in which satoru gets glasses and his baby daughter can't recognise him! (ó﹏ò｡)
part 1 of my 1k celebratory series, i hope you enjoyy!!<3
content: husband!gojo x reader, dadjo fluff ♡⸝⸝ word count: 2.1k
“ta-da!”
you’re busy cutting up fruit for your daughter when you hear your husband’s voice followed by the sound of the front door clicking shut, signalling his arrival home. the familiar sound of him shrugging off his coat and making his way to the kitchen reaches your ears, and so you quickly finish up cutting the strawberries and apple slices before turning your attention to the kitchen doorway.
“hey toru—” you begin. before you can finish, however, you’re forced to cut your own words off, your eyes falling upon satoru’s face. a blank, slightly puzzled expression crosses your features.
“…since when did you have glasses?”
“since today!” he grins, slipping them off and turning them over in his hands. “nanami was saying how my eyesight has been kinda lacking recently, and i thought he had been overreacting buuut…guess he was right!” he nods his head towards the glasses in his hands with an eager smile.
sighing and rinsing your hands clean of the fruit juice, you reach forward to take the glasses into your own hands, wanting to see them for yourself. “you don’t give the poor man enough credit, you know.”
“…okay rude! i give him plenty of credit where it’s due!” he retorts. he watches with a fond expression as you hold the glasses out in front of you, your brows furrowed as you test the lenses.
“wow, satoru!” you gasp jokingly. “i always thought that you were the strongest, but it seems like your prescription is even stronger!”
that earns you one of his signature pouts, his lip jutted out dramatically as he feigns offence, snatching the glasses back from your grasp and fixing them atop his face again.
“hey! i’ll have you know that i’m plenty stronger than my prescription.”
you roll your eyes playfully before you hear the sound of soft footsteps approaching from the living room, followed by an excited squeal. you turn to see your daughter rushing into the kitchen and wrapping her arms around her father’s leg, and satoru lifts her up so that he’s holding her against his chest, face-to-face with her now.
“papa! papa come look, i made a princess castle with the big blocks and—” she cuts her words off abruptly.
what had been an excited expression — eyes blown wide and plump cheeks pulled into a huge smile — quickly turns into one of…confusion. she simply pauses and pulls her head backwards slightly to inspect him, staring blankly.
“..who are you?” she mumbles, and satoru wishes he could ignore the tone of disgust in her words. he forces out a tiny laugh.
“who am i? what do you mean, sweetheart?” he asks, sticking out his lip playfully once more. he leans forward to press a quick, teasing kiss to her nose, only for her to whine and lightly push his face away with her hand.
she turns her body in his arms so that she’s facing you, evidently having decided that the first answer wasn't satisfactory enough for her. “mama, who is he?”
the gasp that satoru lets out upon realising that she’s actually serious is comically loud. he simply stays stood there with a hurt expression, staring through thick lenses at his miniature version and looking as though she’s just scalded him.
“don’t you recognise me?” his voice has already raised an octave, tone offended, and he hastens to pull off the glasses, resolutely placing them upon the tabletop. “see, i’m your father..!” he turns to you now, eyes desperate, and it takes everything in you not to giggle. “sweets, tell her i’m her father!”
“toru, don’t be silly.” you make your way closer to where he’s stood with your daughter in his arms, pressing a quick kiss to her hair before speaking once more. “you recognise papa, right?”
“umm…” she studies his face, this time without him wearing the glasses, before nodding. “..mhm!” your daughter nods enthusiastically, a gummy smile stretching across her face once more. she extends her hands out to touch satoru’s cheeks, as though checking he’s really there in front of her. then, with a tiny satisfied nod to herself, she leans back into him, resting her head against his chest.
“papa, you looked funny.” she mumbles. you can’t help but laugh, but judging by the look on satoru’s face, the situation is anything but amusing.
“i looked…funny?” he mimics, his tone tainted with disbelief and a touch of devastation. his brows are pinched together, looking scandalised as he peers down at your daughter in his arms as she speaks.
“mhm…like different funny.”
you’re sure you can practically hear satoru’s heart shattering in that moment, his face falling completely. he stays stood there, studying your daughter’s face in silence before seeming to come to a decision, decidedly snatching his glasses off the table and inspecting them.
“then i won’t wear them.”
“what? toru, you have to!” you cut in, but his features are already set in that stubborn face that you recognise all too well.
“no — my own daughter doesn’t recognise me!” he places heavy emphasis on the word daughter, the betrayal and hurt evident in his voice. you roll your eyes, trying to hold back an exasperated sigh at his dramatics.
“satoru, you need to be able to see things — surely you’re not serious!” you protest.
“i’m super serious! never again.”
-
a tiny, foolish part of you had thought — or rather, hoped — that he’d been joking, that it was another one of his silly over-exaggerations, a dramatic declaration in the heat of the moment. except it wasn’t.
because now you’re sat watching satoru squint at his phone for the hundredth time in the past hour, his handsome features practically stuck in place now in that same, discomforted expression. you hadn’t planned on bringing up the glasses again, already expecting the conversation to be a losing battle, but after a while you’d decided that you really couldn’t bear to watch him like that anymore.
“satoru…” you begin, not knowing quite how to get through to the 6’3” child in front of you. before you can begin, however, he cuts you off, having already anticipated your concern.
“i’m fine!” he insists, defiantly as ever. you notice your daughter’s head raise from where she’s doodling with her crayons, eagerly turning her head between you and her father in interest.
“you literally can’t see properly.” you retort.
“better that than have my own daughter not recognise me..” he grumbles. “she even said i look funny!”
you bite your tongue, deciding not to argue — instead, you let him continue scrolling on his phone, noting the way he continues to struggle to read the words on screen.
the same problem seems to crop up later, too, when he’s watching a movie with your daughter. you’re comfortably curled up on the couch, a blanket thrown over your lap, meanwhile satoru and your daughter are both laying on their stomachs inside the makeshift den they’d constructed earlier. in all honesty, you’d better describe it as a mess of cushions and blankets simply propped up haphazardly — in fact, you can even see your husband’s long legs half sticking out from the back of the den.
movie nights have become a common occurrence for your little family, and it’s no secret that your husband absolutely does not take family nights lightly.
whether it’s board game nights, late-night arts and crafts sessions at the kitchen table or simply time for bedtime stories, he always goes out of his way to make sure it’s as enjoyable as possible for your daughter— and movie nights are no exception. so, in true satoru gojo fashion, the den floor is cluttered with snacks: a bowl of strawberries, a couple of mini juice cartons, some popcorn and a plate of freshly-baked brownies among others. honestly, how your daughter will make it to adulthood without developing dreadful cavities is beyond you.
they both lay there on their stomachs, brownie crumbs all over your daughter’s mouth and cheeks and a half-bitten strawberry in satoru’s free hand from when he’d been feeding her. every so often she rests her head against his shoulder, her eyes still glued to the tv screen, and during the funnier scenes of the movie she turns her head towards his, searching his face for laughter before joining in and giggling loudly.
everything about the night is perfect, except for one tiny problem. satoru can’t see.
he tries to focus his vision, tries to make out the figures of the characters on screen as best as he can, but they’re too blurry, the screen a mess of fuzzy outlines and colours.
truth be told, it probably wouldn’t matter too much anyway, considering the fact that he knows the movie inside-out from having rewatched it a million times with your daughter. but nonetheless, he keeps squinting at the screen for several minutes, trying to force himself to register what exactly he’s looking at, brows knitted in careful concentration.
unfortunately for him, however, your four year old is scarily perceptive when she wants to be. she notices his strange behaviour — the repeated eye straining, the way his lip is jutted out subconsciously in mild frustration, the tiny irritated groans that leave his throat every few minutes— before finally speaking up.
“what are you doing?” she tilts her head to the side, wide blue eyes observing her father’s face.
“nothing! just focus on the movie, okay?” he beams wide, but the look on her face tells him that she isn’t entirely convinced. she simply stares at him, studying his expression for a few seconds before seeming to have an idea.
your daughter suddenly hops up from inside the den with such haste that you jolt from your own spot on the sofa. you and satoru both turn to exchange a brief confused look, hearing the pitter-patter of her feet against the floors as she rushes through the house.
“you’re missing the movie!” your husband calls out, but it’s in vain — your daughter doesn’t respond, strangely unbothered. in any other situation she’d never miss a single second of movie night this easily. satoru fumbles with the mess of cushions and snacks on the floor before finally retrieving the remote and pausing the movie, and with a sigh, he rests his head against his palm, turning to face you.
“…wonder what she’s doing..” he mutters, and you nod in agreement.
after a few short minutes your daughter finally returns, plopping down firmly by satoru’s side and placing down his glasses case.
“papa, you need to wear these!” she says determinedly. her tone is reminiscent of your own one earlier, and the similarity makes satoru’s heart swell for a brief moment.
she struggles to open the case at first, her fingers fumbling over the box before your husband intervenes. he carefully moves her hands away so that she won’t trap her fingers, a fond smile on his face at her puffed out cheeks and her determined expression — or at least, whatever parts of those features he’s actually able to distinguish properly without his glasses on. slowly, she picks the glasses up and tries to put them onto satoru’s face, narrowly avoiding poking his eyes out in the process.
with the guidance of your husband’s hands atop hers, she manages to finally slide the glasses onto his face properly so that they’re resting atop his nose now. he blinks at the sudden change in his vision, his daughter’s soft wispy pigtails and sticky food-covered cheeks now coming into vision clearly.
it’s an odd moment for satoru, as though he’s rediscovering the sensation of being a father again. he finally feels able to pinpoint the exact position of her sweet features once more, her face in much clearly quality than ever before, and for a second he can’t remember why he’d ever refused to wear his glasses in the first place.
that is, until she seems to decide to remind him.
“yay! you don’t look too funny papa, so you can still wear them, okay?” she’s wearing a stern expression as she holds his face securely in place with both her hands, waiting for confirmation that he understands. he chuckles.
“…i don’t look too funny?” he echoes her words, a single brow raised in interest.
“yeah! you only look a little funny, so it’s okay to wear them.”
satoru can’t even find it in himself to feign offence — if anything, he laughs harder before nodding.
“okay then. thanks for the permission, sweetheart.”
author's notes: AHHH part one is finally up — i’m so sorry for the delay and i hope you guys like itt!! i’m hoping to get the rest of the parts done much faster than this one
gojo wants you dumb on his dick and that’s the truth.
“yeah, that’s it.” he says with his cock pounding in and out of you. your pussy makes a lewd squelch with every thrust, your hot liquids dripping all over him.
you lay on the bed of his massive room, his navy silk sheets sliding around beneath you while you let out incoherent whimpers.
“fuck, that feel good baby? yeah it does, always. you looove this cock.” he finishes that sentence with a hard thrust, causing you to whine out.
“tor-, ngh, toru, ahhh-“
“what’s that?” thrust. “i can’t hear you sweetheart.”
“gonna, mm, gonna c-cum.” you say, almost pleading with need. your body twitches prematurely as your eyes roll back, completely pornographic.
“are you sure? i don’t know hun, i think it might be too much for you.” gojo teases, his bright blue eyes focusing devilishly on you. he wraps his arms around your waist, arching your back and bringing you closer to his cock.
“please! i’ll, i’ll be gooood.” you whine, before your begging turns into sputtering nonsense. gojo feels how your pussy clamps down on his dick, a sign of your closeness.
“ahh, ple, please, toru, mmph, oh god-“
“god, yeah that’s right. come on, cum on this cock. let it go.”
you practically squeal as you orgasm, your body squirming on the bed whilst gojo’s embrace holds you close. your eyes roll back at how tightly your pussy squeezes, until you’re left a sweaty, mindless mess.
gojo leans over you, his cock still buried inside. he gently but firmly places his hand around your throat, pushing down enough to gain your attention.
𝜗𝜚 Gojo thinks you’re gorgeous all the time, even if you don't believe him- and even if you’re eating his mochi!
more like this
The first thing you notice walking home is a tiny drop of water directly onto your forehead, but you just shrug and open your umbrella. The second thing you notice is how exceedingly weak plastic coverage can be in the middle of an absolute thunderstorm, the sky pouring down what feels like an entire oceans worth of water onto your body.
“Ow!” You complain loudly as the plastic turns outwards again, sending harsh droplets of rain into your eyes. You groan and give up, folding and shoving it somewhere inside your bag as you continue to trudge helplessly onwards.
Your hair is ruined by the time you get home, strands wet and sticking uncomfortably to your skin. Shivering begins as you walk to your front door and fumble wetly with your keys, which promptly decide to slip from your hand so you have to crouch down and pick them up. But as you do so, you’re forced to stand in the rain for longer, heavy beads soaking into your clothes until you feel like they’re sewn to you.
When you get inside and shed your coat, you turn to look in the hallway mirror and realise how bedraggled you look, like you’ve been tossed into a pond then dragged through a hedgerow a few times for good measure. Your mascara runs down your face in gloopy streams, smeared around your temples from when you (unsuccessfully) pushed your hair back.
It cuts streaks onto your skin and makes you feel sticky, the makeup already redrying itself onto an entirely different place than you intended. “Ugh.” You huff, your damp feet soggy on the stairs until you toss yourself directly onto your double bed in your soaked clothes. Laundry be dammed.
“Heyyy, when did you get back!” Gojo says cheerily, strolling into the room. He brings a certain aura with him that feels a little like sunshine, although it’s a shame it isn’t drying off your clothes.
“Don’t look at me.” You groan, muffled into the duvet. “I look horrible.”
Something clinks a little on your bedside table, no doubt a plate stacked with something your husband’s been feeding himself for the past few hours. “I’m sure you don’t, sweetheart.” He says, flopping onto his side beside you. “You always look good.”
You laugh humourlessly into the sheets. “My hair is ruined, my makeup is streaky, and my feet are literally dripping water onto the ground.”
“They aren’t, actually.” Gojo says happily, resting a hand on your upper back and thumbing smooth circles. “But your hair might be.” His hands start gathering your hair, twisting it into a soggy mess atop your head to drag it away from your nape.
But as his fingers scrape it away from your temples- the part of them he can see when you’re face down on the bed- you reach back to swat him away. “I said don’t look, Satoru.”
“Why?” He complains childishly, pouting and tugging at your shoulder in an effort to get you to turn around. “Let me see my wife.”
Exasperated, because you know he’ll keep this up as long as it takes, you finally drag yourself up until you’re facing him. “See what I mean?” You huff expectantly, tossing your blouse into the corner of the room and reaching for your pyjama tank. Gojo silently watches as you get changed, as you drag a brush through your knotted hair then give up and half-heartedly shove it into an updo.
When you’re done, you sit cross legged at the headboard and drag a pillow across your front to slump onto before angrily cramming a mochi into your mouth, courtesy of the plate your husband conveniently brought in with him.
“You look really good.”
Gojo’s voice is quiet, totally honest and wholly full of devotion. It warms your cheeks happily, but you don’t say anything else. “Like, really.” He continues, shuffling himself beside you and wrapping his long arms around you gently. “You look so pretty. I still can’t believe you married me.”
You look at him in disbelief. You’re wearing mismatched pyjamas, no makeup except the loose traces of smudged mascara you couldn’t fully rub off, your hair is damp and shoved atop your head, and there’s powdered sugar smeared over your lips. And yet, he’s still looking at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“What?” You mumble through a mouthful of mochi. “Stop looking at me like that.”
“You’re so gorgeous.” Gojo whispers, lifting his hand to cradle your cheek. You lean into it naturally, and his thumb carefully swipes away some powdered sugar gathering on your lips. You blink owlishly at him, another mochi already stuffed into your mouth.
Gojo thinks you look the prettiest like this.
Not to say he doesn’t think you look absolutely drop dead gorgeous all the time. He takes great pleasure in watching you get ready for dates, slipping on your heels and daubing mascara along your eyelashes, politely asking him to zip up your dress and giggling when he tickles your spine beforehand.
Or when you’re very seriously watching a trashy reality show with him, painting your nails as you both scoff and laugh at the screen. The tv makes your face glow beside him, and Gojo often finds himself staring at you instead of the people arguing on screen.
But now, with rain dripping lightly from your hair, your face bare and soft in the sunlight the rain allows to pass in, mochi stuffed into your mouth and powdered sugar dusted onto your pyjamas, Gojo genuinely doesn’t think he’s seen anything prettier.
Perhaps that’s why he finds himself kissing you, soft lips pressed to yours before he peppers even more across your face. You laugh and wriggle away, mochi lying forgotten on the plate to the side. “Stop!”
“Can’t help it-“ he says between kisses, “you look so pretty it hurts me. Physically.” He looks pained when he pulls back, cerulean eyes big and pleading. “You can’t do this to me, I’ll die of a heart attack and you’ll look too good at my funeral-“
“Shut up, toru.” You say affectionately, planting a kiss onto his forehead as you swipe his snowy hair back. “Have a mochi.”
Gojo almost screams into a pillow like a hopeless romcom lead when you lift a half-bitten sweet to his mouth. The rain has passed by now, leaving soft streaks that paint your face and the duvet tangled all cushiony around your legs. “Baby,” he gasps dramatically, falling backwards like a renaissance painting, “you can’t keep doing this.”
The rest of the afternoon is spent giggling next to each other in bed, sharing Gojo’s sizeable plate of mochi (seriously, who buys that much for themselves?) and discussing what to eat for dinner (that one was Gojo’s choice of topic, because apparently he still isn’t full) before you sigh and entwine your fingers with his.
A kiss is pressed to your jaw before your husband stands and reaches out his hand for you to take; you both need to be in the kitchen to rifle through the pantry, obviously. “So pretty.” He mumbles again, popping another mochi into his mouth.
the soft click of the front door closing is the only warning you get before satoru is instantly making his presence known.
you’re sitting on the living room rug, leaning against the edge of the couch with a notebook open in your lap, when a massive, heavy weight suddenly drops down right behind you. two long, familiar arms wrap securely around your waist, pulling you backward until your back is pressed firmly against his broad chest.
"you're home early," you murmur, leaning your head back against his shoulder with a soft smile.
"i missed you," satoru groans into the crook of your neck, his voice a deep, lazy rumble that vibrates right through you. his sunglasses are already discarded somewhere on the entryway table, leaving his striking blue eyes completely uncovered. "the meetings ran short, and all i could think about was getting back to you. look at me."
you twist slightly in his embrace, turning your head to look at him. the moment you do, satoru leans down and immediately captures your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. it’s warm and slow, tasting faintly of the sweet iced coffee he always buys on his way home, and it instantly melts away whatever stress you had accumulated throughout the day.
when he finally pulls back a fraction of an inch, his eyes are crinkled at the corners, filled with a gentle, affectionate warmth that he only ever saves for you.
"satoru," you laugh softly, reaching up to frame his face with your hands. "let me finish this page first."
"nope," he says simply, a playful grin tugging at his lips. "the page can wait. i haven't seen you in eight hours. that's basically a lifetime."
before you can argue, he leans in again, but instead of going for your lips, he shifts his target. he plants a soft kiss right on the center of your forehead, his soft white hair brushing against your skin. then, he moves down, peppering light, rapid-fire kisses across your eyelids, the bridge of your nose, and the apples of your cheeks until you’re giggling out loud, trying to swat his hands away.
"hold still," he murmurs against your skin, his voice muffled by your cheek as he kisses his way down to your jawline. "i'm making up for lost time."
his hands move from your waist to gently cup your face, his long, warm fingers stroking your cheekbones with immense gentleness. satoru can be loud & entirely dramatic to the rest of the world, but in the quiet space of your apartment, he is nothing but incredibly soft. he kisses you with a quiet & patient devotion, taking his time as if there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
he presses a warm kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another one right on your chin, before finally pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. his gaze wanders over your face, completely captivated, a tender, soft smile resting on his lips.
"there," he whispers, his thumb gently wiping away a stray speck of ink from your thumb. "now you have my full permission to finish your page. as long as i get to stay right here."
you let out a quiet sigh of contentment, leaning your head back against his chest as his arms wrap tightly around you once more, anchoring you in place. "deal."
ა ˙˖ summary → there’s no one you hate more than satoru gojo. he’s arrogant and entirely too full of himself. when you agree to be strictly enemies with benefits, gojo takes this as the perfect opportunity to finally make you his.
⤳ warnings: this mini series will feature adult content and is not recommended to anyone under the age of 18
intro
❦ chapter one: the fuck buddy proposal
❦ chapter two: you're not my type!
❦ chapter three: the conclusion
꒰ I've already got a taglist going but you can also sign up for tags here! under others just type in: the arrangement series ꒱
satoru gojo. the strongest sorcerer of today and the man you’ve been hopelessly in love with for the past decade or so, maybe ever since you saw him in jujutsu tech— point is, you’ve been in love with him for a looong time. longer than you’d like.
maybe it was the stupid grin he’d have on his face every time he told a dumb joke and you laughed, or maybe it was the way he clearly cared for the new generation of sorcerers and tried his best to steer them in the right direction. maybe it was his ability to always be lighthearted during situations where you’re so close to breaking down.
maybe it was the way he always stayed just a little too close for comfort, never really caring for others personal space. or the way he never gave up despite how far away a goal seemed to be.
that’s why you find yourself sitting in the staff room and flat out admiring satoru from afar— not even bothering to be discreet because it’s never been a secret that you had a crush on him, not in all those years.
satoru must’ve gotten his undercut done today since its looking sharper than usual, you’d compliment him but what do you even say? any comment would be weird & creepy since you’re the only one who noticed— which is to be expected, your gaze never seems to stray far away from satoru whenever he’s around. plus, it’s not like satoru doesn’t know you’re watching him, he can feel your gaze on him via his six eyes.
after all, he’s not dumb— you just wonder why he never says anything about it. anytime satoru turned to look at you through his blindfold he’d just glance at you briefly before going back to whatever it is he was doing. no comment about your obvious staring or the fact you smile at him softly every time, nothing. nada.
“its for the better,” you’re sure he knows about your crush, whether because someone told him or he knew by himself; it didn’t matter at all since neither of you were gonna do anything about it.
it’d be worse if you confessed and satoru just rejected you. after all, even if you’re sure he doesn’t like you, it would still hurt to hear him say it.
a dreamy sigh escapes you, gaze soft as you watch satoru laugh at whatever it is that utahime said— probably teasing her from the look on her face. the whole room fades into obscurity, your focus on satoru alone, watching the way his blindfold moves with his eyes and the grin that paints itself on his lips. the crinkling of his uniform and the likes with your head in your hands.
satoru pauses suddenly, glancing to the side and catching your staring. his mouth forms into a silent ‘O’ shape before it slowly morphs into a toothy smile— the kind that shows his small fangs— your face heats up and you shyly— very slowly— wave at him from your position, watching as satoru goes back to teasing utahime and leaving you a little dumbfounded.
in all instances of satoru catching you staring at him longingly, hes never once smiled or did anything like that. it’s stupid, he smiled at you once and your heart is already ramming against your ribs uncontrollably. but stupid as it may be, satoru smiled at you anyways.
exhaling, you slump against the desk, letting your cheek press against it while your brain speeds through why satoru even did that. the rational part in you argues its nothing, that it was just a smile and it wasn’t like he kissed you or anything so there’s no reason to be all worked up over something as tiny as that.
however, the romantic half of you sees it as a chance, maybe if you play your cards right you can even get a date or something! all those years of liking him wont go to waste, all those daydreams might actually happen.
god, you feel so pathetic; like some teenager seeing their crush for the first time ever— it’s humiliating, to be crushing on the same person for 12 years knowing you stand no chance to be with them. and yet everyday feels like another reason to be crushing on satoru.
sighing, you try as hard as possible to shake off the earlier nervousness & embarrassment and get up, pretending you have some class to teach right now despite no classes being on for now. needing a breath of fresh air to try and quit overthinking it all.
. . .
wind goes through your hair and passes over your cheeks in a gentle caress, inhaling in & closing your eyes briefly to clear your mind. opening your eyes, you watch the scenery of the sun setting in thought.
is it really possible for satoru to love you? after all these years, you doubt it could even be a possibility and yet here you are, undone by a simple smile from him.
yeah, you’re not getting over him anytime soon, are you?
✦ CONTENT WARNINGS: mdni. explicit sexual content, x reader, mutual pining, accidental confession, friends to lovers, kissing, heavy petting, oral (f receiving + m receiving), fingering, handjobs, penetrative sex (p in v), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise, body worship, breast play, nipple stimulation, light spanking/ass slapping, possessive affection, emotional intimacy, aftercare, fluff, humor, happy endings.
✦ WORD COUNT: ~13k+ (60mins)
author’s note ♡ i genuinely thought this was going to be a short little fic. instead it’s 13k+ words. i don’t know either. this is also my first time writing Choso and Ino, so if i got either of them wrong you are legally allowed to beat me up. also… why is there such a severe shortage of hot Ino fanart?? i wasn’t familiar with this struggle until now. and somehow my very first Ino fic ended up being almost 6,000 words, which feels extremely on brand for me. There will be 2 more parts soon! hope you guys enjoy!!
GOJO ♡ MINE
He picks up your phone. You don't notice at first. You're making tea in the kitchen, humming something under your breath, completely unaware that you left your phone unlocked on the couch. Completely unaware of what's still open on the screen.
"…Huh."
Your blood goes cold. You turn around slowly. Gojo's sitting there, your phone in his hand, those blue eyes scanning the screen with an expression you can't quite read.
"…Satoru."
Then his eyebrows go up. "Wait."
Oh no.
"…Is that me?"
You cross the room in three steps, reaching for it. He leans back, holding it just out of reach, that wicked grin spreading across his face.
"Hold on." He's scrolling now. "I'm just—wow, okay. '#gojo smut' '#gojo x reader' '#this ruined my life'—"
"Give me my phone."
"18,000 notes?"
"Satoru—"
"Baby." He looks at you, eyes sparkling with absolute delight. "You've got three tabs open."
You want to die. "I don't—"
"Three." He taps the screen. "All me."
Your face is burning. "So what?"
"So." He stands, still holding your phone away from you. "You bookmarked it."
"I did not—"
"You absolutely did." He shows you the screen. The little bookmark icon is filled in.
"…Okay, fine."
"And you left a comment."
Your stomach drops. "I did not."
"You did."
"Satoru, I swear—"
"'Need him biblically.'"
You actually make a sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. "Oh my god."
"That's what you wrote."
"Stop—"
"'Need him biblically.'" He's laughing now, stepping closer. "That's amazing."
You lunge for the phone. He sidesteps easily, still grinning. "Give it back."
"Not yet." His voice is closer now, darker. "You've been thinking about me."
Your breath catches. "…So?"
"So." He steps closer, eyes locked on yours. "That's why you've been looking at me like that. Like you want me to—" He glances at the phone. "—quote, 'ruin you.'"
Your heart is pounding. "…Maybe."
His grin widens. He tosses your phone onto the couch. "You know what?" His hand slides into your hair, tilting your head back. "You could've just asked."
His grin turns absolutely wicked. "For me to fuck you the way I do in your little stories."
You stare at him, cheeks burning.
"Think the author got me right?" Then his mouth is on yours. His tongue slides against yours and you make a sound you didn't mean to make—something desperate and needy.
He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips still brushing yours. "You wanted this."
"Yes—"
He kisses you again, harder, walking you backward until your legs hit the couch. You fall onto it as he follows you down, settling over you. Your legs part as he slots between them. His hands pull your shirt over your head, and unhook your bra.
"Fuck." He's looking down at you like he wants to devour you. His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples and you gasp. Your back arches into his touch.
"I want to hear every sound you make."
His mouth closes over your nipple and you cry out. He swirls his tongue then licks from your breasts to your navel. He kisses down your stomach, his fingers hooking in your pants, pulling them down with your underwear.
Your legs spread as he settles between your thighs. Then stops.
“…Oh, baby.” His thumb drags slowly through your slickness. “You’re already so wet.” He groans. “All this from reading about me?”
"Yes…" you breathe.
“Say it properly.”
"It's all for you—"
"That's right." One finger slides inside you, curling upward. You arch off the couch.
"Satoru—oh my god—"
He adds a second finger, curling them both. You whimper.
"There it is." His voice is smug. "There's the sound from your story."
His fingers move faster, his thumb circling your clit. His other hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding. "You're mine."
"Yes—"
His thumb presses harder, his fingers moving faster. Your hips grind against his hand, your legs trembling.
"Then come."
"Oh—fuck—Toruuu—"
It hits you suddenly—your whole body tensing as pleasure crashes through you. Your legs clamp around his hand, your pussy clenching hard around his fingers.
"That's it—" He doesn't stop moving. "That's my girl—"
"Satoru—I'm—" You're gasping, shaking against the cushions.
"So beautiful when you come."
You're still shivering when he pulls his fingers out, brings them to his mouth and licks them clean. "Fuck. You taste so good."
He's undressing, and you watch as he pulls his shirt over his head, pushes his pants down. His cock is hard and flushed, your mouth goes dry watching it.
Then he's lying back on the couch, pulling you up. "Come here."
"What—"
"Turn around." His hands guide your hips, positioning you over his face. You're facing away from him now, your thighs on either side of his head.
"Satoru—"
"Sit." His breath is hot against your pussy.
His hands grip your ass hard, his fingers digging into the flesh as he pulls you down onto his face. Not gently. He yanks you down, spreading you open with his grip, and buries his face between your thighs like he's been starving for it.
The first drag of his tongue makes you cry out, your upper body collapsing forward onto his lower half. Everything is so sensitive, too much, and his tongue is relentless—licking through your folds, circling your clit.
"Oh god—"
Your hands brace on his thighs and that's when you see it. His cock, so amazingly hard and glistening at the tip, right in front of your face. As you watch, it twitches.
His fingers dig deeper into your soft skin, holding you exactly where he wants you. He's breathing you in, completely lost.
His tongue pushes deeper and you moan, your hips rocking back against his mouth. Without thinking, you lean forward, wrapping your hand around his length. He groans into your pussy, the vibration making you whine.
You take him into your mouth.
"Fuck—" The word is muffled against you. His hands grip your ass even harder, fingers digging in, pulling you down so hard he can barely breathe, his tongue working faster.
You hollow your cheeks, taking him deeper, and his hips buck up slightly. The taste of him, the weight on your tongue, the way he's devouring you—it's overwhelming. You moan around his cock and he groans again, the sound vibrating through your core.
His tongue finds your clit, sucking hard, and your rhythm falters. You're dripping now, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and he's not stopping. Your hand strokes what your mouth can't reach, your head bobbing faster.
Then his hips start moving. Fucking up into your mouth in shallow thrusts that make you gag slightly, drool spilling down his length. You're moaning constantly now, the sounds muffled around his cock, because his tongue is doing something absolutely sinful to your clit.
"Satoru—" You pull off to gasp. "I'm going to—"
He doesn't let you finish. His mouth seals over your clit, sucking hard, his fingers digging bruises into your ass as he holds you down, and you take him back into your mouth just as the orgasm hits.
You scream around his cock, your whole body convulsing, your pussy clenching against his tongue. The vibration of your scream, the way you're shaking—
"Fuuuckkkk—“ His hips jerk up and he comes hard, spilling down your throat. You swallow reflexively, still moaning, still trembling through your own orgasm as his tongue continues working you through it.
Briefly, you're both just breathing hard, your body collapsed on top of his.
Then his hands are on you again, pulling you around, dragging you up his body until he can kiss you. It's messy, desperate, tasting like both of you, and he kisses you like he'd die if you pulled away.
"Baby—" He breaks away just long enough to speak. "Your—so fucking perfect—taste so fucking good—" His hands are everywhere, gripping your ass, your thighs, pulling you closer. "Could do that for hours.”
He kisses you again, harder, his tongue tangling with yours. When he finally pulls back, you're both panting.
Then he's flipping you onto your back, his body covering yours.
"Wait—" You look down between your bodies. He's hard again, his cock pressing against your entrance. "You're still—"
"Reversed cursed technique is useful in more ways than you think." His grin is absolutely wicked. "Couldn't leave your poor pussy unfilled, pretty girl."
He guides himself into you slowly. You feel yourself stretch around him as he sinks deeper.
"Shit— His voice is rough. "Always so good for me."
He's fully inside you now, his hips flush against yours. He pulls out almost completely before thrusting back in, setting a steady rhythm. His hands settle on your hips, controlling the pace.
"You wanted it like this?"
"Yes—"
Then he shifts the angle, tilting his hips upward. His cock hits something inside you that makes your vision blur.
"Oh—fuck—"
He grins, his bright blue eyes locked on yours. His thumb traces your jawline. "Still comparing me to fiction?"
"Satoru—"
His other hand tangles in your hair, gripping firmly, tilting your head back to expose your throat. He leans down, teeth grazing your neck, then bites down. You gasp.
"It's actually cute." He smiles against your skin. "You really thought an author knew me better than you do."
"Satoru—"
"Come on." He laughs softly. "Who do you think they're trying to write?"
He kisses your neck.
"Me."
Another slow thrust.
"Problem is…" His grin widens. "They've never actually been me."
He tips your chin up until you're looking at him.
"They've never watched you." His smile turns almost unbearably smug. "I have."
His hips drive forward and you cry out. He releases your hair to grip your hip possessively, fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to leave marks.
Your breath catches. The certainty in his voice feels almost unfair.
"There. Knew that'd get you." He moves again, hitting that same spot deep inside, and groans. Your back arches off the couch, your pussy clenching around him.
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
He sets a rhythm—deep, angled perfectly. Then his hands slide under your thighs, lifting them, folding you nearly in half as he presses into you. Your knees are past your shoulders now.
"Oh god—"
He sinks deeper, his gaze dropping to where your bodies meet. His eyes catch on the subtle indent in your abdomen and he stares for a heartbeat longer than he means to. His thumb traces it slowly, unable to resist.
"That's mine," he groans, his voice rough with possession.
One hand braces beside your head. The other slides down between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. He moves in tight circles while his hips drive forward relentlessly.
"Satoru—"
"I've got you." His face is inches from yours, those blue eyes drinking in every reaction. His smile turns almost lazy. "I can read it all over your face."
Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails digging in, leaving marks of your own.
"Squeezing me so fucking tight, baby." His pace is relentless, his stamina endless. "Look at me."
You do. His eyes are blazing, pupils blown wide with desire.
"Bet your author never wrote it like this." His smile is all teeth. His fingers press harder against your clit. "You're close."
"I—yes—"
He slows just enough to keep you on the edge. His fingers keep circling, his hips still moving, but the rhythm shifts—deliberate torture.
"Satoru—please—"
You lock onto his gaze. Those bright blue eyes pinning you just like his body does. He watches you for another heartbeat, deliberately keeping you suspended there.
"Now."
His fingers press harder. His hips drive forward, burying himself completely. Your orgasm crashes through you—your whole body going rigid as pleasure whites out your vision. Your pussy clenches hard around his cock, pulsing.
"Fuck—Satoru—"
His voice is rough with satisfaction. "So fucking perfect when you come for me."
"Wait—" Your voice breaks. "I can't—"
"Yes, you can." His hips roll forward, slow and deep. You groan—everything is too sensitive, too much. "I'm not done with you yet."
"Satoru—"
"Shh." His fingers find your clit again and you gasp, your whole body jerking. His other hand slides into your hair, gripping tight, holding you still. "You're going to give me another one."
"I can't—"
"You will." His pace picks up—faster now, still controlled but relentless. His fingers move in tight circles. "You're going to fall apart for me one more time."
The overstimulation hits harder this time, sharper. Your body is already sensitive, and he knows exactly how to work you. His hand in your hair keeps you from looking away, forces you to hold his gaze.
"Oh god—"
"Forgot all about those stories now, didn't you?"
Suddenly your whole body convulses around him.
"Fuck—Satoru!" you cry.
And his composure shatters.
"Jesus—" His voice breaks. His hips stutter, the rhythm faltering for the first time all night. Your pussy keeps pulsing around him and he groans against your shoulder, his grip tightening. "Fuck—I can't—"
His thrusts become erratic and desperate. He buries himself deep one final time and comes hard, filling you completely. His whole body goes rigid, his head dropping to your shoulder, panting against your neck.
For a while, he just stays there, both of you shaking.
Then slowly, carefully, he pulls out. You both wince. He collapses on top of you, bracing his weight on his forearms so he doesn't crush you.
"…Holy shit."
You laugh breathlessly. "Yeah."
He lifts his head to look at you. His hair is a mess. His eyes are soft now. "You okay?"
"Yes, baby… I'm so much more okay."
He grins. "So."
"What?"
"…Accurate?"
You swat his shoulder weakly. "Shut up."
"I'm just saying." He presses a kiss to your forehead. "Fictional me has nothing on the real thing."
"You're so annoying."
"You love it."
"…Maybe."
He shifts, pulling you against his side on the couch. "Come here." You curl into him. His hand runs up and down your spine. "…You know you can tell me what you want, right?"
His voice is quieter now, serious. "You don't have to read about it."
"I know."
"Do you?"
You look up at him. "I do."
He studies your face for a moment. "Good.…But also."
"What?"
His grin returns, that arrogant one that started this entire thing. "If you find any other good ideas in those stories…"
"Satoru."
"I'm just saying."
"You're impossible."
He pulls you closer, his chin resting on top of your head. "Mine," he murmurs against your hair.
You smile into his chest. "Yeah."
NANAMI ♡ TELL ME
The apartment is quiet when Nanami arrives home.
He loosens his tie as he steps through the door, briefcase in hand, the familiar weight of the day settling across his shoulders. The living room is empty, but he can hear you moving around somewhere in the back—the soft shuffle of laundry being done.
He sets his briefcase down by the door. That's when he notices your laptop. It's open on the couch, screen still glowing. You must have stepped away for just a moment.
Nanami moves toward it, intending only to close it—save the battery, keep the screen from burning in—but then he sees his own face staring back at him.
He pauses.
It takes less than ten seconds to understand what he's looking at.
Nanami Kento x Reader. Explicit Sexual Content. Dominance. Praise Kink.
He reads a single line. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Then he closes the laptop with deliberate care and sets it on the coffee table. He sits down on the couch. Rests one hand on top of the closed device. And waits.
You walk back into the living room two minutes later, a basket of folded towels balanced on your hip.
You freeze the moment you see him. Nanami is sitting on the couch, perfectly still, one hand resting on your laptop. His tie is loosened. His jacket is still on. His expression is calm. But his eyes are on you.
"…Kento."
"I wasn't searching through your computer," he says evenly. "Your screen was visible."
You set the basket down on the chair and move toward him, hands already reaching for the laptop. "Don't—"
He gently closes his hand over yours before you can grab it. "There's no need to panic."
"I'm not panicking."
"You're shaking."
You pull your hand back. He's right. You are.
Nanami studies you for a long moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. Then he says, very calmly, "There appear to be quite a lot of these stories."
You stare at the floor. "…There are."
"You've bookmarked several."
"…Yes."
"And judging by the timestamps, you've been reading them regularly."
"…Yes."
He scrolls through the open browser. "Different settings." He scrolls once. "Same dynamic." He closes the laptop. "You've developed a fairly specific preference."
"…Kento, I—"
"Do you enjoy these stories?"
The question is so direct, so matter-of-fact, that it catches you completely off guard. You hesitate. Then nod. "…Yes."
His jaw tightens slightly. "Do you wish I would treat you that way?"
"…I…"
He waits. You force yourself to meet his eyes. "…Yes."
Nanami stands and closes the distance between you in three measured steps. He tips your chin up with two fingers.
“You wanted this.”
You can barely breathe. “…I didn’t know how to bring it up.”
His expression softens just a fraction. “No,” he says quietly. “I imagine you didn’t.” His thumb brushes along your jaw. “But now I know.”
You swallow hard. “…And?”
His eyes darken. "Then I'll give it to you."
He doesn't move immediately. Instead, his hand slides from your chin to the back of your neck, gripping firmly but not painfully. He pulls you closer until you're inches from his face, and you can feel the tension radiating off him—controlled, deliberate, dangerous.
"Come," he says quietly.
Then he releases you and turns toward the bedroom, leaving you to follow.
Nanami's hand is on your waist, pulling you back against him hard, and you can feel the raw need radiating off him—something you've never felt from him before.
"Bed," he says, voice rough. "On your hands and knees. Now."
Your breath catches. "Ken—"
"Please." The word comes out desperate, strained, and it sends heat flooding through you.
You climb onto the bed and position yourself, heart pounding. Behind you, you hear the rustle of fabric as he strips off his shirt, the sharp clink of his belt, the harsh intake of breath when he sees you waiting for him.
His hands are on you immediately—rough, urgent. He runs his palms up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, gripping hard enough to leave marks.
"God," he breathes. "Look at you."
He yanks your shorts down, underwear with them, and then you're bare and exposed and aching for him.
His hands trail slowly down your back before gripping your ass hard. One hand slides down your thigh, then back up the inside of it with deliberate slowness until you're trembling. Only then do his fingers slip between your thighs.
"Already so wet for me."
"Ken, please—"
"I know, sweetheart. I know."
He pushes two fingers inside you without warning, and you gasp at the sudden intrusion. "Ahh—"
"Perfect," he groans, working you open roughly.
His fingers curl, finding that spot deep inside that makes your toes curl, and you rock back against his hand desperately. He pumps them in and out with deliberate force, the wet sounds obscene in the quiet room. When he scissors them, stretching you wider, you whimper at the burn.
"That's it," he says, voice dark. "Show me how much you need this."
You push back against his hand, shameless, and he rewards you with a third finger. The stretch is intense—almost too much—and you feel yourself clenching around the intrusion.
"Fuck, you're tight," he groans. "Even like this. Even when you're dripping for me."
He works all three fingers deep, curling them ruthlessly against that spot until your thighs are shaking and you're gasping his name.
"Please—"
"Not yet." His other hand grips your hip, holding you still. "I want you desperate for it."
He finger-fucks you hard and fast until you're trembling, until you're so close to the edge you could cry, and then he pulls his fingers out.
You hear him freeing himself, and then the blunt head of his cock presses against your entrance.
He's big—you know this, you've taken him so many times before—but somehow it still makes your breath catch.
He pushes forward slowly at first, just the tip breaching you, and the stretch makes you gasp. Then he grips your hips with both hands and drives in hard—one brutal thrust that buries him completely.
The stretch is overwhelming. You feel split open, stuffed full, every nerve ending screaming as he sinks impossibly deep. He's so thick that you feel the drag of every inch, the way your body has to adjust to accommodate him.
"Oh god—Ken—!"
"Fuck," he chokes out, voice strained. "You feel—god—so fucking tight—"
He stays buried deep for a moment, letting you feel the fullness, the way he's stretching you open. You can feel him pulsing inside you, can feel your own body clenching around him reflexively.
Then he pulls back almost all the way out and slams back in.
The force drives you forward, and you brace yourself against the mattress as he sets a brutal rhythm—deep, powerful thrusts that make you feel every inch of him.
His hands grip your hips hard, fingers digging in as he fucks you relentlessly.
"You like it when I fuck you like this?" He grunts. "Answer me."
"Yes—!"
"Good girl," he growls, slamming in deep.
Every thrust is hard, deliberate, and you can barely think through the intensity of it.
"Oh god—"
He drives in deeper. "That's right. You take it perfectly."
The sound of skin against skin fills the room—wet and obscene. He's relentless, fucking you with a roughness you've never felt from him before.
He changes his angle slightly, pulling your hips higher, and suddenly he's hitting even deeper. The new position makes you sob.
"Tell me what you want."
"You—I want you—"
"You have me." He punctuates it with a particularly brutal thrust. "All of me."
One hand slides up your spine and tangles in your hair. He pulls hard, arching your back and changing the angle again. Suddenly he's even deeper, hitting that perfect spot with every thrust.
Your back arches sharply, and a broken cry tears from your throat.
"Ah—ah—Ken—"
He releases your hair only to push your shoulders down hard, pinning you to the mattress. Your ass is high in the air now, and the angle lets him drive impossibly deep.
"You're exactly where you need to be." His grip tightens. "Do you understand?"
"Yes—!"
He picks up the pace, fucking you even harder now, and you can hear his breathing getting ragged.
"Fuck—" His voice cracks slightly. "You feel so fucking good—"
His other hand slides around to your front, fingers finding your clit, and the added stimulation makes you whimper.
His rhythm falters for just a second. His grip on your hip loosens slightly, becomes less bruising.
He drives in deep and holds there, grinding against you, and you feel him shudder.
"I'm so close—"
"I know." His fingers circle your clit faster, and his voice has lost that commanding edge. Now it's just... him. Your Kento. "Let go."
He pulls back and thrusts in again, deeper now. "Please," he breathes against your back. "Come for me, sweetheart. I need—I need to feel you—"
His other hand releases your hip and slides up your side to cup your breasts, gently now despite the force of his thrusts.
"Oh Ken—“
"That's it," he groans, and you can hear the emotion in his voice.
"Ah—ah—I'm gonna—"
"Yes—" His voice finally breaks. "Please, honey, come for me—"
Your orgasm crashes over you intensely. You clench around him rhythmically, your whole body shaking, and you hear yourself crying out his name but you can barely process it through the pleasure.
"OH—oh my GOD—Ken—"
"Fuck—" He groans, and his voice is wrecked now, all pretense of control gone. "You're so beautiful—"
He continues to thrust into you, but his movements have changed completely.
He breathes against your back, "So good for me—always so good—"
His fingers never stop circling your clit, drawing out every aftershock until your vision starts swimming.
"Too much—"
"One more." He groans, and it's a plea now, not a command. "Please, baby—I need to feel you come again—need it—"
He adjusts the angle slightly, pulling you back against him with one arm wrapped around your waist. The new position lets him grind into you with every thrust, hitting that perfect spot while his fingers keep working your clit.
"All mine," he says softly.
His fingers circle your clit faster, and the sensation of him inside you and his hand on you is too much.
Your breath catches in your throat.
"That's it, baby," he encourages, voice soft and loving now. "I can feel you—so close—"
He grinds deep, staying buried inside you, and the constant pressure of him filling you, finally pushes you over.
Your second orgasm hits and it's stronger than the first—overwhelming. Your vision whites out and you scream his name as your body convulses around him, clenching so tight your legs start to tingle.
"I love you—" you gasp.
"Fuck—" His rhythm breaks completely. "I’m—“
He buries himself as deep as he can go, and you feel him start to pulse inside you.
"I love you—" he chokes out. "God, I love you so much—“
He comes with a broken groan, and you feel him pulsing inside you, filling you with heat. His whole body shudders against yours, and he wraps both arms around you, holding you tight against him as he empties himself deep inside you.
You feel his release start to drip down your thigh as he finally stills, and you hear him make a soft, overwhelmed sound as he collapses forward over you, careful not to crush you but unable to hold himself up anymore.
Then, carefully, he pulls out. He pulls you against him, your back to his chest for a moment while he catches his breath.
Once his breathing is even again, he leaves for a moment and returns with a warm washcloth. His touch is so gentle now as he cleans you. The contrast makes your heart feel full.
When he's done, he helps you roll over. His hair is a mess. His face is still flushed. He looks thoroughly undone.
He pulls you against his chest, and you feel him take a slow breath.
Then, very quietly he says, "…Was I satisfactory?"
The question catches you off guard. Even now, it sounds less like insecurity than quiet sincerity. You can't help but smile against his skin.
"More than satisfactory," you whisper.
His arms tighten around you. "I'm glad," he murmurs into your hair. His hand traces slow patterns across your back. From your shoulder blade to your spine, then back up again soothingly.
"How long?"
You blink against his chest. "What?"
"How long have you been reading those stories?"
Your face heats. "…A while."
"Months?"
"…Yes."
His hand pauses briefly, then resumes its path. "I see."
Silence settles between you again, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable. It feels like he's processing.
"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice is quiet and genuinely curious. "We've been together over a year… sweetheart, we’re engaged.”
You shift slightly in his arms. "I didn't know how. It felt… embarrassing."
"Embarrassing," he repeats, like he's testing the word. "To want something from me?"
"To want that from you." You press your face into his shoulder. "You're always so controlled. So careful with me. I didn't know if you'd even want to—"
"I did."
You pull back enough to look at him. "You did?"
His expression is serious. "I've always wanted to give you what you need. I simply didn't know what that was." His thumb brushes along your jaw. "I wish you'd known you could tell me."
"I know." Your voice comes out small. "I just… couldn't find the words."
He considers that. "What specifically appealed to you? About those stories."
God, he really does want to understand.
"The… the way you—he—took control," you say carefully. "The certainty. Like there was no question about what he wanted or how he'd get it."
"And that's what you wanted from me."
"…Yes."
His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck. "Did I give you what you needed tonight?"
You meet his eyes. "Yes. God, yes."
"Good." He pulls you closer, and you feel him exhale slowly against your hair. "I want you to tell me these things directly. I can't read your mind."
"I know."
"If there's something you want from me—anything—tell me.”
His words settle something deep inside you. "Okay."
"I mean it." His voice is firm now, almost stern. "Promise me."
"I promise."
He holds you tighter, and you feel some tension leave his body. "Good."
You stay like that for a while, wrapped around each other, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
Your throat tightens. "Thank you for not making me feel ashamed of it."
His lips press against your forehead. "Darling, I could never be ashamed of you."
And that's all either of you needs to say.
CHOSO ♡ WANTED
You hear the knock just as you’re trying to decide between two shirts.
“Coming!”
You glance at yourself in the mirror one more time. “…Actually.” A laugh slips out.
“Come in! It’s unlocked! I’ll be right out!”
“Alright.” Choso’s voice is as quiet and even as ever.
A second later, the front door opens and closes. He slips off his shoes automatically before stepping into your apartment.
The place is familiar. A blanket thrown over the couch. One of your mugs abandoned on the coffee table. A book left open where you’d clearly been reading.
And your laptop. Still awake. He only glances at it because something catches his eye. His own face.
He stops. “…Hm.”
He steps closer. Not to pry. Just to make sure he’s seeing what he thinks he is. It really is him. A photograph. His name.
Choso Kamo x Reader
His brow furrows. “…Reader?” He says the word quietly to himself, trying to understand it.
His gaze drifts lower. There are paragraphs underneath. He reads without really meaning to. His expression changes almost imperceptibly. His ears begin to redden.
He reads one more sentence.
Then another.
“…This is…”
A story... about him… about you.
He simply stands there, staring. Not embarrassed. Confused.
Why would someone imagine this?
Why would they imagine him?
More importantly… Why were you reading it?
Your footsteps break the silence. He looks up just as you round the corner. Your eyes land on him. Then on the laptop. Still open. Still displaying his face.
Your stomach drops. “…Choso.”
His attention leaves the screen immediately. “I apologize.” He steps back from the coffee table without hesitation. “I wasn’t trying to read your computer.”
A small pause. “I saw my face.”
You open your mouth but nothing comes out.
He watches you for another moment before asking, with complete sincerity, “…Why would someone write something like this about me?”
“I…” Your brain completely empties. “…Choso…”
“Yes?”
“It’s not…” You stop… then start over. “I didn’t write it.”
“…No?”
“I’m just…” Your face burns. “…Reading it.”
His eyes widen just a fraction. “…You’re reading stories…” He glances at the laptop. “…About me.”
It’s not really a question. Just something he’s trying to fit together in his head.
You nod. “…Yeah… I know it’s strange.”
“No.” He answers so quickly it surprises you. “I just…” He searches for the right words. “I didn’t think anyone would imagine me that way.”
That lands somewhere deep in your chest. You laugh once, weakly. “…Trust me.”
He looks at you.
“…There are a lot of people imagining you that way.”
He blinks. “…There are?”
You nod, mortified. “…A lot.”
He’s quiet for several seconds. Thinking. Then his gaze returns to you. “…But you chose to read them.”
“…Yeah.”
“…Because you wanted to?”
You nod again.
His voice grows quieter. “…You wanted me.”
Heat floods your face. “…Yes.”
He takes a slow step toward you. “…Like that?”
“…Yes.”
Another step. “…You’ve imagined me touching you.”
“…Choso…”
“…Imagined what I’d say.” He’s close now. Close enough that you can feel the warmth coming off him. “…What I’d be like.”
Your breath catches. “…Yes.”
His hand lifts to your face, cupping your jaw with surprising tenderness. “…I’ve wanted you for months.”
His voice is barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think…” He shakes his head once. “I didn’t think you could want me too.” He rests his forehead against yours. “…Tell me this is real.”
You smile nervously despite yourself. “It is.”
“…You want me?”
“I do.”
Only then does he let out the breath he’d been holding. His shoulders finally relax, and for the first time since walking into your apartment, he smiles. It’s small, almost disbelieving.
“…Good.”
He doesn’t move. He just looks at you. Like he’s trying to memorize your face. Like he’s afraid that if he blinks, you’ll disappear.
His thumb brushes across your cheek once. “…I really thought I was the only one feeling this.”
You shake your head.
His eyes soften, the last trace of uncertainty fading.
Then he's on you. His mouth crashes into yours—desperate and hungry, with months of restraint exploding in an instant. He walks you backward until your back slams against the wall. His body presses into yours, pinning you there. You can feel how hard he is. He’s thick and straining against his pants, pressing into your hip.
"…Fuck—" The word tears out of him. "…Can't believe—this is—“
He hikes your skirt up, bunching it around your waist. He drops to his knees like he's worshipping at an altar. His hands grip your thighs rough and desperate, and he lifts you, hoisting you up against the wall as your legs drape over his shoulders.
"…Oh god—"
For a second he just stares. Your pussy right in front of his face. Already wet. Already wanting him.
"…Fuck—you're so—" His voice breaks. "…So fucking perfect—"
Then his mouth is on you. No hesitation. No teasing. His tongue flattens against your clit and he groans, deep and guttural and completely wrecked, like he's tasting something he's been dreaming about.
"…Oh my god—" His words are muffled against you. "…Taste so—mmmgood—"
His tongue works you with single-minded devotion. Circling your clit. Flicking. Sucking. He's moaning into your pussy like he can't help it. Like eating you out is the most incredible thing he's ever experienced.
His hips grind forward desperately, seeking friction against nothing. He's so hard it hurts and he doesn't even care. All he cares about is you. Your taste. Your sounds. The way your thighs squeeze against his face.
"…Choso—oh fuck—"
He groans louder at the sound of his name. His fingers dig into your thighs. They’re bruising and possessive. He’s holding you exactly where he wants you. His tongue slides lower, pushing inside you, fucking you with it while his nose grinds against your clit.
"…Yes—yes—fuck—just like that—"
He's whimpering now. Actually whimpering. Lost in it. Drowning in your pussy like it's the only thing that matters. His face presses harder, his tongue working deeper, and the vibration of his desperate moans sends shocks through your entire body.
"…Cho—oh god—I'm—"
He pulls back just enough to gasp, "…Please" His voice is wrecked. He’s begging you. “I need to feel you come on my face—please”
Then his mouth is back on you. Sucking your clit, hard. His tongue flicking feverishly.
"…Fuck—fuck—Choso—"
He groans and it’s desperate and animalistic. His grip on your thighs tightens until you can't move, can't squirm, can't do anything but take it. You're completely at his mercy and he's treating you like you're the only thing in the world that matters.
"…Give it to me—" His voice is a command. It’s raw and broken. "Come for me—please—need it—"
"…Oh fuck—oh fuck—Choso—I'm—"
It crashes over you like a wave. Your whole body locks up and then.. you gush. Fluid squirts out of you, soaking his face, his chin, and dripping down his neck and chest. You lose control completely, your hips grinding against his mouth as broken sounds tear from your throat.
He moans, loud and utterly destroyed. But his tongue is still working you, lapping at you, drinking you down like he's been dying of thirst. He doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch. He takes everything you give him like it's a gift. Like it's a privilege.
He keeps going. Keeps his mouth on you even as you shake, even as you're gasping his name, even as the aftershocks roll through you in waves. He's completely obsessed.
When he finally pulls back, his face is drenched. His shirt is soaked through, clinging to his chest. He's panting, staring up at you with blown pupils and wet lips, looking absolutely ruined.
For a long moment, he doesn't move. Doesn't speak. He just stares at you like he's trying to remember every second of it. His chest heaves. His hands are still buried where they rest on your thighs.
His hand lifts slowly and he traces a line down your inner thigh. Just... touching you. Grounding himself in the reality that you're here. That this happened. That he just made you come so hard you lost control completely. His eyes are glassy. His whole body is trembling.
Then he's lifting you carefully, like you're something precious. Carrying you down the hall with his hands still shaking. He lays you on the bed with surprising gentleness, then strips your skirt and underwear off completely.
His breathing is still ragged. His pupils are blown so wide they swallow almost all of the amber.
"…Everything you read—" His voice cracks slightly. "…It was real. All of it."
Then he's climbing over you. His cock presses against your entrance, it’s and hot and leaking. He's already losing it. Already drunk on you before he's even inside you.
"…Please—I need—“ The pleas tear from his throat
"…Yes—"
He pushes just the tip in at first. But the sound he makes? Shattered and needy and completely overwhelmed.. It goes straight through you.
"…Oh god—"
His whole body is shaking. “…So tight—so—fuck—"
He sinks deeper. Inch by inch. Filling you completely. His forehead drops to yours and he's hissing at the feeling of being wrapped completely in your walls as he finally bottoms out.
"…Yes—" His voice cracks. He can't form coherent thoughts anymore. Then he starts moving. And he loses it completely.
His hips snap forward. It’s hard, and desperate, and frantic. There’s no rhythm. Just an overwhelming, all-consuming need.
"…I love you—fuck—I love you—“ The words spill out involuntarily.
He buries his face in your neck, panting against your skin. You can feel his breath, it’s hot and ragged, and his chest is heaving against yours. His hands grip you tighter, like he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
He's completely wrecked by the sensation of being inside you. By the reality that this is actually happening.
His hips stutter. He pulls back just to look at you—really look at you. His eyes are unfocused, but they hold everything he can't say out loud. For a second he just stares at you. His jaw clenched. His hands shake where they grip your sides.
Then he's moving again. Harder. Deeper. Chasing the feeling of you around him.
His hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit and he rubs in desperate circles.
"…Oh—Choso—"
"…Please—" He's whining “—Need to feel you come—"
The pressure builds fast, it’s almost overwhelming. "…Choso—I'm—I'm—"
His fingers work harder. His whole body tenses. "…That's it—please—give it to me.”
It crashes over you again. Every muscle seizes before the release tears through you. "…Oh god—oh god—Choso—"
You clench around him, and it’s tight and rhythmic and perfect. He whimpers, his rhythm breaking completely. “…Fuck—yes—just like that—“
He keeps fucking you through it. Prolonging your pleasure. His fingers still working your clit. Drawing it out until you're falling apart underneath him.
"…Wait—wait—too much—"
The sensitivity is becoming unbearable. You push at his chest and he pulls out immediately. He’s confused and worried, but you're already moving. You climb on top of him and straddle his hips.
"…Oh—oh fuck—" His hands fly to your waist. "…You're—"
He stares up at you like you've given him the world. Like watching you take control of him is the best thing he's ever seen.
You sink down slowly, taking him inch by inch, savoring the stretch and fullness. The way his cock fills you perfectly.
"…Fuck—" His voice breaks. "…You're so—I can't—“
You start moving, slowly rolling your hips. Riding him with a deliberate and torturous slowness.
"…Oh god—" His fingers dig into your hips. "…Please—"
"Slow down, Cho—" Your voice is shaky and breathless.
"…Okay—okay—" He's trying. You can see him trying. His jaw is working. Every muscle is taut with restraint. "…Anything—whatever you want—"
You lean forward and kiss him softly. Your foreheads press together as you ride him. He breathes against you, trying to hold on. Like the intimacy of this and the control you have over him right now is almost too much to bear.
His hands slide up your sides, running up your ribcage and resting just below your breasts. Like he's trying to feel every curve, every dip, every inch of you.
His eyes squeeze shut and his whole body tenses beneath you. Every muscle is locked tight, fighting the urge to take over. Fighting himself.
"…I'm sorry—I'm sorry—" His hips buck up into you hard and involuntary. "…Fuck—I’m sorry—sooo sorry—“
"…Cho—"
Then his control shatters completely and his hands slam your hips down as he drives up into you deeper and deeper with every thrust. Taking over. Taking what he needs.
"…Oh—fuck—yes—"
He does it again and again and again. Slamming you down on his cock while fucking up into you brutally.
"…Ah—ah—Choso—"
His face buries in your neck and his breathing is rough against your skin. He just moves. There’s no words, no sounds except his breath and the wet heat between you.
"…Please—" His voice cracks against your skin. "…I need—"
Your nails dig into his shoulders, scratching down his back. “…Choso—fuck—yes—harder”
He's so close that he can barely breathe. “I’m—gonna—“
It hits you both at once. You scream his name as you clench around him, just as he drives as deep as he can possibly go, and comes hard, filling you up completely. You can feel the warmth of his cum shooting into you. His whole body shaking as he holds you down on him. His fingers bruising your hips.
"…Fuck—yes—oh god—yes—"
His hips rock gently with the last of his release. You collapse into him and his arms lock tightly around you immediately—like he's anchoring himself to you. His breathing is ragged against your hair. He stays inside you and just holds you.
"…That was—" He struggles to catch his breath, a small incredulous laugh leaves him. "…Holy fuck."
"…Yeah."
He kisses your shoulder, then your neck. His breathing gradually steadies. His hands move slowly up and down your back, almost like doing it on instinct. “…Better than any fantasy.”
You smile gently with your eyes closed, trying to bring yourself back to the world. “So much better.”
“…Because it was real.”
You open your eyes and watch him for a moment before brushing your thumb across his cheek. “…You know,” you tease softly, “you said ‘I love you’ a lot.”
He freezes. “…I did?”
“More than once.”
His ears go red and he looks away for a second before meeting your eyes again.
“You really wanted me?” It’s barely a whisper.
You lace your fingers through his. “I did.. and I still do.”
He lets out a slow breath and folds you back against his chest. “…I thought I was imagining it,” he murmurs into your hair. “That I was just seeing what I wanted to see.”
You run your fingers through his hair and feel him melt into your touch. "…You weren't."
He holds you tighter, like he needs something to keep him here. To you. To the idea that you could feel the same way he did.
Outside, the city still hums. But inside, there's just the sound of your breathing slowly mixing with his and the quiet rhythm of two people who finally stopped waiting.
INO ♡ … ME?
Your phone buzzes just as you’re tossing a blanket over the back of the couch.
Takuma: Outside.
You grin.
You: Door’s unlocked! Come in! I’ll be one sec!
Takuma: 👍
You laugh to yourself, ducking into your bedroom to grab the hoodie you’d forgotten.
A second later, the front door opens. “Hey?”
“In here!” you call. “I’ll be right out!”
“Okay!”
Ino kicks off his shoes without thinking and wanders into the living room. It already feels familiar. Your favorite blanket is draped over the couch. Two mugs are sitting on the coffee table from yesterday.
A half-empty bag of chips you both forgot about is still sitting where you left it after movie night. He shakes his head with a smile.
“You seriously never clean…”
Then he notices your laptop. Still open. Still awake.
“…You’ll kill the battery.”
He reaches over to close it. Then stops.
“…Huh?”
His own face is staring back at him. He leans closer.
“…That’s me.”
The title above the photo makes him blink.
Takuma Ino x Reader
“…What?” He frowns.
“Reader?”
He doesn’t really know what that means. Curious now, he looks a little lower. There are tags.
#takuma ino x reader
#ino fluff
#ino smut
His ears immediately go pink.
“…No way.”
His thumb twitches against the trackpad. The page scrolls.
“…Oh.”
Another line.
“…OH.”
His entire face goes scarlet. He jerks his hand away from the laptop like it burned him.
“…I definitely shouldn’t have read that.”
He takes one hurried step backward. Then another. Just as your bedroom door opens. You round the corner. You see Ino. Then the laptop.
Still open. Still displaying his face.
“…Takuma.”
His eyes go wide. “I can explain!”
“…Can you?”
“I wasn’t snooping!” He points frantically at the laptop. “I was trying to close it!”
You don’t answer.
“…Then…” He rubs the back of his neck, looking impossibly guilty. “…I saw my own face.”
Silence.
“I swear I wasn’t trying to read it.”
“…It just…” He gestures helplessly. “…Kept being about me.”
You cover your face with both hands. “Oh my god…”
“I didn’t mean to keep scrolling!”
“You kept scrolling?”
“It was an accident!”
You let out the most defeated sigh of your life. “I can never look at you again.”
“What?”
“I have to move.”
“What?”
“To another country.”
Ino laughs. Then he notices you’re serious.
“…Wait.” His smile fades into confusion. He looks back at the laptop. Then at you. “…Those were…”
A pause.
“…Stories.”
“…Yeah.”
“…About me.”
“…Yeah.” Another pause. “…And…” He points between himself and you. “…You were reading them?”
You slowly nod. “…Yeah.”
He blinks. “…Why?”
You stare at him. “…Takuma.”
“No, I mean…” He’s genuinely puzzled. “…Why me?”
You just stare harder. “…Seriously?”
“…I…” He laughs awkwardly. “…I guess I just…” He rubs the back of his neck again. “…I never thought…” His voice gets quieter. “…You liked me.”
That, more than anything, knocks the embarrassment out of you. You lower your hands. “…You’ve seriously never noticed?”
He stares. “…Noticed what?”
“…Takuma.”
“…What?”
“…I’ve had a crush on you for months.”
His mouth falls open. “…You…” He points at himself. “…Me?”
You nod. “…You.”
He just stands there. Processing. Then, very slowly, an enormous grin spreads across his face. “…No way.” He laughs, a bright, and disbelieving laugh. “…No actual way.”
He looks at the laptop. Then back at you. “…You were reading stories because you wanted…” He points at himself again. “…Me?”
Your face burns. “…Please stop saying it like that.”
“I’ve been an idiot.”
“You really have.”
“Oh my god.” He laughs again, running a hand through his hair. “I thought you were just… nice.”
“You thought I was just nice?”
“You brought me soup when I was sick!”
“I like you!”
“I know that now!”
He looks at you for a long second, still smiling like he can’t believe his luck.
“…Can I ask you something?”
“…What?”
“…Would you rather stop reading about me…” He takes a tentative step closer. “…And actually do what happens in those stories?”
Your heart stops. "…What?"
Ino takes another step closer. "I'm serious." His voice is softer now. "I've been thinking about you for months."
"…You have?"
"Yeah." He laughs, a little breathless. "I just… I didn't think I had a chance."
"Takuma…"
"So I'm asking." He's close enough now that you can see the flush spreading down his neck. "Would you rather keep reading about me…"
His eyes meet yours. "…Or let me show you?"
The air between you feels electric.
"…Show me what?"
His smile turns shy. “Everything you've been reading about."
Your breath catches. "…You don't have to—"
"I want to." He reaches out, fingertips brushing your wrist. "I really, really want to."
The touch sends heat racing up your arm. “…Takuma."
"Tell me yes." His thumb traces a circle against your pulse point. "Please."
You can barely breathe. “…Yes."
The word is barely out before he's kissing you. It's not tentative. It's months of restraint breaking all at once.
His hands cup your face, tilting your head back as he deepens the kiss, and you make a sound against his mouth that makes him groan.
"God," he breathes against your lips. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this."
"Show me."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
He kisses you again, slower this time, savoring it. Then his hands slide down to your waist. "Can I…?"
"Yes."
"I didn't finish asking."
You laugh breathlessly. "I don't care. Yes."
His grin is brilliant. "Okay."
He guides you backward toward the couch, never breaking the kiss, until the backs of your knees hit the cushions and you sit down hard.
Ino follows you down, kneeling between your legs, hands sliding up your thighs. "Is this okay?"
"More than okay."
"Good." His fingers find the hem of your shirt. "Can I take this off?"
"Takuma, you can do whatever you want."
He makes a strangled sound. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm already losing my mind."
You reach down and pull your shirt over your head yourself. His eyes go wide.
"…Oh."
"Your turn."
He doesn't need to be told twice. His shirt hits the floor a second later, and then his hands are back on you, sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the underside of your bra.
"You're the prettiest person I've ever seen."
He leans in, pressing kisses along your collarbone. Your fingers thread through his hair. “You're going to kill me."
"Not yet." He grins against your skin. "I haven't even started."
His hands slide around to your back, finding the clasp of your bra. “Can I—?"
“Yes."
His fingers fumble slightly, nervously, before the clasp gives way. The fabric falls away. For a moment, he just stares. “…Fuck." His voice comes out strangled.
"Oh—"
"No, I—" He swallows hard, eyes wide. "You're—" His hands hover, trembling slightly. “Can I touch you?"
"Please."
His hands finally make contact, cupping your breasts, and he gasps.
"Oh my god—you're so soft."
His thumbs brush over your nipples experimentally, and you shiver. He squeezes gently.
"I've wanted to do this for months." He laughs breathlessly. "Every time you wore that blue sweater I tried not to stare."
"Takuma—"
He leans in, pressing a kiss between your breasts. "You have no idea how many times I—"
You pull him up and kiss him hard, cutting him off. When you break away, he blinks. "…Where was I?"
"You were talking too much."
"Right… I definitely was."
His mouth finds your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he takes it into his mouth.
You gasp, arching into him. "Oh—"
He groans around you, and his hand works the other breast, squeezing, thumb brushing over the nipple in time with his tongue. He sucks harder, and your fingers tighten in his hair. He pulls back with a wet sound, immediately moving to the other breast.
"Can't neglect this one."
His tongue flicks over your nipple before he takes it into his mouth, and you feel his other hand slide down to grip your thigh.
"You laughed at one of my jokes three weeks ago—" He switches breasts, licking. "—and I thought about it for two days."
"That's—"
"Pathetic?"
"Sweet."
He grins against your skin, then sucks hard enough to make you moan. His hand slides from your thigh to your ass, squeezing hard.
"Fuck, your body—"
He's alternating between your breasts now, unable to choose, wanting to touch and taste everything at once.
Kissing. Licking. Sucking.
His hands knead your ass while his mouth works your breasts with focus.
"I could do this all day." His teeth graze gently, and you gasp. "Just—fuck—you feel so good in my mouth."
He buries his face between your breasts, kissing there, hands cupping both.
"So warm—"
You grab his face and kiss him again, swallowing whatever he was about to say. He makes a surprised sound, then melts into it, tongue sliding against yours. When you pull back, he's breathing hard.
"You keep interrupting me."
"You keep rambling."
"Mmm.”
He takes one nipple back into his mouth, sucking slowly, thoroughly, and you feel his hand slide back down to grip your ass, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch.
"Want to worship every inch of you."
"Takuma, please—"
"Please what?"
"More."
He pulls back, grinning. "More?"
"Don't tease."
"I'm not teasing." His hands slide down to the waistband of your skirt. "I'm savoring."
"Takuma—"
"But if you want more… I can do that."
You lift your hips, and he slips your skirt up and pulls down your panties. For a second, he just stares. His hands are frozen on your calves.
"…Jesus."
"Oh—"
"No, I—“ He swallows hard. "How are you real?"
"What?"
"You're—" His eyes drag up your body slowly, taking in every inch. "You're perfect."
"Stop—"
"I'm serious." His voice comes out rough. "I've been thinking about this nonstop.” His hands slide up your calves to your knees. "Thinking about you." Higher now, to your thighs. "About touching you." He squeezes gently, and you feel the tremor in his fingers. "About how you'd feel."
"Mhm—"
"And you're—" He shakes his head like he can't believe it. "You're so much better than anything I imagined."
His thumbs stroke the inside of your thighs, and you shiver. His breath catches. He closes his eyes like he's trying to ground himself, then opens them again and they’re dark with want.
His hands slide higher, spreading your thighs wider. "How the hell did I get you interested in me?" His voice comes out rough, almost broken with disbelief.
“Have you seen yourself?" You ask him.
He laughs breathlessly. "Have you seen you?"
His gaze drops between your legs, and he makes a strangled sound. "Fuck."
"Eloquent."
"I'm—" He can't seem to finish the sentence. His hands are shaking now as they grip your thighs. "You wore that skirt last week and I couldn't stop thinking about what was under it." He leans in, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "And now I get to find out."
His breath is hot against your skin as he kisses higher. His hands slide around to grip your ass, pulling you closer to the edge of the couch.
"Can I?"
"Yes—"
"I need to hear you say it." His eyes meet yours. "Tell me I can taste you."
"Please—"
"Say it."
"Taste me, Takuma."
He groans. "Fuck, I love hearing you say my name." His hands squeeze your ass, kneading the flesh. "You're so soft." Another kiss to your inner thigh. “So perfect." He's so close now you can feel his breath against you. "I can't believe this is real."
"It's real."
"Good." He presses one more kiss to your thigh. "Because I've been dying to do this." Then his mouth is on you, and you cry out.
"Fuck—oh god—"
He hums against you, the vibration making you jerk. His tongue is everywhere—circling, flicking, pressing—and you can't think, can't breathe, can only feel.
"Oh god—oh god—"
His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he works you over meticulously.
"Takuma—I—"
He pulls back just enough to speak. "You taste so good." Then he's back, tongue pressing flat against you before circling your clit, and you're gone.
"I'm—I'm gonna—"
"Do it." His voice is muffled against you. "Come for me."
The orgasm hits you, and you cry out his name, fingers tangled in his hair as pleasure crashes through you.
He doesn't stop. He works you through it, tongue gentling but never leaving, until you're gasping and oversensitive and pulling at his shoulders.
"Takuma—too much—"
He pulls back, grinning. His lips are wet. "Too much?"
"I need—"
"What do you need?"
You reach for his belt. “You."
His eyes darken. "Yeah?"
"Please."
He stands, making quick work of his pants, and then he's naked in front of you, and—
"…Oh."
He laughs, a little self-conscious. "Is that a good 'oh'?"
"Very good." You slide off the couch, sinking to your knees in front of him.
His eyes go wide. "Wait—you don't have to—"
"I want to." You reach up, wrapping your hand around him, and he gasps. "Oh—"
"Is this okay?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
You stroke him slowly, watching the way his stomach muscles tense. "You're so hard."
"I—yeah—" His voice is already strained. You lean in, pressing a kiss his tip, and he makes a strangled sound. "Oh my god—" You lick a stripe up the underside, and his hand flies to your hair. "Fuck—"
Then you take him into your mouth. "Oh—" His fingers slide into your hair. "Your mouth—" You take him deeper. "Fuck—"
You hollow your cheeks, and he groans, hips thrusting forward. "Sorry—I—“ You take him deeper in response, and the apology dies in his throat. "God—"
His other hand joins the first, cradling your head. "You look—" His voice breaks. "On your knees like this—"
You pull back slowly, tongue swirling around the tip, and he shudders. “I've thought about this." The words come out rough. "Your mouth on me—but this is—"
You take him deep again, relaxing your throat, your nose almost touching his abs, and he makes a choked sound.
"—so much better—" His fingers tighten in your hair. You bob your head, finding a rhythm, and his breathing becomes uneven. "The way you—the way your lips—" You hum around him, and his knees nearly buckle.
"Oh fuck—"
You can feel him throbbing against your tongue, getting harder. His whole body goes rigid, trembling as he forces his eyes open to watch you. His breathing fractures into something desperate and broken.
His thumb strokes your cheek, gentle even as his hips continue to pump into your mouth. You encourage the movement, hands gripping his thighs, and he gasps.
"You're taking me so—so well—" His voice is getting quieter, more broken. "Every time you—when you do that thingwith your tongue—"
You do it again, and he moans. “—yeah, that—fuck—"
You can feel him losing control, his whole body trembling. "Your eyes—looking up at me like that—" His breathing is harsh now, desperate. "I'm close—I'm—"
You suck harder, and his words fragment completely. “I—can't—too good—you're—"
His cock pulses against your tongue. "Gonna—I'm gonna—"
Suddenly he pulls back, hands gentle but urgent as he guides you off him.
"Wait—wait—"
You look up at him, confused, and he's staring down at you with wild eyes.
"I'll be damned if I come before I even get to fuck you."
His voice is wrecked, shaking. "Need to be inside you—need to feel you—"
He helps you up, hands trembling as they grip your arms.
The moment you're standing, he kisses you hard and demanding, tasting himself on your tongue. When he pulls back, he's breathing hard.
"You're incredible." He cups your face with both hands. "You're—you're everything."
"Mm—"
"I'm serious." He kisses your forehead, your nose, your lips. "Everything."
You reach for him, and he comes willingly, letting you pull him down onto the couch. You push at his shoulders until he's sitting, then swing a leg over his lap. His hands immediately find your hips.
His eyes are locked on yours, wide and dark and full of want. "You bit your lip when you were concentrating on that movie last week and I couldn't focus for the rest of it."
You reach between you, wrapping your hand around him, and he groans. You stroke him slowly, watching his face. He rocks up into your hand with a groan. "You were actually reading those stories about me."
His eyes are half-lidded, watching you stroke him. "And now you're here. Actually touching me." He laughs breathlessly, shaking his head. "I can't—"
You position him at your entrance, and before he can say anything else, you sink down.
The groan that tears from his throat is deep and broken. "Oh—oh fuck—"
You take him slowly, inch by inch, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise.
"I've wanted this—" His voice breaks.
Another inch.
"You feel so good—" His head falls back against the couch, throat exposed, and you can see him swallowing hard.
You sink down completely, taking him completely, and he makes a sound like he's been punched.
"Oh my god—" His hands grip your hips. One hand slides up to cup your breast, squeezing.
"You laughed at my joke three weeks ago," he breathes, staring at your chest like he's never seen anything more beautiful. "And I couldn't stop thinking about it."
He leans forward, taking your nipple into his mouth, and groans around it. The vibration makes you clench around him, and he pulls back with a gasp.
"Fuck—when you do that—" His other hand slides around to grip your ass.
"I've stared at your ass so many times—tried to be respectful—" He laughs, a little hysterical. “But I couldn't help it—"
You lean down and kiss him hard, cutting him off. He makes a surprised sound, melting into it. When you pull back, he's breathing harder.
Both hands are on your ass now, gripping tight, pulling you down harder onto him. You both moan.
His voice breaks. “God you’re so—wet—fuck"
He's staring at where you're joined now, watching himself disappear inside you.
"Look at you taking me—" One hand slides from your ass to your hip, thumb stroking your skin.
"You were actually reading those stories about me—" His voice cracks with disbelief. “And now you're here—"
Both hands are on your breasts now, squeezing and kneading. He leans forward, kissing between them, his lips warm against your skin. His hips buck up, and you gasp at the angle. His thumb finds your clit, and he groans.
"Fuck—right there—"
He circles slowly, watching your face as you react to his touch. “Right—here?”
He circles slowly, and you clench around him. "Fuck—when you squeeze me like that—" His head falls back again. "I can't think—"
You start rolling your hips, just slightly, and his words fragment.
"Oh—oh god—" His hands fly to your hips, gripping. "You're—the way you move—" His hips are moving now, small thrusts upwards. His hands grip tighter, his thumb presses harder against your clit, and he's losing it.
You lift up and sink back down, harder this time, and he gasps. "Oh fuck—"
His breath catches, stuttering out in broken gasps. His eyes go glassy, unfocused, like his mind is breaking under the sensation of you.
"This is—fuck, is perfect—"
"Right there—"
"You're so—"
You grab his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. "’KUMA" Your voice is stern.
He blinks, eyes focusing on yours, looking almost confused. "I—what—"
You hold his gaze. "Shut up and fuck me."
His eyes go even darker. "Yes, ma'am." He swallows hard. "Fuck, you're so hot."
You kiss him hard, swallowing whatever else he was about to say. He groans into your mouth, hands tightening on your hips.
Then you start moving. Slowly at first, rolling your hips, finding the angle that makes you both gasp.
He breaks the kiss with a moan. "Oh—oh fuck—" You lift up and sink back down, taking him deep.
"Yes—" His hands guide you, helping you move. "Just like that—" You move faster, riding him properly now.
"God—you feel so good—" His thumb finds your clit again, circling. "So fucking good—"
You're already so close. But you want to feel every second of this.
"Takuma—"
"Yeah?" His voice is strained, breathless.
"Touch me."
"I am touching you—"
"More."
His free hand slides up your side, over your ribs, cupping your breast. "Like this?"
"Yes—"
He squeezes, thumb brushing over your nipple, and you gasp.
You roll your hips again and he groans.
“Fuck—"
"Keep talking."
"What?"
"I like hearing you."
His eyes go even darker. "You remember when you fell asleep on my shoulder? Your head was right here—" His hand slides up to your neck, thumb stroking your jaw. "And I just... sat there. Didn't move for two hours."
"Mmm—"
"Thought about this." His hips thrust up to meet yours. "About having you like this—" The angle shifts slightly, and suddenly he's hitting that perfect spot inside you.
"Oh—!”
"There?"
"Yes—right there—!”
You move faster, chasing the pleasure building in your core. His hand on your breast squeezes gently, possessive. "Never thought I'd actually get to feel this—"
"'Kuma—"
“I love watching you." His thumb presses harder on your clit. "Love feeling you—"
"I'm getting close—"
"Good." His voice drops lower. "Want to feel you come on my cock."
"Fuck—"
"Want to feel you squeeze me—"
You're right on the edge. “Mmm—“
"You're so beautiful like this." His hand slides from your breast down to your hip, hard.
"Taking what you want—"
"Yes—!”
"Using me—"
"Oh god—!”
"I'm yours." His eyes lock on yours. "Completely yours."
The building orgasm is almost unbearable.
"Taku—I can't—"
"Yes you can." His thumb circles faster. "Let go." He thrusts up harder. “I can feel you—so close to coming for me baby girl.”
"Mhm—it’s right—there—“
"Do it." His voice is commanding now, desperate. "Come for me."
"Ah—ah—taku—“
"Please—" His other hand slides up to cup your face. “I need you to fall apart."
"I'm—"
"Come—God baby—pleeasee.” he wines. His thumb presses hard on your clit.
That does it. The orgasm crashes over you like a bomb, sudden and overwhelming. Your whole body goes taut, every muscle tensing.
"Yes—Oh god—" You can feel yourself clenching around him, pulsing.
"Fuck—" He groans beneath you, feeling every contraction. "That's it—" The sensation is almost too much, bordering on pain.
His thumb keeps circling, drawing it out. Wave after wave crashes through you. "’Kuma—" Your thighs are shaking, your whole body twitching.
"I've got you." His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as you ride it out. "So pretty—"
You can't form words anymore, just broken sounds.
"That's it—"
You finally collapse forward onto his chest, completely spent.
"I know—baby—“ His arms come around you immediately, holding you close. "I've got you—"
You lift your head just enough to capture his mouth with yours. The kiss is deep and messy, tongues sliding together. He groans into your mouth, hands sliding up your back. You kiss him harder, tasting the salt of sweat on his lips. His tongue tangles with yours, and you can feel him still hard inside you. When you finally break away, you're both breathing hard. You press kisses along his jaw, down to his neck.
"Fuck—"
You work your way up, kissing and licking until you reach his ear.
"'Kuma—" Your voice comes out breathless, shaky. "I can't—my legs are—useless—" You kiss just below his ear, feeling him shiver. "I need you to bend me over and fuck me."
He goes completely still beneath you. "What?"
You bite his earlobe gently, tugging. "Please."
"Oh my god—" His hands grip your hips hard. "Yes—fuck yes—" You can hear the excitement in his voice, feel the way his cock twitches inside you.
"Holy shit." He's already moving, helping you lift off him. "Yes—absolutely—fuck—"
You turn around on shaky legs, bracing yourself against the arm of the couch. Face down, ass up.
Behind you, Ino makes a strangled sound. "Oh my god."
You look back over your shoulder at him. He's standing now, staring at you like he's seeing heaven.
"You're—" His hands come to your hips, then slide down to grip your ass. He squeezes hard, kneading, and you gasp.
"Fuck—I love your ass." One hand slides between your legs, fingers brushing through the wetness there.
He lines himself up, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, like he’s taking a mental picture of this moment. He pushes in slowly, and you both groan. "Oh—"
From this angle, he feels even bigger, stretching you. He grips your ass with both hands, pulling you back onto him. He starts moving, slow at first, watching.
"I can see—" His voice breaks. "Can see myself—filling you—“
“Faster—"
He picks up the pace, hips snapping forward. The sound of skin on skin fills the room. One hand comes down on your ass with a sharp smack.
"Oh—ah!”
"Fuck—" He does it again, watching the way you jolt forward.
"You're taking me so deep like this—" His hands grip your hips, pulling you back to meet his thrusts.
"Mmmmfuuuck” You moan against the couch cushion.
"The way you—when I—" His words are fragmenting, overwhelmed. Another smack, and you moan. "Yes—like that—"
He's fucking you harder now, the angle letting him go deeper. "Every time I—you get tighter—" One hand slides around to find your clit. "Want to feel you come again—"
His fingers circle, and you gasp. "Oh GOD—“
"You're shaking—"
"Fuck—please!”
"I'm close too—fuck—so close—" His hips are moving frantically now. “You're going to—I'm going to—"
His fingers press hard on your clit. The orgasm hits you like lightning. You clench around him, and he groans. "Oh fuck—"
You're pulsing and squeezing him in waves. "Yes—yes—!”
He slams into you one more time, burying himself deep. "I'm—" You feel him pulse inside you filling you with thick hot ropes of cum. “Fuuuuckkk—" His whole body shudders, hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave marks.
He's groaning, broken sounds falling from his lips as he empties himself inside you.
You're both trembling, pleasure washing through you in waves. He collapses forward slightly, pressing kisses to your back breathing into you. Then he carefully pulls out, and you both wince.
"Come here." He helps you turn around, pulling you against his chest. "You okay?"
"I—yeah—that was—“
You're both sweaty, exhausted, completely satisfied. He kisses the top of your head. His arms come around you, holding you close.
“Better than those stories?” He murmurs.
You laugh breathlessly against his neck, then pull back to look at him. He's grinning, sweaty and flushed and absolutely beautiful.
"So much better."
"Good." He kisses you again. “Because I plan on doing that again."
"Again?"
"Many, many times."
You laugh. “Ambitious."
"I'm serious." His hands slide up your back. “I've been waiting months for this…. So we have a lot of time to make up for."
"Is that so?"
"Definitely." He shifts, and you wince. "Sorry”
"It's okay."
"Come here." He pulls you closer, tucked against him completely. "Better?"
"Yes.” You rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow.
He's quiet for a moment. Then, “Can I admit something?"
"Depends."
"I think I talked too much."
You look at him. "…You think?"
He groans into the pillow. "I got nervous."
You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “I know."
"It was bad, wasn't it?"
"No." You shift to look at him properly. "Don't stop."
He blinks at you. “…Really?"
"Really."
His expression softens, something vulnerable crossing his face. "You mean it?"
"I love it." You reach up and cup his face. "It's you. All of you. The rambling, the overthinking, the way you can't keep your thoughts in your head—I love that about you."
He leans into your touch. "Even when I'm being ridiculous?"
"Especially then." You kiss him gently. “Don't change. Not for me. Not for anyone."
He smiles against your lips. "Okay." He pulls you closer. "I can do that."
The moment settles into comfortable silence.
Then, "…Takuma?"
"Yeah?"
"I can't believe you read my laptop."
He laughs. "I can't believe you were reading smut about me."
"It wasn't just smut."
"Oh?"
"Some of it was fluff."
"Fluff?"
"You know. Cute stuff."
He grins. "Like what?"
"Like… you bringing me coffee. Or holding my hand. Or—"
"Or this?" He presses a kiss to your forehead.
"…Yeah. Like this."
"Good." His arms tighten around you. "Because I plan on doing all of that too."
"The fluff and the smut?"
"Especially the smut."
You laugh, swatting his chest. "You're ridiculous."
"You like it."
"I do." You tilt your head up to look at him. "I really do."
His expression softens. "I like you too."
"Just like?"
"Okay, fine." He cups your face. "I'm crazy about you."
"Better."
"And now that I know you feel the same way…" He grins. "I'm never letting you go."
"Promise?"
"Promise." He kisses you again, slow and sweet. When he pulls back, his eyes are warm. "So… can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Are you going to keep reading those stories?"
You feel your face heat. "…Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"I mean… they're well-written."
He laughs. "Well-written."
"They are!"
"I'm sure."
He's grinning now. "But you know what?"
"What?"
"I think we can do better." He pulls you closer. "We've got the real thing now."
You smile against his chest. "Yeah. We do."
Outside, the city hums. Your laptop sits forgotten on the coffee table, screen finally dark. And for the first time in months, you don't need the stories. You have something better. You have him.
