(Only if you’re comfortable with it of course) Reader cockwarming Nerdjo while he’s trying to study, but he he can’t pay attention, so she ends up riding him.
HEY GIRLIEPOP!!💋💋 sorry for the wait pls forgive me 😓😓!!
mdni + overstimulation, Satoru calls reader mommy once, riding, cockwarming (uhh I’m bad at listing as you can probably tell..)😬
Satoru had a habit of organizing his desk with a precision that bordered on the obsessive. His pens were aligned parallel to the edge of the surface and his notebooks were stacked by size, creating a perfect gradient of paper. He was the kind of man who would notice if a single staple was crooked in a twenty-page report, a trait that made him an incredible researcher but a nightmare for anyone trying to have a spontaneous conversation while he was in the middle of a deep dive.
"You're staring again," Satoru murmured, though he didn't look up from the monitor. He was wearing his oversized reading glasses, the ones that slid down his nose every few minutes, forcing him to push them back up with a practiced flick of his index finger.
"I'm not staring, I'm appreciating," you replied, shifting your weight. You were currently perched on his lap, your legs draped over the armrests of his office chair.
Satoru finally looked up, his eyes softening. He reached out, his hand resting naturally on your thigh, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric. "You're a distraction. A very cute, very persistent distraction."
"A distraction is a professional hazard," you whispered, leaning in until your forehead rested against his. You shifted your hips, feeling the heat of him through the thin fabric of his trousers. Satoru let out a sharp, hitched breath, his fingers digging slightly into your thigh. He tried to look back at the monitor, but his eyes didn't focus on the data anymore. They were glazed, drifting toward you with a sudden, desperate hunger.
You didn't give him a chance to regain his composure. Sliding down slightly, you guided him inside you with a slow, deliberate sink, your expression playful as you watched the precise alignment of his world crumble in real-time. He groaned, a low sound that vibrated in his chest, and his head fell back against the headrest of the chair.
"I... I really need to finish the abstract," he managed to choke out, though he made absolutely no move to push you away. In fact, he arched his hips upward, seeking more of the friction. You chuckled, the sound muffled against his neck, and began to move. You didn't rush it, you took your time, riding the rhythm of his shallow breaths, feeling the way his muscles tightened and relaxed beneath you. The silence of the room was replaced by the rhythmic creak of the office chair and the wet, sliding sound of skin on skin.
"The abstract can wait until tomorrow," you whispered, though you weren't really asking. You shifted your weight, sinking deeper to ensure every inch of him was encased in your warmth.
You began to move in earnest, a slow, grinding circle that forced a strangled sound from the back of his throat. You leaned back, bracing your palms against his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart against your skin. Every time you descended, you felt him gasp, his hips instinctively bucking upward to meet you. He wasn't just accepting the distraction anymore; he was craving it, his body reacting with a desperate, rhythmic hunger that mirrored your own.
"Look at me, Satoru," you commanded, your voice dropping an octave.
He obeyed instantly, his eyelids fluttering open to reveal pupils so dilated they nearly swallowed the iris. You increased the pace, shifting from a slow grind to a sharp, demanding rhythm that drove him deep into the padding of the ergonomic chair. Each time you sank, you felt him shudder, his fingers curling into the fabric of your sweater as if trying to anchor himself to a world that was rapidly dissolving into a blur of sensation.
He tried to speak, to perhaps offer a plea or a question, but the sound was lost to a ragged moan as you leaned forward, pinning his wrists to the armrests with your palms.
You shifted slightly, a slow, teasing movement that made him let out a broken sound of protest and pleasure. "Since you're so fond of your lists and your data, Satoru, we're going to do one more exercise." You leaned in, your voice a playful velvet against his ear. "Recite ten things you love about me. One by one. And for every answer, I'll give you a little bit of what you want."
Satoru blinked, his mind clearly struggling to pivot from the void of pleasure back to cognitive speech. "T-ten?" he managed, his voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. He looked up at you, his expression a mixture of confusion and absolute devotion. He didn't question the demand; he simply began, his voice trembling. "One... the way you look in the morning, before you've even realized you're awake. You’re so adorable baby.”
You rewarded him with a slow, grinding tilt of your hips, a movement so precise it drew a sharp gasp from his lungs. "Two," he hurried, his fingers tightening on your waist, "the way you challenge me when I'm being too stubborn. I love it when you put me in my place. " Another tilt, deeper this time, and Satoru’s head knocked back against the headrest. By the fifth and sixth things—the way you laughed at his puns, the scent of your skin—he was practically pleading, his voice becoming a frantic, rhythmic chant. He was a man desperate for the finish line, his body coiled like a spring, vibrating with an intensity that threatened to break him.
"Nine," he choked out, his eyes blown wide, his breath hitching as you paused, hovering just a fraction of an inch above him. He was shaking now, his muscles locked, his gaze locked onto yours with a raw, shimmering hunger. "Ten... the way you take care of me. The way you... oh god, please..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the words dissolving into a desperate, needy moan as he arched his back, offering himself up entirely.
Right as the word left his lips, you stopped the teasing and slammed down on him with a sudden, forceful depth. The impact drove the remaining air from his lungs in a loud, guttural shout that echoed through the quiet room. The suddenness of it, the sheer force of the connection, sent him over the edge instantly. Satoru’s entire body jolted, his fingers digging deep into your hips as he came with a violent, shuddering intensity that seemed to ripple through every fiber of his being.
He let out a long, ragged sound—something between a sob and a sigh—as he collapsed back into the chair, his eyes rolling back. For several seconds, the only sound in the room was the frantic, uneven tempo of his breathing and the distant, rhythmic hum of the computer fan. He lay there, completely wrecked and utterly blissful, his meticulously organized world now a distant memory, replaced by the heavy, warm reality of you still anchored firmly against him.
You stayed there for a while, your head resting on his shoulder, feeling the slow, steady return of his heartbeat against your chest.
You felt the slight dip in his posture, the way he had completely surrendered his muscle tone to the chair, but you weren't quite there yet. The heat was still humming in your nerves, a restless, pulsing need that hadn't found its exit. You began to move again, not with the slow teasing of before, but with a focused, urgent rhythm. Each downward slide was a deliberate reclamation of the pleasure you were still owed.
Satoru let out a soft, broken noise, a sound of genuine surprise that you were still going. He was spent, his breath still coming in shallow, uneven puffs, and his muscles were practically liquid beneath you. Yet, as you picked up the pace, his hands didn't push you away; they slid from your waist to the small of your back, guiding you, urging you to take whatever you needed.
"Go on," he whispered, his voice a wrecked rasp. He sounded exhausted, his head lolling to the side, but there was a fierce, selfless warmth in his tone. "Use me... just take it, mommy."
He arched his hips upward, a reflexive, shaking movement that offered you a more acute angle of friction. He was trembling, his body vibrating with the aftershocks of his own release, but he was fighting through the sensitivity to be the foundation you needed. He didn't try to regain his composure or the remnants of his dignity; he simply opened himself up to you, his eyes half-closed and glazed with a dazed, devoted kind of pain and pleasure.
You didn't need further permission. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging slightly into the fabric of his shirt, and began to drive yourself against him with a frantic, focused energy. The friction was searing now, a concentrated heat that narrowed your entire world down to the point where your bodies met. You could feel him shuddering beneath you, a series of involuntary tremors that rippled through his thighs and chest, but he only groaned and pressed himself closer, absorbing the impact of your movements.
He looked up at you with pure admiration at your face seeking pleasure from him. He reached under your shirt…
His touch was hesitant at first, his fingertips grazing the swollen center of your pleasure, and the contact sent a jolt through you that nearly ended the journey right then. Satoru leaned his head back, his eyes half-lids and glazed, his voice barely a ghost of a sound. "I love you," he murmured, the words shivering as he found the exact spot, his thumb beginning a slow, rhythmic circle. "I love you so much."
The addition of his touch changed everything. It wasn't just the physical sensation, it was the way he said it. The absolute, unguarded vulnerability in his voice, the way he was offering everything he had left while he was still shaking from his own peak. He didn't stop, his finger continuing that steady, insistent pressure, circling with a devotion that felt like a prayer. "I love you," he whispered again, his voice gaining a slight, needy edge, "I love you, I love you..."
The repetition became a mantra, a rhythmic anchor that pulled you under. You felt the first ripple of the orgasm start at the base of your spine and bloom outward, a sudden, crashing wave of heat that drowned out every other sense. You arched your back, your nails digging into his shoulders as you came, your body tightening around him in a series of intense, rhythmic contractions that left you breathless. Satoru let out a strangled, muffled sound of satisfaction, his hand remaining firmly pressed against you, holding you there as you shuddered through the peak.
“I love you too..” you whispered as you laid against his chest , feeling the beat of his heart align with yours…
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