thinking about zayne ramming his cock in you after a long day of work and suddenly slowing down to feel every spasm and twitch you do, all while he runs his hand on the curve of your back — pulling away just to watch how you squirm under him, bent and already boneless, pulling himself almost all the way out before slamming back in with such force enough to knock the air out of your lungs just to hug you from behind, his large hands creeping up on your neck to crane it next to his face, putting just a little pressure to choke you, capturing your lips in a sloppy manner, drunk from how nice and tight your pussy clamp on him. who knew stress fucking could be so good?
professor! satoru gojo who’s always been so good at his job. he explains difficult concepts of physics and mathematics deftly, and he takes pride in that.
professor! satoru gojo who was assigned to teach a class, already halfway in the semester due to some faculty issues that suguru called “monkey business” one afternoon of his smoke break out the university. he didn’t like the additional workload but it’s not like he could refuse— it came with benefits too, so he shrugged it out and went with it.
professor! satoru gojo whose attention was caught by the paper you submitted during your sophomore year. it was excellent and it was rare for him to see polished reports from students taking engineering classes.
professor! satoru gojo who took note of your name and memorized it, curious to see who it was when he handed the papers next day.
professor! satoru gojo who fell fast and hard after meeting your eyes for the first time during your sophomore year. it felt like it lulled him in with how unbothered you were, giggling with your friends on the score you got when he handed the papers back.
professor! satoru gojo who knew instantly that he was fucked. he knew it was wrong, hell, it was unethical.
professor! satoru gojo who always looked forward to teaching your class, because it meant seeing you participate on his discussions. he noticed your sharp wit and intelligence in grasping difficult concepts and formulas.
professor! satoru gojo who found himself stealing more and more glances your way, observing you whenever you’re not looking—unconsciously memorizing your features and mannerisms.
professor! satoru gojo who loved hearing your voice whenever you participate on his recits, deliberately calling you on difficult problems, making you go down the lecture hall to solve the equation on the board, just a few steps away from him.
professor! satoru gojo who always used that opportunity to observe you up close from a safe distance, realizing right there and then that he was utterly fucked for catching feelings for his damn student.
professor! satoru gojo who knew it was all so wrong, unethical, and incredibly inappropriate — but it all paled in comparison to how good he felt as he pumped his cock full thinking it was your hand doing it instead, your eyes— those damn eyes— watching him as he comes, hard and fast, his eyes squeezed shut as pleasure thrummed throughout his body.
professor! satoru gojo who reveled with how your gazes never bothered to linger on him. never seemingly interested at him at all, and good-fucking-god that made him crave for you even more. he wanted nothing but to have your eyes on him, only him.
professor! satoru gojo who gets hard whenever he saw your email notifications, palming himself as reads your letters of clarifications, heads up and whatnots—pathetic, as he would call it, but still does it anyway, eventually jerking off.
professor! satoru gojo who’s head was thrown back on his swivel chair, moaning your name over and over again, as he slowed down his pace, dragging his thumb over the tip of his cock, smearing the leaking precum before pumping his fist full as he thought of bending you over on his desk—have your eyes on him, just him—all drunk and wrecked, rolling back as he buries himself deep in you.
professor! satoru gojo whose hips buckled as he came again, breathing all ragged and broken, abs contracting from how hard pleasure crashed over him.
professor! satoru gojo who wiped himself clean before responding to your emails like nothing fucking happened.
professor! satoru gojo who ached and yearned for you and your voice and eyes and everything about you during the whole summer break — a whole month and a week of not seeing you felt like hell, a cruel punishment for him for wanting you like how his lungs needed air to breathe.
professor! satoru gojo who also happened to be your nuclear physics professor in your third year this new semester.
professor! satoru gojo who noticed you trimmed your hair just a few inches and framed your face with a few bangs. he noticed how you got a new ear piercing as well—his stomach fluttering and tightening as he admired you from afar, answering the quiz he administered.
professor! satoru gojo who noticed how your shoulders tensed up when he called you, and that it was the first time you gave a visible somatic reaction to him.
professor! satoru gojo who started noticing the littlest ways of how he affected you, so he started pushing past the boundaries to see the limits of what he could safely cross until you break.
professor! satoru gojo who met your eyes firmly during discussions, watching you subtly panic under his heavy gaze. it had him spiraling down—he knew you’re starting to notice it too. and he wondered if you think about him the same way you consume his waking days vehemently.
professor! satoru gojo who deliberately leans a little closer to you whenever you’d call him to ask about something, desperately craving for the warmth your body could offer through distance and layers of fabric.
professor! satoru gojo who’s hand and touches lingered just a tad too long just to see you squirm and mask it immediately, swallowing thickly before turning away to say goodbye. fuck. he gets off with that. he knew. he knew that it’s probably a matter of time before he either 1) lose his fucking license or 2) has you beneath him.
professor! gojo satoru who felt the strand of his restraint snapped the moment you crashed your lips on his, tugging on his hair like you actually craved him the way he badly ached for you and your whole being.
professor! satoru gojo who whimpered and panted so fucking loudly on your ears as he actually pistoned inside you. he couldn’t believe this was happening—he was desperate to ingrain the sensation in his very being.
professor! satoru gojo whose thrusts were steady and feverish, still so unsure how he managed to get you to agree with this, sprawled and undone on his desk. you clung to him eagerly—repeated his name in a hushed manner, afraid that someone might come in and walk in the two of you fucking.
professor! satoru gojo who doesn’t care—it was crazy how he’s so willing to drop everything for you, just for you to be his, it doesn’t matter.
professor! satoru gojo who knew then and there that the moment he laid his eyes on you, he was yours even before you knew it.
author’s note 𓍼ོ this is my first time writing like this haha i’ll drop the full fic later after finishing my reviewer. hope u enjoyed it, thanks for reading! feel free to interact with me <3 hearts and kisses!
thinking about vampire! satoru gojo who spent centuries looking for you in the shape of another person, but still the same soul he fell for and only ever loved in his immortal existence, now sitting on his lap, busy with some academic workloads or human things he doesn’t give a shit about—too drunk on your scent, your intoxicating warmth. he has his arms around your waist, under your shirt, gently kneading your flesh, while he buries his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling you deeply, memorizing— he’s aware of his cold touch that might feel scalding on your warm skin but you don’t even flinch nor run from him. no ounce of fear or hatred that he’s not human at all.
there’s a nauseating urge to sink his fangs on the pulse of your neck, the sick and twisted hunger he has for you; to suck your blood and get drunk on the sweetness of your scent and feather light touch—the one he’s fighting so hard because he spent centuries dreaming of you and your warmth, he can’t just ruin you. he can’t just take. can’t just satiate the sick hunger of his nature in expanse of you. so instead he’d plant soft kisses on your nape down to your shoulder like prayers, a desperate plea to ground himself—to not be ruled by his greed.
its hateful, the way craves you with bone-crushing starvation of desire to merge with you— he knows you’ll offer yourself and assure him its okay. but he can’t stomach it if it means erasing your humanity just to appease his appetite that consists of you and only you.
yna’s note 𓍼ོ i’m dying with all our productions and i badly wanna write but i js can’t find the time. we’re almost in our second sem and rn we’re preparing for 1) mag docu 2) musical perf (i’m gonna play as madame morrible) >< pag-ibig ay kanibalismo ii has been stuck in my head for days and i’ll write something soon and hopefully i’ll be able to upload it lol that’s it see u next piece
absurd. really. satoru was aware of the way he said it — too pathetic, too soft, too needy. like the promise of forever still doesn’t feel enough for the magnitude of his love for you.
the way you blinked at him — your face covered with streaks of flour, hair tied up in a messy bun, eyes wide with amusement — whirled him down, pulled him even deeper, freefalling from the steady thumps of his heartbeat that memorized the outline of your name.
then you smiled at him. the smile he swore to cherish, engrave, fulfill. “we’re already married, dummy.” you replied, shaking your head while chuckling as you grabbed a fistful of flour to dust the surface of your kneading board.
he was standing across from you on the kitchen counter, wearing an apron covered with flour and sticky with butter. his bangs fell messily on his forehead, cotton and ivory under the warm tone of the cove ceiling lights.
“i know, but can i marry you again? just for reassurance purposes… and to renew vows. lots of people do it too, you know,” he proposed, persuasively casual like he’s just asking to braid your hair or let him drive you to work like it's a random tuesday morning.
“yeah, but during their 50th wedding anniversary. not every week, and certainly not over baking sessions like this,” you countered — still grinning, still amused. he watched you carefully knead the dough with precision and accurate pressure.
“why wait for our 50th anniversary when we can just do it now? tomorrow? every week?” he groaned as he looked at you with that same look he has for you whenever you’re looking away, or busy with something.
he looked at you with utter longing. yearning to memorize all of your features. soak up and engrave your warmth to his very own bones, have your skin on his so that the gaps of any distance wouldn’t seep beneath his marrow and still somehow leave him hollow and aching for you. for more.
he ripped a part of his dough and shaped it to a perfect ring — crooked, but real, uneven, but he tried his best to really shape it — and offered it to you, who was laughing at his antics.
satoru doesn’t think eternity would ever be enough for this. couldn’t get enough of it, of you, even if he tried (which he definitely wouldn’t because why would he, it felt traitorous to his very own heart and being).
“will you marry me?” he grinned, aiming for the casual and arrogant tone, mighty and tough, but with the slight hitch of his breath, the subtle tremble? it faltered. it sounded more like, ‘say yes, please,’ and ‘i’ll do it all again for you, with you,’
and when you laughed as you walked near him to wear that so-called ring that looked more of a band or loose hair tie, saying yes all over again — it really dawned on him: his arms that wrapped around you, unbothered with the flour, the powders, the mess of it all, engulfed by your scent and warmth, the aliveness of it all — that eternity will never, ever be enough.
warning/s: drug use, smoking, co09 references and canon typical content/themes
author’s note 𓍼ོ i miss them and their unhinged shenanigans. i refuse to acknowledge flopside exists at all. this took place after they ditched the sex addict rehab program, route “rile up a potential stalker” with jeffery (co9 re-up). not thoroughly proofread hehe enjoy <33
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“want one?”
“i guess.”
jecka slipped the cigarette between her lips as she rummaged her purse for a lighter. “damn, you got a lighter? i think i left mine at home.”
“sure.” nicole tossed her the lighter as she exhaled the smoke through her lips. she was leaning her back on the wall behind them with arms crossed, eyeing jecka who was flicking the lighter for spark.
once she was done, she took a drag from the stick — deliberate and slow, just like the way she often does to savor the burn and bitter taste that coats her mouth — and immediately coughed it out. what the fuck?
“what the fuck is this nicole? this is disgusting.“ jecka spat, still trying to cough out the heinous taste that decayed her taste buds. mind you, she’s never picky with cigarettes. she’s used to the cheap, storebought packs that she often burned in two to three days, one when their household gets too fucking loud.
but that? that cigarette is just plain ass.
“where’d you even get that? god,” she gagged, “that’s disgusting.” jecka groaned as she tossed the cigarette and stepped on it to put the light out. when she looked up, she caught a ghost of a smirk from nicole’s lips before she puffed another smoke. “emily gave it to me the other day, said it came from her boyfriend.” nicole shrugged nonchalantly.
of course.
“the college guy?” she stood beside nicole, still reeling from the aftertaste, still scraping her own tongue raw as she leaned on the wall with her arms crossed.
“i think so. want another drag?” nicole offered her stick to jecka with a smile. suspicious. an all too familiar expression when she’s planning something.
“no! i almost choked on the first one, i don’t know how you put up with that. that tastes like burnt rubber and plastic from a fucking sewer.” she grimaced.
nicole chuckled, “i forgot, you need to pop these first before you smoke it,” she opened her left palm and revealed a familiar pill and a… tic tac.
the tic tac.
just when jecka was about to reach and grab both the tictac and xanax, desperate to chase away the awful taste imprinted on her throat, nicole clasped her palm over her mouth, swallowing both the pill and the tic tac.
“what the hell? i thought you were giving it to me.”
“do you want it back?” nicole raised brow.
“now? fuck no. do you have another one?” now, jecka was the one raising her eyebrow at nicole.
did she change her lip gloss…? it somehow looks different. a bit too light and pinkish than before. like a bright cherry pink in color or maybe it’s just the lighting outside today? definitely the lighting… wait why was she even staring on nicole’s lips–
“that’s the last one,”
jecka sighed, throwing her head back on the wall with a groan. she made a mental note to never accept anything nicole would offer her from now on. her head was starting to ache from the burnt chemical aftertaste and the heatwave.
with closed eyes, she could feel the sweat that beaded on her temple.
“we can solve that,” nicole offered. jecka opened her eyes and glanced at nicole who was blankly staring straight ahead. they were behind the campus, near the courtyard, just wasting time away after they managed to escape that sex addict rehab program (and jeffery’s jack and daxter relapse) they were put in – all because they flirted with a mall cop who wasn’t a pedophile.
what a day. thank god this spot was rarely frequented by staff or students. unless of course they were skipping too.
“oh yeah like how?” jecka rolled her eyes. “the vending machine’s too far.”
nicole glanced at her with a smirk.
oh no.
“how bad was the cigarette? out of ten.”
huh? “bitch, like ass out of 10.” jecka scoffed.
“and how bad do you need that tic tac?” nicole asked, her gaze dropping down to jecka’s lips ever-so briefly, one would barely notice it.
not jecka.
she definitely caught that.
did she..?
“a hundred out of ten.”
nicole grinned as she took a drag of her cigarette for the last time before she snuffed the burnt end on the wall behind her with a twist. it was quick, the way she moved. or maybe jecka was just processing things a little slower than usual because of the heat. or because of that shitty cigarette stick. or maybe because of how close nicole was standing in front of her right now.
nicole’s red jacket was falling off one shoulder, her white tank top showing. jecka could smell the strong lavender and floral scent of nicole’s cologne that hijacked her senses. it was mixed and layered with smoke and a faint smell of sweat, making her too dizzy to even think straight.
too drunk from the scent itself.
“what are you doing…?” jecka whispered. she could barely register the violent thumping of her heart or how hot her face felt. she straightened up.
as if that helped.
nicole looked dazed as well; she had flushed cheeks, but the confidence was still there, evident from her gaze that never left jecka’s. she took her hands — swift and gentle — making jecka hitch a breath, all while nicole hooked her fingers in her own mouth, dipping under her tongue to fish out the xanny and the tic tac. she then placed it on jecka’s hand — without breaking eye contact — with another cigarette that she took from her jacket’s pocket.
for a moment, jecka forgot the manuals of breathing.
she couldn’t focus, no. not when incoherent thoughts flooded her mind. not when she kept getting distracted by nicole’s unblinking eyes that locked with hers fiercely; or her lips, just a few inches away from hers, a breath away — how she briefly wondered what it would feel like to run her fingertips on her flushed face. she bet it'd be warm. soft. breathtak –
“try it again next time, then tell me if it’s still ass like what you said.” nicole grinned, before she walked away from jecka.
what the hell?
jecka blinked twice. thrice maybe, in front of her and down to the items on her palm that she was clutching so hard. nicole yelled something from the distance, something like them going to the mall or back to her house to watch some mythbusters – but jecka’s brain was still short circuiting.
after a few seconds she shook her head and exhaled the breath she didn’t know she was holding. she popped the tictac and xanax and lit the cigarette on her mouth. nicole definitely changed her lipgloss – she was right.
it tasted like cherry.
and maybe… just maybe, the cigarette wasn’t as bad as before after she took a drag of it – still ass, sure, but marginally better.
she just doesn’t know if it’s because of the tic tac and xanny combo or from where it came from before she took it.
the next hour’s either going to be torture or… something interesting.
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author’s note 𓍼ོ i hope u enjoyed it… reblogs and hearts are highly appreciated <33 see u next updates hehe
