—that they are close childhood friends. it wouldn’t be the first time one had attempted a practical joke on the other, the workplace often caught in the middle, though you commend geto for his foresight to humiliate gojo in the only way gojo couldn’t fix himself.
after a few minutes you see him typing again.
Satoru Gojo 5:34pm
Yeah ok it was him. He just did it to mess with me. I’m sorry to have bothered you! :/
your laugh rings through your apartment.
You 5:34pm
No worries!
and this should be the end of it, really. but the part of you that you reckon satoru gojo shares—a joy in flagrant pettiness—compels you to keep your computer open. your digital landscape is quiet for a few moments, your dms empty. you stretch your arms over your head and yawn.
ping!
Satoru Gojo 5:37pm
On second thought, can I get your help with one more thing?
You 5:37pm
Of course
Satoru Gojo 5:37pm
You’re too sweet for your own good. Your shift ended 7 minutes ago.
you enjoy this, too. rare moments when his personality bares itself in the way he writes to you: the sort of harmless flirtation that you doubt he even notices as he types it.
you’ve known enough womanizers to know he’s harmless. still, you bask in fleeting moments of his digital attention.
You 5:38pm
What can I help you with?
Satoru Gojo 5:39pm
Can you make his launch button this link?
Satoru Gojo 5:39pm
DON’T OPEN IT
you open it immediately.
oh.
oh.
your bottom lip gets caught under your teeth. of course you knew vaguely what gojo looks like, you had sufficiently googled the company when you first came upon the job listing.
and there are pictures of him everywhere, pretty face splashed under headlines like BILLIONAIRE CEO TURNED PLAYBOY?—that article made you laugh, some ten thousand words about a blurry photo taken outside a nightclub, a white head of hair in motion walking out—but still, in all of them he is pressed perfectly into well-tailored suits, hair brushed through and facial expressed tempered, even trained. he looks so professional, so proper, so terribly handsome, but not quite your type. or, really, a stage before your interest.
you like when men like that are disheveled, hair mussed and skin tacky with sweat.
though this photo he’s attached isn’t all that far off.
something stirs, shakes awake between your legs looking at it. you grin with something devious and awful before responding.
You 5:40pm
I have to open it if you want me to use it.
Satoru Gojo 5:41pm
Is that true?
no.
You 5:42pm
Yes?
Satoru Gojo 5:43pm
Did you already look?
You 5:43pm
Yes
Satoru Gojo 5:44pm
You’re fired
You 5:45pm
No I’m not.
Satoru Gojo 5:45pm
No, you’re not.
with a giddy little grin you do as he asks. it is entirely unprofessional, you know, but you are surely exempt from blame when doing the bidding of the CEO, right?
you link suguru’s login button to the photo, laughing to yourself lightly.
You 5:50pm
I did it.
You 5:51pm
I have to admit I’m sort of surprised you’d ask me to do something so childish on your behalf.
Satoru Gojo 5:51pm
He started it
You 5:52pm
Aren’t you a CEO?
Satoru Gojo 5:52pm
Aren’t you my intern?
You 5:53pm
My shift ended 23 minutes ago.
Satoru Gojo 5:54pm
So then you’ve committed this “childish act” for me out of the kindness of your heart?
You 5:55pm
No, actually. I get paid double for overtime.
Satoru Gojo logged off 5:55pm
your heartbeat rings lightly in your ears, you feel like you might have rattled him a little and that delights you to no end.
you wonder what he imagines you look like. surely he could have searched your name, though any photos of your face wouldn’t be attached there.
there are, of course, ample photos of your face across the internet, most of them behind a paywall, though some of the tamer ones are available for free. but all of them are under a different name.
you had chosen tsukiko, meaning moon child, as your stage name initially as something of a joke. she isn’t an alter ego so much as an exaggerated caricaturization of your femininity, one who feeds on starlight and slinks about in the dark. you delegate the hungrier parts of yourself, the parts that ache and need for things, to her.
your manager at club cabal had spotted you first at a stoplight waiting to cross the street, pin striped pencil skirt down to your knees and shiny black pumps in each hand. you had been looking for months for a full time job, but the market was so saturated by then with IT workers that there seemed to be no space for you. you remember leaning your forehead against the cool metal of the stoplight pole, surely infected with some fifty diseases but you weren’t in a place to mind, when an enormous and glamorously dressed woman approached you.
you remember so clearly what she said to you, the words cutting through your delirium and sinking sense of defeat: you look absolutely riveting in business clothes.
you barely had the wherewithal to lift your head but nonetheless you had, assessing all six feet of her, draped in fine furs and silk gloves. the whole getup would have looked like a costume on anyone else but she wore it all with such purpose that it looked like the most natural outfit in the world.
you still cringe thinking about the tactless way you’d simply replied: “huh?”
she had laughed at you, but there was no humiliation in it, she almost seemed endeared to you, amused and halfway pleased by the bleary look on your face. she had handed you an ivory business card, embossed and shiny with her name and her place of work.
長澤長子 (nagasawa hisako)
CLUB CABAL MANAGER
“come to see me if you’d like to make some real money,” she offered, not waiting for your reply before strutting back down the block, coat fluttering in the evening wind like a cloak.
when your savings dipped into the single digits a week later you paid her a visit.
working at the most exclusive hostess bar in tokyo fits you stunningly well. your clients are disallowed from propositioning you, serving you alcohol, offering you drugs, and, most importantly, touching you. you spend your weekday evenings in clothes that could pass as business formal if they were longer—tiny miniskirts and button-ups that urged the plush of your tits to spill out—and entertain the most wealthy business people of the tokyo metropolitan area.
all of them just want someone to talk to, you have come to learn. it helps, naturally, that you arrive to them dripping in sex appeal, but most of your returning clients seem to remember first and foremost the way you speak to them.
after two years collecting a rather well-to-do roster of exclusive clientele, hisako began operating you out of a private room.
and there are real, tangible things you have learned from catering to top performers in all fields. you might have majored in math and CS but you know now, too, about the global economy, about agriculture, about the intricacies of factory-owning.
and you flare bright, a star in spinning orbit, in that subtle performance under the moody lighting of the club. every hand gesture, every curl of your lips, it all means something, and the fine precision has come to excite you. you are untouchable there, a coveted thing, paid to see.
speaking of which, you think, it’s about time to get ready.
you have very few reservations tonight, though you don’t mind much now that you have your own space. you extend your legs across the couch, stilettos hanging off each foot as you tap them to the humming bass of the music. your room sits right off the main hallway, just big enough for a plush, navy couch and a coffee table, wiped shiny between clients. lanterns hang golden and coy at each corner, illuminating your face just enough to provoke your visitors to lean in closer.
you can hear the distinct click of hisako’s heels as they approach your door, and you turn your head on the armrest with a smile to greet her.
“hi baby,” she coos. you sit up and cross one leg over the other, lest she have a client in tow.
“good evening,” you reply with a smile. she leans on the threshold with a conspiratorial grin.
“i have a new client for you. a real big hitter. can you handle him?”
you tilt your head. “are you really asking me that?”
she laughs, full-bodied. “i guess not,” she muses, turning back to send him in. you pull a chilled bottle of sake from a small fridge at one end of the couch and place a glass next to it on the coffee table.
there are about 30 seconds as a client approaches your door when you learn some of the most vital things about them. the weight of their shoes, the sound their clothes make as they walk, whether they make conversation with the other hostesses passing by, all of it is catalogued as you listen.
the so-called big hitter makes his way towards your door with purpose, though he is in no rush. his footsteps fall deliberately, a hair’s breadth away from heavy but not quite, just fast enough to sound intentional, just slow enough to keep from missing your door.
the face they make when they enter matters, too. how they assess you, where they look, you cater your posture to their tastes. an interested man is an honest man, you have found, and you learn the most when they want you.
the door swings open.
fuck.
fuck.
he is so tall he takes up almost the entire doorway, weight leaned on one hip like he’s waiting to be invited in, though surely confident enough to know you will. his suit is bespoke, you can tell from the way it sits just so on his shoulders, and he’s loosened his tie a centimeter or two. he’s one of the most attractive young men you’ve ever seen in your life, which would typically excite you. you love beautiful clients.
but blinking at you from a few feet away is satoru gojo.
your boss.
satoru gojo.
is at your door.
for one of the first times in your entire career, you have no idea the sort of look pulled across your face. what the fuck are you supposed to do?
you know you have at most one more second before the silence shifts from anticipatory into awkward, and you consume it in full to think. okay. gojo has no clue what you look like, of this much you are almost certain. further, the name on your door is not one he would recognize. by all accounts the person who sits before him has absolutely no relation to his remote IT intern, despite the fact that you’re in fact the same woman. you take stock of his face; if you have any sense left, you think he shows no sign of recognition on your face.
okay. you swallow. refusing him would be a first for you, and by hisako’s description he’s an important client to please. you almost laugh at yourself for that thought; of course he’s an important client to please, he’s something like the wealthiest man in the country.
what is there to do other than act as though he’s any other customer?
you smile, small and wry, and gesture him inside. gojo nods his head in hello, closing the door behind him and settling gracefully on the other end of the couch. his legs are long and spread so far his knee almost touches yours, almost, and he reclines back into the upholstery like he owns the room. you suppose he could, if he had any interest. he holds a broad hand out to you, smiling sharp and wolfish. he likes you.
“it’s nice to meet you. you can call me satoru.”
if you can push beyond the strangeness of meeting your boss like this, you acknowledge the unique position you have been unceremoniously pushed into. namely, that unlike any other first-time client, you know a great deal about him.
you smile warmly but don’t move your hand to shake his. “it’s my pleasure.”
he wiggles his fingers slightly. “you don’t shake hands?”
“you know the rules, satoru,” you admonish lightly.
he chuckles and lowers his hand. “i guess i was hoping otherwise.”
you move to pour him a glass of sake and feel his eyes trace you as you bend. his irises flit over the swell of your breasts, the arch of your back, though he stays reposed back into the cushions, watching you like a predator. you coach a smile that doesn’t reveal what is becoming clearer to you with each moment: it’s almost fun to have this secret.
or it would be, if your internship wasn’t on the line.
it may still be, actually.
you cross your other leg over, let the tip of your stiletto hang close to his shin. the muscle of his thigh twitches but he remains still.
“so what brings you here tonight?”
gojo keeps his eyes on you over his glass as he takes a slow pull. he smacks his lips lightly, shrugging. “i wanted company.”
“do you struggle to find good company?” you tease.
he tilts his head back and forth, thinking, before admitting, “yeah, i guess i do.”
“i find that sort of hard to believe.”
the corner of gojo’s mouth tilts up. “and why’s that?”
you roll your eyes lightly. “you’ll have to work a little harder if you want me to stroke your ego that overtly.”
“i’ll work as hard as it takes,” he fires back, only half joking.
your laugh is breathy and real. he communicates himself rather well over slack, you think. all the cheekiness, all the bite, you have felt moments of it in your communications online. though seeing it all from his mouth is a different beast you are, if you can admit it, becoming increasingly elated to face. how fucking hot he looks while talking is not something easily captured online.
“so what do you do for work, satoru?”
you hope that question is convincing. he didn’t tell you his last name on purpose, you think.
“i run a business.” his eyes are narrowed almost imperceptibly, and it unnerves you, so you bend at the waist again to refill the sip he took from his glass. the tension in his face goes limp watching the curve of your ass.
“what sort of business?”
“oh, it’s all so boring,” he dismisses, sounding almost disappointed that you’d ask.
you scoff and chuckle all at once. “most of my clients come to talk about their work.”
he extends an arm across the back of the couch, fingers a few inches from your neck but still not touching. you let him.
“i think that’d be a waste.”
“why’s that?”
“i could pay a lot less money for someone who doesn’t look like you to listen to stories about my work.”
you breathe in sharply. he’s fun. “you could pay a lot less money for someone you could touch, too,” you add.
his eyes flit a moment to his hand, so close to your skin, surely sensing the warmth of you, but still making no move to actually feel. it seems almost like he gets off on the not-touching, like that inch of space between you thrills him. he flexes all five fingers.
“i find that pretty boring, too,” he murmurs.
“you don’t like fucking pretty girls?”
your sudden crassness makes him shift, crossing one leg over the other. he liked that.
“i suppose i’m just tired of it now.”
your grin grows. “oh, i see, so you’ve fucked too many pretty girls.”
he shrugs with that predatory smile, running his free hand through his hair to muss it slightly. “the waiting’s the best part anyway.”
“so what do you find not boring?” you ask.
he looks at the ceiling in a show of consideration that makes you laugh. his gaze snaps back to you at the sound, immediately preening with it. “you’re doing a pretty good job so far.”
your scoff only sets him alight further, scooting just barely closer to you, angling his legs so they still don’t touch yours. but you’re tucked further into his side now, noses closer, and it makes something animal inside you flex and bite. your thighs squeeze quickly but you track his eyes as they catch the movement.
“see that, right there,” his hair flops to one side, loose now from its gel in all his fussing, “you’re scoffing at me. do you know how rare that is?”
he seems genuinely delighted, whole-heartedly excited by your diminutive little noise.
“oh i see,” you start, “you like being degraded?”
he scrunches his nose and it’s sort of boyish. “no, honestly, not really. i just have so few people in my life that treat me like a real person.”
you chew on this slowly. “so you…” a coy smile breaks through, “you came to a hostess bar for the humanity?” but you can hardly finish your sentence without laughing again, light and amused but real, and he chuckles at himself, too.
“yeah, i guess so.”
you feel his pointer finger brush the skin at the back of your neck and you shudder, narrowing your eyes at him again. he corrects himself immediately, pulling away, and breathing out, “sorry. i forgot.”
you can see on his face that he means it.
“tell me about your life, little moon,” he says, voice low and quieter as it fans over your face. when did you get so close together? both of your bodies contort beyond reasonable expectation to fit so closely without touching.
you have never felt quite so charmed by a client before. whether it’s because you already feel so familiar with him outside of this room or the appeal of harboring this secret you cannot decipher, but nonetheless you are doing things you would normally never allow yourself. you have never leaned so close before, have flirted so overtly with the breaking of a rule you have historically enjoyed.
you want him to touch you. for so many reasons that is a terrible, life-alteringly horrific idea.
you try to speak with him instead.
“little moon?” you ask.
he points to your door. “tsukiko. moon-child,” he clarifies, but something thinly veiled and knowing tugs at his lips.
you hum.
“but i guess that isn’t your real name, is it?”
something about the low rumble of his voice tickles at your spine, makes you want to arch into his touch. you’re trying so hard to remember yourself, to remember who he is.
“i don’t think it’s wise for me to answer that question.”
he doesn’t miss a beat. “then answer my other one. tell me about your life.” you hesitate and he grins. “or scoff at me again.”
you smile and push an amused breath through your nose. this is a somewhat perilous trap of a question but you don’t show it on your face.
“wouldn’t that ruin the illusion? peeking behind the curtain and all?”
“what illusion do you think i’m under?”
you appraise his face slowly. you suppose you don’t have an answer to that, so you relent to his other question, at last.
“i’m fairly boring outside of this job, actually.”
“i don’t believe that.”
“i spend all my time here and at home.”
“oh, little moon, such a shame. pretty young thing all alone all the time?”
the teasing lilt of his voice, sweeping in that low whisper of a register, makes your thighs clench again. he doesn’t even look this time, only grins a little bigger to show you he knows.
“i’m around people all the time, people are my job,” you argue.
“that’s not the sort of alone i’m talking about.”
you cannot help but want to play this game with him, you lob the ball back, though your voice comes out a fraction more breathless than usual. “what sort of alone are you talking about then, satoru?”
“well i can’t touch you,” you can feel his pointer finger hover over your shoulder again, intentional this time, running a knuckle so close you can sense it without looking, but still not touching. “but is anyone?”
you’re taking in a stuttering breath in an attempt to respond but he continues, lips closer to the shell of your ear.
“surely someone gets to feel this tight pussy, huh?”
you huff out all your air, fuck you’re so wet and he’s looking at you like you can smell it. what the fuck is happening? you have never, ever reacted to a client this way. and better yet, this is your boss.
but rationality slips from your ears and down your neck, you think, because you only shake your head.
pity drips from his voice like honey, every ounce of power you implicitly relinquish to him a thing he takes on with what appears to be great pleasure.
“surely you must have needs.”
“i can take care of myself, but i appreciate your concern.” your double entendre doesn’t dawn upon you until you’ve already said it and he’s laughing with a lewd sort of tenderness. your face burns and you make use of your remaining faculty, looking away from him knowing he cannot tilt your chin back himself.
“uh huh. and how often are you…taking care of yourself?”
“i don’t have to answer that.” that’s a weak retort and you both know it.
“no, you don’t.”
you try to deflect. “i thought fucking pretty girls bored you.”
“i’m not fucking you, am i? unless you’ve had a change of heart about the touching rule.”
“no,” you reply, as firmly as you can manage, though something below your navel is bellowing for him.
“i figured not,” he admits, leaning just slightly further into you, whispering low and hot into your ear, “it’s enough just knowing how fucking wet you are in that little skirt just from the sound of my voice.”
your mouth drops open in disbelief, head snapping towards his, so close your noses almost bump. “i’m not,” you protest, voice clipped. fucking liar.
“no?”
“no.”
“why don’t you prove it for me?” he taunts softly.
you squeeze your thighs harder, desperate for any sort of friction, anything, but your restraint is waning with him whispering so sinfully in your ear.
“you’re not allowed to touch me,” you remind him again.
“but you can touch me, can’t you?”
this is a suggestion you’ve heard from a few patrons before but it’s a first to feel so tempted to take one up on it. you search his face for anything to tether to, looking for a reason to refuse, but god he’s so pretty and you want him. he has almost as keen an eye as you do, you think, because he sees the moment your trepidation lowers.
“why don’t you get on my thigh and let me feel?”
his legs uncross and he splays them out, a saddle for you. your eyes drop there, and then to the tent in his slacks as they pull tight across his hips, to his face—wild and manic—and then back again. shit.
you brace one hand on his shoulder, just to see what he’ll do. he tenses with the contact but doesn’t move, doesn’t make to grab at you. you look at each other a moment longer, both of you waiting for something terrible or wonderful or both, and then you’re swinging one bare leg over his, settling slowly on his pant leg, skirt fanned just to the middle of your thigh.
the pressure of his muscle under your swollen clit makes you whimper as soon as you sit down and a breath punches from his lungs but still he does as you have asked, still he doesn’t touch you. he tilts his head to the side, mouth parted.
“come on, little moon,” he encourages lowly. “use me.” he punctuates it with a little bounce of his leg and you’re gone.
you start slow, dragging your clit on the warmth of his slacks, surely leaving something shiny and humiliating behind but you can’t find it in you to care. you brace your other hand on his other shoulder for balance, rolling your hips faster now, mewling quietly as he watches with rapt attention.
“you’re fucking soaked, aren’t you? that all for me?”
you nod wordlessly but he bounces his leg again. you only barely stop yourself from screaming. “answer me.”
“f-fuck, yes, satoru, f-for you,” you exhale, words stuttering and stumbled as your stomach tenses with your movement. the pleasure whips through your body, coils around your diaphragm and around your hole. you flutter and pulse and surely he feels it, how badly you want to be filled. his fists clench at his sides watching it, cock aching and huge from the looks of it, jumping in time with your little grinds along the fabric.
with each roll you thrust harder, whimpering as the feeling bubbles and smokes inside of you. “fuck,” you whisper, to yourself or to him you do not know.
“fuck you look so fucking—oh that’s it—perfect humping me like a slut,” he groans.
you throw your head back, rolling your hips harder, faster, you need to cum and it’s so close you can taste it, can feel it between your fingers. he takes the opportunity to lean closer to your neck, exhaling slowly on the beating of your jugular.
“i’m so cl-close,” you whine.
he bares his teeth against your skin. “oh baby you really did need it, huh? cumming so fast.”
you nod, all pretenses and attempts at self-possession abandoned. the maw of your heat unhinges its jaw as ecstasy washes over you, hips gone frantic and lost of all rhythm, riding your high as you gush over the fabric of his pants. he moans with you watching it happen, feeling the wet heat spread across his thigh.
with one final sigh you slow to a stop, panting lightly. when you raise your head to meet his eyes again you feel something like sheepishness coiling feverish in your chest but his expression is so open in its wanting that the humiliation doesn’t last.
“fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair.
with the remaining shreds of your crazed desire you are put upon to slide two fingers past the hem of your panties, collecting your slick where it pools. you raise them in front of his face, shiny and tacky.
“open,” you order softly.
he obeys immediately, gratefully. you press your fingers lightly on his tongue and his eyes almost roll back, half-lidded as he licks your fingers clean, his groaning around them reverberating down your hand. you pull away with a faint pop.
“you are fantastic,” he breathes, as dazed as you are.
you smile something small and honest, slowly disentangling yourself from him to right yourself on the couch again.
“thank you,” you say, for the compliment and…for everything else, you suppose.
he almost seems nervous now that he’s seen you cum. his cock is still obscenely swollen in his pants, still jumps every time you look at it, but it feels like he’s swallowed his swagger along with your cum. he reaches for his sake cup and takes it all in one swig before standing.
“i’ll…see you again, i’m sure,” he says as he makes for the door. you sort of want to giggle at the absurdity of it all, at this situation you find yourself in. but then he turns back, as if remembering something, and digs through his pocket.
he pulls out a wallet, leather and embossed with the kanji of his name, a tidbit you know but cannot divulge. yes, the fact is slapping you across the face again: this is your boss.
he throws something to the tune of 150 thousand yen on the table, for the first time looking less than certain about what to do. you think for a moment that he seems like he’s just remembered, there at the threshold and one foot out the door, that this has been first and foremost a transactional encounter.
when the sound of his expensive shoes walking down the hallway fades into silence—or as close to silence as the club is capable—you hang your head in your hands. what the fuck did you just do?
the next week passes like torture. for the first time in your life you dread going to work, dread seeing him again; even worse you spend equal time hoping he’ll turn up at your private room. satoru gojo plagues you, plagues tsukiko, infiltrates somewhere deeper beyond the character.
to add insult to injury, you are subject to continued messages from him under your real name, a new character borne of necessity under the pretense that you didn’t fuck his thigh last thursday. though you suppose the only benefit to keeping such close contact with him is that you do not have to wonder when he doesn’t turn up for a week after his first appearance; you know he is busy, know he’s working past sunset, and you have the slack receipts to prove it.
he is as hopeless with his computer as he has always been—you suppose a clandestine encounter with a hostess wouldn’t have changed that—and every time he turns to you, endlessly grateful and funny and reverent, somehow, of the ways in which you help him.
like now.
Satoru Gojo 6:06pm
Sweet intern
normally you would have logged off by now, but you have the night off from the club, and what better way to spend your evening than with a glass of wine and engaged in a treacherous IT session with your boss and best single-visit client?
you nibble on your lip as you respond.
You 6:06pm
Good evening
Satoru Gojo 6:07pm
My evening has been terrible.
You 6:07pm
More computer troubles?
Satoru Gojo 6:08pm
You must think I’m an idiot.
You 6:09pm
Definitely not.
Satoru Gojo 6:09pm
Helpless?
You 6:10pm
Something like that.
oh god. did you just send that? you need to log off. take a week of PTO. do anything other than continue responding while a little tipsy and still fucking horny for him. to his credit, he takes that comment in stride.
Satoru Gojo 6:11pm
I appreciate your honesty.
Satoru Gojo 6:11pm
And yes, more computer troubles.
You 6:12pm
Do tell.
Satoru Gojo 6:13pm
Suguru retaliated
You 6:14pm
From your retaliation? It’s becoming a vicious cycle.
Satoru Gojo 6:14pm
He logged me out of my Partiful account
you almost spit up wine laughing at him.
You 6:15pm
Why is your Partiful account attached to your business email?
Satoru Gojo 6:15pm
It’s a business party!
You 6:16pm
Go ahead and request the Forgot Password email. It should send to the domain admin (me) and I’ll fix it for you. It’ll be a temp password and then you can reset when you log in again.
it’s an easy fix; so many of his requests are. he is never any less grateful.
Satoru Gojo 6:18pm
Thank you thank you!
case in point.
you begin to rise from your bed to refill your glass when another ping! lights up your screen.
Satoru Gojo 6:20pm
Do you live in Tokyo?
you pause. is this…still business related?
You 6:21pm
Yes
Satoru Gojo 6:21pm
You should come by then.
something skittish pokes from behind your ribs.
You 6:22pm
Come to what?
Satoru Gojo 6:23pm
This business party. It’s the company’s 100th anniversary. You can come by the office, meet your poor disciples in person
despite everything that still makes you smile.
of course, you cannot under any circumstances attend. the moment he sees you in person he’ll know, likely firing you in the middle of the party. and he’ll know, too, that the night you met in person, you knew who he was even though he took great care to equivocate. was that a betrayal on your part? should you have suggested he leave that night when he walked in?
it’s all so hazy now, glossed over with your lust and his, the heat a contagion you haven’t quite baptised yourself of.
his message blinks before you still.
You 6:25pm
I’m busy that night, unfortunately
Satoru Gojo 6:25pm
I haven’t told you what night it is yet
are you the stupidest young woman on the planet? it is so unfamiliar to feel so out of control, your grip slack where it normally tightens, white-knuckled.
you aren’t entirely ready to concede.
You 6:26pm
I just don’t do well with people.
lie.
Satoru Gojo 6:26pm
I really would like it if you dropped by. You don’t have to stay for long.
you groan aloud.
Satoru Gojo 6:27pm
You’ve helped me so much the last few months
Satoru Gojo 6:28pm
It’s next Friday at 7pm. Most people will be there straight from work so business formal is fine. I hope you’ll come
the truth—it descends upon you like wrath, venomous and toothy—is that you have no options. you cannot deny the CEO at the company for which you intern three times. you also surely cannot attend, cannot let him see your face. but the former is a more pressing problem, you suppose. maybe it’s the wine, but you feel your resolve bruising into submission.
maybe this is for the best; you’ve saved enough now that you can stay in this apartment long enough to find another job. and was it really sustainable to continue to work alongside gojo after what happened at the club?
the terrible part of you—you’ll never forgive her—wants to think you would sustain this as long as it was viable. but the rest of you acknowledges that the lifespan has arrived at its bloody, inelegant end.
You 6:30pm
Okay
there is something deeply ironic about zipping up a pencil skirt of appropriate length in preparation to go see satoru gojo again. your stockings are sheer and black, catching the light where your foot curves into the lowest heels you managed to find in your closet. no matter how you arrange your gray sweater over your torso you feel sort of crude-looking. you have come to associate this style of clothing so closely with the club that you cannot process your silhouette in the mirror as anything other than whorish.
with a manic sort of giggle you think, oh well. you’re getting fired anyway!
you’ve considered, over the last week, feigning sickness or some personal tragedy, all manner of terrible scenarios which would keep you from the party. but in the first place you suspect, after your couplet of dreadful attempts at rejecting the invitation, that he would know outright you were simply trying to weasel your way out of the obligation.
and secondly, some naive part of you does want to go. the other coworkers you’ve helped online seemed so excited when they found out you had committed to come: yuuji itadori, a new hire who seems entirely incapable of recalling his passwords, kento nanami, a clearly whip-smart high-level employee who harbors a secret fear of pressing buttons he doesn’t understand, ieri shoko, an altogether efficient young woman who simply cannot remember to clock in and out.
you have put in tangible time of your life to help these people, and in turn have forged something like friendships with them. what you had said to gojo that night is true; other than the club, you don’t encounter people much. there is something embarrassingly exciting to you about solidifying, even if only for ten minutes, these little bonds you find you care a lot about.
the gojo enterprises building is enormous and beautifully designed, you notice, as you walk towards the revolving entrance doors. the scaffolding gleams in sleek gray steel, large windows across swaths of floors cleaned to a pristine shine. the lobby is still full of people, even at this hour, shuffling about in all directions along the marble flooring.
nobody seems to pay you any attention, which soothes your nerves slightly. at least only you and him will know you’re a slut.
you approach a pretty young woman at the front desk, hair cut recently in an auburn bob that suits her face.
“um…hi,” you begin, resting one hand on the counter. “i’m here for the office party?”
she smiles at you easily, like you aren’t about to be fired and potentially publicly humiliated. “wonderful! it’s on the penultimate floor, so just click the second button from the top.”
you nod and thank her, heartbeat increasingly demanding in the cavity of your ribs. a part of you remembers the way gojo acted that night, how pliable and kind he remained even as he paid you and stumbled out. you’d like to think the man you know—both versions—would spare you the degradation of announcing your misdeeds in front of everyone. it’s not like he isn’t lewdly implicated in such an announcement, either.
but you can’t help the slight tremble in your hands as you press on the button and it chimes, thrusting you upwards.
the last thing you consider before the doors open is that he simply won’t mind, that you’ll laugh about it together. it’s a little startling how much you find you’re hoping that he isn’t upset with you.
and then the doors slide open.
you are reminded, as you wade through the gaggle of people chatting over champagne, that the only person here who knows what you look like is gojo, and even he might not realize at the outset that you are you. you have no way of recognizing your familiar coworkers, and thus no reasonable way to begin conversation with anyone. you make a beeline for the bar.
you assess the room around you from the far end, nursing your champagne with as much poise as you can manage. this floor has only a few, large desks in an open bullpen, surrounded by even larger board rooms flush with long, dark tables and leather seats. at the far left corner you see two single-person offices with plaques by the doors, surely gojo and geto’s offices, you think.
you cannot see gojo anywhere, though you’re unable to decide whether that’s a relief or a disappointment. you scrutinize the crowd so hard you hardly sense the figure approaching at your side until they’re already there. a deep voice clears its throat.
the man you find when you turn is rather beautiful. hair long and dark around his shoulders, face sharp and fox-like, eyes the sort of keen that might frighten someone who didn’t enjoy observant people so much. you give him a polite smile.
“you’re new,” he says simply.
you shake your head. “only partly.” you hold your hand out to shake and tell him your name. “i’m actually your remote IT intern,” you explain.
the man smiles wider, almost secretive, and assesses you quickly. his eyes rake down your form, across your face, but it isn’t hungry so much as it feels vigilant, void of the voyeuristic heat you’re used to.
he introduces himself: “suguru geto.”
you grin at him, laughing a little. “it’s great to meet you. i’ve been wondering what you’re like.”
he raises one eyebrow. “that so?”
you realize only now that it’s more difficult than you anticipated to speak with attractive men in a different way than how you talk at the club.
“i just mean that you’ve never needed my help. i only know the technologically-challenged of you.”
he chuckles. “you must know satoru well.”
actually, you go back on your previous thought; you are positively indebted to your time at the club. all your practiced grace and easy charm prevents you from choking on your champagne. just barely.
“yeah, in fact, i do.”
“are you the one who helps him get back at me?”
“guilty as charged.”
he clicks his tongue in his mouth. “i knew he couldn’t have been doing it on his own.”
you take another sip of your drink. “i really am sorry for my participation,” you assure him, “but when the CEO demands you attach a lewd photo to your launch button i don’t have much of a choice.”
geto’s lips tug up at one corner. “so you saw that photo then?”
heat licks over your nose and you hope the fluorescents cover it. “unfortunately, yes.”
“he’ll be so hurt you said that.”
your eyes widen only slightly, but you know he catches it. you try to imbue your voice with the casual leisure you hope to convey. “don’t tell him.”
he clinks his glass against yours with a small, knowing smile. “you have my word.” and then, over his shoulder as he begins to walk back into the heart of the party, he adds: “it was nice to meet you.”
you wave him off politely, leaning again against the bar.
your attention is pulled quickly towards a broad, blonde man as he approaches the bar, another, much younger man seemingly attached to his hip.
“no, itadori, you can’t handle your alcohol,” the older man admonishes.
“please? it’s the company party, nanamin,” he pouts.
you smile to yourself. two of your frequent flyers.
“look, you’re an adult,” kento sounds wholly unconvinced of this, even as he says it, “but if you’re asking my permission for some godforsaken reason, then i’ll tell you–”
“wait a second,” yuuji stops. it takes you a second to realize he’s looking at you. “aren’t you our IT intern?”
you sputter in surprise. “i–um…yes?”
yuuji beams. “i knew it! it’s nice to meet you in person.” his handshake is so firm and eager it jostles you a little bit. something lost in his online translation is how frenetic of a thing he is, bouncing about in a constant state of buzzing that endears you to him.
“how did you know it was me?”
“he has a weird sense for those things,” nanami interjects, taking your hand next.
“it’s really nice to meet you both,” you smile.
“thank you so much for all your help. i was just mentioning to gojo how i wouldn’t ever get any work done without you.”
“you said that to gojo?” nanami asks disapprovingly, though yuuji doesn’t even seem to register it.
“i know he wanted to meet you, too. i’ll go get him!” he chirps, bounding off between people beyond your reach, not hearing—or choosing to ignore—your feeble oh no you don’t have to!
you turn back to nanami to find an almost pitying look on his face. you scrunch your nose. “is he that bad in person?”
“he’s…a lot,” he qualifies.
you lean an elbow on the counter of the bar, watch your champagne swirl about in the flute. “it’s sort of strange meeting all of you in person,” you admit.
nanami scans the throng briefly again, quickly muttering into his own drink: “into the eye of the hurricane.”
you have only a moment too little to discern what he means.
“—and he keeps taking my champagne away,” itadori grumbles.
lord help you you recognize gojo’s footsteps as they approach, still as certain as you remember them, and the discs of your spine align in a taut stack, but you do not turn to him.
his laugh is easy, unaware, the low scratch of it only a few feet away now, but you learned that night that he watches when he speaks. he doesn’t see you yet, surely still turned and attentive towards yuuji. “probably because you threw up in his office trash can at the last christmas party.”
“i told you, that wasn’t me.”
“who else could it have possibly—oh.” the footsteps stop, and you feel his eyes fall on you.
when you turn your head, a number of things become obvious at once.
he is as handsome as you remember him. melted a little around the edges, tie loose, suit jacket gone and button-up bunched at the elbows to expose his forearms. his scent makes your thighs clench a little, less perceptible under your reasonable skirt, his hair disrupted by the long day and possibly a glass of champagne. the terror of your present circumstances, and the punch of guilt, too, come fettered to how badly you want him.
the other revelation—or, you suppose it’s more like a reminder—is that gojo is a great deal like you. you can almost see the way he’s counting the moments in his head, taking stock of the time he can allot himself to think, to decide, knowing that this gnawing silence will at some point grow too monstrous too ignore.
in that time the shock meets his eyes first. they widen and then pinch, flitting across your face and down your body, and you do your best not to preen in the attention. and then his lips part a little, any further salutations stone dead in the back of his mouth, swallowed down. he breathes out once, twice, heavy things you think he wanted to attach to words but couldn’t quite manage to animate.
and you want to say something, want to apologize; you almost want to encourage him to fire you now so you can avoid the anticipation and get home before your feet hurt.
but then something devious pokes out from behind his teeth, something vital and alive, something like a smirk. his head cocks just so, bearing his large hand out.
“it’s so nice to finally meet you in person,” he says, voice so even you could strike him.
and this is the final cognizance, thrust towards you between his lithe fingers; he plans to enjoy this. beginning, it seems with a cheeky homage to that night, the shaking of hands you refused him once but cannot deny him now.
you shake his hand firmly, smiling something only he would identify as divergent from polite. he grazes the inside of your wrist with his pointer finger before your arms drop, posture twitching with the feeling of you despite the mundanity.
you nod your head in acknowledgment. “good to see you, sir.”
his tongue pokes briefly on the inside of his cheek. “i trust nanamin has introduced you around.”
“don’t call me that.” nanami sounds exhausted with him already, weighed down further by what you fear is a flicker of recognition. whatever dynamic flare is crackling between you and gojo, nanami’s eyes narrow, just a moment, like he sees it.
“you let me call you that,” yuuji adds unhelpfully.
and even though you’ve come upon this game in the wake of a monumentally terrible decision—or maybe because of that, you’re unsure one way or the other—you let the other proverbial pleaser drop.
“would you introduce me?” you ask gojo.
both his eyebrows jump, something silent exchanged, but he takes little time to seize the opportunity. he rounds beside you to lay a hand on the small of your back, all but delighted to guide you away, pressing only minutely harder than what would be appropriate. enough to remind you that he can touch you now.
“it was nice to meet you both again,” you offer to nanami and yuuji as satoru shepherds you off, but as soon as the pair looks away gojo is leaning down to your level slightly.
you beat him to the punch. “is this really wise?”
low enough that it’s only for the both of you: “definitely not.” he squeezes your side again quickly. “but i think i’d like to show you off to all your lovely coworkers before i fuck you in my office.”
you suck on the back of your teeth and try your best to glare up at him, but it’s hard when your panties stick so tacky to your mound. he bumps into you on purpose, giving you one, ephemeral moment to feel how hard he is in those expensive slacks.
“can you even wait that long?”
he drops his hand from your back just to graze the swell of your ass, swipe there once with his thumb. “i already told you, little moon…the waiting is my favorite part.”
with what is clearly no small amount of reserved prudence, gojo stays true to his word. he deposits you about the party, peering at you heavy-lidded as you greet the people you’ve thus far only known over email. every time you steal a glance at him he’s already staring, the weight of his gaze so heavy your knees nearly buckle. you feel more supine than you ever have in your life, soft and watched and wanted.
but surely he must know you’re observant enough to notice he is winding you, slowly, to his office. with each new introduction you are a few feet closer to his door; it’s just shy of torture waiting this way. how long has it been since you’ve been fucked? you choose not to answer that question for yourself, though with each step you feel the gluey swipe of your slick between your legs and you cannot deny that you’re greedy to be filled.
still, you do your best to appear something like normal when you walk through the threshold of his office door, when you hear the metal snick of the lock behind you.
the panel of glass looking out into the bullpen is so frosted you can hardly see through it, a modern design choice that suits the building, and the rest of the room follows suit; a glass coffee table stacked neatly with books, an enormous desk flush with papers and folders and an intercom system, windows that span the outer wall to boast half of tokyo.
gojo stays a moment by the closed door but gives you no direction, so you simply stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind your back and waiting for further instruction. you suppose he likes the look of it, because he makes no move to gesture you anywhere, smoothing a hand over his jaw as he watches you.
“get down on your knees for me, baby,” he says simply.
the air punches from your lungs and you bite down on the inside of your cheek but you find your legs curling under themselves anyway. you can’t look way from his face, that crazed manner of watching you a scorching cloak you don’t want to shed.
only once you’re on your knees does he approach you, reaching a hand to your face to cup your jaw. with a little tug of your jaw your nose is brushing against the bulge in his pants and you exhale over it. he sighs up at the ceiling as you bring one hand up to cup his twitching cock—god it’s so big.
“you’re not mad at me?” you murmur.
he laughs once, sharp and humorless. “oh i’m fucking furious—ah” he’s cut off by your palm applying more pressure, rubbing him in earnest, and his hips buck into your fingers. his right hand weaves into your hair and grips it like a handle, humming at the way you whine.
“so i have rules of my own now,” he finishes. you still and blink back up at his face. “no touching.” you lower both hands and fasten them behind your back again.
gojo pulls his belt loose and tugs the zipper of his pants down, aching cock jumping up and out. he’s so red it looks like it hurts, curved up a little and as massive as you thought he was, and with one hand he wraps his long fingers around the base, tugging up once, twice. your lips part as precum pearls at the tip and he grips the back of your head, bumping his slit against your lips to gloss them. when you don’t take more than you’re given he groans low, “good girl.”
and then in one, mean thrust, he’s fucking the entire girth of him into your mouth. he’s so big he bumps halfway down your throat, you gasp and sputter around him, spit pooling already and eyes watering but you’re nothing if not determined, swallowing hard around his tip.
“fuck i knew you’d take it,” he growls.
you try to nod but his length pins your head in place, not to mention each of his hands taking a tight grip on each side of your face to start thrusting into your mouth.
he’s loud, so loud that you have moments of clarity when you worry the party will hear, but he’s so fucking long that mostly you dedicate all your attention to taking him without gagging. with each thrust your nose brushes the neatly trimmed hair at his base and you lave your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling a vein there that pulses every time you moan around him.
“that’s it, that’s it,” he lets one hand travel down to your throat and wrap there, not pressing so much as feeling himself as he fucks in and out, “swallow—fuck me—swallow around me again, baby.”
you do and he moans wild and honest, almost surprised at how good it feels, and you’re so desperate for anything that your hips start to rock over your own heels. feeling the wet trail you leave on your shoes is vaguely humiliating but the pressure behind your pulsing clit is almost unbearable and you’re afraid he’ll pull out if you use your fingers, still clung together behind you. gojo looks like a deity with his head tipped forward watching you, brows pinched together and mouth agape, droopy eyes sharpening when he sees the little ruts of your hips.
“you fucking like this don’t you?”
you hum out a pathetic mmhmm around his skin and his eyes almost roll back. forgetting yourself you bring both hands up to claw at the vee of his hips but he catches them immediately, thrusting once with a particular malevolence to tell you to behave.
his thrusts are gaining urgency, losing their rhythm, you know he’s close and you can’t tell if you want him to finish or would prefer it be inside of you. most of all, though, you find you want to please him, so you whine one more time around his cock to hear him mewl something broken and desperate. he does.
“fuckfuckfuck i’m g’na cum, i–”
he can’t even finish his own sentence, hips stuttering and growl caught in the back of his throat as he finishes heavy on your tongue. you swallow it all down like a blessing and the bob of your throat makes him pulse a little more, whispering mainly to himself a breathy: jesus. when you pull your lips away slowly a few webs of spit snap down your chin but you let them glisten there.
gojo can hardly allow you enough time to get to your feet, wrapping his arms under yours to haul you up and over his desk. your hands press over files and polished wood and he bends you into a deep arch with one hand. with no less urgency than before his first orgasm gojo rips your skirt and stockings down to your ankles, groaning low at the damp spot in your panties, on display with your legs spread and hips flared out to him.
he uses one finger to pull your thong to the side and you can feel the filthy slide of your slick as it slips around your folds, down your thighs. you can hear the squelching of his hand on his cock again, jerking himself over the remnants of your spit and his own cum, and you tense your legs waiting for him to breach your tight hole.
he chuckles when he sees the cords of your muscles move.
“oh baby,” he coos, “are you waiting to get fucked?”
your fingers pull in and leave crescent marks on your palms. “please,” you whimper, wiggling your hips, “please fuck me.”
“i dunno,” the fwap of his hand is speeding up seeing you present yourself further for him. “i think seeing you like this is enough to—fuckfuck—make me cum again.”
you drop your forehead to the wood to ground yourself but still your words come out like a sob: “i need you satoru please, please.”
“fuck!” again his hand gets quicker, “beg me again baby. beg me better than that.”
“please satoru i need your cock so bad, i need you to fuck me, i–”
in all honesty you don’t know whether it was you begging that did it or the dissolution of his own resolve, but without warning gojo fits his angry tip at your hole and pushes, hips slapping against your ass as he sheaths himself fully in one go.
you both groan in unison, relief and nirvana and the aching heat with her claws in both of you, and satoru holds your head to his desk as he starts to move.
his thrusts now are not exactly like the way he fucked your mouth; he isn’t testing your limits, isn’t using every ounce of his remaining strength, each grind is calculated, slower than before. it almost feels like he’s pausing after each rut to hear the sound you make and learn. that consideration alone is enough to make you clamp down around him, and a moan claps like thunder from his mouth.
“god it’s like fucking a virgin you’re so fucking tight,” he hisses.
recovering from the burn of the initial stretch you start to incline your hips back into each thrust, the punches of his tip around your walls even harder as you arch to meet him. your arms reach back to feel for him but he only seizes the opportunity to wind them in one hand and hold them to the curve of your spine.
“was it worth it fucking embarassing me?” he pants out, beginning to bend at the waist to fuck up into harder, words nearly spat onto the wing of your shoulder. “i’ve spent all—fuck—week thinking about it.”
you mewl and hum into the wood of the desk.
“made me feel like a fucking teenager at the club,” he thrusts harder, the sound of his skin on yours louder in your ears, “made me feel like a fucking creep at my job.”
you…what?
somewhere between your insistent moaning you ask him “what—ah! oh f-fuuck satoru—what do you mean a creep?”
he bands one arm around your torso and shifts upright, holding you to his chest as his hips continue to buck wildly, more erratic, more in it. his lips just barely graze the shell of your ear.
“all this time i’ve wanted to fuck my sweet intern,” your mouth drops open in surprise and pleasure and something else, the mounting feeling of ecstasy scintillating through your body, “thinking you were some fucking hermit,” he spits. your ass is surely red from the snapping of his toned hips but you’re so close and the hot tickle of his breath on your face just might be enough to get you there.
he almost seems to hear what you’re thinking, though, because then his free hand is jumping to your swollen clit, rubbing messy circles over and under the hood. “went to the club hoping to—oh yeah baby, squeeze me like that—get her off my mind just for you to fuck me over again,” he spits, but it isn’t angry, not really, he’s just desperately and pathetically close.
your body catches and locks, toes curling into your heels as you start to come undone, the dull pleasure coming first and then that cutting slice of your high. you shudder and pulse and milk him as it washes over you, about to pull him over the cliffside with you.
“i’m g’na fuck my cum deep in this cunt and you’re gonna have to fucking walk out of here with it dripping out of you.”
and then he’s gone too, rutting quick and thoughtless and then exploding inside of you, groaning deep in your ear and arm tight across your chest. he thrusts lazily through it, plugging you with the ropes of his seed, trying to feel the slosh of it in your channel.
the disentanglement of his body from yours is almost silent save for your shared quiet groaning at the overstimulation, an almost self-conscious kiss pressed to your temple as you redress, and the murmuring buzz of the corporate party still going outside.
fuck. the party.
satoru takes great care righting your clothing, brushing fingers through your hair. he doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to—only smiling sort of boyishly as you do the same for him. you try to replicate the easy and rushed tug on his tie from before, the right pleating of his sleeves halfway up his arms.
really it’s no use. you look like you’ve been railed, you can feel it, and the scent of sex sticks to gojo, supplanting even his cologne. you shrug at him and he laughs softly, muttering a small c’mon as he ushers you back out.
to your surprise and great delight, the party outside seems…normal. people hardly turn when you exit, engaged in their own conversations, a considerable group of them watching yuuji—absolutely plastered now—trying to get nanami to dance. satoru places his hand again on your back one last time and presses there, but it isn’t hungry now. he means it to be comforting, you think, and it is.
or it would’ve been, if your eyes didn’t immediately land on geto, leaned against the wall and watching you both with that serpentine glare. you nudge gojo with your elbow to get his attention.
when they make eye contact suguru only smirks wider. you turn slow and dangerous to satoru, who stands upright like a statue.
“satoru,” you begin, a calm that should frighten him if he’s smart, “what does he know?”
he shakes his head quickly, lips turned down in a dismissal. “nothing.”
satoru gojo is frustratingly excellent at a great number of things. lying isn’t one of them.
when you return to your apartment that night, legs sore and aching and happy, you flop immediately onto your bed and pry open your computer, single-minded. it only takes a few moments of navigation through the admin channels to find it, a conversation from two weeks after you first started.
Satoru Gojo 3:11pm
Hello
Suguru Geto 3:13pm
Oh I’m sorry I don’t have any change
Satoru Gojo 3:14pm
I need your help
Suguru Geto 3:15pm
I’m not a philanthropist
Satoru Gojo 3:15pm
I’ll give you 3 extra days of PTO
Suguru Geto 3:15pm
What is it
Satoru Gojo 3:15pm
You’re not gonna like it
Suguru Geto 3:16pm
When do I ever
Satoru Gojo 3:16pm
I need to fuck the IT intern
Suguru Geto logged off 3:16pm
~~~~~~~~~~~
to anyone who read to the end dm me you're entitled to a big messy kiss!!
warnings: explicit language, sexual themes, work-life imbalances, breaking of legal contracts, some violence
you’re one of the best pr managers in the nba. you’ve cleaned up the nastiest of messes, healed the roughest of reputations, and changed lives forever. if anyone’s player is in deep shit you’re the saving grace that will pull them out and heal their reputation. that was, until the golden state warriors called you about their star power forward sukuna ryomen. you’ve dealt with plenty of bad boys with issues, but this one? you’re unaware if even you can fix this.
thinking about... your best friend shoko fingering you after catching you with your fingers deep in your pretty pussy <3
unedited i'm js hungry for this sexy lady
“please.” you gasp softly, body alight with a fire you’ve never quite felt before. shoko’s lips only ignite the fire further as they press against your skin. her fingers are soft against your skin and methodical with every movement they make. your cunt clenches, squeezes, because you’ve never felt this needy for anyone in your life.
her dark eyes watch your face carefully—a new form of anticipation brewing on her features. you’re so fucking cute shoko thinks, her tongue darting over her pink lips briefly to wet them once again. “do you want it?” she purrs softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone.
there hasn't been anything you want more in this life than for your best friend to touch you. her brown eyes are low on your face, sliding down your body before they venture back up to your teary ones. you sniffle softly despite the embarrassment settling in your tummy. "please? i'll be so good for you, sho. i'll do whatver, just please."
if you weren't the prettiest thing shoko's ever seen she'd tease you longer. make you beg while she presses a vibrator to your poor, swollen clit. she'd have made you eat her out until you couldn't think for yourself anymore. but, that's for another day. a day when you haven't already worked yourself up.
"shh, shh, it's okay." she hums sweetly, pressing the softest of kisses against your lips. "is this what you wanted?" cold fingers press against your soaking pussy before they gently tease at your sopping entrance.
your back arches off of your bed just slightly as stomach clenches and your eyes squeeze shut from the touch. shoko watches your reaction with an amused look, studying your face as she slips two fingers in with a soft squelch! her fingers slide in with little to no resistance from your own fingers having been plunged deep inside your pussy.
it makes her smile against your lips, something that fails to disturb how intensely you're kissing her back. your tongues slide against one another effortlessly in a dance they seemed to be familiar with. as her fingers began to pump in and out of you your hands found themselves tangled in her brown locks.
she pulls away from your lips to watch your expression once more. a string of saliva dips between the two of you as your lips part, faces warm from the pure need planting itself in your veins. “you were hidin’ this from me, pretty?” she questions rhetorically as her thumb swipes across your clit.
you manage to shake your head in response, wet eyes fluttering open with the most needy look in your eye. “n-no, you never asked. you wanted—fuck!—you were too busy fucking utahime.” you hiss your friend’s name despite your love for her. you just loved her better when she wasn’t fucking your best friend.
shoko leans closer to you and your noses brush just slightly before your lips do. “you jealous? you chose to hide this pretty cunt from me, and you’re jealous? closed mouths don’t get fed, baby.” she accentuates her final words with a particularly harsh thrust of her fingers. you cringe away from her, sobbing something unintelligible as her nimble fingers hit your g-spot.
that familiar warm feeling of finality grips your body. it’s embarrassing. her fingers haven’t even been in you that long and you’re already about to come. “keep doing that, please? ‘m gonna come- yes!” shoko laughs airily, connecting your lips whilst she flicks her wrist to shove her fingers inside of you deeper at a faster pace.
your eyes slam shut, focusing on the pleasure thrumming through your body and how soft shoko’s lips are against yours. how warm her tongue is, how deep her fingers are inside of you. the way the heel of her hand keeps rubbing against your clit as the unmistakable sound of your pussy fills the air. you’ve never been this wet in your life, never heard how fucking slutty your pussy is.
it's all too much, you decide. you clench harshly around shoko's fingers as heat bursts in your chest. you barely moan shoko's name before you feel your body clench. your legs shut against her hand despite her not stopping her ministrations. "that's it, come for me." shoko barely pulls away from your gasping lips to whisper to you.
the way you sob her name is music to shoko's ears, it makes her pussy clench and her mind erase the ache building in her wrist. it's worth it. watching you fall apart. you whimper with tears streaming down your cheeks, mouthing soft kisses against her neck. shoko giggles before she presses her thumb against your clit harshly one more time just to watch you squirm.
“okay, sho! okay!” she laughs, kissing you softly. her fingers slip from your pussy with a loud, wet sound that makes you shudder. you allow your shaky thighs to part and free her fingers from where they’d been trapped. shoko brings her fingers to her mouth, sucking your sweetness from them slowly. her brown eyes bear into yours as her tongue wraps around her slender digits.
"you look so pretty when you come, but i'm not done baby. keep your legs spread. i need to taste how sweet you are form the source." the grin on her face tells you exactly what you'd hoped: you won't be sleeping any time soon.
Synopsis. Dearest gentle reader, it is with great pride that we introduce this season’s most eligible bachelor, Duke Nanami Kento. However, ladies be warned, rumors swirl that our most gallant gentleman already has his eyes (and hands) set on a particular chambermaid. You.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!chambermaid!reader, duke!Nanami, BRIDGERTON AU, duke x chambermaid, slight social clashes, he’s SO in love, courting, face-sítting (fem rec.), squírting, spítting, he’s FÉRAL, fíngering, overstím, breaking furniture, dóggy, “just the típ”, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, creampíes, tummy buIges, chokíng, dúmbifícation, PÚSSYDRÚNK Nanami, the ton, proposals, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 9.0k
A/N. To that one nonnie that made it impossible NOT to think about this…
“And who–pray tell, is that fine gentleman, Shoko?”
“Who?”
“Him.”
It was like watching a parade, of sorts.
Monarchs upon nobles upon countless upper-class elites filtering in and out of the royal palace. Each with a long, satin gown fluttering about, or men with glinting medals that likely cost more than four lifetimes of your wages.
Debutante season had commenced.
And as part of the Queen’s chambermaids, it was your duty to pain-stakingly welcome each special guest deemed worthy of attending her highness’s garden parties.
Which is why - almost on instinct - you’d snapped your head towards the clip-clop! of a carriage steadying to a halt by the hedge-archway entrance. Catching just a flash of sleek blond, who…
Before the footmen swing open the carriage doors, and out steps the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your entire life-
“Oh, him. That’s Duke Nanami Kento.” Shoko drawls underneath her breath, dipping into synchronized curtsy alongside the household staff. “And he’s staring intently right at you.”
Honestly, Shoko might be one of the Queen’s most favored healers- but you really think she’s been neglecting the health of her eyes lately. Daring to elbow her in the side, “Don’t jest!”
She snickers, and you’re sure you detect the nearby daughter of a merchant family haughtily sniff your way—“I do no such thing.” Though, not for too long, fortunately for the two of your necks, because just then Duke Nanami’s stepping into clear view of the party - and you’d never glimpsed so many aristocratic mouths drop.
So many ladies (and some gentlemen) fluster, and so many older heads of families water at the mouth like they’d just spotted the most delectable prey.
Understandable, however.
Because if Nanami was thoroughly agreeable to your eyes in the few peeks you’d stolen at him- then he was almost other-wordly now.
With the most charming, tidy golden hair pushed back, a few curls coiling at the nape of his high collar. A towering stature that made even the most accomplished generals hunch in on themselves, and you nearly audibly gulp at the broad flex of his arms within his navy jacket. Stern. Stoic.
His molten, intense eyes peek over thin-rimmed glasses at the buzzing guests ahead, and you swear that they begin to stray somewhere near you—
“Heavens! Must I repeat myself, you common scullion?”
Ah, at the way Marquess Zenin Naoya was saddled right behind you and spitting hellfire, surely.
You rush to bend into an apologetic bow, so low that the knobs of your spine start to ache- “Please forgive my impudence, My Lord-”
“Have you nothing between your ears but lint?” He’s growling, spindly hands tightening on his empty goblet of wine until you hear the silver material creak. And it’s hitting you right then n’ there that in your haste to ogle Duke Nanami, you must have failed to heed Naoya’s calls for more drink-
He turns his sharp profile to the side and spits on a patch of clean-cut grass, “A servant that knows not her place is no better than dirt. What do you gawk at like so?”
“N-nothing, My Lord.”
And you can only watch, in slow-motion terror, as Naoya flicks his beady gaze behind you- and his sour face tenses at the vision of the tall newcomer that’d easily - and very obviously - ousted his mantle as the most eligible bachelor present. “That ol’ duke? Heh- dreaming that he’d bed a wench, did you?”
“Forgive me, sir, it was not my intent to give offence.” You’re breathing out, first clenching as you feel the withering looks that were starting to prop up around you two. Everybody loved a scandal. Trembling hands reaching out for his cup, “I-if you would allow me to just refill-”
“Don’t touch me!”
CLANG!
It happens all at once.
The heavy goblet clatters to the floor, a warm chest nuzzles your back, and a strong hand was locked right around Naoya’s raised wrist. Right before he could strike.
“It seems her highness’s liquor is exceptionally strong.” Nanami’s deep baritone sounds above your head and makes your skin bead with a blanket of goosebumps.
And it’s slightly husky. So attractive.
Especially when he’s tilting his head down so close, something primal in his eyes that made it feel like he was on the very verge of devouring you whole. Right there in the middle of the bustling garden party. Humming sternly, “Yuji, please escort our impaired marquess somewhere ah…quieter.”
“Y-yes, Nanamin- I mean, Your Grace!”
You’re watching, speechless, as a younger boy with the most vibrant head of pink locks runs up from behind and grabs onto both of Naoya’s shoulders to bodily steer him away from you.
He must have been stronger than he looked, clearly, because the proud heir was being lugged away like a sack of potatoes no matter how much he squirmed and fought - much to the amusement of the party-dwellers. And you.
But you’re quick to bite back your startled laughter once you’re realizing that Nanami Kento was still holding onto you. And not just stood behind- you must have stumbled amidst all the commotion because he had a large hand gripped onto your hip to steady you.
You were in his arms.
Gasping, “O-oh.” You couldn’t have broken off faster from him, knees strangely weak as you’re forcing them into yet another curtsy, “I am so-”
“My deepest apologies, Honorable Miss.” The duke beats you to it, a strange smile playing along his stern lips as he bends into an even deeper bow. “I should have asked prior to touching a lady.”
“A-a lady!” You’re squawking, in what was most definitely an unladylike manner. Hands wringing to gesture him to straighten as much as you could without it being seen as defiance against one of the crème de la crème of nobility. “I assure you I am no such thing, Your Grace.”
Just then he kisses the back of your hand in greeting, “Please, call me ‘Nanami’- or ‘Kento’, should you wish, ma’am.”
“It- it is beneath you to be designated that by me-”
“I insist.”
And if everyone here was watching the upending chaos before, then they simply couldn’t remove their eyes by now.
Whilst Nanami - still bowed - only tilted his head up with a smile, looking at you through his long, pale lashes.
You lift the humble fabrics of your working dress, a thick, dark-colored wool that marked you different from the tittering daughters of the upper-class. “B-but I am only in service to her highness.”
“Is that so?” And you’re breathing a sigh of relief as he stands back to his broad, proud figure- finally, he’s understood and would prance off as all young bachelors did to- “For I only gaze upon the most beautiful lady that has graced the floor this evening, and my blessed gaze.”
What?
“Have a charmed night-” Nanami has a dimple- he has a dimple that winks from the side of his grin as he turns and nods down with the velvety brim of his hat. “-My Lady.”
My Lady.
Utahime’s hands clap down on your rigid shoulders. “Sole heir to the Nanami fortune. Rich, handsome, aware when to cease talking.” Her low whistle rings in the air- tinged with such scandal, “Fiend seize it! I should hasten to practice your new title then, Duchess Nanami.”
“You have a lamentable deficiency in wit-”
Utahime, reputably sensible tutor to the offspring of the royal ladies-in-waiting, and known blockhead around your little trio. “And you have a lamentable deficiency in eyesight.” Sighing, “The look he bestowed upon you, my dear…”
“Or would it be ‘My Lordliness.’” Shoko croons in as well, sipping on a flute of bubbly champagne definitely not meant for her. “Oh-so-beautiful wife of Duke Nanami-”
“Attend to your duties!”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
It has come to my attention - and certainly to that of all the ladies who frequent the halls of Mayfair - something for which you should do well to brace your hearts. Whispers spread that the most eligible bachelor of the season, gentle Duke Nanami Kento, erupted quite the scandal during her majesty’s garden soirée by fixing his much sought-after attentions upon none other than a humble chambermaid.
Yes, you read that correctly, dear reader. For someone reputed in the upper echelons of society for being as stoic as he is handsome, Duke Nanami shares his first spark of interest as he searches for a bride this season.
So heed this author’s advice; as the famed noble resides in the royal palace for the rest of his stay, keep an eye about. For you may just be lucky to be named Duchess of the House of Nanami.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
.
“This is preposterous!”
“It is absolute truth-”
“It is a sham is what it is.” You’re nearly crying out as you shove Lady Whistledown’s latest scandal sheet back into Shoko’s arms. “He- the duke never fixed his attentions on me.”
And your best friend didn’t spare you a word, only a long, narrowed stare of her intelligent eyes that made your stomach twist.
Did Nanami fix his- no. While you and Shoko huddled into a hidden alcove within the sprawling walls of the palace to read the latest on-dit gossip, you smacked yourself back into reality.
The nobility often did have nothing much to entertain themselves with outside of fanning scandal. He was powerful. He was attractive. And he has as many prospects as there were knights in this palace, surely!
Because - of course, for the universe did love to laugh at your expense - he’d taken residency in the palace until the season ended, as one of the Queen’s guests.
Days later you could count every look, every smile, every bow- goodness, there was that one time that you’d been placing cutlery along the winding royal dinner table. Only for Nanami’s engulfing fingertips to brush against yours and make your skin scorch with his whisper, “Thank you, my lady.”
You’re almost befogged why that wasn’t splashed across Lady Whistledown’s writing- chambermaid loses her wits, hear ye!
“Wh-whichever way one looks at it.” You’re stammering out, realizing that you’d been quiet for much too long. “His grace is simply raising some kind of mischief.”
“Certainly.” She was not certain.
“Just you wait- by the end of this season, Duke Nanami will be married to a lady of high standing and I shall–”
“Be disengaged?” That wasn’t the monotone, sarcastic voice of your longest friend.
It was something masculine, something amused. And it was emanating right from the open space of the corridor reading up to the alcove.
You don’t have to turn your head to realize who it is - Nanami Kento.
Though, you do turn anyway. And you almost regret it when you’re stuck by the sheer intensity of his stare, of his face leaned down so close. So intimately that you can’t stop yourself from flitting a sharp glance down at his plush, curving pink lips.
Perhaps Lady Whistledown wasn’t all that wrong - especially about him being handsome…
“Apologies for startling you, ma’am.” Nanami cuts your traitorous thoughts short by slowly tilting something flat and cream-colored in one hand. “Permit me to explain- will you hopefully be disengaged to attend the upcoming Royal Diamond Ball? Perhaps?”
You’re bowing, confused. “Y-yes, Your Grace. I shall be of service during her highness’s ball.”
It was only the most anticipated assembly this entire year, the annual gathering right in the Queen’s Great Hall to announce the diamond of the season.
And in only a week, every single servant of the palace was to work themselves to the bone - welcoming, chaperoning, making note of the newly-made unions to titter over much later.
“Ah, allow me to clarify.” Rubbing a free hand behind his neck, the famed Nanami Kento almost looks…sheepish. “What I meant was- might you be disengaged to…” Staring right at you, hypnotic. “-join me?”
“…What?”
“Of course, it would be no trouble at all if you can not spare a moment, I should be happy to merely converse with you.”
It slips out- “Th-that’s madness. All those ladies-in-waiting-”
Then he’s clasping your hands, he’s pressing the invitation in- but, more importantly, he’s holding you. “And yet, I would like nothing more than the pleasure of your company.” Close. Too close. His breath wafts your lips, “I hope this is not too forward of me. But should you let yourself, trust that I will take care of everything, My Lady.”
And just as soon as you think he’ll kiss you - how uncouth (though, you admittedly wouldn’t complain) - he bends at the waist to gently grasp your hand.
“Everything.” Whispering a soft kiss into the back, Nanami lingers his lips - his gaze - for a long while. “I await eagerly for your word.”
He’s gone almost as softly, and sweetly, as he’d appeared.
Taking with him the scent of golden caramel, and the racing beat of your heart. You swear you’d have been stuck within the alcove staring behind his muscular back until nightfall had it not been for Shoko.
“So…” She plasters a wry smile once you’re turning her way, invitation trembling in your grip. And you’re noticing that upon its envelope dazzles swooping calligraphy of your name, almost certainly written by him. “Would you prefer ‘Your Gracefulness’ or ‘Duchess Nanami’?”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
The ton is abuzz as her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball nears closer. And the sole heir to the house of Nanami is certainly no exception.
This author hears directly from a reputable source within her highness’s Chamberlain Office that Duke Nanami Kento was uncharacteristically fastidious in securing himself an extra invitation. Most claim this as confirmation of his grace’s dedication to finding a bride, most also claim they’d seen the aforementioned, infamous chambermaid being handed it.
Take care of artifice; but such intrigue of a commoner attending the most prestigious ball of the year may be much more than my readers may be able to bear.
So, ladies, grab your finest gowns and shortest shawls to make haste for a chance to snag the eligible bachelor’s heart once and for all this season! And I shall, of course, be in attendance to report on all the scandals that unfold.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
.
.
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“I look…”
“Enchanting.” Utahime nods.
“I was thinking more toad-eaten.” You have to mentally remind yourself to close your maw and do your very best not to gape at the reflection in the decadent mirror displayed in front of you.
Despite your words, even you couldn’t deny that the deep, sapphire-encrusted gown you were donning made you look every bit the noblewoman that you weren’t. Its Empire waist snugly crowning the flowing muslin, sleeves fashionably puffed, with tasteful gold jewelry that you wouldn’t have so much as dared to look at let alone be dolled-up into.
It was made for you.
Quite literally. Utahime had been the one to write your letter of acceptance to Duke Nanami (after shrieking herself hoarse in excitement first.) And through a week of hushed conversation with his grace, the ball evening had crept up closer and you had an army of modistes and maids knocking at your servants’ quarters.
Scrubbing you raw, painting your face, slipping you into a dress he’d ordered tailored to your exact measurements- how did he even know?
Shoko had to let you use her office, and she was deriving her payment back for it by beaming at the sight of you. “And I was thinking more Duchess of the house of Nanami-”
“Cease!”
“Ah, so you observe? You are noble in all but title already.”
Whilst Shoko and Utahime - the traitors - burst out into peels of laughter, you’re left fiddling with the silken coverings of your gloves. “You…you don’t suppose he’s making a mockery out of me, after all?”
That makes them quieten down, and Utahime hugs your shoulders in a way that thoroughly displeases the attendants and their ruffles. “You shine everyone else down, my dear. He should be lucky to have such a lovely date this evening.”
“Quite so.” Shoko nods, “And should he dare fool around, I have long sought a specimen upon whom to test my latest scalpel-”
“Shoko!”
“Do let me join.”
“U-um, ehem.” The tense, honestly frightened clearing of Itadori, his protégé’s, throat cuts your morbid conversation short. And as he looks at you, the poor boy blushes- whispering something shapes strangely like a little—“Divine.”
Before you know it, you’re being escorted down the high-ceiling corridor just as you’d always watched the sisters and wives of nobility being guided so.
It’s a pathway more than familiar to you, yet seems so foreign once you approach the grand, imposing double doors opened to the ballroom. It was a magnificent thing; one of the Queen’s proudest possessions - with diamond chandeliers that dripped yellow light like a second sun, and a grand polished staircase kissing down from the doorway to a dance floor at the bottom.
Faint orchestra and chatter tainting the sparkling atmosphere, you breathe in nervously and even the flower-scented air seems too expensive for you.
Itadori hands the chief footman your invitation - something that makes the latter’s bushy eyebrows raise as he recognizes your name. And then the boy squeezes your hand before he leaves you off at the edge of the entrance, “His grace will be utterly bewitched, My Lady. He already is.”
Oh- what?
In the blink of an eye, he’s melted back into the crowd of other youngsters networking outside. And with nearly every guest already inside - you could only descend.
Down.
Down.
Down, the massive carpeted staircase- and it felt like every pair of eyes were on you. Most stopping mid-dance. Some whispering behind their fans.
And one, Nanami Kento, staring at you breathless and awestruck where he’d been politely conversing with the Queen herself, and a gaggle of entranced admirers. But he only had eyes for you.
Almost frozen. Almost shocked-
Enough so that your satin-covered feet were just a few steps away from reaching down to the marble ballroom floor before you’re thinking of turning right back around and running-
“You.” A hand on your wrist, a soft pair of lips on the back of your hand. Nanami Kento had broken through just about every rule of aristocracy to storm through packs of nobles and catch your wrist before you escaped.
And when he kisses you, it felt like he was finally breathing for the first time after years. “I had- I had not dared to hope that you would truly appear.” Staring at you through thick, golden lashes as he bends deeper into a bow. “You have honored me with the presence of the most beautiful lady to ever grace these floors.”
Languidly, you’re twisting your body back to face him - to face the crowd - and the way that the distracted orchestra has to begin their slow quadrille from the top, several teary debutantes looking between you and Nanami before shoving their faces into their fans, and even Lord Naoya was casting great attention.
Muttering.
‘Might I inquire as to that lady? Does she have prospects-’
‘Do tell- is it true what Lady Whistledown’s paper said- Bollocks! I wanted to bed Duke Nanami.’
‘My, the chambermaid? The scandal! Oh, but they are a most remarkably striking pair…’
You’re gasping when you catch a glimpse of her highness shifting on her throne to peer over curiously. Nanami had authority- but this?
Gulping, “Is this…is this folly really alright?”
“Oh, My Lady.” He fixes you with a lingering look, “For you, nothing would be folly. May I have this dance?”
.
.
.
“M-mmm, Your Grace-”
“What did I tell you, My Lady?” Nanami’s hot, simmering pant tingles your lips as he’s lavishing you with the swirling edge of his tongue. “Call me Kento.”
And you didn’t have any reason not to.
Well, first of all you two were far, far from any of the prying eyes of the ball by now - tucked away inside the empty, luxurious royal office allocated to him by the Queen. And then he had you pushed against the corner of the wide mahogany table in the middle- hands fisted into your gown, mouth searing against yours.
Nanami flicks the slimy edge of his tastebuds between your spit-glossed maw and groans once you’re eagerly sucking. Gasping. Heaving. “O-open your mouth.”
You’d just made the stern, stoic Duke Nanami stutter. And the thought itself is enough for you to knit your brows together and unhinge your jaw even further, “Like this?”
“Wider.”
“Mmm- like-” A glittery ribbon of saliva slicks down the corner of your lips the moment he’s parting his plump, puckered mouth and kissing you in a way you’d never even heard of. “-this?”
So primal. So heated. He’s huffing out a clouded breath through his flared nostrils, and you’re all but melting with each sleazy scour of his tongue.
“Yeah, wider. Lest I be thought ungentlemanly-” With a thumb latching onto the point of your chin, he has one hand angling your face, and the other curving ‘round your waist to support your weakening knees easily. “Suck on my tongue, ma’am.”
Kissing you and kissing you like he’s parched and every drop of sweet, syrupy water was just drooling from your mouth.
Your whirling head barely even realizes when Nanami has you softly falling back onto the frigid surface of the table. Splayed out completely. His beefy forearm eases the impact, mouth decorating with a few strings of spittle when he’s pulling back with a dampened pwah!
Lungs still clouding out in scorching breezes, “If you would allow it, My Lady.” And you’re whimpering when the doughy mountain of his palm comes rovering down your front. Not resting for a split-second until it was right between your poor legs- “I confess, not a morsel crossed my lips throughout the ball- and I find myself quite famished.”
You’re gasping, trying to close your legs- but it’s like his palm was glued to your drivelling core. Hungry. Desperate. “B-but it is beneath your touch to do such a thing-”
“You’re never beneath my touch.” You swear you catch him look down at your clothed cunt and gulp. Fawny irises dark and dilated, “Never.”
And almost as if he’s proving his point, his free, left hand clasps around your own and flies down gingerly to the absolutely massive bulging tenting Nanami’s trousers.
Oh.
He groans.
Oh.
And he’s looking at you through narrowed, predatory eyes- words so gentle even though the way the thick cylindrical curve of his erection was anything but. “See how you make me?” And with a teary nod, your hips find themselves bucking- “Witness how you- ah.”
Rutting.
So carnally, with your gown and chemise falling back, it makes Nanami snap his half-lidded eyes down at you like he’d just stumbled upon a five-course meal. A predator blood-thirsty for prey.
Drooling in a thin, slow trail, he hastily wipes it away like a gentleman. He wasn’t just famished - he was starved.
And by the way his touch shakes ever-so-slightly on your body, it’s a damn miracle that he hasn’t just lost it right now. “We wouldn’t want to waste your talents on just my hand, ma’am.”
Before you can even begin to wonder what his cryptic words meant, Nanami’s making use of the years of his noble training in combat.
Flipping your two positions, laying himself out on the far table, clinging onto your squirming waist to seat you right above his heavily respiring mouth. With your chemise tugged off with one hand, he’s stealing a good look at your naked, geysering pussy and moaning–
“I-I really am quite famished.”
And his voice breaks.
Making you jerk your hips in a slight gyration- unsure where to rest. “Wh-what are you going to- oh.” Whimpering, once he’s planting a firm kiss near the inner parts of your thighs where slick travelled like an adhesive sheen. Only pushing your gown to bunch upwards, “Please!”
“I shall be having my dinner, My Lady.” Lurching you ever-closer, he had your knees straddling each side of his face and it still wasn’t close enough. “Bon appétit.”
All five of his coarse fingerpads digging into the cheeks of your ass, he flicks his wrist and drags you straight into the gaping cavern of his maw. His glistening tongue was propped out just right to spank the surface of your pussylips on his tastebuds.
“A-ah.” Thighs trembling, it feels so strangely and erotically wet with him salivating all over.
He feels a slippery splosh of your juices leak from your slit and straight into his gullet, the creamy taste flooding up his tongue. “O-ohhh–” Savoring. “Has anyone ever made you feel like hah- this?”
“N-not at all, Your Gr-”
“Kento.”
“K-Kento–!” It’s all that you can squeal when the flexible tendril of his muscle crowns your hole and you’re seeing stars. His tongue is just so long n’ girthy that it makes your poor, filthy entrance clench when he’s slipping just an inch inside. “Fuck- n-ngh- fuck–!”
“Charmed you’re enjoying, ma’am.” And he sounds so genuinely elated - breathy, shaken - at the pretty moans falling from your mouth like music.
Though, it’s not enough.
It might never be enough, so the duke can only prop up slightly on one of his strong elbows just to angle his mouth into the perfect French kiss with your cunt. Slapping his tongue right over the puffy folds of your pussy, he’s licking and licking each stray bead of slick bubbling out of you until you’re all tender and glossy.
Only then is he wafting his right thumb vertically down your cute slit, “Though, not to overwork my dear lady- but might you mind lending me a…hand?”
You’re snapping your head down so fast that your chin knocks against your heaving chest, “Wh-what do you need, Your- ah, Kento?”
“Oh, nothing much, my darling. Just…” Tilting his head, Nanami’s rendering you stupidly dizzy each time he twists the callused knob of his thumb in and out of your folds. “Spit in my mouth.”
“Wh-would that be appropriate?” He was filthy.
Feral. “I would love nothing more.”
And he meant it- he truly, completely, and utterly meant it. You’re watching his prominent Adam’s apple bob greedily once the bead of pearly saliva bubbles between your lips and dead-on into his mouth. Only swirlin’ inside for a mere second before spitting right back into your polished cunt. Hard.
Letting the fat wad slip between your lips, and Nanami doesn’t waste a single second before pushing his rugged middle finger inside your hole.
“There we go.” Gazing in pure lecherous wonderment at the way your needy ring of muscle was swallowing him up, every single solid inch right down to his mountainous knuckle. What a tight fit. “There- there, atta girl.”
“It just feels so- ngh- so-” You don’t even know how to control yourself, hips jerking back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until the globes of your ass strike his chin and make you keen. “Ah!”
“Eeeeeasy does it, ma’am.”
And he’s still grunting your name out with that title- even as he’s pryin’ apart your bloated lips and sticking in yet another digit. The fat ends of his index swiping across, engraving his family signet ring against your very walls-
“This is only a prelude, darling.” You’re flinching at the chilling scrape of the band on his second finger, and he grins. Glueing that very grin against your throbbing clit, he spits again- “Only just getting started.”
“Fuck- fuck!” Going against every policy you’d learned in polite society, you’re throwing your hips back and gyrating out looong sloppy drags of your cunt.
Straight from the treacly base of your pussy to where Nanami was nuzzling your sensitive clit with his nose. Again. And again and again- the duke’s kiss-bitten lips were burning and he’s still craning his neck for more. Panting, “Make a mess of me, My Lady. S’what I’m hah- here for.”
“N-ngh, it feels so gooood, Kento.”
And you don’t even have any inhibitions about that little slip-up of titles anymore, back arching into a perfect curvy ‘S’ shape at the way he’s salivating all over your pussy.
Rovering the ridged edges of his tongue in a cutesy lil’ heart over your clit, pressing down just enough pressure on it like a button. And it’s exactly what he needs to make you gasp, your hole winking- so that he can easily slide-slide-sliiide a third finger in with a resonating squelch!
“So wet. So divine.” He’s groaning at the sight of you suckling in on him and all his inches. Fitted in so deeply that your orifice is struggling to even squeeze, thighs clamping over his sweaty temples. Feeling inside you. Searching. “I must ask that you ruin me, darlin’. Ride me faster.”
Thighs aching, breaths shortening. His metal glasses thump the scorching front of your cunt and you whine.
“Faster.”
“P-pleeease!”
It’s like he’s ravaging your pussy with his thrusts, blond brows furrowing in so tight as he’s leaning in even closer. Tuggin’ apart your folds, he’s discovering every sleek, leaking inch of your cunt like he didn’t have enough time. Never would.
And it’s with only spank after spank of his metallic ring that he’s somehow skidding it right down your saccharine walls and directly into your g-spot. “H-here.”
“There.” Even with the kaleidoscope of tears dazzling your vision, you can make out the completely pussydrunken grin that smears across his face.
Rutting up against the swollen slope of your pussy, he laps up every sodden ounce of slick that escapes you once he hits his slimy target. “With greater fervour now, My Lady.” Your throat clogs up every time he reels his fingerpads down to the curvaceous edges and slams back in. “Harder-”
You grip onto the straight ends of his deltoids, flexing with muscular strength. “I-I’m not sure if that is possible-”
“Do not be gentle with me.” And it almost sounds like a command. Though he’s acting upon it like it’s a complete beg- swerving his palm to sticky clammily onto your left ass cheek and pushing you. “Let yourself hah- go. Give me all of you, I beg.”
You had the most powerful, stoic duke of all the season begging.
And he needed it- he was toying with the lacy circle of your garter and snapping it down onto your flesh with a flick of his fingers.
Only to make you wetter.
So wet with sappy, meady slick that he’s gulping down like his favorite liquor- splashing down between his lips and making him more n’ more inebriated by the second.
Glasses still on. Pumping his hips up into the empty air, all he could do was fuck his fingers into your hotly-glossed walls and pretend he’s doing it all with his aching cock. “Do you think you can handle a fourth, darling?”
Gasping, “P-perhaps-”
“Then…brace yourself…”
You couldn’t brace yourself. You couldn’t even intake a steady breath even if you tried.
Because while you’re perching your dripping pussy near the line of his straight nosebridge, Nanami’s slipping in the coiled edge of his lengthy tongue. Not his fingers. His tongue.
In addition to all he was rummaging your melty insides with, he swabs over the texture of his tastebuds down where you were the most delicate and strokes his tongue inside—
“Sh-shit- shit shit shit-” Your mouth juts out into such an adorable pout that makes the man beneath you thrusts his rugged hips upwards. “I-I think I’m…close, Kento.”
“S’that so? Gonna cum?”
So difficult to even breathe when he’s strobing his fingertips down your bulging g-spot, already battered and bruised with the slamming impacts. With the way he swats the side of your thighs stinging with your garter, “Mhm—hck!”
Probin’ every velvety nook and cranny with his touch, Nanami can’t have you on his weeping cock so he’s twisting all his three- now four fingers, and his tongue inside until his wrist aches. His jaw strained. Tastebuds raw, just as much as your pussy was.
“The orchestra is playing, you can be as loud as your heart desires. Say the words, ma’am- I beg of you to please just hah! say the words.”
It makes your vulnerable lips tremble just to formulate the next few scandalous words, never before having been so fucked-out. “Y-yes. Yes, please. Gonna…cum.”
And you swear that the ever-sensible Nanami Kento is gurgling out a wet giggle right between the space of your puffy pussylips, sending white-hot shockwaves down your bowed spine. “I would be-” He wetly gasps out, before slapping his handsome features right back down.
Addicted. He can’t even move.
“I would- hah- I would be quite-” And his spectacles dig in deep until the metal surface sizzles against your core, pushing and pushing himself back. His tongue’s going wild, stirring around with the wettest slurps. “I would be quite offended if you didn’t, my love.”
He doesn’t just mutter the words - he’s biting them right ‘round the perky knob of your clit. Teething his glinting canines just hard enough while he’s slipping his tongue back out - right on time, right at the very second to tastefully receive the way you throw your head back and squirt.
Hot. Hard.
It feels like your entire body’s caught on fire and no matter how much you’re slobbering your hips to the front n’ back, it only makes the sensation worse.
Your eyes water, mouth hanging open stupidly. “Yes- yes yes yes yes- I’m cumming-” Thighs trembling down upon either side of his eardrums at the friction- tight, and he doesn’t even care. “I-I’m cumming.”
“Squirting, My Lady.” Nanami corrects you, gently. Though, it’s a fucking miracle he even had the patience to considering that he’s gasping and panting for air but only pushin’ himself closer to the oodles of cute slick seeping out from you.
He doesn’t even care.
Doesn’t even need air- not when he can perk his head just right and push against your thighs. Wide maw unfastened gluttonously ajar to let the thick trickles of sap drip into his mouth after each zap! of bliss. Drowning him.
Mouth sagging further open, lungs screaming at him. So many bucketloads of syrupy sweet sap that sprays his features until they’re all glittery. “Squirt- oh. You’re- ngh-”
And something’s breaking at the back of his throat when he’s roaming his dexterous, looong tongue between the plumpness of your pussylips, and you’re taking him in so easily.
Overstimulated till you can let off only whines n’ sobs when he’s lazily dabbing his way inside your quivering hole.
“I’m so ruined, Kento.” Riding and riding. He wanted you to use him and you were- “It feels s-so strange.” The peak of your high was one big wave, and it tingles underneath your skin and makes your eyes roll.
Never - even during all those long, lonely nights with your hand slipped underneath the covers - did it ever feel like this. Never were you leaking your essence this much, with your sappy juices falling all down the sides of his rosy red lips. “Never f-felt this ngh- way before, Ken.”
And that makes him groan.
Slowly, gingerly - almost like it hurt for him to detach his hungry lips with yours, he’s pulling you off with one hand stuck to your hips. Surging backwards with- no, he can’t surge backwards.
The duke’s planting one more firm kiss onto your cunt, open-mouthed. And then jerking back- and forth. Another kiss. Another repeat until about five times later and he’s finally ready to say goodbye to your sweet, overspilling pussy.
But he’s not done with his little show- oh, the moment you’re finally spying a good, long look at him, you think you might cum again from just that.
Because Nanami Kento was ruined - blond hair astray, spectacles drooping down his nose, your pussy juices worn all over from the apples of his blushin’ cheeks down to his jawline like a lewd medal.
Waterfalling between the curves of his pectorals, gleaming wherever his pale skin was flushed. He looked as if there was a part of him that was feverish - barely even registering what he’s doing once he’s tugging off his slick-glazed glasses and sucking those pearly beads off of the frame.
Licking his completely wet glasses clean, Nanami tilts his head with a grin like he’s never been more accomplished. “I only live to please you, ma’am.”
“But that’s not fair.” You huff out a stubborn breath, shuffling down his tall body to try and cup the bulging outline between his legs that almost looked painful. “I, too, wish to-”
“Tonight is not the night, I’m hah- afraid.” He’s cleanly cutting off both your plea and your palm. Instead bringing up your shaky hand to kiss the inside of your wrist. Gloves off, his eyes primal and dead set on you. “I could never ask you to get on your knees. Tonight, I only ask that you let me drive you wild, darling. Let me devour you whole.”
And he meant it.
Oh, within sultry seconds Nanami was moving himself off of the tabletop and standing adjacent. Tall. Strong. Not letting you lift a single finger before he loops two hands underneath your thighs and draaaags you to the very edge.
Moistened thighs pasting to his obliques, “Pray, allow me to see to it. To everything.”
And you just wanted to rip the gossamer fabric of your dress off, but Nanami was oh-so-delicate with his hands all over you. Even though he’s fitting himself animalistically between your lewd legs and rutting-
“Why-” His breath catches once your petticoat and stocking are peeled off, both thumbs spreading your swollen pussylips like a lotus. Completely exposed now. “-hello, my love.”
Your mouth parts when you’re realizing that he’s not just talking to you- he’s talking to your cunt. Maw stretched into a smile so utterly lovin’, Nanami keeps that same dopey grin on as he’s leering his face down to spit.
Again.
“Please, Kento.” You’re bucking your hips up impatiently, still shaky with the aftershocks of your high but you wanted more more more. Needed it. “P-put it in.”
He groans- oh, was it him that taught your sweet mouth to say those words. Corrupting you with every second he’s drawing soppy circles on your wet outer pussy, the duke can only tear down his dress coat and his trousers. Careful with yours but he was ripping his own clothes off. “As you wish, my darling.”
It’s just then that he’s finishing tugging down his sensually tight breeches—and you’re drinking in all of him. And fuck- was it a sight only for your most light-skirted dreams.
Because Nanami Kento was naturally chiseled, to the point where you could count each of his eight washboard abs. Every dip and muscular curve of his hardened front just tensed when the cool air hit him, leading a path of gold along his middle.
A light happy trail down, down, down to where his red n’ aching cock sat heavily, so hard that his bulging tip looked just about ready to burst. Eight maybe even nine inches long, and so girthy that it made your mouth drop as if you wanted him fitted inside already.
You’re watching as his pre-glazed tip only coats an even more glistening layer of sap at your sinful attention. Trickling all the way down to his tightening balls, “You’re staring—”
“C-can you blame me?”
“I suppose not.” And the warmth of his towering proximity hits your body like a furnace, making you squirm restlessly when Nanami’s leaning over the edge of the table to tap-tap-tap his thick cockhead down between your legs. Rock-hard. “Brace yourself, ma’am, mhm?”
Then he’s splitting you apart-
And then he’s arching his sculpted shoulders to cage you underneath him and swearing–“Fuck.”
The first time ever that you’re hearing him spew profanities, just barely slipping the pointed globe of his shaft past the texture of your tight, hot cunt was ruining him.
“I-I apologize, My Lady.” It was making him gasp, “I apologize, how uncouth of my character. I didn’t mean to-” It was making him urgently snap his head down in panic and watch with primal awe as he ruts- deeper. “F-fuck!”
“Oh my god-” You’re throwing your head back at the pressure, only to be grappled back in by Nanami just so that he can sliiide his lips across yours. Open-mouthed. “H-how are you going in so deep-”
“I cannot help myself.” Grunting, Nanami doesn’t even feel the stinging pain when he’s slamming his capped knee down on the plane of the desk. Angling his slender hips to shove the slimy crown of his tip into your gooey entrance, “It’s simply- it’s just-”
And Nanami Kento, so articulate and calm, doesn’t have the damn words anymore.
Stuttering, falling over his panic to thrust in and in between your trembling legs. He feels the cute rimming circle of your cunt tighten ‘round his fattened girth, and snaps his head down in panic. Spitting. “I-I must have it fit inside, darling. Please, allow me just the tip, at least.”
“Will- ngh! will it even-”
“Of course.” And he’ll apologize for interrupting your sentence later - much, much later.
But for right now, the only thing that sparks in his fuzzy mind was to raise his toned left forearm up to your drivelling maw. Where you start gnawing wetly down on his skin, he spits-
“Bite down. Harder.” Hips sloppy, knee hiking up even further to maze his flared cock inside. You feel your elastic hole stretch a wider diameter as he’s slipping yet another solid inch in. “Come now, harder. You can ngh- take it.”
“It’s going in.” And you don’t know whether you wanted to slam your hips forwards or jerk vulnerably at the sheer weight of his body leaning down.
He breathes, “Yes- yes.” The breeze of his pants fanning your face, making your entire body erupt in flames by the time he’s squeezing past the tender slit carved onto his shaft. Cementing the bulging edge of his cocktip to the roof of your pussy with a raw sluuurp. “I have you. shall not let you fall- bite.”
And it’s all that you can do.
Because Nanami’s fucking you into office table like he wanted you to splinter straight through.
The half-lidded peripherals of his eyes latching onto where you were speared open like he was watching his personal show, “I hope you know…I’m no- hah- easily satiated man, my love.”
“Wh-what do you- fuck!”
Just on cue, he’s slamming the lines of his hardened hipbones against your inner thighs and making you recoil back near the edge of the table. Dangerously. Barely even giving you a second to pick yourself back up before he reaches over to lace both his rugged palms on top of your clammy scalp. Intertwining. Holding you there.
‘Just the tip’ he said. And yet here he was, pinning you down just to bully his vein-covered length between your snugly stubborn lips.
“Do not think to run from me-”
“Could never- ngh- could never-” You’re babbling easily at this point, because the curvy trails that his veins left along your walls were only driving you mad. “Just want more, Kento.”
“…Pardon?”
You blink your teary eyes up at him in a way that makes his throbbing girth fatten up, every ounce of blood in the duke’s head rushing to the ballooned-up knob of his tip. “M-more, I say-”
“More.” He’s echoing out, more to himself. Higher-pitched. Almost tasting the pure need in that one word, and the very repetition makes him half-thrust straight into the goopy depths of your pussy. “More…more.”
Nanami pants out a husky giggle—“More.” Oh, he’s just so in love with the way your cunt was struggling to swallow him whole n’ yet squeezing as you try. He leans back down and spits once more, thoroughly ungentleman-like. “Forgive my haste. You just m-make- me-”
And you swear you hear the tail end of that particular sentence break off into a whine once he’s finally, finally bottoming out.
So sensitive that all it takes is one, two, three lucious swabs of his drivelling orifice to get you to cum. Throat torn with hoarse moans, head throwing back- “I’m- once more…?”
“F-fuck. You are.” Easing in the girth of his cockhead to be spanked against your cervix and make you see stars. Nanami’s already flooding your pussy with a pour of his scalding hot precum. “What a wonder this enchanting body is for me.”
Again. He has you orgasming all over him again.
He’s feeling just a twinge of disappointment in himself for not making you squirt yet another time- but the night was still young. And your sappy cunt was already so wet, with beads of sparkly juices smearing down his happy trail every time he’s whipping his hips forwards.
Slam after slam.
Your entire body twitches with startles of euphoria, mewling. “Th-there’s so much- so- ah.”
Ah, how he would love to reach his hands over and wipe away the glistening tears streaming down your pretty face.
But no, right now he had them locked on top of your head and was using the leverage to pound you stupid. Harder. Spiking the peaks of your high with each thorough probe of his stout, mushroom tip. “I know. I know I know I-”
CRACK!
Oh.
The desk.
It takes a split-second for both your hazed minds to realize that the ancient mahogany table was sagging on one end, Nanami’s raw natural strength too much for it to handle. And then not even that for him to pull out his cock with a wet plop!
Manhandling you down onto the hardwood floors like a doll, on all fours. It’s such a sinfully new angle to have him looming behind you, tense core plastered against your back once his lengthy cock siiiinks in-
Orgasm still dwindling, entire body shaking. “Fuck- nghhh- fuck, Kento–!”
“You are doing so well, darling.” One hand glues onto the side of your left ass cheek and tugs you back down with his grip. The other carefully rovers just underneath your tummy, “M-makes it so easy to wish to hah- give away to my inclinations.”
A primal sob wrenches from your throat when you’re feeling the slimy drag of his globular, pointed tip. Drawin’ out a zig-zag down and down where you were most delicate, until he reaches the target of your cervix, spank! “Th-then proceed- I beg of you.”
You didn’t know what those guttural words would mean. You didn’t even know if you would make it out alive- but right now you’re starting to doubt it once Nanami gasps.
Once he’s slamming one of his flattened feets by the side of your thigh, deeper. The raw, sensual feeling so much that he can’t control himself. Rutting and rutting away as if he’s gone feral—
“Is this to- to your liking then, ma’am?” The duke’s gurgling out through a translucent froth of spittle, splat-splattering right down the middle of your arched spine. “H-how about now?”
He shutters his eyes furiously and rams the remaining few inches of his cock. Bottomed out and still trying to probe even deeper inside, so all he can do is plant his sock-covered foot over the top of your head and press. Bending. “N-now?”
Proudly, Nanami dares to snicker as his left thumb brushes down the plump, roaming tummy bulge he was fucking into you. Pushin’ down just on the curvy tip of where you could feel his split-ended cockhead thrashing your poor insides. “And I should love to hah! make this gorgeous cunt mine- make you mine.”
And he was a man of action.
It was high time you realized that, because within exactly three repeated swats of his plummy, rose-colored shaft- he’s discovering your g-spot. He’s kissing that bullseye with a looong, soppy glide.
“Though…that is what I am doing, that should be no hngh- sham.”
Feeling all the crimson rush to your head, he presses down just as his aching hot cock presses in. “It’s- it’s just- fuck.”
Faster. Harder. So sloppy that the planks of the floorboards start to sing out in singing creaks of protest, soiling with a trickle of syrupy precum and slick being poured from straight between your legs. Constantly.
Rubbing himself swollen n’ redly raw on the cavern of your tight pussy, Nanami doesn’t even want to blink to break his staring contest with your bulging pussylips.
Milking himself.
The sweetest smooch for your sweetest spot, Nanami coos as you shake- struggling to keep your weakened arms straight as you hold yourself up in this lecherous position. “Come now.” Your overstimulated vision spots with pure white as he darts the hand at your stomach to loop around your throat like a necklace - a headlock. Springing you upright—“I have you, My Lady.”
Spittle waterfalls in embarrassing bucketloads from your mouth and stains the front of his beefy forearm, squeezing your airway. Dilated pupils swirlin’ stupidly every time his strawberry divot circles the entrance to your womb. Squealing, “Y-you…ngh!…mm–”
“Hmmm—?”
“You- hck! please, Ken-”
His warm, ravaging cock was so big that the constant stretch of your walls finally had you stupid. Your brain nothing but a pulp of melted mush every time he snaps his clammy hips to your ass with a stinging pap! of skin-on-skin.
“Me…I’m-” And it’s like each time the puffy veins decorating each side of his overworked shaft gets squeezed, Nanami finds himself seeing stars. Sweaty, bulging biceps tightening on your throat even harder- you scream. “I have you, My Lady- I’m yours.”
Your hole gaping, thighs wet. Just taking everything he’s giving as he finally cums—and you do, too.
Though, you’re not registering it at first.
Not when that leaky hole at the very end of his cherry-red shaft pipes out a creamy icing of cum, layering thickly across every inch and cranny of your rummaged insides. Pump after pump- each one has your pathetic pussy overspilling with so many knotted wads of seed, and yet he always had so much more more more-
“O-oh.” He’s grunting out, feeling a particularly big splash of sap at the base of his cock- and it’s only then that you’re both realizing that you’d just squirted. All over again.
It’s traveling down like a flood between your thighs, painting a glistening ring on the tawny curls at his hilt. Soaking him utterly n’ completely that Nanami finds each thrust to let off the most primal sluuuurp!
“You- you really are the most beautiful hck! lady that has graced this Earth, my love.” Your gaze, your smile, that soul. It was your soul he found most beautiful, the instant he laid his eyes upon you.
He simply knew.
“Y-yet, I’m a chambermaid-”
“I care not.”
“You’re just-” It’s a damn wonder that you even could still speak by now, because every rubbin’ massage of his fat cock only left your mind blank. “-saying- mmm- saying that, Kento.”
“I fear you are mistaken.”
His veins indent your walls with lightning bolts, his cum cobwebbed across your spongy cervix and was splashing after each jackhammer.
Nanami drills into you low and slow now just to help your dripping wet cunt suck him dry. Loving the cute, velvety way you were clamping around his rovering shaft tiredly, “Only allow me to prove my ngh- heart.”
You’re so fucked-out that you’re barely even flinching when he’s finally freeing you of his sinful headlock. Taking mere nanoseconds to pluck that infamous House of Nanami signet ring off of his finger- and pushing it straight down the ring finger on your left.
An engagement. A promise.
“I shall get you another ring- one that is proper, one you deserve, when- if you shall have me, My Lady.” The smoky tone of Nanami Kento’s bass tickles the side of your stinging throat, almost a purr. “I swear it upon my word-” He guides that very same boneless hand of yours to cup his plush, thumping left pectoral. “-and my heart, to forever keep you the most beautiful lady upon this Earth. You shall never want, for I pledge to you my body, my soul for your happiness.”
You whimper, thighs still shaking with your high. Tears slipping down your face that he kisses away, “I-if you’ll have me, Your Grace.”
“Kento.”
“Kento.”
And by the time the last of his wadded ounces of cum had finished spraying out, Nanami pulls his hips back with a bellowing squelch that makes your body heat flare. Such a creamy mess of ivory glossing your pussylips that he’s taking one glimpse at and gasping-
You mewl, “K-Ken, what are you-”
“It seems…” He drawls, manhandling you spread-out onto your back with his sculptured hands. Snaking his face down to mouth a hot puff over your swollen folds that stick together. Tasting. Drooling like he’d just happened across his favorite dessert. “-that the ball is far from finished, my wife.”
.
.
.
Dearest gentle reader,
It seems we have a rather special (and scandalously romantic!) special announcement. Yes, whilst your lips were whispering at her majesty the Queen’s Royal Diamond Ball the previous night, those of his grace, Duke Nanami Kento, have certainly been up to worse.
The ton reached new heights of hysteria over Duke Nanami’s attendance of the ball with his lovely chambermaid acquaintance. This author personally confirms that her highness’s royal orchestra was barely audible over the sound of shattering hearts!
However, if this was where the story ended, dear readers, we would still possess our wits. Not only had her highness titled this unnamed belle of the ball as the Diamond of the season; aforementioned diamond was not in audience of her naming!
Where was she, you might ask? Why, nowhere else but bedding a certain handsome duke—or so palace patrol whisper amongst the halls.
An impatient dalliance or stirring the pot? You tell me, dear reader, though it certainly doesn’t help that said new diamond was spotted near the end of the evening with both a real diamond and the Nanami signet ring upon one’s betrothal finger!
It’s said that the House of Nanami - and particularly a once-stoic Duke Nanami Kento - has been exceptionally lively in preparation for the blessed union and his new bride.
On the other hand, this author shall have to purchase new robes for a summer wedding.
Yours Truly,
Lady Whistledown.
A/N. Tell me why it was SAUR difficult to write in regency speak I feel like I don’t even know this language anymore pls-
hi guys…i’m alive!! i had finals and a bunch of family stuff has gone on, but i’ll be fulfilling requests and some stuff i was writing before i got busy soon!! 😝
olderbf!nanami who you meet in your first year of college after matching on some dating app. he’s around ten years older than you, but he’s attractive and seems sweet off the jump.
olderbf!nanami who takes you to some french inspired pastry cafe for your first date. he admits he doesn't usually go for younger girls, and you believe him. he's a total gentleman, what more could you ask for in a guy? so what if he was older.
olderbf!nanami who is always picking you up from campus for cute little dates or shopping sprees, letting you run up his cards on whatever things college aged girls like. he never spent much money on himself and that little smile you give him after he tells you to just "grab the bag" you've been staring at makes his heart race.
olderbf!nanami who ties your shoes for you or helps you slip on a pair of heels before going somewhere, always making sure his girl is always taken care of.
olderbf!nanami who never pressures you into anything. did he fantasize about you? well...yeah. he felt guilty whenever you'd bend over in a little skirt and he got a glimpse of a frilly pair of panties, or when you'd lean over the table while sitting across from him and your cleavage was daring him to just take a little peak. he felt like a total pervert...but it didn't stop him from fisting his cock in the car after dropping you off at your dorm or apartment.
olderbf!nanami who is on edge the first time you spend the night. he makes sure his apartment is spotless, stocks the fridge with your favorite snacks, even gets you a little gift. he needed this to be perfect, what if you got uncomfortable? what if you hated his sense(or lack there of) of style?
olderbf!nanami who makes you your favorite dish for dinner after getting a recipe off facebook of all places. he makes sure to set the table, light some candles, and pull your chair out for you before you sit.
olderbf!nanami who is surprised when you make the first move after dinner. a simple hand on his thigh while watching some movie you said seemed funny; it wasn't his vibe but he watched it for you. the second your fingers brush his broad thigh every hair on his body stands up, he feels his cock twitch against his slacks and he prays to whatever god there is that you don't notice
of course you do though.
olderbf!nanami who has his larger hand over yours as he teaches you how to jerk him off properly. your hands are so soft and small compared to his own overworked ones, so pretty with his pre glistening on your nails. his free hand slips up your waist to your head where he brushes your hair back gently, petting your head.
"thats my girl"
"twist your hand a lil…ah!-yeah, thats it…”
olderbf!nanami who, like a gentleman, holds your hair back while you suck him off.
olderbf!nanami who praises you even when you struggle to take past his tip. even when he fucks his hips up and listens to you gag when he hits the back of your tight throat.
olderbf!nanami who is already addicted to the way a string of saliva connects your flushed lips to the tip of his twitching length. your eyes lock with his and he debates cumming down ur throat right then and there.
olderbf!nanami who indulges in teaching you how to ride him. he guides your hips down agonizingly slow onto him and nearly busts just feeling your tight cunt swallowing him up. he wonders why he never went for a girl like you before, someone so sweet but so fucking needy to learn how to please him. when he finally lets you move, your hips snapping into him while little huffs and whines fall past ur glossy lips, he swears hes died and gone to heaven.
“pretty girl…m’ filling you up good, right? nice and full”
“need me to teach you how to pleasure a man properly? hm?”
“keep going- fuck!-sorry sweetheart…gonna cum if you do that again…”
olderbf!nanami who has the decency to pull out and cum on ur soft belly, grunting out a curse while watching his seed pool there.
olderbf!nanami who cleans you up and wraps you in one of the throw blankets on the couch, asking you how you’re feeling. he doesn’t hesitate to bring you water and/or make you tea. anything for you.
olderbf!nanami who is already planning out the next time you stay over so he can show you how a real man touches a girl.
this is kinda rough but i just wanted to get something posted :3 likes n reblogs r appreciated!!
