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gayerthanevertbh · 1 month ago

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teacher's pet

chapter i: give me what i want

n.r masterlist | teacher's pet series

summary: you start your first day at university and meet the enigmatic professor romanoff in your russian literature class. instantly captivated by her presence, you can’t stop thinking about her—even during a phone call with mj, where you pretend everything’s normal. As you reread anna karenina and scramble to finish the essay she assigned, you realize something’s already shifting inside you: you want her to notice you. maybe even like you.

pairings: professor!natasha romanoff x student!reader

warnings: nothing much, but you could feel the tension between them from this chapter.

author's note: yes i had this drafted a long time ago, i'd say a few weeks? so i hope you guys like it. x

It didn’t always feel like this.

You used to know who you were. Sharp. Focused. Always top of your class — the kind of student who didn’t just chase grades, but conquered them. So when you told your mother you got into NYU, she lit up like she’d been holding her breath. Your best friend barely blinked.

“Of course you got in,” she said. “You’re smart.”

Like it wasn’t a compliment. Like it was just a fact.

Still, you were proud. You are proud. Even if you don’t know what exactly possessed you to enroll in Russian Literature of all things. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was the part of you that couldn’t stand to do the expected. You’ve always been good at learning fast — you figured this wouldn’t be any different.

And then there was her.

Professor Romanoff. Students called her a legend. Cold but brilliant. The kind of woman who could quote Chekhov like scripture and cut your argument in half with a single glance. You looked her up, obviously. Found articles. Interviews. Even a guest lecture she gave with Professor Stark — the engineering icon — who seemed almost cautious around her. That only made you more curious.

You push the door open on the first day and there she is, already seated behind her desk. A paper in hand. She doesn’t look up, not fully — just a flick of her eyes in your direction.

“Take a seat,” she says, voice low. “We’ll begin shortly.”

Okay. So she’s not warm. But she’s not a monster.

She’s wearing a deep plum coat, the fabric tailored to her form like it was made for no one else, and a black pencil skirt that hugs her hips and cuts neatly at the knee, revealing just enough of her legs to look powerful without seeming like she’s trying. Her heels are quiet on the floor, but commanding. Her hair is red — real red — the kind that doesn’t need lighting tricks or filters to stand out. It falls in soft, deliberate waves that frame her face like a painting, too polished to be accidental. There’s something about the way she moves, the way she occupies space without asking permission, that makes it impossible to look away. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t need to. She has presence, the kind that demands attention without raising her voice. You don’t know if what you’re feeling is admiration or something more dangerous, but somewhere beneath all your logic and perfectly built ambition, there’s a part of you — quiet, curious, pulsing — that wants to get closer. Maybe it’s attraction. Maybe it’s awe. Maybe it’s both.

You settle into a seat near the back of the room, close enough to catch every word the professor might say, but far enough that if she were to call on you, you wouldn’t be front and center—exposed. It’s a safety net, this distance. A silent prayer that you won’t be noticed until you’re ready. The classroom itself doesn’t offer much comfort. The hardwood floors echo every step, amplifying your uncertainty. The windows are tall and narrow, letting in thin streams of light that do nothing to warm the space. At the back wall, shelves sag under the weight of thick, old books—their spines faded, their titles barely legible—like relics from another lifetime. You shift in your seat, the wooden chair groaning beneath you, and begin to glance around at the others.

Your wandering gaze catches a pair of eyes already locked on you. A girl sits a few seats away, isolated. She’s striking—black eyeliner drawn with such precision it could slice, sleeves stretched past her fingers like armor. Her expression is unreadable, her stare unwavering. It isn’t exactly threatening, but it isn’t welcoming either. It’s the kind of look that evaluates rather than judges. She’s not smiling. She’s not blinking. You turn away, quickly. You don’t want to read into it, but your skin prickles anyway. Something tells you this semester will be more than just lectures and essays.

Then, the room goes still. Like it’s holding its breath.

Professor Romanoff rises from her seat at the head of the table, and the atmosphere shifts immediately. She doesn’t need to speak for the room to pay attention. Her presence commands it. She has a way of standing that feels… prepared. Like she’s fought battles no one in this classroom could imagine and walked away victorious, if scarred. You swallow hard as her eyes sweep the room. “Alright, let’s begin,” she announces, her voice low but firm, brushing over everyone—then landing squarely on you. You flinch, just slightly. “As you may know, I’m Professor Natasha Romanoff. I’ll be teaching Russian Literature this semester. I’m surprised to see so many of you here, honestly. Not many want to study Russian these days. But those who do… might gain something rare from it.”

You can’t look away from her. The way she moves across the room isn’t casual—it’s deliberate, as if every step, every glance is calculated. Her eyes catch yours again, briefly. And then she turns. Just like that. She looks away like it means nothing. But to you, it does. It stings. As if you were reaching for something and had your hand slapped back. You remind yourself it’s just the first day. You’re reading too much into everything. Still, you feel foolish for hoping she might see you—really see you.

Her voice slices through the silence again, heavier now. “Russian literature is not here to soothe you,” she states, her tone sharp but strangely elegant. “It doesn’t comfort. It doesn’t reward. If you want happy endings, transfer to American Lit. I think they’re doing The Great Gatsby this semester.” A few students laugh—nervously, more at each other than at the joke. You don’t. You’re too busy watching her write something on the board. Her handwriting is clean, controlled.

PAIN IS THE PRICE OF TRUTH.

She faces the room again, and her eyes seem to flicker in the low light. “Russian writers gave us some of the greatest works of the human condition—and some of the darkest,” she continues. “This class won’t be about identifying metaphors or discussing plot. It’s about what these stories demand from you.” She lists names—Dostoevsky, Akhmatova, Chekhov, Bulgakov—each one pronounced like a sacred invocation. Her voice is smooth, but not soft. It carries something beneath the surface: reverence, maybe. Or a personal history.

Then she turns the question on you all.

“Has anyone here read Anna Karenina?”

Your heart stutters. You have. Mostly. Enough to discuss it, if needed. You lift your hand, slowly, half-wishing someone else will beat you to it. No one does. It’s just you. Eyes swing toward you—some surprised, some unreadable, some silently pleading what are you doing? But it’s too late to lower your hand. You’re exposed.

She notices you instantly. Her gaze lands like frost.

“You have?”

You clear your throat, trying not to sound too eager. “One of the greatest literary works of all time,” you reply, rehearsed and overly formal. You immediately regret how polished it sounds. It doesn’t feel like you.

One corner of her mouth lifts—not a smile. Something else. “Is that your opinion,” she asks, “or the internet’s?”

The room exhales. You feel it in your bones. Laughter without sound. A kind of collective shift of attention. You force out a quiet chuckle. “Maybe both,” you say. “It’s a beautiful, tragic love story. Very... human.”

Romanoff steps closer, her heels a quiet percussion against the floor. “So you sympathize with Anna, then?”

You nod. “She was trapped. Miserable. In a cold marriage. She falls in love, and she’s punished for it.”

Romanoff tilts her head slightly. “Interesting,” she murmurs. “And yet Tolstoy didn’t seem to think she was the hero.”

The words land hard.

“She abandoned her child,” she continues, her voice still perfectly calm. “She spiraled. She gave in to obsession. Paranoia. And eventually—she threw herself under a train. Is that the character you admire?”

You can’t answer. Your mouth opens, then closes. There’s no mockery in her voice—that’s what makes it worse. She’s not humiliating you. She’s making you realize you’ve only skimmed the surface. You feel stupid. Small. You look down.

“I—I thought that was the point,” you offer weakly. “That it was… tragic.”

Her eyes narrow. “It was,” she says quietly. “But whose tragedy?”

Silence again. The class feels like it’s vanishing around you, and you’re the only one left in the spotlight. You glance down at your desk, your hands clenching around your pen. When you look up, she’s still watching you—calculating.

“Be careful,” she says. Then she turns back to the board. “Sometimes, literature reveals more about the reader than the characters.”

You can’t breathe. It’s like the air has shifted. You can’t remember anything about Anna Karenina now. Not one scene. Your mind is blank.

She writes again.

Assignment: Three paragraphs. Choose a passage that unsettled you. Tell me why. Not what it means. Why it made you uncomfortable. Due next class. No exceptions.

No welcome. No syllabus. Just a demand for vulnerability.

The class remains quiet, even after she sets down the chalk. No one checks their phone. No one whispers. You glance around. Everyone’s still, like waiting to be dismissed from a spell. You’re not even sure if you want to leave.

You pack your notebook slowly, slipping it into your sling bag. You rise and begin walking toward the door—but then her voice cuts through the air like a command:

“Stay. I want to talk to you.”

You freeze. You curse under your breath. What did you do wrong?

You turn around slowly and meet her gaze. This time, her eyes are less ice—more fog. Still unreadable, but not as cold.

“Y-Yes?” you stammer.

She closes her book, leans back against her chair with a quiet sigh. “Where are you from?”

You blink, thrown by the question. “Queens,” you reply, tightening your grip on your bag. “Did I… do something?”

She gives a small laugh, waves her hand. “No. Not yet.”

Yet. That single word coils around your spine. What did she mean? Were you destined to fail? Or to surprise her?

You give a nervous smile. The kind that’s more instinct than confidence.

“What’s your name?” she asks, a little softer now.

You tell her. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

She nods. “You were the only student today who recognized a single Russian author. That’s rare. I was... surprised.”

Your gaze drifts to the worn copy of Anna Karenina resting on the corner of her desk, its spine creased like it's been opened a thousand times. The sight of it catches you off guard, tightening something deep in your chest. It’s not just a book—it’s a mirror, a quiet echo of longing and ruin. You feel a flicker of something—recognition, maybe, or sorrow dressed as affection. A smile teeters on the edge of your lips, but you catch it before it escapes, swallowing it like a secret. Somehow, smiling feels too vulnerable, too honest. So instead, you look away, pretending it didn’t mean anything. But it did. It always does.

“Do you like this book?” she asks.

You hesitate. “Yes. One of the greatest pieces of literature I’ve read.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Because of the scandal? The affair? The suicide?” Her voice teases, just a little. “Go on. Enlighten me.”

You’re not sure if she’s being sarcastic or sincere, but either way, you want to answer. You want to say it’s the desperation you admire, the unraveling of a woman who wanted too much. You see parts of yourself in Anna’s conflict. Her recklessness. But instead, you say: “I liked how conflicted she was. It felt... human.”

“Human,” she repeats, the word soft but weighted, like it carries more meaning than she’s letting on. Then she hums—a low, thoughtful sound that settles between you. You’re caught again in her stare, pinned there like something fragile in a glass case.

Your eyes drop, searching for escape, and land on her hands. They’re veined and delicate, elegant in their age, each line etched like a story half-told. She touches the book in front of her—Anna Karenina—with a reverence that feels intimate, almost holy. As if the pages hold confessions only she’s allowed to hear.

And then, for just a moment, something impossible flickers through you.

You wonder what it would be like to be held that way. To be seen not just for what you are, but for everything you’re trying not to be. To be looked at with quiet understanding, with restraint and reverence and that same aching softness. It terrifies you. It tempts you.

And just like that, the thought slips away—but not before it leaves something trembling behind.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N. Good luck with your next class.”

You nod and slip out the door, letting it close softly behind you.

Once outside, you exhale like you’ve been holding your breath the entire time. Something about her unsettled you—but also, something about her pulled you in. You don’t know why. Maybe it’s the way she speaks. Maybe it’s what she hides. Maybe you’ve never felt this alive in a classroom before. You’re not sure what this is. But it’s already begun.

“How was your first day?”

“Not bad,” you say into the phone, your voice soft as your fingers flip open the book in your lap. Anna Karenina, again. You’ve read it before—more than once—but tonight it feels different, heavier somehow. “How was yours?”

“Y/n, you know I’m fine. I’ll always be fine,” MJ replies, her voice laced with that familiar teasing fondness. You can practically hear her smile. “But you? You get anxious. You overthink. You go into full-on spiral mode.”

“Not this time,” you say quickly, maybe too quickly. “No. I’m good. I met Professor Romanoff today.”

There’s a beat of silence before MJ responds, her voice suddenly sharper. “No shit?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, the corners of your mouth twitching upward despite yourself. “She’s my Russian Literature professor.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I still don’t get why you picked that class. Makes me think you’re just indecisive.”

Maybe she’s right. Maybe you are indecisive. But it wasn’t just curiosity about literature that made you choose it—it was something else. A feeling. An impulse you haven’t fully named. Something about her name on the faculty list drew your eye, and your gut twisted in that way it does when something is about to change.

Maybe you just wanted to see her. Observe her. Understand the chill behind her voice, the precision of her movements, the warmth she conceals under the weight of her intellect. But you can’t say that out loud. Not to MJ. She’d laugh, or worse—she’d see through you. See how your thoughts are already running too far, too fast, down roads you’re not supposed to go.

“I heard she’s pretty,” MJ says casually.

Pretty doesn’t begin to cover it.

“Yeah. You’re right,” you reply, forcing a small smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. “When I first saw her, my jaw dropped. I wish she hadn’t noticed.”

MJ snorts. “Well, I hope not. Anyway, I gotta go. Peter wants to study with me.”

You say goodbye, listen to the line go dead, and then sit there for a long moment, the book resting on your chest. You don’t move. Your eyes trace the ceiling, your thoughts distant. You wonder—quietly, cautiously—what Professor Romanoff would say if she knew you were rereading Anna Karenina the same night you met her. Would she be pleased? Would she smile at you like you mattered, like you intrigued her?

And more importantly: why does that matter so much to you?

You don’t know. But the need to be noticed, to be liked—no, not liked. To be seen by her—it swells inside you like something shameful and electric. You feel foolish, but also helpless to it.

You remember the essay. The one she assigned, due by morning. Panic pricks at the edge of your chest.

You scramble out of bed, the book falling shut on the mattress as you rush to your desk. You fumble through the drawer, pull out a blank sheet of paper, and grip your pen like it’s the only thing tethering you to solid ground.

All you know is this: you will not stop thinking about her. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Probably not for a long time.

TAGLIST: @aru-son @ihartnat

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #dark!natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #black widow x fem reader #teachers pet series

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mazeeelabyrinth · 2 months ago

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♡♡♡ Project Bunny ♡♡♡

Chapter I: Live - PixelBunny.exe

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

♡■♡■♡ Pairing: LADS MLIs x afab camgirl!reader

♡■♡■♡ Plot Summary:

By day, you're just a broke barista with a caffeine addiction, with a useless degree and a student loan nightmare, and a customer service smile stitched over your burnout. By night, you're Pixel Bunny—a bratty, cosplay-clad camgirl with a shy voice, a pastel aesthetic, and a growing fanbase that keeps your lights on and your legs open.

Except… your five most generous patrons are a little too devoted. Each a stranger with a username and a hard-on for control, slowly bleeding into your real life.

♡■♡■♡ Tags: 18+, multichapters, second pov, eventual poly, eventual orgy, dark romance, reverse harem, shameless smut, porn with plot, explicit, gradual shift into darker themes, voyeurism, praise kink, porn, ooc, canon divergence au, sex toys, clothing fetish, cosplay, breeding kink, ddlg (daddy dom/little girl), pet names, live masturbation, power play, strip tease, sex work, camgirl au, streaming culture, orgasm denial, parasocial relationship, obsessive parasocial behavior, dirty talk, stalking tendencies, reader is not mc, reader has a day job, reader is addressed as "Bunny" or "PixelBunny" on stream, masked identities

♡■♡■♡ Word Count: 7.2K

A/N: Finally dug up an old idea and use it for another LADS fanfic. I was debating whether I use an oc or just follow my usual "x reader", guess what I did? Please take this "you" persona impersonally.

A/N2: holy shit, I thought I saved it up as a draft 😂 I wasn't done editing it lmfao

MASTERLIST | AO3 | FOR TAG LIST, INTERACT HERE. | NAVIGATION

Your screen flickered to life with the soft, ambient glow of neon pinks and cool lilacs. Lo-fi beats hummed low through your headset, a curated loop of calming bass and synthetic purrs you’ve fine-tuned to make every viewer feel like they were lounging right in bed with you.

The room behind you was an aesthetic fever dream: plushies, pastel LEDs, posters of vintage anime girls with glassy eyes and lollipops too large for their mouths.

You're perched on the center of your bed, legs curled just right, clad in a baby-pink cropped cardigan that technically covers your nipples—but just barely, plaid skirt strategically rumpled that showed off your panties you’d pretend were modest if they weren’t riding a dangerous line between “cute” and “cam site terms of service violation.”

The bunny-eared headset—your signature look—bobbed slightly as you adjusted, lips glossed to a cherry sheen and parted with practiced nervousness.

A delectable morsel wrapped in pastel and lust. That’s you, PixelBunny. A camgirl rising on the other side of the internet.

Just shy. Just bratty enough.

Innocent. Dumb. Deceiving.

Click. You're live.

The chat was already rioting. A thousand hearts bloomed in the corner of your screen. Familiar names lit up the chat like a twisted bouquet of usernames you knew better than your actual friends.

Syl.Draconia 💎 has joined the stream 🐇

R.tist!c tipped 1000 credits: angel, that lipstick shade is killing me

X-Devoted upgraded to SUGAR DADDY - ULTRA VIP 💎

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 500 credits: Don’t overwork yourself.

C.Pilot: you're late. I've been waiting Bunny. ;)

3009 more viewers have joined 🐇

You smiled sweetly. Blushed. Looked away. A beat too long, just to make them ache for it. And then, your voice—high, breathy, a porcelain teacup too full of heat—spilled into the mic.

“H-hi, everyone. Welcome back to my... super cozy Friday stream. I—I missed you all so much... I was sooo lonely today…”

A flurry of small donations exploded with the flood of emotes. Bunnies. Eggplants. Hearts. Claws. One name after another. Each one hit your account like a loaded promise. A private ping dinged—five times, exactly. Direct messages, encrypted, VIP access only.

You ignored them. For now.

The camera zoomed slightly—auto-focus tracing your thighs as they shifted. Your skin was glossed, powdered, glowing under artificial moonlight. You stretched your arms overhead, the croptop sliding just enough to show the soft curve of underboobs, a calculated ‘oopsie’ perfected by months of practice.

C.Pilot: you know you missed yesterday right?

X-Devoted: Uve been a veeery naughty bunny…

Mr. WhiteCoat: I’m monitoring your dopamine spikes in real time. They’re inconsistent.

R.tist!c: is that the cardigan i sent you? unbutton it slowly

Syl.Draconia: Shes hiding something tonight. Increased blink rate. Deviated gaze.

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

You giggled, again, hiding your face in your hands. A perfect little bunny. Tempting fate like it was a game. Innocence so carefully curated it could only be filthy. Just a girl in your safe little pastel den, alone in your apartment, with predatory men watching you burn.

You shifted, thighs parting slightly, your voice rising just a note.

“I m-might’ve been a little mean… I didn’t respond to some DMs. I went live without private previews tonight... I guess I was just feeling bold.”

X-Devoted: U will learn sweetheart

Syl.Draconia: Already running your own script. Dangerous.

Mr. WhiteCoat: This requires corrective conditioning.

C.Pilot: youre gonna make me break my keyboard Bun.

R.tist!c: keep talking, your shame is muse enough

The camera light pulsed. You leaned forward, intentionally framing your cleavage with your forearms as you pouted at the lens.

“You’re all so strict with me lately,” you murmured, voice full of mock-pout and something that wasn’t so mock. “But I know how much you missed me…”

You reached for a small heart-shaped plastic on the nightstand.

“A-and I think I’m ready to be your good bunny again.”

Then—click.

You pressed the first tip-button. The sex toy that was already inserted before the stream purred to life inside you, humming quiet and wicked.

“A-ah—mm! T-that’s... oopsie.” Well, at least the moan that slipped from your glossy lips was real.

X-Devoted: Dont play shy. U wore that choker for me.

Syl.Draconia: Zoom. 140%. Enhance the thighs.

R.tist!c: such soft curves, let me paint you like this

Mr. WhiteCoat: Keep still. I’m running diagnostics.

C.Pilot : bet she soaked the sheets already.

mr.unknown: oh yes, moan for us more 😩

zeronut: show pussy plz… 💦

"Oh... Oh Daddy..." You murmured into the mic, your eyes glazed over as the vibrations from the toy X-Devoted had chosen for you resonated through your body. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush that surely painted your face in a way that made the camera love you more. The chat was a whirlwind of lewd comments and generous tips. Each one of your patrons had a piece of you, and you knew it. You reveled in it.

You leaned back into the plush pillows, your hands sneaked under the cardigan, fingers dancing over your chest, tracing the edges of the pasties you knew R.tist!c had picked out from the last set of gifts he'd sent. His taste was always so... exquisite. You could feel your heart racing, the decorative adhesive tickling against your skin with each breath.

"Thank you for the tips, Daddy..." You breathed into the mic, a soft smile playing on your lips as you scanned the chat for X-Devoted's name. His tip had triggered the toy, and the pleasure was already pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill over. "You're all so generous tonight."

The screen was a blur of usernames and donation amounts. You bit your bottom lip, letting the anticipation build as you slowly unbuttoned the cardigan. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered dramatically for the camera, knowing it would drive them wild. The room was a symphony of virtual praise, each note hitting a different chord of your arousal.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Thats what I like to see

C.Pilot: let’s see how much you’ve been taking care of yourself Bunny.

R.tist!c: more little bun, show us everything

With a devilish smirk, you leaned forward, giving them the show they were dying to see. The cardigan fell away, revealing the purple, starfish-shaped pasties that covered your areola—nipples already peaked out and were begging for attention beneath the adhesive silicone.

The cold lens of the camera was the only thing touching them as you whispered, "Look at what you do to me, Daddy." You gave your torso a gentle shake, watching your breasts jiggle before the eyes of your devoted audience.

The chat exploded with emojis and messages. The numbers on the side of your screen spun upwards like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of adrenaline, knowing that these men were all watching you, all wanting you, all willing to give you anything to satisfy their desires. You were the puppeteer, and they were your marionettes, dancing to the tune of your siren's song.

"Would you like to taste my tits, Daddy?" You whispered into the void, watching the screen as your words sent a shockwave through the chat. The vibrator in your panties buzzed in time with your racing heart every time someone tipped, a symphony of need and greed. You cupped your breasts, your thumbs flicking over the covered areola, teasing the silicone away from your sensitive skin.

X-Devoted: Yes baby. Take off the starfish. Let us all admire ur pretty nipples

Mr.WhiteCoat: Use the adhesive fabric next time if the silicone irritates your nipples.

R.tist!c: i wish those pasties were my mouth

R.tist!c: soon you will be mine

C.Pilot: make it quick, I can feel my cock pulsing already.

Syl.Draconia: Watch yourself Bunny. Watch how beautiful you are.

You bit back a giggle, feeling a thrill of excitement at their commands. You knew they were all watching, all waiting with bated breath for the moment you'd give in. Your fingers danced along the edge of the silicone, the tension building as you paused, just for a second, to let them beg for more.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: Take it off let the breeze kiss those pretty nipples of yours.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message from Syl.Draconia. His requests always sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement. But you had a show to run. You had to keep them all on the edge of their seats. So, with a flick of your wrist, the pasties came off, revealing your bare breasts to the camera. The coolness of the room kissed your skin, making your nipples peak even further. You leaned closer to the camera, letting them get a good look at the prize.

But amidst the flurry of tips and messages, one stood out. C.Pilot’s text was simple, but the implication was clear. "you know I wanna fuck those tits Bunny." The chat went wild, a mix of excitement and anticipation. This wasn't the first time he'd made such a bold statement.

You looked into the camera, eyes wide with feigned shock, "Oh my... Daddy's being extra naughty tonight." You giggled, playing coy. But inside, you felt a thrill of danger. It was all part of the game, but you knew it was one you couldn't ignore for much longer.

The tips continued to flood in as you played with the strings of your skirt, tugging it down just enough to reveal the sheer lace of your panties. The camera zoomed in, capturing the wetness that had already begun to soak through. You could feel the fabric sticking to your skin as you teased them, the anticipation building. Each user's kink reflected in their words, a silent bidding war for your attention.

X-Devoted: Spread ur legs for us baby. Show us ur sweet little cunt

Mr.WhiteCoat: I can see your heart rate increasing. Keep going.

R.tist!c: imagine its my tongue licking you clean

C.Pilot: you know I’d shower those tits with my cum.

Syl.Draconia: Take off the skirt. Give us a show.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their eyes—or rather, the screens—on you. It was all a game, a dance of power and desire played out in pixels. But you were good at this dance, weren't you? You'd been doing it for some months. You leaned back, letting your legs fall open just enough to hint at the lacy treasure beneath. The toy in your panties buzzed louder, the intensity of the vibrations making you gasp.

"M-maybe later, Daddy. I-I’m getting shy now…" you whispered, batting your eyelashes at the camera in practiced timidity. The chat erupted again, the sound of keys smacking screens echoing in your mind. The thrill of control was intoxicating. You were the queen of this digital realm, and they were all just pawns in your game.

The vibrations grew more intense, and you couldn’t help but squirm. You reached down and slipped your hand into your skirt, your fingers sliding over the drenched fabric of your panties. The toy buzzed against your clit, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The room grew hot, the air thick with lust.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pulse is racing faster now. Tell us how it feels.

X-Devoted: Ure mine tonight bunny

R.tist!c: i can almost taste you through the screen

C.Pilot: give us a better look.

Syl.Draconia: Yes show us how much you want it.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and your breathing grew heavier as you read the messages, feeling their eyes on you—or rather, the screens that served as their windows into your private world. The vibrations grew stronger, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You had to keep them wanting more.

"But not yet, Daddy," you murmured into the microphone, your voice a sultry whisper. "I want to save the best for later." You pulled your hand away from your panties, leaving them wet and exposed. The camera zoomed in, and you watched the chat light up with excitement. You had them hooked, and you were the master angler reeling them in, inch by inch.

With a practiced brattiness, you stood from the bed.

"Oh... so cold!~" You gasp, hugging yourself in a manner dramatic enough to tease your audience.

You turned to face the camera fully, your eyes scanning the chat for any signs of the five high-rollers you knew were out there. You strutted over to the clothing rack, the soft thud of your feet echoing through the quiet room. The outfit was a surprise, something you'd picked out just for them. A devilish smirk played on your lips as you pulled out the hanger, the fabric gliding over your fingertips like silk.

"Alright, everyone," you announced, the sound of you unraveling the garment garnering a slew of eager messages. "It's time for the main event!" The anticipation in your voice was palpable as you held the outfit against your body, obscuring your nakedness with the screen of fabric. "Tonight, I've got something extra special for you. Who's ready for a surprise?"

The chat exploded with excitement, a barrage of suggestive emojis and filthy messages.

C.Pilot: can't wait Bunny.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your secrets are the best part of the show.

R.tist!c: show us little muse

You took a deep breath, the anticipation building in your chest as you held up the lingerie set. "I've got something that's gonna knock your socks off, Daddies!" You giggled, feeling the excitement of your digital audience pulse through the air. The pastel colors shimmered under the soft light, a perfect blend of innocence and desire.

You turned around, giving them a glimpse of your bare back, the tension building as you slowly untied the strings of your skirt. The skirt softly rustled as it slid down your thighs like silk, leaving only your sheer panties that barely covered your dripping cunt and the vibrator thrumming inside you.

"Oopsie daisy!" You exclaimed, feigning clumsiness, making sure the camera captured every inch of your exposed skin. "Looks like I need to get changed!"

The chatter in the chat grew louder as you began to peel off your panties, the fabric sticking to your wetness before finally sliding away. The toy remained in place, a silent sentinel of your pleasure.

You stepped into the new set, a pair of lace g-strings that barely covered your curves, and a matching sheer bralette that left nothing to the imagination. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the vibrations syncing with your heartbeat.

"How does this look?" You asked, spinning around for them, giving a full view of the new ensemble. The chat went wild, a cacophony of lewd comments and tips. You could feel the power surging through you, a heady rush that only grew as you watched the numbers climb.

X-Devoted: Perfect. Just like I knew it would be

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your obedience is... commendable, PixelBunny.

R.tist!c: a masterpiece worthy of my canvas

C.Pilot: fuck baby. you're driving me wild.

You leaned closer to the camera, your breath hot against the lens. "Does Daddy like it?" You whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. The chat was a blur of eager responses, each one more eager than the last.

Syl.Draconia: Youre a vision, my sweet bunny. I could rip that in one flick of my fingers.

You winked at the camera, the toy inside you buzzing in response to the thrill of their words. "Good, because I got something extra special for you all." Your breasts bounced slightly as you turned, giving them the show they craved. "Who wants to see what I've got planned?"

The tips—smaller amounts this time—poured in faster than you could read, the screen lighting up like a Christmas tree. Your heart raced as you felt the eyes of your devoted fans, the vibrations inside you reaching a crescendo. "Alright, Daddies. Let's get this party started!"

You slid the toy out of you with a wet pop, ensuring the camera caught everything, the chat exploding in a symphony of virtual pleasure. The toy was replaced with something new, something they hadn't seen before. It was a custom-made dildo, the girthy shaft covered in bumpy, tiny lights that matched the color scheme of your room.

"This little guy is gonna light up the night," you said with a wink, turning it on. The lights flickered in time with your racing pulse, a silent promise of what was to come.

Strutting closer to your desktop, you straddled the fuschia pink-white gaming chair, posing your back against the lens. You took a moment to appreciate the view on the screen—the way the lights played off your curves, highlighting the view of your asscheeks in the air, your drenched cunt peeking through the scant g-string. Turning you into a living work of art.

Then, with a sultry smile, you placed the tip of the dildo against your entrance, the coolness sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ready for the main event, Daddies?" You teased, tapping the toy playfully against your asscheeks. The chat was a sea of anticipation, a mix of eagerness and greed. You spread your legs wider, giving them a perfect view of your glistening pussy, the fabric of your g-string the only barrier between you and their hungry eyes.

You leaned further into the chair, the cold leather against your skin a stark contrast to the heat building within you. The lights from the dildo reflected off the chrome of your gaming chair, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The plastic frames bit into your knees as you settled into the position, a slight discomfort that only served to heighten the thrill of the moment.

The chat was a blur of excitement, a cacophony of usernames and tips flying by as they watched you, rapt and eager for your next move.

X-Devoted: Slowly baby. Make it last

Mr.WhiteCoat: I’m taking notes of how many pumps you’re going to do tonight.

R.tist!c: oh i wanna sketch this

C.Pilot: fuck bunny. you're so wet, I could almost feel it.

Syl.Draconia: Use the lube I sent.

With a seductive smile, you took the lube, never breaking eye contact with the camera’s lens as you lathered it around the girthy artificial phallus. The squelching echoed to the mic as your hands pumped in a tantalizing rhythm, giving your audience the fantasy of you touching their cocks instead.

You began to rub the tip against your swollen clit, the lights flickering in time with your movements. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through your body that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"Mm, Daddy likes it slow?" You murmured, your voice a breathless purr. "Alright, let's see if I can be a good girl." You slid the toy down, teasing the folds of your pussy. The chat was a flurry of commands and compliments, each one feeding the fire of your desire.

With a deliberate slowness that was as much for show as it was for their benefit, you brushed the string of your panties aside and pushed the dildo inside your cunt. The lights flickered in time with the strokes, creating a mesmerizing pattern across your skin. You moaned, the sound carrying through the quiet apartment, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo back at you from the screens of your devoted fans.

"Oh, yes... just like that," you whispered into the microphone, the vibrations from the dildo making your voice shake slightly. "Daddy's got me feeling so good."

Your eyes remained locked on the camera, watching as the tips continued to roll in. Each one a little victory, each one a validation of your power. You began to move the toy in and out, the lights casting a rainbow of shadows across your vaginal walls. "Tell me, Daddies," you gasped, "How does it look when I'm being such a good girl for you?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pussy looks so tight around that new toy, PixelBunny. You’re taking it well.

C.Pilot: oh fuck. that's so hot. like you're begging for the real thing.

R.tist!c: like a painting baby, a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Tell me you wish it was my cock Bunny.

X-Devoted: Ure mine Bunny. Remember that

Their reactions varied, a symphony of desire played out in digital text. Some praised your obedience, others painted vivid pictures of what they’d do to you, while another whispered dark promises of possession. Yet, none of them knew the truth behind your shy demeanor, the cynical smirk that tugged at your lips as you read their words.

With each stroke, the lights of the dildo grew more intense, painting your face with a rainbow of pleasure. Your body began to respond, your hips moving in a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with each passing moment. You knew the act well, the dance of a siren luring sailors to their doom. You were their obsession, their escape from the mundane.

The sound of your wetness filled the room, mingling with your soft moans. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of your power. You watched the chat, eyes flickering from one message to the next. Their words were a drug, a sweet poison that made you feel alive.

You began to rock your hips, the toy sliding in and out with increasing speed. "Is Daddy proud of me?" You whimpered, your voice a siren's call. The chat exploded, each tip a declaration of their adoration. You felt their desire, a palpable force that seemed to tighten around you, squeezing out every last drop of your inhibition.

"Oh, Daddy," you moaned, the pleasure building, the lights from the dildo casting a glow across your face. "You make me feel so... dirty." The words were like honey, sweet and thick with meaning. You watched the chat, the screen a blur of tips and messages, each one more desperate than the last.

The toy slammed into you now, the plastic thud echoing through the room. Your hands were a blur, moving in a rhythm that was almost violent. The sensation was overwhelming, the lights pulsing with your heartbeat. You could feel yourself getting closer, the orgasm a tidal wave just beyond the horizon.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, PixelBunny, take it another inch deeper.

C.Pilot: so good baby. take it all for me.

R.tist!c: like youre riding my cock baby

Syl.Draconia: Mines bigger than that silly toy Bunny.

X-Devoted: Make sure u wont hurt urself

Their commands fueled you, pushing you closer to the edge. You took the toy out and licked it clean, the taste of yourself making your eyes roll back.

"Daddy, I need more," you whimpered, dropping the dildo to the floor. Slowly, you turned around to face the camera and present yourself on the chair. Your hand snaked into your g-string, your fingers finding your clit. "Is Daddy going to make me cum?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Play with yourself more, BunnyPixel. Show us how much you want it.

C.Pilot: spread those legs wider, let me see everything.

R.tist!c: i want to see that pretty pussy swollen with desire for me

Syl.Draconia: You know you want it bunny. Take it all.

X-Devoted: Ure so greedy, arent you, Bunny? But Daddy loves that about you

Their words were a siren's song that you couldn't ignore. You spread your legs wider, the fabric of your g-string stretching tightly over your swollen clit. You watched the chat as your fingers began to dance across your folds, the wetness of your pussy glistening in the soft glow of the lights.

"Look at how wet I am for you, Daddies," you breathed into the microphone, the sound of your voice sending a shiver through your body. Your thumb circled your clit, the sensation making your toes curl. "Do you like watching me play?"

The chat erupted in a symphony of affirmations, their digital applause filling your ears. You felt a strange sense of belonging, a thrill that came from being the object of their desire. It was a power trip, one that you were all too eager to indulge in.

With a wicked grin, you picked up the dildo again, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music that played in the background. "Alright, Daddies," you said, your voice a mix of sweetness and seductive challenge. "Who wants to see how fast I can make this little toy disappear?"

The chat went wild as you positioned the dildo at your entrance, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that had built up within you. You pushed it in, the lights dancing on your skin as you took it all in one go, the tip brushing against your cervix. You gasped, the sensation intense and overwhelming. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips and messages, each one more eager than the last to claim a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Bravo, PixelBunny. You’re so good at taking what you’re given.

C.Pilot: fuck yes. just like that. you're mine baby.

R.tist!c: a true masterpiece in motion

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: If its my cock filling you up, youd scream louder than that.

X-Devoted: So obedient. So perfect

You watched the tips climb, feeling a thrill at their desperation. "Is Daddy proud?" You asked, your voice a needy whine as you began to pump the dildo in and out of yourself. The lights reflected off the sweat that had begun to form on your skin, casting a glow around your body.

The chat was a blur of usernames and dollar signs, a testament to your power over these men. You felt a twinge of guilt, a tiny voice that whispered they didn't know the real you, that you were playing a role. But the rush of power was too great, the thrill of their desire too potent to resist.

You began to moan, the sound echoing through your headphones. The camera captured every inch of you, every bead of sweat, every gasp of pleasure. It was a dance of seduction, a performance honed over countless nights in front of the lens.

The chat was a furor of commands, each one more demanding than the last. But you were in control. You knew just how to play them, how to keep them on the edge of their seats. With each stroke, you felt their eyes on you, their thoughts wrapped around your body like a second skin.

"Oh, Daddy," you whimpered, the dildo moving faster now, the lights blurring together into a rainbow of ecstasy. "I'm so close." The chat exploded in a frenzy of tips once more, each one a declaration of war for your pleasure.

You felt yourself getting closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand moved faster, the dildo a blur as it plunged into your pussy. Your other hand gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white with the effort of holding back. Its creak was a silent protest against the relentless pace of the dildo, creating a lewd harmony along with the squelching of your pussy around the glowing, bumpy, glass phallus.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum," you whispered, your voice shaking with need. The chat was a sea of fire emojis, a digital inferno of desire. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their hands moving in time with yours, imagining it was their cocks that filled you so completely.

The lights grew brighter, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. It was as if the room was alive, a living entity that feasted on your pleasure. Your walls tightened around the dildo, a silent plea for more, for harder, for deeper. The glass felt like fire in your hand, a tool of your own making that you wielded with expert precision.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby, keep going. You’re on the 496th pump and counting.

C.Pilot: that’s it slut. give it to me.

R.tist!c tipped 1500 credits: youd be more beautiful painted with my cum

Syl.Draconia tipped 300 credits: Youre so pretty when youre full of me.

X-Devoted tipped 500 credits: Ure perfect… my little whore

You threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream. The chat was a blur of lewd comments and demands, a symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with every stroke. You felt their eyes on you, their hunger a palpable force that pushed you closer to the edge. The room was spinning, the lights a kaleidoscope of pleasure that painted the walls of your reality.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you with the force of a thousand suns. You screamed into the microphone, the sound echoing through the room. The camera captured every twitch of your body, every spasm of pleasure that racked your frame. The chat exploded in a cacophony of tips and messages, each one a declaration of victory.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, PixelBunny. Drink water to hydrate.

C.Pilot: I’d breed that little cunt like the bunny you are.

R.tist!c: fuck youre an artwork

Syl.Draconia: Good girl.

X-Devoted tipped 750 credits: Look how swollen your clit is

As the wave of pleasure receded, you slumped in the chair, panting heavily. Your body was a wreck, a plaything used and discarded. But there was no regret, only satisfaction. You had done your job, played your role to perfection. The tips kept rolling in, a testament to your power, to your ability to manipulate and control.

Mr.WhiteCoat: That was exquisite, PixelBunny. You pumped twenty-three times more tonight than the last stream.

C.Pilot tipped 2000 credits: you're so fucking perfect, you’re gonna make me cum on my keyboard.

R.tist!c: i want to capture that moment forever

Syl.Draconia: You never disappoint pet.

X-Devoted: Such a good little bunny letting us watch

You took a moment to catch your breath, the sweat cooling on your skin as you surveyed the chat. The room was bathed in the glow of the pastel lights, a soft symphony of colors that seemed to pulse with the aftermath of your climax. The usernames swirled like a kaleidoscope, each one a reminder of the men who had claimed a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Take off the g-string. Let us see you completely bare.

C.Pilot: you’re so responsive baby. I bet you’d scream if I was the one fucking you.

R.tist!c: i wish i could paint the way you look right now because your pussy is an art form

Syl.Draconia: Youre so open, so inviting. It makes me want to take you right here, right now.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Show me whats mine

With trembling hands, you slowly pulled the g-string to the side, fingers gliding to spread your swollen labia—exposing your clit to the cool air. The chat erupted in a symphony of desire, a crescendo of tips that sang your praises. You felt a thrill, a dark pleasure in knowing you had them all at your mercy.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Perfect. Just like that.

C.Pilot: so wet, so needy. who’s going to fill you up next?

R.tist!c: thats the look of a well-fucked muse

Syl.Draconia: Your pussy is begging for it.

X-Devoted: Remember, ure mine

You began to toy with yourself again, the dildo forgotten on the floor. Your hand moved with a newfound confidence, a silent challenge to the men watching you. You knew they were all thinking of themselves, of how they'd make you scream if they had the chance. But you were the one in control here, the one pulling the strings of their desires.

Mr.WhiteCoat: I want to see those breasts bounce, PixelBunny.

C.Pilot: play with those perfect tits.

R.tist!c: the way your titties jiggle is like watching a masterpiece come to life

Syl.Draconia: Show us your tits slut.

X-Devoted: Only for me my greedy little bunny

You leaned forward, your tits spilling out of the lingerie. Your nipples were hard peaks, begging for attention. You pinched them lightly, watching the chat for their reactions. The messages grew more frantic, a silent battle for your focus.

Mr.WhiteCoat tipped 300 credits: You’re shaking, PixelBunny. Just relax.

C.Pilot: pinch them harder, make them beg for mercy.

R.tist!c: oh baby thats the picture id sell for a fortune

Syl.Draconia: I want to feel those nipples between my teeth.

X-Devoted: Ure such a good slut for me

The room was a whirlwind of lewdness, a tornado of desire that you were at the center of. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, knowing that any of these men could be watching you from the shadows of your real life, and could be closer than you ever imagined.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Make yourself come again, PixelBunny. Show us how many times you can come tonight.

C.Pilot: I want to see you squirt for me baby.

R.tist!c: youre like a living, breathing fantasy

Syl.Draconia: Imagine its my tongue on you licking you clean while you squirt.

X-Devoted: Ure going to come for me arent you?

With a shiver, you focused on the task at hand. You began to rub your clit in slow circles, the sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. Your nipples tightened further as you pinched and twisted them, the pain adding a delicious edge to the pleasure.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Faster, Bunny. Make it count.

C.Pilot: so pretty when you're desperate.

R.tist!c: i want your juices mixed with paint

Syl.Draconia: So close bunny. Give us what we want.

X-Devoted: Be careful not to fall on the floor

The second orgasm built slowly, a crescendo of pleasure that you couldn't ignore. Each touch of your fingers was a declaration of war, a battle for dominance that you were determined to win. The chat was a blur of praises and commands, but you were in control. This was your show, your performance, your moment of power.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby. Just like that.

C.Pilot: I can almost taste you Bunny.

R.tist!c: your body is a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Soon youll be screaming for me.

X-Devoted: Ure mine to use little slut

With a final, desperate push, you came, your body arching off the chair as your juices arced in the air—subsequently soiling your chair and the floor. The camera captured every twitch, every shiver of pleasure. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips, each one a declaration of victory. You panted, your chest heaving as you watched the numbers climb, the power of your own sexuality laid bare before you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, baby. Simply breathtaking.

C.Pilot: that was so fucking hot. you're incredible

R.tist!c: the way you come is like watching the universe unfold

Syl.Draconia tipped 1500 credits: Thats my slut. Ill give you a taste of my cock soon.

X-Devoted: Good girl

As the waves of pleasure receded, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. These men didn't just want to watch you; they wanted to own you. The thought sent a thrill down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that you couldn't quite place.

You knew you had to keep them at bay, keep your real life separate from this digital playground. But as the tips continued to flow and the chat demanded more, you couldn't help but wonder if the line had already been crossed.

If they had already claimed a part of you that you couldn't take back.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You overslept.

The kind of oversleep that left mascara smudged in the corner of your eyes and thigh-high sock marks ghosting along your skin. Your alarm had gone off four times—each one silenced by a sleepy, swollen hand that still smells faintly of coconut oil and shame.

You’re not sore exactly. You're ruined.

Tender. Overfilled. Buzzing like your favorite toy never turned off. Your vibrator still under the pillow—taunting you like the whore you were last night. Your apartment smelled like artificial strawberries, lube, and desperation.

And your phone? Oh, bunny.

47 unread messages.

Syl.Draconia: Your audio peaked at 2:14:37. I liked that sound.

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should ice your thighs today. Hydration report pending.

X-Devoted: Still think about how u moaned my name last. Be good today

C.Pilot: saved the vod. watching it again before my morning meeting.

R.tist!c: i want to paint you mid-climax ill need the raw footage

You deleted none of them.

Your thighs stuck together as you rolled onto your side, squinting at the soft morning light bleeding through cheap blinds.

7:48 AM. Your café shift started at 7:00.

You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. Your bunny headset laid discarded on the floor like a casualty, tangled with the cord of the bullet toy that made you scream so loud you had to bite the pillow. The heart-shaped toy from last night was still blinking faintly on the nightstand—taunting you. Judging you.

You’re still wearing the cropped cardigan. Nothing underneath. Just a smear of dried gloss on the collar and a suspicious hickey where your neck met the webcam’s frame.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You yanked on your barista apron with the grace of a drunken octopus, hair still smelling like body spray and cum-adjacent perfume, cheeks flushed with residual shame. The “CUP O' SUNSHINE!” logo stared at you like a passive-aggressive middle finger. A wrinkled pair of jeans hugged your thighs fine—inside out. No time to fix it. No bra.

Your thighs sticked slightly as you walked, the aftermath of being toyed open for hours, edged to oblivion and backed by faceless men who knew the sound of your moans better than your coworkers knew your name.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket with unread messages. The same five names.

X-Devoted: Did u eat yet baby?

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should’ve hydrated more. You lost a lot of fluids.

C.Pilot: when’s your break? I’ll call you.

R.tist!c: sketching the way your thighs shook

Syl.Draconia: You looked perfect on your knees.

You groaned and shoved it in your boring, beige, canvas tote bag.

Outside, the bus screeched past your stop without a single care for your state of existential hangover. You missed it by six goddamn seconds.

"Fuck you, rush hour,” you panted, trying to speed-walk without waddling. Your thighs screamed. Your lower back protested. You're ninety percent sure there was still some faux hickey ink blooming under your collarbone in the shape of a painted thumbprint.

Then the subway ride was hell. You shifted on the plastic seat with a soft hiss, cursing your post-stream sensitivity. The train lurched and your sore cunt clenched involuntarily. You could only bite your lip and pray no one noticed your discomfort.

When you clocked in, the coffee shop was already packed. You're over an hour late and reeking of vanilla lotion and unsanctioned orgasms.

Your workplace was aggressively normal. Neutral-toned hell. A cozy café chain squashed between a vape shop and a dentist’s office. The fluorescent lights buzzed like judging aunts. The espresso machine wheezed like a dying horse.

“Nice of you to join us,” your manager—Lysander—muttered, tossing you a stained dish towel and a name tag that read PIXEL. You didn’t bother to correct him. You were too busy hiding the fact that you forgot underwear.

You forced a smile. The same one you used on camera. “Sorry! Long night.”

As you staggered toward the counter, last night kept crashing back in wet waves.

After the ‘normal stream’—you on all fours, bouncing on a glass dildo while holding a printed-out chatlog to your chest like a script from hell.

“I-I’m gonna come again if you keep saying that, please—please don’t make me—!”

And them—ULTRA VIP chat exploding, all five usernames watching you fall apart like a perfectly wound toy snapping loose.

Syl.Draconia: Youre not allowed to finish until I say so.

X-Devoted: Slower. Hold eye contact. Now beg

Mr. WhiteCoat: Apply pressure to your clit. Precisely three fingers. That’s right.

C.Pilot: fuck, you’re gonna make me blow in my headset.

R.tist!c: cry for me, let me paint it from memory

You had collapsed into a moaning mess while the private chat was filled with tips, voice notes and possessive claims. You came so hard you nearly dislocated your mic stand.

And now here you were—Pixel Bunny’s shadow, stripped of pastel lights, lace, and fake moans. Fresh graduate, still buried in student debts, living alone, half-fucked out, and working the register for caffeine-deprived Karens and stoners.

Taking someone’s half-skim oat milk latte with a fake smile and shaky hands, your body still twitching with phantom overstimulation, your panties still sitting in a tipped-over laundry basket, and your cunt still slick from ghosts of last night’s sins.

You slapped a paper cup onto the counter like a half-dead soldier. Your bones ached. Your legs felt like overcooked noodles. You were seconds away from collapsing into the espresso grounds when you heard it:

“Medium latte. One pump vanilla.”

You didn’t look up at first. You were too busy auto-piloting through your camgirl trauma, but something about the voice made you pause.

It’s… calm and smooth. Measured.

You glanced up and your breath caught mid-exhale.

He was tall. Easily six feet. Fair-skinned and silver-haired, the kind of anime-protagonist-just-transferred-to-your-school handsome that would normally make you roll your eyes. His white sweater looked soft, expensive, the kind of thing someone would wear just to make you think about how good it would feel brushing against your thighs. His pants were dark, tailored. Hands tucked casually into the pockets.

And his eyes. Blue. Not icy—glacial.

Like he sees straight through you, and hasn’t decided if you’re prey… or his.

You swallowed. “N-name for the order?”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a second, gaze lingering for a beat on the upside-down nametag stuck above your chest.

“…Xavier.”

Your hand trembled around the Sharpie. You barely managed to scrawl the name on the cup, your brain already conjuring the worst possibilities.

X-Devoted. No. No. It’s just a common name. It’s fine. You’re fine, you’re just sleep-deprived and overstimulated.

You slid the cup toward the espresso machine and forced your voice steady. “It’ll be right up. Um. X-Xavier.”

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Just a flicker—barely there.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Xavier turned to wait at the other end of the counter, hands still in his pockets. Posture straight. Like he was listening.

You sneaked one more glance as you started the order. He was staring at the pastries now. Or the board. Or maybe the reflection in the glass. You couldn’t tell.

But the prickle on the back of your neck said: be careful.

568 notes · View notes

simplygojo · 4 months ago

Text

Friend-Of-A-Friend ── Chapter One

author's note ⸺ Hello all! This is a teaser chapter for a series I've been cooking up, just wanting to put it out here while I work on a few requests. :) pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader summary ⸺ You met Gojo in university through your roommate, and while the two of you became the closest of friends, his other best friend, Suguru Geto, was always just a mutual acquaintance. After graduation, life pulled you all in different directions, with only the occasional reunion keeping you connected. But when Geto unexpectedly reaches out asking to catch up, your mind can't help but wander... content ⸺ platonic-bestie!gojo, corporate-worker!reader, modern au, reader uses female pronouns, this is an 18+ series - mdni divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

series masterlist ୨୧ simplygojo masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

You met Satoru Gojo because he briefly dated your roommate. Three weeks, to be exact.

It wasn’t a particularly serious relationship—Gojo wasn’t exactly the “serious relationship” type back then—but somehow, when it ended, he didn’t just disappear from your life like most fleeting university romances did.

Instead, he stuck around, not as someone’s boyfriend but as a chaotic, ever-present force in your friend group.

He was simply too much fun to let go, and despite his ex moving on, Gojo embedded himself in your daily routine as if he had always belonged there.

The two of you clicked almost instantly.

Perhaps it was his boundless energy, the way he could make even the most mundane of tasks feel like an adventure. Or maybe it was because you, unlike many others, had no problem challenging him, calling him out when he was being insufferable—which was often.

Either way, within a matter of months, you and Gojo were practically inseparable.

Your late nights turned into study sessions that lasted until dawn.

Over time, those sessions gained a third member: Suguru Geto, Gojo’s quieter, more composed friend. Compared to you and Gojo, anyone would seem reserved, but Geto had an air of serenity that balanced out Gojo’s manic energy.

He wasn’t just one of Gojo’s best friends; he became an integral part of your routine.

While Gojo would get distracted and try to rope you into some absurd conversation about the merits of sunglasses indoors, Geto would be the one actually ensuring the group got any work done.

He was thoughtful in small ways—like bringing you both coffee before an early lecture (though Gojo always insisted on lemonade because, in his own words, “coffee is for old people”).

You liked Geto. He was nice. But you never really got to know him beyond the surface. He was there, a presence woven into the fabric of your university life, but you never considered him more than a friend-of-a-friend.

Then, university ended.

You landed your first real corporate job in the city, trading the carefree nature of student life for morning commutes and office politics.

Gojo, despite his initial complaints about you ‘leaving him behind,’ ended up securing a job in HR somewhere in the rural south—how he managed that, you’d never know. The details remained murky—he provided no real explanation, only a steady stream of texts detailing his ongoing struggles with adulthood.

And of course, every now and then, the three of you—Gojo, Geto, and you—would reunite for drinks or sushi, laughing about your university days as if they weren’t already slipping into nostalgia.

But despite the occasional meetups, your dynamic with Geto remained unchanged.

You were friendly, sure, but you were just mutual friends.

Every conversation was held in Gojo’s orbit, every interaction buffered by his larger-than-life presence. You had never hung out with Geto alone, or even had a conversation. There was simply no reason to.

That’s why the message caught you off guard.

It was late, the soft glow of your phone illuminated your darkened bedroom. A new message popped up, not from Gojo, but from Geto.

Geto: Hey, are you still working in the city?

You blinked at the screen.

You couldn’t even remember the last time you and Geto had texted one-on-one. Maybe a few years ago for a party? Maybe never? And yet, here he was, reaching out.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, heart beating just a little faster than it should.

You: …Yeah. Why?

Geto: If I remember correctly…I just started working in your area.

Your brows furrowed as you reread his message. Geto? Working in the city? That was unexpected.

You had always assumed he’d followed a path similar to Gojo’s—something a little off the beaten track, something unconventional.

To be honest, if you thought about it, you didn’t really know where Geto went after you all graduated.

'He could have been in the city the whole time and you wouldn't have known.'

You: Oh, that's nice! It’s a pretty good area—what are you doing?

The three little dots appeared, then vanished. After a few moments, they appeared again.

Geto: Doing some accounting for a Nonprofit. Community outreach stuff. It’s pretty decent.

That sounded about right. You could picture it—Geto, with that steady, composed demeanor, seamlessly fitting into a role like that. He’d always had a way of making people feel heard, like whatever they were saying actually mattered. It made sense.

You: That does sound decent. Way more noble than my corporate grind, lol.

You expected that to be the end of it. A polite exchange, nothing more. But then—

*Geto Liked Your Message* Geto: You free this week? Would be nice to catch up. :)

The casual phrasing didn’t match the unfamiliar weight in your chest.

Your stomach twisted in something that wasn’t quite nerves, wasn’t quite excitement either. You stared at the screen, rereading the words, trying to remember a time Geto had ever asked to see you alone.

He hadn’t. Not once.

It wasn’t like you had anything against Geto. Quite the opposite, actually. If you were being honest, you had always thought he was attractive. How could you not?

Even back in university, when you spent most of your time sparring with Gojo over nonsense, you had still noticed Geto.

He was the kind of person who didn’t need to be loud to command attention.

While Gojo filled a room with sheer force of personality, Geto had an effortless gravity to him—sharp eyes that always seemed like they knew something you didn’t, an easy smirk that hinted at amusement even when he barely spoke.

And he was—annoyingly—good at everything. Studying? He aced it. Debating? He never raised his voice, but somehow, he always won.

He was the only one who could rein Gojo in with just a single look, a quiet “Satoru” spoken in that low, measured tone of his.

You had noticed all of it.

But noticing him wasn’t the same as knowing him.

And when it came down to it, Geto had never really been your friend—and you don’t mean that in a rude way.

He had been Gojo’s best friend. A presence you had gotten used to that was conditional to Gojo’s presence, but not one you had ever gotten close to.

So why now?

You: Yeah, I think I could be..

You paused before sending the next message.

You: Should I invite Gojo?

There were a few minutes of hesitation before his reply came through.

Geto: He isn’t in the city, might as well not force him to commute.

You stared at his response, reading between the lines.

He wasn’t saying no outright. But it also wasn’t a yes. And for some reason, that felt significant.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, a dozen different responses flitting through your mind. You could leave it there, let the conversation fizzle out naturally. It wasn’t like you and Geto had ever been close—this was already unusual enough.

But instead, you found yourself typing back faster than you expected

You: Fair point. Where are you thinking?

His reply came quicker this time.

Geto: I know a place. I’ll send you the details later this week.

Simple. Straightforward. Like this was just a casual meetup between old acquaintances. Like it wasn’t strange that, after all this time, he was reaching out to you specifically.

You exhaled, setting your phone down on the nightstand and staring up at the ceiling. The city buzzed softly outside your window, the distant hum of traffic filling the silence.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was just a coincidence.

But as you turned off your phone and settled into bed, you couldn’t shake the feeling that, for the first time, Geto was stepping out of Gojo’s shadow.

And he was looking directly at you.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The soft light of early morning filtered through the blinds, the city streets already bustling with their usual noise.

The sound of your alarm dragging you from sleep felt abrupt, too sudden, as though your body wasn’t quite ready to let go of the peaceful weight of the night.

You groaned, stretching and blinking into the darkness of your bedroom. Another day of emails, meetings, and the familiar grind of corporate life—the rat race, if you will.

The message Geto had sent you last night flashed in your mind.."You free this week? Would be nice to catch up. :)"

You could almost hear his calm, measured tone in your head. The quiet rhythm of his speech that always made you feel like whatever he was saying was worth listening to.

You stared at the screen for a long moment before closing the app and tossing the phone back down.

It wasn’t like you were doing anything special today. You had a million things to think about—your morning routine, that proposal you needed to finish, the quarterly meeting you’d been dreading for weeks.

Yet, for some reason, his message had settled into your mind like a loose thread that wouldn’t stop unraveling.

You dragged yourself out of bed, pulling your work clothes from the closet with the same practiced motions you had done a thousand times before. But today, as you stood in front of the mirror, brushing your hair and debating whether or not to wear something a little more polished than usual, you caught yourself.

You hadn’t done this in ages. You hadn’t even thought about what you’d wear in advance, or how you’d look.

‘Get a grip,’ you thought to yourself. ‘It’s not like he works in your building—or that I even care what he thinks…’

Geto hadn’t reached out in a year and a half, and yet now, here he was, pulling you from your routine with nothing more than a few words on a screen.

You exhaled and ran a hand through your hair, pushing any butterflies back down into your stomach, because as all the finance bros say..the grind never stops.

As you gathered your things for the day—grabbing your coffee, slipping on your coat—you found yourself checking your phone again, more out of habit than anything else.

No new messages.

You shook your head as you pulled open your apartment door, stepping into the cold, gray morning. The bustling sounds of the city greeted you, but your mind kept drifting back to Geto.

The way he’d worded his invitation. The odd shift in his tone.

You told yourself you’d just focus on work today, push this all to the back of your mind. But it didn’t quite feel like you could.

You walked to the subway, lost in thought, wondering if maybe you were reading too much into it.

You had always assumed that, between the two of them, you and Geto would always just… be friends of Gojo. An afterthought.

‘I’m sure he just wants to catch up, it has been a while…and I guess we did spend a lot of time studying together’

But as the subway doors slid shut and you pressed your earphones in, blocking out the noise around you, one thought lingered in your mind like an unanswered question.

Why now?

a/n: hi all, this is a new series I am thinking of continuing...please let me know if you liked it!! I'd love to ehar your thoughts <3 ty for reading

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visagurukulcom · 2 years ago

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SDS Colleges In Canada 2024: Student Direct Stream

Dreaming of studying in Canada? Well, you're not alone. Canada has become a hot spot for international students seeking quality education and a welcoming environment. If you're thinking of joining the ranks of maple leaf enthusiasts in 2024, you might want to get familiar with the Student Direct Stream (SDS Colleges In Canada) and the colleges that can be your gateway to a Canadian education adventure.

Understanding the Student Direct Stream (SDS Colleges In Canada)

The SDS Colleges In Canada is like a secret passageway for students wanting to fast-track their Canadian study permit application. Introduced by the Canadian government, SDS is designed to speed up the processing time for students from select countries, making the journey to Canadian colleges smoother and quicker.

Countries eligible for SDS include India, China, the Philippines, Vietnam, and Morocco. To qualify, you need to meet certain requirements, such as being enrolled in a designated learning institution (more on that later), proving your language proficiency, and providing financial documents to show you can cover your tuition and living expenses.

Why SDS Colleges?

Choosing the right college is crucial, especially when you're in pursuit of higher education in a foreign land. SDS colleges play a key role in this process. These institutions are designated by the Canadian government and are known for maintaining high academic standards, offering a wide range of programs, and providing a supportive environment for international students.

Let's dive into why SDS Colleges In Canada are the go-to option for many aspiring students.

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Cost of Living: While tuition fees are a significant part of the equation, don't forget to factor in the cost of living. Consider the cost of accommodation, food, transportation, and other expenses when budgeting for your Canadian adventure.

Employment Opportunities: Research the employment opportunities available to students in the area. Some regions have a thriving job market for certain industries, which can be advantageous for your future career prospects.

Conclusion

Choosing to pursue your education in Canada is a significant step towards a brighter future. SDS Colleges In Canada open doors for a smoother and faster entry into the Canadian academic landscape. With their commitment to academic excellence, support for international students, and pathways to permanent residency, these institutions are a solid choice for anyone looking to make the most of their educational journey.

As you embark on this exciting chapter, remember to research, plan, and make informed decisions. The right SDS college can be your ticket to not just a degree but a transformative experience in the land of the maple leaf.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

Q1: What is the Student Direct Stream (SDS)?

The Student Direct Stream (SDS) is a streamlined visa processing program introduced by the Canadian government. It aims to expedite the study permit application process for international students from select countries, making it faster and more efficient.

Q2: Which countries are eligible for the SDS program?

As of 2024, countries eligible for the SDS program include India, China, the Philippines, Vietnam, and Morocco. It's essential to check the latest eligibility criteria set by the Canadian government.

Q3: Why choose SDS colleges in Canada?

SDS colleges are designated by the Canadian government based on their commitment to academic excellence. These institutions offer a diverse range of programs, provide strong support for international students, and often serve as a pathway to permanent residency in Canada.

Q4: How do I qualify for SDS?

To qualify for SDS, you typically need to meet certain requirements, including enrollment in a designated learning institution, proof of language proficiency, and providing financial documents to demonstrate your ability to cover tuition and living expenses.

#SDS Colleges #Colleges #Canada #university #student #study abroad #abroad education #direct stream

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pretty-little-mind33 · 1 year ago

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James Potter x shy Hufflepuff fem!reader

Summary: You have a massive crush on James. One you didn't think would ever lead anywhere until a drunken party in the Gryffindor Common Room.

Genre: Fluff 🫶

Warnings: drinking, being drunk

~ directly inspired by the song So High School by Taylor Swift. thank you to the anon who requested this! ily! ~

JAMES POTTER MASTERLIST

Your cheeks burn from your embarrassment and the fire-whiskey in your blood-stream as your ears ring from the loud music dancing around you and you shake your head.

Lily Evans laughs as she glances around the Common Room. "C'mon, this is your chance," she insists, "They're playing Kiss, Marry, or Kill."

When Lily sees your confused and frankly frightened expression, she quickly explains, "It's a muggle game—it's harmless and fun—c'mon," she says again and pulls on your arm.

"Gentlemen," Lily declares when you approach the circle of students near the fire and she looks at the ring leaders of the group, The Marauders.

They're the ones that had planned this party—or Sirius and James had while Remus and Peter tagged along.

Sirius grins when he sees Lily.

"Aw, are you joining us, Red?" he smirks and then he sees you, "And who's your friend?"

You smile shyly. You know Peter from Care Of Magical Creatures in your third year, and you often seen Remus in the library (you've even spoken to him a few times), but you've only ever seen and heard James and Sirius from afar—

—which definitely never helped the stupid, baseless, soul-crushing crush you have on James Potter.

Remus, who is sitting criss-cross ext to Sirius, speaks up, "Y/n, yeah? You're a Hufflepuff—I see you in the library." He smiles kindly and pushes on James's shoulder, who has the latter almost choking on his beer, so you can sit next to him.

James frowns but he recovers quickly and looks up, his glasses crooked on his nose. He's wearing his Quidditch sweater, his brown hair a tangled mess, but he's smiling now.

"Hi," he moves so you can sit next to him and Remus as Lily grins like a fool. You feel her hand on your shoulder as she plops you down next to James and she sits across from you.

Apart from the Marauders, other students are also sitting around the circle and chatting. Sirius is by far the loudest of them all, and you think James is the funniest.

It becomes honestly embarrassing how hard you laugh at any stupid joke he says. You can't help it, your tipsiness impairs any rational thoughts you may have, as you cover your mouth and stifle your laughs.

James notices immediately and he grins.

"Never had this much success, dove," he says, as charming as always, "You're cute."

This causes you to become even more flustered and you don't even know how to answer him. So, you hide from him, turning your head in the opposite direction. Lily sends you a knowing look.

James leans his knee closer to yours and you have to convince yourself he did that by accident or you'll simply implode.

"Okay, Jamie, Kiss, Marry, Kill—me, Lily, and our new sweet little Hufflepuff," Sirius suddenly says, pulling your attention to the group again. You still have no clue what this game is and your eyes round.

Sirius seems quite pleased with himself.

James sips his drink, "Hmm, Kill you because you're a pain in my arse—"

Sirius dramatically puts a hand on his heart, feigning hurt at his best friend's words. "And here I had the ring all prepared," he whines.

James chuckles and continues. "Then um," he looks between you and Lily for a moment and your heart sinks.

Everyone knows James had a thing for Lily in second to fourth year. How could you, someone who had been too shy and awkward to even talk to him, compete with smart, incredibly witty, and beautifully stunning Lily Evans?

"Kiss Lily and marry Y/n," James shrugs, smiling lopsidedly as he looks at you and pushes his glasses further up his nose. "Lils' seems like she'd be a decent snog, but I like them sweeter for the long run," he reasons and winks.

Lily laughs and rolls her eyes, "Smooth, Potter."

"No need to get all green-eyed on us, Evans," James says and turns his attention to you again, "Whadd'ya say, lil' puff, June 17th in six years?" he says, planning the future fake wedding.

You look up at him, your eyes round and you blink—unable to laugh it off as your heart thumps so loudly you can barely hear a thing anymore.

"I think you broke the poor girl," Remus chuckles and then turns to Peter to steer the attention away from you, "Okay, Wormy, your turn."

Thank Merlin for Remus Lupin.

* * *

A while later, you stand in the corner of the room, your mind still stuck on how James's teasing that you don't hear the man in question come up to you.

"Hey, dove," he whispers and you spin around.

"Oh–hi," you whisper. You must look so smitten because you can just feel your cheeks burn.

James smirks. "It's late. Where's Lily?"

You frown as you look around, "She's talking with um—some of her other friends over there—" you point, expecting James to walk to her and leave you behind.

Instead, he stays. "You think she'd mind if I walk you back to your Common Room, you seem a little tipsy."

You're at a loss for words but then you stutter, "O-oh, no, I don't think she would mind," you whisper, "That's very kind of you, James. I c-can walk alone if it's a bother—"

"Nonsense. If it was a bother, I wouldn't have asked," James takes your arm, pushing some hair from your face with his fingers.

"Cute ribbon," he adds, looking at the red ribbon in your hair, "Very on brand with Gryffindor pride," he chuckles as he clearly enjoys the flustered look you're wearing.

"You're adorable," he says and he takes your hand, leading you out into the hall. The corridors are empty and dimly lit at this time in the evening and it feels surreal to walk the halls hand in hand with James Potter—especially when he keeps looking back at you with that look on his face.

When you arrive at the entrance of the Hufflepuff Common Room, James turns to you and he keeps his hand in yours. He's blushing obviously now and you can smell the beer on his breath.

"If we weren't so tipsy," he mumbles, his knuckles caressing your skin, "I would kiss you right now."

Your eyes widen and your breath leaves you. "Pardon?"

"You heard me, love—where have you been all my life?" he sounds lovesick and one of his palms press against his warm cheek, "Is this what love at first sight is supposed to feel like? Because I was convinced that was all bullshit until now. What charm have you put on me, Y/n?"

You look away because if you look into his eyes any longer, you'll faint. Your hand squeezes his as his words make you feel dizzy and all fluttery. "I think you're just a little drunk, James."

"Drunk in love, yeah," he half-jokes, his tone soft as he leans in and his lips find your forehead.

You shut your eyes, wondering how he could make you feel like this in a mere matter of hours and although your insecurities creep in, you stay in the moment.

"Where can I find you tomorrow?" James whispers against your skin.

"I'm in the library a lot, especially in the mornings," you say, having no expectations of ever seeing James Potter again. You and him live on completely different planets.

"You can find me there if you'd like," you finish and James nods, his lips kissing your temple one last time and then he whispers a small, sweet dreams into your skin.

* * *

In the morning, you ignore your hangover and find your usual spot in the back of the library as you open an old book written by an ancient muggle philosopher.

Last night's events in the Gryffindor Common Room play in your head as you read.

"Mornin'." You're startled by a familiar voice and you look up from your book. James stands in front of you, a Quaffle under his arm as his hair splays messily across his forehead.

He's still dressed in his Quidditch Uniform and he walks closer, smiling. "Sorry I'm late—practice ran later than usual. Whatcha reading?" he asks, sitting across from you and draping his arm across the chair next to his as the Quaffle sits in his lap.

"You came," you whisper with a smile, your heart fluttering.

"Yeah, 'course I came," James says so casually as he leans over the table and taps your book, "Whatcha reading, dove? Do tell me all about it,"

You feel all warm and fuzzy like all your wildest dreams have come true, when you say, "Only if you tell me all about Quidditch practice after?" you look at him shyly.

"Your wish is my command," James grins, a faint blush on his cheeks.

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stellawish · 7 months ago

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evil papa

summary: satoru being menace nothing new genre: fluff obviously dad!gojo x mom!reader and ur 6 month old son 👶

request

All the problems in your life begin with two words: Boredom and Satoru.

Haru watched Satoru with a cheeky smile. After adjusting the camera, Gojo began unpacking the box.

“Dad got you something,” he exclaimed excitedly.

One day, he saw a video of a child reacting to a talking cactus and decided he had to buy one for his son, but then he forgot about it. Yesterday, however, he got bored at work. While his students argued over something, he was scrolling through his phone and came across the video he had saved. Of course, he immediately ordered the toy online.

He set the cactus up, pressed the button, and placed it in front of the baby.

Your son reached out to touch the toy, exclaiming, “Eeek!”

Eeek!

The sweet smile faded from his chubby face as he shuddered and backed away.

Satoru chuckled at his son's reaction, and the cactus mimicked the sound. Suddenly, the room filled with crying. Haru, who had been trying to stay brave, edged even further away from the toy, his eyes fixed on it the entire time.

You and Satoru exchanged surprised glances.

Amused by his son’s reaction, Satoru couldn’t hold back a laugh. His voice, distorted by the toy, echoed through the room, making the frightened Haru turn toward you. Still crying, he quickly crawled in your direction.

Your evil husband continued to tease his son, grabbing the toy and walking toward you both.

You opened your arms and placed the baby on your lap. “Oh, my poor baby, are you scared?” you cooed softly. The cactus mimicked your words, and Haru shuddered in your arms.

Satoru was laughing silently, covering his face with one hand. “Oh my God, I can’t!” he exclaimed, choking on his laughter.

Meanwhile, Haru’s cries only grew louder.

You kept stroking your son's back, trying to soothe him, though you couldn’t help but crack a grin. “Satoru, that’s enough! You’re scaring him—turn it off!” you said firmly.

Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, Gojo finally composed himself.

When he glanced at Haru, still crying, he noticed the little boy had buried his face in your neck. Quiet sobs and tiny hands clutching your shirt made Satoru’s smile fade.

“Okay, baby, Papa’s sorry. Look, I turned it off—see?” he said gently.

Haru pressed his chubby cheek against your shoulder, his hiccups breaking the silence. His damp white eyelashes fluttered a few times as he cautiously glanced at Gojo, then shifted his gaze to the green toy in his father’s big palms.

“See? It’s all right,” Satoru said softly, his tone soothing. He moved closer and held out his hands toward his son.

Haru hesitated for a moment before reaching out to his dad, his lips forming a small pout. Gojo gently wrapped his arms around him, brushing away the tears still streaming down his cheeks with a careful finger.

“Now Papa feels bad,” Satoru murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to Haru’s rosy cheek.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” he added, planting more kisses on his son’s tear-streaked face.

You rested your head on Satoru's strong shoulder and whispered conspiratorially, “Your dad is such a fool, right? Let’s punish him and eat all his sweets?"

As if he understood what you were saying, your son cooed.

"Hey!" Satoru exclaimed.

You reached out and lightly touched Haru’s tiny nose.

“Boop,” you said softly. Haru’s lips curled into a small smile.

“Boop,” you repeated, smiling back.

extra

Haru stared warily at the three cactus toys in front of him. Even though he had mostly overcome his fear since their first encounter, and he almost didn’t cry. Almost. Clearly, this toy wasn’t his favorite.

He crawled closer to Satoru, his wary eyes never leaving the green toys.

Gojo, of course, thought he was incredibly funny and couldn’t resist ordering a couple more of the same toys. But hey, don’t rush to judge him. He just wanted his beloved son to overcome his fears. Or at least that’s the excuse he had been rehearsing in his head—since, after all, you didn’t know about the purchase yet.

He patted his son gently on the back and started, “Remember, my son, the best way to destroy your enemy is to make th–.”

“Satoru?! What the f—?”

taglist: @3lliesrifle @k-kkiana @issamomma @spicana @achbbys000 @happytreetale @mashtura

🌵more dad!gojo and Haru HERE

please be a sweetheart and leave a comment it means the world to me and keeps me motivated

this piece might look a little clumsy and weird i just didn’t write for a minute and i forgot how to do it and i forgot english too😞. but it was in my drafts and maybe some of yall missed my baby Haru so here we go. anyway i hope u liked it!!!

i missed yall and Haru missed u too. 👶😘

#jjk fluff #dad!gojo #gojo fluff #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x y/n #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #jjk gojo #dad gojo #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu gojo #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x you #gojou x reader

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xoxolaw · 16 days ago

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+ HOW TO WIN A HEART

in which her friends challenged her to make the scariest guy in school fall in love with her — and she said, “easy.”

GEUM SEONG-JE X READER

CH 1 , CH 2 , CH 3

RULE 3 - STAY IN CONTROL

By Monday morning, Kanghak High was practically vibrating with gossip.

Y/N walked through the school gates to a sea of stares, whispers barely concealed behind textbook covers and phone screens. Some students tried to act normal around her, like they hadn’t spent the weekend dissecting the hallway kiss from every possible angle. Others didn’t even bother pretending. They turned openly in her direction, their conversations stalling as she passed by, as if she were a myth in motion.

She was used to being watched, but this was different. This wasn’t admiration or envy. It was something more electric. She could feel it in the way the teachers stole sidelong glances at her and quickly looked away, in how the younger students scrambled out of her path with a little more urgency than before. Her lips still tingled faintly, and she could swear her pulse hadn’t settled since Friday.

But she kept her head high, spine straight, heels clicking confidently against the floor like punctuation marks. As far as the world was concerned, she was unfazed. Composed. Still in control.

The truth was, she had barely slept all weekend.

It wasn’t the kiss that haunted her. It was the way he’d kissed her back. Seong-je hadn’t just returned it—he had taken it over, turned it into something darker, sharper. He had left her breathless and flushed, then walked away like he had barely broken a sweat. And now, three days later, he still hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction.

She wasn’t used to being ignored. Not by anyone. And especially not by the boy she’d deliberately chosen to mess with.

In the cafeteria, her friends were already seated when she arrived, and as soon as she sat down, Bora leaned in with her usual grin barely contained. “You’re trending,” she whispered, holding up her phone. Sure enough, someone had posted a blurry clip of the kiss—probably from a second-floor window. The angle was awful, but it didn’t matter. It had already racked up over three hundred comments.

Jina leaned in too, eyes wide. “They’re calling you the girl who tamed the wolf.”

“I didn’t tame anyone,” Y/N said, peeling the lid off her banana milk and forcing a smirk. “He just knows when he’s outmatched.”

But the words tasted hollow. He hadn’t even looked at her.

“And what’s his deal anyway?” Bora asked, glancing around the cafeteria. “He’s acting like nothing happened.”

Y/N took a long sip of her drink and shrugged. “He’s playing hard to get.”

Jina narrowed her eyes. “You sure? Because usually when a guy gets even a reply from you, he’s writing love notes by the next morning.”

That was true. And it was exactly why this silence made her jaw tighten. She needed to reset the balance. If Seong-je thought he could rattle her just by doing nothing, he had no idea who he was dealing with.

By sixth period, she had made up her mind.

---

She caught him after school—exactly where she expected him to be.

Out behind the gym, near the rusted metal fence where the smokers and truants hung out, Seong-je was leaning against the wall, one leg bent, a cigarette lazily balanced between his fingers. His blazer was off, slung over one shoulder, sleeves rolled up just enough to show the faint line of an old scar near his wrist. He looked up when she approached, but didn’t say anything. Just raised an eyebrow and took a slow drag.

“You’ve been quiet,” She said, coming to a stop a few feet away. She kept her tone light, almost teasing, but there was steel beneath it. “Usually when I even talk to someone, I get a bit more fanfare.”

He exhaled a lazy stream of smoke, head tilted slightly, like he was studying her rather than listening. “Didn’t know I was supposed to send flowers.”

“You didn’t even say thank you,” she added, folding her arms across her chest. Her uniform skirt rustled faintly in the wind, but she didn’t move. “That was a hell of a kiss, if I do say so myself.”

He gave a short laugh under his breath—low, amused, and maddeningly unreadable. “That’s what this is about?”

His voice wasn’t mocking, exactly. But it carried that familiar edge—like he already knew how to get under her skin and was deciding whether it was worth the effort. The breeze ruffled the ends of his hair, sun catching in his eyes, and for a second, she almost hated how good he looked standing there—like chaos dressed in uniform and smirking like he knew something she didn’t.

Y/N’s chin lifted a fraction higher. “I’m just surprised. Most guys are a little more—grateful.”

“You kissed me,” he said, ashing the cigarette against the wall without taking his eyes off her. “Not the other way around.”

Her lips parted in disbelief. “You kissed me back.”

“I did,” he admitted, with a nonchalance that made her want to scream. “Doesn’t mean I owe you anything.”

The audacity.

She stepped in closer before she could stop herself, the space between them shrinking dangerously fast. Her voice dropped, quiet but biting. “You think ignoring me is some kind of power move?”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t lean back. In fact, he looked mildly entertained by her anger. “You’ve been waiting all weekend for me to react. And now here you are.”

His words hit harder than she’d expected, slipping through her carefully built armor and lodging somewhere uncomfortable. She wasn’t used to boys like him. Boys who didn’t fold. Boys who didn’t treat her like she was something to orbit. Seong-je, maddeningly, stayed rooted exactly where he was—solid, calm, and completely unreadable.

“I just wanted to see where your head was at,” she said, forcing the irritation out of her voice. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I’m not,” he said. “But I think you are.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

His smirk deepened, eyes flashing like he’d just won a round she didn’t even know they were playing. “This little challenge you’ve got going on—you think you’re the one setting the rules.”

“I am.”

A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, without warning, he leaned in—not close enough to touch, but close enough that she felt the shift in the air, the heat in his gaze.

“You kissed me in the middle of the hallway like you had something to prove,” he murmured. “But you didn’t walk away on your terms. You ran.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“No one runs unless they’re scared,” he added.

Her jaw clenched before she could stop it. “I’m not scared of you.”

He tilted his head. “You should be.”

That wasn’t a threat. It was a promise laced with quiet warning. Not the kind of fear that came with danger, but the kind that came with losing control. The kind that made her heart pound faster even now, just standing this close.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she turned slightly, like she was about to walk away—only to pivot back and step even closer. Her fingers grazed his collar, straightening it casually, deliberately, until they brushed the line of his throat. His breath hitched—barely—and for a second, she felt it again: that flicker of control in her hands.

“I don’t run,” she said. “I choose when to end things.”

“Then end it,” he said, voice low and daring.

Her eyes didn’t leave his. “Not yet.”

And with that, she released him, took a step back, and turned on her heel. This time, she *didn’t* look back.

But neither of them believed it was over.

Not even close.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Do you guys like thisssss????

TAGLIST

@lveegsoi @lilah1020 @adenosistriphosphate678 @stxr-lilac @iloveaustinelvisandmannymore @ashayein @ellaaa505 @bobamiikteaas @ruruyinn @itzcandy @heeknow @liliasf @lizaaae @uniquecookieartisanwobbler @gacktsa @thebatapex @chimmyn0chu @doiegami @satoru2716

#fanfic #weak hero class two #weak hero x reader #geum seong je #weak hero webtoon #geum seong je x reader #geum seongje x reader #wolf keum

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ba9go · 1 year ago

Text

two smart cookies

bakugou katsuki x reader

u.a.!bkg and reader, exam stress and study sessions, bkg comforts reader, soft bkg hours, fluff (sfw)

part 2/3 of the cookie craving collection (completed!)

more cookies for you? part 1 (sfw) 🍪 part 3

you were never the best at academics. sure, you came to your classes on time, paid attention during lessons, took down notes, and did your homework on time.

still, you were never the top of your class, and you didn’t mind it, really. i mean, u.a. was full of brilliant students! you never let your grade or rankings deter your efforts from trying your best.

katsuki, on the other hand, has always been an all-rounder. back in junior high, he berated izuku for being a shitty nerd, but the truth is, katsuki was quite the nerd himself. even now, in u.a., katsuki studies hard to get perfect grades — and he does, every single time. because katsuki deserves it, you think.

you know katsuki like the back of your hand. you know that he wants to do well, to become the number one pro hero, to be the damn best. and anything that katsuki wants, you knew he would get. katsuki has always been relentless like that, unshakeable resolve and unwavering determination. that’s the stubborn katsuki that you knew and loved.

sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if you’re falling behind.

sighing, you close your laptop, burying your face in your hands. you rubbed at your eyes drearily, willing yourself to stay awake just a bit longer. there was a huge test next week, and you wanted to ace it, wanted to be able to show off to katsuki, wanted to make him proud of you for once.

it’s only 1am. classes start at 8 tomorrow. you got this. you gulped a few mouthfuls from your water bottle (katsuki banned you from drinking coffee; “stay off that shit! it makes ya all jittery! s’not healthy for ya, idiot!”). you opened your laptop, and continued studying until you fell asleep at your desk.

you barely managed to stay awake during your 8am class. the bell rings, and it’s time for recess. but instead of leaving to grab lunch, you fold your arms under your head to lay down on your desk. your eyes fluttered close, and you drifted off into sleep…

meanwhile, katsuki’s frowning, waiting for you at the canteen. he looks down at his phone. no new notifications. he scowls. normally, you’d text him when your class overran. his frown deepens when he sees a few of your classmates stream in to queue for their food.

he tries to stay calm and rational. maybe you went to the restroom? maybe you had questions, and stayed back after your lesson? maybe you’re already on your way? but it’s already been almost 10 minutes and— “fuck this shit,” katsuki swears, and starts walking in the direction of your block.

katsuki’s worried. his hands are clammy with sweat, balled up into fists in his pockets. he’s walking briskly down the hallway, stressing about what might’ve happened to you.

he freezes at the doorway of your classroom.

for a moment, he’s angry. katsuki glares at your sleeping frame, then at your messy desk, stacks of paper and sticky notes strewn about, and he’s thinking god, you’re so irresponsible, you’re clearly overworking yourself, the fuck are you even that stressed for—

katsuki walks over, and he’s fuming.

he notices the eyebags under your eyes, notices the sticky note pasted right on the front of your laptop.

katsuki’s pissed off, partially at you, but mostly at himself. how did he not realise?

katsuki taps your shoulder gently. you stir awake, and his heart aches as he watches your tired eyes blink open. he walks to your side and kneels next to you.

“‘suki?” you mumble, raising your head to look at him. “oh god, i’m so sorry, i forgot to…” you words trail off as katsuki places his face in your lap.

“fuck that,” katsuki mumbles.

“huh?”

katsuki’s quiet for a while. he’s so still, until his shoulders start to shake and you feel him trembling against you and you feel wet, hot tears on your legs. you start to apologise, but katsuki speaks again.

“s’not a total victory,” katsuki says, and his voice cracks halfway. “i can’t win…” he finally looks up at you, shaking his head, and it hurts, seeing your katsuki break down in front of you like that. “not when you’re not okay…”

you hold katsuki’s face gently in your hands, thumbs moving to wipe across his tear-streaked cheeks. tears of your own start to cloud your vision. “katsuki, i’m sorry,” you whisper shakily, but katsuki shakes his head again, prying himself away from your hands. he leans forward to bury his face in your tummy. your wrap your arms around his shoulders instead, one hand rubbing soothing circles into his back.

“i can’t,” katsuki hugs your waist tightly. “don’t want to see you suffer like this, i can’t, y/n.” you feel a pang of guilt. “please.”

“i’m sorry, katsuki,” you sobbed. “i.. i just wanted to do good, for you. wanted you t’be proud of me.”

katsuki looks up at you slowly. “why wouldn’t i be?”

“my grades suck—”

“hah? we havin’ the same conversation right now? what the fuck does that gotta do with anythin’?!”

“i’m stupid! and i can’t be your sidekick if i stay stupid!” you whine.

katsuki stands up. he claps your face in his hands, squishing your cheeks between them. he’s frowning, glaring daggers at you.

“what are you,” he asks dryly.

“…an idiot sandwich.”

katsuki sighs, letting go of your face. without warning, he traps you in a loose headlock, his free hand ruffling your hair roughly.

“damn right you are,” katsuki scoffs. “but yer not stupid. ya got that?” he kisses your forehead. “the smartest girl i know. my girl. ya got some nerve, callin’ my girl stupid. ya wanna die?”

as he continues drowning you in his affection berating you, you’re reminded again of just how much katsuki loves you.

“yer already smart. don’t gotta do anythin’ to prove shit to me, or any other fucker. someone been tellin’ ya things, behind my back? what’s gotten into you, hm?”

“no. got myself stressed ‘bout my test next week, s’all,” you admit with a pout.

“next time yer fuckin’ stressed, ya come to me, got it?” katsuki pulls you into a tight hug. “no more of this overworkin’ yourself bullshit. ya need sleep to focus in class, damn it!”

“i knoooow—”

“ya clearly don’t,” katsuki scolds. then, he rests his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes seriously. “take better care of yourself.”

“mm,” you hum.

he kisses your lips. “i’m serious. i need my future sidekick in tiptop condition, ya hear me?” you frown at his words.

“am i really good enough?” the question slips from your lips before you can stop yourself.

katsuki kisses you again. he pulls back with a smile, the one that’s reserved just for you.

“yer the damn best thing that’s ever happened to me,” katsuki says easily, confidently.

you smile.

“thank you, hero.”

dynamy has my whole heart

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @nemisimp @an-na-bella @valeriyaaak @buggie07 @v3n7s

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou headcanons #bakugou imagine #bnha fluff #bnha imagines #bnha headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha #mha

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r2d2lover · 9 months ago

Text

Healing Touch

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader (QuidditchPlayer!Mattheo x Healer!Reader)

Rating: E

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Unprotected sex, vaginal sex, F/M, fingering, aged-up characters, semi-public sex, Hogwarts Uni AU

Summary:

You give an alternative form of medicine after an injury lands star Quidditch player, Mattheo Riddle, in your care.

Friday nights always brought a familiar routine - milling around the bustling infirmary, secretly hoping for some excitement to break up the monotony. You couldn't help but feel a small twinge of guilt at your thoughts, wishing for someone to get injured during the intense Quidditch game and be sent to you for patching up. But most of the time, it was just a steady stream of students in need of minor first aid and basic pain relief potions after the games. And yet, despite the lack of excitement, you found comfort in these quiet evenings spent with Madam Pomfrey, the kind-hearted matron who ran the infirmary. Your friends may have called it "sad," but you found solace in her company and often lost track of time as you engaged in riveting conversations with her. You were no stranger to the infirmary; you had been under her watchful advisory since secondary school and working your way to a full time job at St. Mungo’s upon your graduation. It was almost therapeutic, in a way, to escape from the chaos of game day and simply unwind with such a wise and motherly figure.

Tonight, however, was different. It started off normal enough, with the most exciting prospect being refusing a stash of Mallowsweet leaves from kids looking to smoke the dried herb. That incident caused Madam Pomfrey to ask you to catalogue the stores, which you did happily while humming to yourself. Right before you could start, the infirmary doors busted open with a bang, startling you from your reverie. A group of students clad in green fangear from hats to painted faces rushed in, supporting a limp figure between them. Your heart raced as you recognized the unconscious form of Mattheo Riddle, his Quidditch robes torn and muddy.

"Bludger to the head," someone shouted as Madam Pomfrey hurried over. You sprang into action from your position, grabbing potions and bandages as the matron directed. For once, your presence wasn't just busywork; you were needed.

Mattheo was carried in on a magic stretcher, curled up in pain and still spilling curses from his bruised lips. If it had been earlier in your youth, you would’ve assumed the Slytherin boy got into some fight. In your apprenticeship years in secondary school, you patched up your fair share of Mattheo Riddle confrontations of both parties. At some point, Mattheo turned himself around by channeling his anger into Quidditch and even ended up scoring a scholarship to the same uni as you. He was still a regular customer of yours, especially since he started setting his sights on playing professionally. And if you were honest with yourself, you liked the conversations you had with him while you held his hand and set a broken appendage with Skelegro or stitched him up after a nasty fall. Though your relationship was transactionally based, you found yourself referring to him as your friend. Mattheo was a natural charmer as well, and you had your fair share of flustered moments on an off-handed comment of his. Even if you preferred the company of Madam Pomfrey on Friday nights, you definitely favored a more flirtatious company.

You unloaded the star Quidditch player onto a hospital bed at the end of the hall for maximum privacy. You dismissed his friends with thanks and told them that they needed to leave if they wanted to see Mattheo get better. As you drew the curtains around Mattheo's bed, you caught a glimpse of his pained expression. Your heart clenched at the sight. Madam Pomfrey bustled over with her wand at the ready, muttering diagnostic spells under her breath.

"Mild concussion, broken arm, and a nasty laceration on his thigh. Nothing we can't handle, but it'll take some time. Fetch the Blood-Replenishing Potion and prepare a Calming Draught. I am going to the pitch to see if there are anymore injuries," Madam Pomfrey announced grimly. You nodded, hurrying to the potions cabinet. As you gathered the necessary vials, you heard Mattheo groan.

"Wha... happened?" Mattheo slurred, trying to sit up. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. You shushed him and held up the Calming Draught to his lips, coaxing the liquid into his mouth gently. You raked your fingers through his body to check for any more injuries, silently biting back your breath as you felt how hardened his muscles were. That’s wildly inappropriate, you scolded yourself. You mixed the Calming Draught with the ill-tasting Skelegro, hoping it would disguise the taste enough for him to stomach it. Mattheo was still hazy when you wrapped his arm in a sling and he found comfort in squeezing your arm to ease the pain. Normally, you would never let the identity of your patient cloud your level of care, but Mattheo was just different.

“You took a nasty fall during the game tonight. Hey, I… I’m going to have to remove your pants to get to that cut on your thigh,” You say shakily while slowly and gently peeling back the blood soaked bandage. The medic on the pitch did a haphazard job, which only brought him more pain. Mattheo let out a silent hiss through gritted teeth before he nodded. He tried to use his free hand to help you unlace the front of his uniform, but you waved him aside. With a slung arm, you had no option but to take pity on him. You undid his pants quickly while keeping an eye on his face to gauge his pain. For a man with a broken arm and a deep laceration on his upper thigh, he seemed to be more focused on you undoing his pants. He watched you in a labored mixture of panting and groaning, but he eventually conceded to the pain and threw his head back with his eyes squeezed shut. You held up a drink spiked with Wiggenweld to his lips to distract him from the pain in his leg, but really you were trying to distract yourself from the sinful sight in front of you.

“Bloody hell… Do you think they’ll let me play in the game next week?” Mattheo sipped on the pain relieving potion greedily. You watched him with matched greediness as he licked droplets of the potion off his lips and threw his head back. For your own sanity, you patted the corners of his mouth with a rag. Mattheo wrapped his hand around your arm in what you guessed to be an attempt to steady himself, especially as you turned your focus back to his bloodied pants.

“I’m not sure, but if you let go of my arm, I can try to make sure that you do,” You teased gently, flexing your arm to signal him. Mattheo opened his eyes in embarrassment and released his iron-clad grip on your bicep. Normally, you wouldn’t have noticed, but his hand was so large that it completely wrapped around your arm and choked your blood supply. He apologized sheepishly, then delved his front teeth into his bottom lip while you finally pulled off his pants. “Tell me if it hurts any more, I can give you more Wiggenweld.”

“The pain’s not so bad… it’s more of a mental thing, I think,” Mattheo watched carefully as you started to clean the scape on his thigh. It was a nasty mark, but he seemed proud of it and didn’t regret the scar it would form if it meant securing the championship. You slowly massaged a salve into his skin, which made him shiver and jump.

“Mental?” You questioned without looking up. His words tightened a knot in your stomach but you persisted. Your hands dipped back into the pot of salve to add another layer but Mattheo grabbed your wrist.

“Please, you must hurry up. I don’t think I can handle you rubbing on my thigh much longer. It’s bloody torture,” Mattheo breath hitched as you twisted out of his grip and returned your hand back to his thigh. The knot from before threatened to jump out of your throat at his words, but you weakly laughed it off as you continued applying the cooling paste. The Quidditch player should’ve also won a championship for self-restraint, for even with your hands brushing the edge of his plaid boxers, he was well composed. You figured it was the pain from his injuries to save both of your egos.

“Maybe I like you in a compromising position. Makes you less… godly, I guess,” You joked with a soft smirk. Mattheo made an odd gurgling noise that sounded like a choked groan, but your back was turned to him while looking for a bandage. When you turned back around, Mattheo’s eyes were opened with a thigh-clenching darkness to them. Swallowing dryly, you chose to ignore it and started to bandage up his thigh. Mattheo’s fingers twitched at his side, as if he were trying to reach out. The wicked side of you just wished he would. “Too tight?”

“No, that’s fine... Fuck, maybe we should stop talking,” Mattheo snapped out of whatever trance he was in and sat up.

“I don’t know… what you’re talking about…” You mentally kicked yourself at how timid you sounded. Mattheo leaned forward and grabbed your waist tightly with his free hand. You gasped at the way his fingers dug into your sides and the show of strength it was to make you crash into him. “Mattheo, this is highly inappropriate-!”

“Does that mean you’re going to stop me?” Mattheo’s voice dropped an octave and the bass vibrated your core. You shook your head with a stammer, but still you let Mattheo bring his warm breath from your ear to your jaw.

“Madam Pomfrey- She might-” You struggled to keep your composure as to not give Mattheo the satisfaction. You suppressed a moan with a cough.

“Then you should be quiet, hm, love?” Mattheo grinned against your jaw before dragging his mouth down further. He pulled you against his sling, wincing only slightly as you pressed into his bad arm.

“You don’t even like me,” You said breathily, trying to convince yourself more so than the man trailing kisses down to your collarbones. “You’re just confused… or like… misguided because I healed you.”

“What do you know about me, love?” Mattheo removed his mouth so that he could look at you. He grabbed your face with a conviction that silenced you. His eyes were deliciously glazed with lust and you felt yourself start to slip into his clutches. He strategically placed his mouth anywhere on your face except for your lips. While it was a tantalizing jest, it was a strange reminder that this was just sex for him.

“Mmm… I know that I’m not letting you take me in the infirmary,” You hissed. Mattheo grinned while he pulled you closer onto him and pressed his thigh against your legs. Your body betrayed you and you let out a soft moan.

“"How very stubborn of you..." Mattheo whispered in a low voice as he placed his mouth back on your neck. He attempted to bait you into grinding against him by rutting his thigh deeper into your core. "But... you're not fooling me. I know you're enjoying this just as much as I am..."

“It’s not a matter of enjoyment,” You stammer with a louder moan. Mattheo chuckled with satisfaction.

“Sure it isn't, love," Mattheo mocked, then he tugged free the buttons of your blouse. "Then tell me... why are you making those pretty little noises for me, hm?"

“You’re torturing me,” You pleaded. Mattheo's hand moved with a controlled eagerness, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of your blouse. His eyes held a glint of satisfaction and mischief as he looked up at you. The intoxicating scent of Mattheo's cologne mixed with the scent of your own arousal filled the air, creating a heady and sensual atmosphere.

"Torture, is it? Well then, allow me to ease your suffering. Consider it repayment?" Mattheo's lips curled into a devilish smirk. “Oh, c’mon. You already took my pants off for me.”

Mattheo’s hand slipped beneath your loosened blouse, fingers tracing along your ribs. You shivered at his touch, your resolve weakening with each passing moment. Mattheo's mouth found yours again, his kiss hungry and demanding. This time, you responded with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair. He rolled his fingers into your bra and over your perched nipples. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing your chest further into Mattheo's skilled hands. Your body craved him. He chuckled low in his throat, clearly pleased with your responsiveness.

“Tell me you want this,” Mattheo’s words bubbled in his throat. With the use of only one hand, he made use of the situation and dragged his mouth down to your chest instead. The second his teeth grazed the sensitive skin, you swallowed a loud moan and pulled tightly at his curls. The pain made him growl and he only repeated himself. “Tell me you want me.”

“Do I really need to stroke your ego right now?” I chuckled back a moan. Mattheo bit the skin of your breast, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to be a warning. Your thoughts melted into nothingness as his tongue began to soothe the spot he had just bitten. His hand now delved under your dress hem and his fingers swirled around the top of your panties. He snapped the waistband tauntingly with an eyebrow raised at your insolence.

“You could always stroke something else,” Mattheo murmured. He twisted a fistful of the top your panties, the digging fabric providing a taste of friction. His voice dropped down to a threat. “I’m not asking now. Tell me.”

"Mattheo, please," You whimpered, your hips unconsciously shifting towards his teasing fingers. He released his hold and instead yanked off the thin fabric. Paranoia stirred inside you and you quickly looked around the quiet infirmary to see if your boss would catch you. Madam Pomfrey must’ve actually left and entrusted the clinic in your care. Though not the moment to think of it, it warmed you with a sense of pride. You tried to focus on that thought instead of diving headfirst into Mattheo’s fantasy.

"That's not quite what I asked for, darling. Try again,” Mattheo clicked his tongue, pulling back slightly to look into your eyes. He had incredible patience with you, but you just thought it was because he liked to see you in such a compromised position. He dragged an ant agonizingly slow finger up your slit while still keeping his eyes locked onto yours. You gasped at the contact, which only made him move slower.

“I want you, Mattheo, please,” You were rambling at this point, much to Mattheo’s satisfaction. His eyes darkened with desire, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Please, you have to hurry. Someone could walk in.”

"That's more like it," Mattheo purred, his finger now circling your most sensitive spot. The corners of his lips quirk up in a wicked grin, his dark hair falling in disarray around his face. You were officially delirious with lust. "But I think I'll take my time. The risk makes it more exciting, doesn't it?"

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as Mattheo increased the pressure, your hips bucking involuntarily. The fear of being caught warred with the intense pleasure building within you. You couldn’t believe you were actually excited at the prospect of getting caught. Mattheo nuzzled your neck, encouraging you to tilt back your head back to expose your neck. His lips trailed hot kisses along your throat, occasionally nipping at the sensitive skin. At the same time, he curled his middle finger into your heat while stifling your moan by dragging his tongue in your mouth.

“If you can’t be quiet, I’ll have to stop. Do you want that, love?” Mattheo sunk his teeth into your earlobe and inserted his forefinger. “Fuck, are you sure you can handle anymore? You’re already getting off on just my fingers. Maybe this is enough for you.”

“No! No… Please, Mattheo…” Mattheo’s fingers were a delicious stretch, his hands large and rugged from his sport. They were nothing compared to yours and when he moved his thumb over your clit, you had to bite his shoulder to stop yourself from crying out. You barely caught yourself in time and forced yourself to silence your moan into a whimper. He chuckled darkly, clearly enjoying your desperation.

"Please what?" Mattheo taunted, still continuing the ministrations of his fingers. He move his mouth back to your breasts, which only intensified the molten lava in your veins. You sucked in every moan with a tremor. "Tell me exactly what you want, love. I want to hear you say it."

"I... I want you inside me," You managed to gasp out between embarrassment and overwhelming desire. "All of you. Now."

Mattheo growled low in his throat, his patience and control finally snapping. In one fluid motion, he pulled you back into his hospital bed, which groaned loudly in a threatening exposure. You straddled him on the thin mattress, giving you a wonderful view of his darkened face. His hands made quick work of your remaining clothes as he positioned himself between your thighs.

"Remember," Mattheo warned, while he pressed the head of his length against your opening. "Not a sound."

You nodded frantically, biting your lip hard as Mattheo slowly pushed inside you. You buried your face deep into the crook of his neck and let out the moan you’ve been holding back escape. The stretch was exquisite, bordering on painful, and you had to concentrate every fiber of your being on staying quiet. You chanted his name into his neck as a prayer to stay quiet. Mattheo's eyes were dark with lust as he watched your face, clearly enjoying your struggle to remain silent.

"God, you feel amazing. So tight, so perfect for me," Once he was fully sheathed, Mattheo paused, giving you a moment to adjust. The two of you were artfully balanced between his injuries, which provided you a small distraction from falling over the edge of your climax too quickly. You whimpered softly in response at his words, rolling your hips to encourage him to move. Mattheo took the hint, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back in with a powerful snap of his hips. The bed creaked ominously, and you both froze for a moment, listening for any sign that someone had heard. Mattheo snickered at your paranoia. When no one came, you gripped his shoulders and started to move yourself on his length again.

“Am I hurting you?” You asked shakily, feeling the bandage from his thigh rub up against yours. Mattheo let out another low laugh.

“I should be asking you that,” Mattheo’s voice was deliciously raspy in your ear and his chuckle made your knees weaken. You could barely hold your pace. Mattheo dug his fingers into your ass before giving it an intense smack that drove the pleasure in your stomach deeper. Surprisingly, he let you take control, but he still moved his fingers back and forth from swirling on your clit to your nipples.

“Your leg… your arm… I mean- Oh…”

“I’m fine, love. Don’t worry about me. you take me so well,” Mattheo assured. He brushed the hair out of your face and tugged it back to see your plain face. Your eyes fluttered shut as pleasure coursed through you, but Mattheo's grip on your hair tightened. "Look at me. I want to see every expression on your face."

On his command, you forced your eyes open, meeting his intense gaze. The vulnerability of being so exposed, both physically and emotionally, sent a shiver down your spine. Mattheo's eyes softened for a moment, a tender smile playing at his lips before desire overtook him again. He began to thrust up into you, matching your rhythm. The new angle had you seeing stars, and you bit your lip hard to keep from crying out. Mattheo's hand left your hair to caress your cheek, his thumb brushing over your abused lower lip.

“I’m close,” You whispered almost shamefully, panting at how hard you were trying to stay quiet. As you whispered, your face contorted with pleasure and your eyes squeezed shut. The flush of arousal spread across your cheeks and down your neck, your lips red and swollen from being bitten. Mattheo's gaze was locked on you, devouring your every expression, his own face twisted with lust and desire.

“You better look at me if you want to cum. I want you to look me in the eyes while you make a mess of yourself all over me,” Mattheo commanded with a growl. You snapped your eyes open, which was rewarded with a hand on your clit. He circled it with tighter grouping and precision, making it all the harder to stay silent. “Fuck, you’re impossibly tight. Fuck- Say my name when you finish, mmm.”

Steadying yourself with your hands planted firmly on Mattheo’s chest, you gave your hips one final grind as you felt him pull himself all the way out and slam himself back in. Without shame or remorse, you loudly cried out his name which was enough for Mattheo to spill himself inside of you. Your last moans and cries fill the room, mingling with the sound of skin slapping against skin and heavy breathing. Mattheo finished with a grunt, his voice rough and primal. You pushed yourself off of him with a shudder and a shaky breath, barely being able to stumble into the chair that you had pulled up in the first place to treat him.

“You should prescribe me this sort of medicine more often, gods,” Mattheo still looked heavenly while leaned back, flushed with a sweaty post-coital glow. “Do you think Madam Pomfrey will write me a note for a daily dose?”

“A daily dose? You’re presumptuous,” You finally catch your breath while you button back up your dress. The hard reality of your actions rear its ugly head at you as Mattheo grunts in a real pain and you rush to give him the rest of the Wiggenweld tincture.

“What? Do you need a preexisting condition of being exclusive or something? I’m serious,” Mattheo finishes the potion and wraps his hand into yours. You let out a laugh of disbelief. Non-committal was amongst the high praise for the Quidditch player.

“I’m just your Healer, I really shouldn’t have done that…” You shake your head and finally get the balance to stand. You smooth the wrinkles of your dress and weakly smiled at the injured man. “I basically took advantage of you, Mattheo.”

“It wouldn’t be that way if you were mine,” Mattheo sat up and grabbed you with his free hand. He sprung up from the hospital bed, his grip tightening around you like a vice. His eyes bore into yours with a fierce intensity as he closed the distance between you, his breath a hot reminder of the events that had just transpired. “I’ll let you think about it. But I amserious about that prescription, love. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You stood frozen as Mattheo released you and sauntered out of the room, his confident stride belying the injury that had brought him there in the first place. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts and the lingering scent of his cologne. You were so screwed.

Part 2

Divider by @chachachannah

#SURPRISE!#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle quidditch #QuidditchPlayer!MattheoRiddle #mattheo riddle fic #Harry Potter smut #slytherin boys #Healer!Reader #Healer

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lostinlovingrevery · 4 months ago

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Flutters

DOFP! Logan X Pregnant! Reader

Logan searches for you around the mansion

A/N: still feel icky but I wanted to write smth out so I wrote this on my phone lol. I was picturing dofp logan but any logan could be used!

Warnings: fluff, domestic logan, reader is pregnant, other Xmen mentioned

"Don’t forget to write that debriefing Logan.”

Charles calls after him. “- and I need you to turn in semester grades by the end of the week-”

“Yeah yeah, on it Chuck.” Logan waved a hand, a tired shake of his head as he stepped out of the office and into the halls of the mansion.

“Hi professor!” A group of students greeted him as they walked past, him giving them a courteous nod before walking the opposite direction. He peered into the kitchen, spotting Ororo making a sandwich- and Kurt perched on top of the fridge behind her, enjoying his own.

“Hey, either you seen my girl?” He spoke up, gaining their attention.

“She was talking to Scott earlier in his classroom.” Ororo says only glancing up for second- more focused on crafting her sandwich, with a nod from Kurt whos mouth was full from the comically large bite of his own sandwich, confirming her words.

Logan turned and left the kitchen. Walking through the halls, and encountering Jean.

“Hi Logan!” Jean smiled. He slowed his pace to meet her in the middle of the hall, and gave her a polite smile, “I saw Mrs. Howlett earlier, she seemed tired. She okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “You know how it is.”

Jean tilted her head, a sympathetic nod. “If she needs anything, let me know. Ok?”

“Yeah, thanks Red. Where you see her by the way?”

“She was talking to Scott, but I don’t know if shes still there. In his classroom.” She nods to the direction that she was walking from.

He continued on his search for you, stopping at Scotts classroom and peering inside. Scott was sitting at his desk, seemingly grading papers.

“You've been talking to my wife Summers?” Logan breaks the silence, crossing his arms as he stands in the doorway. Scott glanced up at him, his shining from the ceiling light, a small exasperated sigh.

“That's what people do Logan. Yknow, talk”

Logan smirked. “You know where she went?”

“Keeping tabs? A bit overprotective are you?”

“Damn straight.”

Scott let out an amused scoff. “She wasn’t feeling good, said she was going to lay down.”

Logans smirk faded, his arms dropping as he left the room to quickly make way to your shared bedroom, ignoring students who greeted him on the way.

He reached the door, quietly opening it and peering inside.

The curtains were half pulled shut, but streams of sunlight poured through, landing on your resting figure, your back turned from. the door. He could see the steady rise and fall of your breathing, and his nerves settled.

He stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. He carefully kicked off his shoes as he walked to the bed, his eyes not leaving you as he climbed on.

You were resting on your side, your legs tucked, and your hips turned slightly, making room for your pregnant belly. A pillow tucked against your back to keep you comfortable.

Logan pressed a gentle kiss to your arm, before carefully lying on his side and curling himself around you. His hand resting carefully on your swollen belly. He nuzzled into the crook of your neck. A small hum elicited from you as you stirred. He lifted his head to look at your face.

“Sorry darling. Didnt mean to wake ya….” He murmurs apologetically, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the shell of your ear.

“Mm. You didn’t.” You sighed, opening your eyes as you observed the warm sunbeams that painted over your body. “Your child is restless.” You state, a hint of annoyance in your tone.

Logan chuckled. “Not funny.” You muttered. “Can’t get comfortable, can’t sleep…”

“Sorry, sorry.” He brought his hand up to your shoulder and squeezing it, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. “I’ll give em a talking to.” He says a firm voice, making you smile in confusion. He sits up and moved downwards on the bed. He gently lifted your shirt up, and placed his hand on your belly again, leaning over with his lips barely brushing over the skin. “Okay kiddo, whats going on in there?”

You giggle as you watched Logan press his ear along the curve of your belly. Brows creased, his face concentrated as if he was truly listening to what your child was saying. He nodded, lifting his head back up, as his hands stroke soothingly up and down your belly.

“I get it, I do. You gotta let your momma get some sleep though.” He says gently. “Otherwise we all will be paying for it.” He glances at your belly knowingly. You reached over to playfully hit his arm and he grinned up at you. “Like that.” He hums.

You both felt a small kick, a look of surpise on your faces. “Hey! No back talking your old man.” He says sternly. Then smiled as he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to you.

“Theyre gonna be just like their dad.” You beamed, your eyes beginning to grow heavy.

“God forbid…” he mutters as he looked at your belly, softly stroking over it.

“Hey.” You called out and he looked up at you. A gentle shake of your head. “Youre amazing. I count myself the luckiest person to be your wife….If the baby comes out like you, I’ll consider myself twice as lucky.”

His expression softened at your words, and he clambed up to give you a soft kiss. Gently, he returned to his original position, spooning you. His hand rubbing small circles against your belly.

His touch seemed to soothe both you and your unborn child, as your eyelids grew heavy and the constant fluttering inside you grew calm. His warmth pressed into your side, keeping your supported and comfortable. He paused his soothing massage to grab the knitted blanket folded on the bed, pulling it over you protectively. His hand returned, and you fully fell back to sleep.

Logan observed the gentle sunbeams that came through the cracks of the curtains as he thought about what would you said.

If anything, he considered himself the lucky one.

#logan howlett #wolverine #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fic #vans daydreams #pregnancy #logan howlett fluff

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bowsnchoso · 11 months ago

Text

Classroom – Gojo Satoru

➺ synopsis: your salacious boyfriend, Gojo, fucks you over your teacher's desk

➺ character: Gojo Satoru

➺ word count: 6.2k

➺ cw: obsessed boyfriend Gojo, f!reader, more sweet pet names (of course!) crack (kinda? yeah.) nsfw, smut, breeding, kissing, loving, lots and lots of dirty talk, profanity, and maybe some more?

➺ note: yeah it's the way I'm a Gojo girl at heart I can't stop writing about him, enjoy!! ^^

You were exhausted.

You had spent your entire day teaching your students, training them, tending to them, and indulging in your duties as a Jujutsu sorcerer and a trusted sensei to your special and very spoiled students.

You stewed on your thoughts, mulling on your grueling day, strolling down the corridor of Jujutsu Tech after spending some time in the teacher's lounge– craving some solitude before you decided to head to your classroom to clean up the last few minutes of your day.

A small smile pulled at the corners of your lips when you thought about what you were going to do once you were back in your room.

Sleep.

Perhaps take a nice long shower, simply standing beneath the warm water, allowing it to stream down your body in perfect and serene silence.

You were pulled out of your caducous reflections when you felt large arms envelop your smaller frame, pulling you into a firm chest that acted as a steady pillar.

A large hand went over your eyes, and your previous smile was replaced with an ebullient one that resonated throughout your chest, your heart fluttering akin to the wings of a delicate monarch.

You felt warmth gather near your ear, “guess who?” His voice was husky, his warm breath prattling against your soft skin.

The arm he had wrapped over your figure slightly caressed the natural arch of your waist, keeping you close to him in a protective yet affectionate hold.

You couldn’t help but giggle, placing your hand over the one over your eyes to move him, facing him.

There he stood, his hair as white as the wintry snow that descended gracefully from a frigid blue sky, his blindfold protecting his cerulean irises. Yet if you looked closely enough, you could see the slight imprint his eyes left against the cloth.

Your loving boyfriend.

“Satoru!” Your happiness sprouted like a flower, placing your hands against his cheeks, pecking his lips. “When did you get back? You said you’d call me once you got back, I was waiting you know.”

He smiled a crooked grin, wrapping his arms over the small of your back. “Well I’m sorry to keep my pretty girl waiting, I wanted to surprise you, babe~” his voice was playful as he caressed your body, enjoying your blithe response to his unanticipated appearance. “Where were you headed, sweets?”

“Just to my classroom, I was gonna clean up a bit before leaving.” You informed him with a radiant smile, unable to hide your exuberance.

“Mind if your boyfriend tags along?” He tilted his head, smiling down at you, miming your delight.

You shook your head, “as long as you actually help me clean.”

He chuckled lowly, resonating throughout his muscular chest. “Come on, you know I always help you,” Satoru said as he grabbed hold of your hand, leading the both of you to your classroom. “Tell me about your day, gorgeous.” He requested, squeezing your hand with his large, calloused one.

You hummed, following his lead in the direction of your classroom. “Same as always, Satoru. Taught my students, helped them with training, watched over them, assisted them, you know.” You listed your duties as a teacher.

Although it can be quite a demanding job, you especially loved your students– having such a potent, yet natural urge to tend to their needs as a teacher and friend.

“But you enjoyed your day, didn’t you?” He said as he pressed his lips against the back of the hand that he held.

You smiled. “It was nice. My students made it fun.” He smiled at that, loving your ability to be so compassionate and devoted to your students. “What about you, Satoru? How was your day?”

He sighed but still wore that content smile that seemed infinite. “My three kids love to make my day interesting, of course, especially Yuji and Nobara, man can those two argue!” He effused with a chuckle, reflecting back on his day with his wild students.

“And I’m guessing you didn’t even step in to stop them from arguing, did you?” You knew Satoru, he loved letting his students bicker back and forth, he relished it as though it were some kind of k-drama.

He chortled, giving your hand another loving squeeze as you two approached your classroom. “Hey, I stood up, alright? Someone has to eventually roll up their sleeves and be an adult.”

“Megumi seems more like the type to do that.” You chuckled, closing the door behind you two.

“No, Megumi if anything just grumbles under his breath, and tries to ignore the two of them.” Satoru corrected, already having memorized his student's behavior.

You searched through your supply closet, bringing out all the items you needed to clean up. “Oh, right. Megumi, always the methodical one.”

“Exactly, while Yuji and Nobara are just a crazy different breed, teens these days are wild, babe.” Satoru huffed, leaning against your teacher's desk. “But, of course, your students love you enough to behave, right?” He smiled, watching you gather all your cleaning supplies, very particular about the way you clean up your classroom.

You laughed. “My students can misbehave sometimes too, Satoru.” You said, placing the supplies above your desk. “And you act like your students don’t adore you.”

Satoru chuckled. “Well I’m not as good a teacher as you are, but I try my best.”

“Oh?” You muttered in surprise. “Admitting you’re not as good a teacher as me? Are you feeling okay, Satoru?” You teased him, earning a chuckle from your playful boyfriend.

“I’m delusional from my long day, it seems.” He insisted, grabbing cleaning wipes from you. “But, just listen because you wouldn’t believe what happened today.”

You sprayed your desk with a lemon-scented cleaning product, listening to your boyfriend's rambling. “Mhm, what won’t I believe?”

“It all starts with Yuji’s shoes,” Satoru shared as he began to wipe down the students’ desks, while you hummed in reply. “Yuji and Nobara are arguing as always while Megumi and I are walking from behind. Well, Nobara goes, ‘Yuji you always have your dirty ass shoes untied you shouldn’t be talking!’” He mocked his student derivatively, making you crack up at your boyfriend's attempt at mimicking Nobara.

He continued his story, carrying out such a detailed narrative. “And Yuji goes ‘well if it bothers you so much why don’t you just tie them for me?’ Of course, Nobara wasn’t going to do that. Even I knew that. They go back and forth a bit until Yuji finally gives in, right?”

“Right.” You parroted.

“So he kneels over, tying up his shoes, keep in mind, babe, we’re in the middle of a busy street in Tokyo, okay? As he kneels over, so does Nobara, just to inspect him, and as Yuji glances up towards Nobara, this random pedestrian bumps into Yuji, and they kiss!”

You gasped, pausing your movements, trying to fight off laughter that bourgeoned throughout your chest. “Stop it! You’re lying.”

“I’m not!” He stopped his cleaning, getting so into this story. “Babe, you should have seen it. Oh man, the slightest brush of Yuji’s lips against Nobara's had her throwing a fit! She just kept on shouting ewww over and over again, talking about how disgusting it was, how nasty Yuji was for trying to kiss her.” Satoru laughed upon recollection, shaking his head. “I guess she didn’t realize it was an accident, and Yuji tried to exlpain that, but she wasn’t having it. She was too focused on rubbing and cleaning up her lip. Oh babe, it was hilarious I wish I got it on video.” He sighed in delight, rubbing his nape.

“Oh poor Yuji,” you laughed, feeling guilt permeate your gut. “He must have been so embarrassed, probably blushing like crazy, poor baby.”

Satoru chuckled. “Like you wouldn’t believe. His cheeks started to match the shade of his pink hair, I thought he was going to pass out from humiliation.” He crossed his arms over his chest, still laughing about the silly debacle. “Then Nobara began rambling on and on about how her first kiss was reserved for her celebrity crush and how Yuji took that from her and then she started hitting him over and over again.” He sighed, his laughter finally subsiding. “It was probably the funniest thing to see, probably even funnier than that time someone mistook Yuji and Nobara for a couple and she lashed out on the poor person.”

You laughed, cleaning off your chalkboard now. “It’s always those two, isn’t it? Oh, poor Yuji, he probably wasn’t even that offended by the persons assumptions.”

“Oh no, he wasn’t, he was real systematic and understanding about the simple mistake until Nobara started screaming a yelling about it, pissed over the person pairing her up with someone not even worth a glance from her.” Satoru quoted his student, well acquainted with their antics.

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remind me to give Yuji a hug next time I see him, that poor boy.” You muttered, still wearing a humorous smile. “Well, now I know why you let them fight it out. I don’t think you could stop it even if you tried.”

“Exactly. Besides, why would I? It’s entertaining, I just sit back and watch them have at it, like my own little treat for putting up with their bullshit.” Satoru expressed, cleaning up the desks once more.

“You have an interesting set of students, Satoru.” You chuckled. “But they always seem well behaved when I come around.”

He shrugged. “They just hold your breath when you’re around because they know we’re together and they love to tease me about it later.”

You giggled. “Yeah? What exactly do they tease you about, Satoru?”

He hummed, wiping down a new desk. “Just about how I seem to smile extra hard when you come around. You know, the blush on my cheeks that I try to hide behind my blindfold. How you have me wrapped around your little finger, how I’m whipped.” He retold, an impish grin on his lips.

“Oh? And you don’t tell them anything?” You wondered as you began to clean off the chalk erasers.

He finished cleaning off the desks, now watching you clean up your side of the class. “Why would I? They’re right.”

You finished up cleaning your teacher area, leaning against your desk to finally engage in the conversation with your teasing boyfriend about his silly students. “So you agree that you’re whipped for me?” You restated, slightly laughing at the idea.

“I am all of the above for you, sweets,” Satoru was still leaning over one of your student's desks, his hands at the edge of the desk, holding himself.

You smiled, liking the sound of that.

You also couldn’t help but smile at the idea of his students teasing their teacher about his overt adoration with you. It just proved how unafraid Satoru was to depict his love for you, not even having to touch you for others to recognize how in love he was.

You watched as your handsome boyfriend began to close the distance between you two, approaching your teacher's desk that you currently leaned beside. “Did I tell you how gorgeous you look today, yet?” He pondered, taking your hand in his, and kissing it.

You pressed your lips together, looking off to the side as though to genuinely consider his question. “Hm, maybe once or twice today. But, it doesn’t hurt to hear it a third time.” You responded with a loving grin, watching him with tender eyes as he kissed the back of your hand.

He smiled against your soft skin. “Well, you just look sexy in that little teacher's outfit~ I would have never thought I had a thing for a woman in a uniform, but yet here I am thinking about all the things I could do to you in this classroom.” Satoru mumbled, reeling you closer to his hot body.

You invariably admired the way your boyfriend could easily go from laying out subtle and sweet teases to shamelessly echoing the thoughts that roamed his handsome head.

The lascivious inclination in his honeyed voice told you that he was likely considering fulfilling those prurient desires with no regard for the setting that currently surrounded you two. Anything to satiate his cosmic appetite for you, his girlfriend, who stood just a few inches below him, watching you through his blindfold that you always found to be so sexy on him, a cunning grin on his lips that anticipated your response– waiting for your consensus remark.

Your lips pulled into a devious grin, marveling at how wild and insouciant he can be at times, and the way he stared at you through his blindfold, almost as though you could see the yearning in his blue eyes that were currently hidden from you.

“Here, Satoru?” You muttered, trying to sound confident, trying to sound prudent. But, with how close he was had himself pressed against you, his lips brushing against your knuckles, his warm breath dancing against your skin, making you shiver– it was all too much.

You would have completely melted away if it weren’t for his gentle hold on your hand, keeping you upright and grounded.

He chucked through his nostrils, sending chills down your arms as you felt it prattle against your hot flesh. “What’s wrong, sexy, you think someone is gonna walk in on us?”

“W-well, we are at school after all.” You muttered, slightly stumbling over your words as you gently freed yourself from his hold, walking over to lock the door.

You turned over, seeing that Satoru simply watched you with an entertained smile pulled at his soft lips, standing at the front of your desk, seemingly growing excited by your compliance to his spontaneous urges.

You hadn’t seen Satoru very much that day, and with the way he spoke to you, you were unable to deny the longing that swelled throughout your body whenever he made such salacious comments– knowing exactly how to rile you up, well aware of which buttons to push to get you aching for him as much as he ached for you.

He watched as you approached him, wearing a bashful smile to try and hide the nerves that tethered up in your belly, forming little knots that gripped each time your eyes brushed against his smirk.

“Someone’s eager, huh?” Satoru looked down at you as you stood before him, keeping his hands to himself. “I thought you didn’t like the sound of my classroom ideas? But now it looks like you’d bend over this table if I asked you to.”

You tried to seem unphased by his words.

Tried.

However, you failed.

So miserably.

This wasn’t even the worst of what you’ve heard out of your boyfriend's filthy mouth, either. You knew just how filthy his words could get, how dirty his thoughts were.

You shrugged. “Well… I guess I have a thing for a man in a uniform, too.” You muttered, keeping your eyes on his, assuming he was looking at you through that blindfold. “Because the way you look with that blindfold on is very sexy.”

He chuckled softly, reverberating deeply throughout his stern chest. “Oh, you like the blindfold look, hm? You think it’s sexy?”

You reached a tentative hand up to his blindfold, toying with the seem above his cheekbone. “It’s real sexy, I’ve told you that before.” You chuckled, tugging the cloth with your index finger before you released it, watching it gently snap back against his countenance.

Satoru seemed to shiver excitingly at your actions, his shoulder imperceptibly shuddering when his blindfold snapped against his plush skin, yet he seemed to keep his composure. “Oh, yes you have, pretty girl. What was it that you said the other day? You said that whenever I wear my blindfold you could just get down on your knees and suck my cock? Is that what you said, hm?”

You blushed, had you said something like that?

It seemed likely.

And you had recently been inebriated, too.

Perhaps that’s when you told him. When your mouth was loose and crass with the liquor you consumed.

You quickly attempted to regain your composure. “I-I may have said something like that…” You admitted, unable to stop your voice from shuttering.

He just chuckled teasingly, watching your composure crumble piece by piece, and he was so thrilled, utterly patient, enjoying every moment. “Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now, sweets. You were very outspoken about it the other day, after all.”

Carefully, you trailed your hands over to your desk that stood beside you. You dragged your hand over the notebooks that idled on the shiny Mahogany wood, sliding them down on the floor behind you.

Satoru watched you with a dancing grin on his lips, one that widened, showing off his sharp canines– exposing the delight that flourished throughout his statuesque body.

“Oops.” You muttered.

You turned over, bending down right in front of him so that your bottom was right at his pelvis as you reached for those set of notebooks that you had accidentally dropped.

You made sure you brushed your ass against him, too, ever so slightly, just to tease your handsome boyfriend.

An entertained smile occupied his lips, watching you bend over in front of him, his dick practically twitching at the sight, already heavily turned on from the moment he embraced you in that damn hallway.

Yet, he didn’t snap.

Instead, he chuckled, again, one that sent butterflies throughout in your restless tummy. “Looks like we have a little vixen on our hands~” He tilted his head, observing your posture.

You grabbed the notebooks, looking over at him as you slowly straightened yourself. “Who, me?” You played along, the pink blush on your cheeks adding charm to your sultry tactics.

Satoru placed his hands against your hips before you were able to straighten out entirely, backing you into him.

You gasped quietly when you felt the building tent in his pants, hard and firm against your ass. His fingers dug into your hips, having you flushed against his muscular body.

“Yes, you.” He muttered, lowering himself to your ear, sending chills down your spine as his breath danced against the back of your neck. “I can’t say I don’t enjoy it, though.” He said before brushing his perfect teeth against the shell of your ear, giving you a playful nibble.

Playful, yet so teasing and tempting.

Enough to make you crumble.

You continued to wear a teasing smile on your lips, adjusting your hips so that you rubbed your ass against his firm erection.

That seemed to get a reaction out of him, sucking in a hissing breath through his teeth as you teased his faltering composure.

It was only a matter of time before it fully shattered like delicate glass.

“I know you like it.” You grinned to yourself when you felt his fingers dig further into your hips, almost as though he were trying to stop you from your playful acts, wanting to keep you still against him.

Only because he was dangerously close to truly pinning you against your teacher's desk and completely fucking you until you were babbling and whining against his tumescent cock, begging him to stop.

He sighed quietly, losing himself. “What do you want from me, huh, princess?” He inquired, his lips still near your ear.

“You know what I want Satoru.” You whispered, placing your hands against the ones that rested above your hips.

“I might have an idea,” he chuckled, amused, but you could tell he was at his end despite how much he wanted to hide that, “spell it out for me, yeah? You sexy little minx.”

You began to rub your ass against his erection, sending shivers down your own spine, marveling at how hard he could get just from the slightest touch. Your slightest touch.

You had a hold on him.

You rested the back of your head against his firm chest, looking up at him with innocent eyes as you said, “I want you to pin me against this desk and fuck me.”

He needed no more, swiftly, but gently, doing just as you asked– laying your back over the desk that stood beside you two.

Satoru stood between your legs, keeping one of his hands on your wrist above the desk while he kept his other hand over your waist, hovering above you. “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you? Hm?” He said as he began to unzip his jacket that invariably disguised his brawny muscles. “You want this fuckin' cock?”

You watched as he removed that pesky jacket, tossing it to the side, cavalier of where it would land. There he stood, in his compression shirt that he invariably donned beneath his uniform. The one that embraced his muscles so precisely, unveiling the curve of his small waist, and the tight ropes of his muscular abs.

You nodded, your lips parted, flushed beyond words.

“Who am I to deny my sexy girlfriend of her desires?” His large hands began to remove the bottoms of your clothes. “You’re real naughty, you know that? Brushing up against my dick like that, do you really think you deserve this dick after being such a fuckin’ tease? Huh?” He tugged at your bottoms, leaving you in your wet panties.

You simply watched him, flustered, butterflies swarming your gut.

“Tell me, sweets,” he stared at your clothed cunt, watching the way it soaked through your undies, “why are you so quiet all of a sudden? You were just telling me to fuck you a minute ago.”

“I-I just want you so bad, Satoru.” Was all you managed to say under your breath.

He chortled. “I can see that, already soaking up your panties, you’re so dirty.” He toyed with the hem of your underwear, now teasing you. “You seem so restless, gorgeous. Should I help you with that?”

You nodded eagerly, hungry. “Yes.”

It seemed Satoru shared the same desires despite his constant teasing, skillfully unbuttoning his bottoms, letting them fall, revealing his tent that poked through his boxer briefs– fighting to be released and freed.

You softly moaned at the sight, the tight ropes in your belly remembering just how large and thick your Satoru was.

He smirked at your reaction, reading your exact thoughts like you were an open book. “Where are your manners, sweets? What do we say?”

“Please, Satoru,” you breathed, lying against your two elbows to keep yourself propped steadily.

He didn’t need you to beg for it as he could already see it in your pooling eyes that looked up at him with an imploring gaze– almost like you needed his cock inside your cunt in order to survive. To feel something. To feel him work against you, thrusting inside your gripping walls that had memorized his twitching dick so well.

Not another word was needed, he’d give you what you wanted.

Not before his lips were over yours, kissing you passionately, as he always did whenever the two of you engaged in sexual acts together.

He was too obsssed not to. He was too in love not to.

Satoru kissed you slow, your favorite kinds of kisses– when he was gentle and deliberate purposefully as though to test your patience, seeing just how long you could last before you were begging for more of him. Before your tongues would mingle together, licking at each other soppily above that desk, tasting each other's mouths, and exploring one another as though you two had never kissed before. As though you two were practically parched for one another, humming and moaning as your tongues lapped together.

A disappointed moan left your lips when you felt him pull away, gently grazing his teeth against your bottom lip as he began planting wet kisses against your cheek and down your jawline. Instinctively, you opened up your neck for him, giving him all the access he needed to please your delicate skin that was hot and itching for more of him, his hands mapping against your body, grazing and caressing every inch of you, resisting the urge to take your top off.

He pulled away from your neck, tugging at your panties, slowly revealing your wet self. As he pulled them down your legs, he left trailing kisses on your soft calves, finally pulling them off.

Although the blindfold kept his eyes locked away, you could see the reverence that resigned in his blue irises. Something that always casts over his eyes whenever the two of you engage in sexual acts. As much as you loved the blindfold look on him, you had to admit you missed his soft gaze.

Yet, it only seemed to excite you more that he was wearing his blindfold, touching and kissing you in all the right spots despite the cloth over his eyes.

You kept one of your legs wrapped over his torso, while your left leg was over his shoulder, watching as he kissed your soft limb, kissing the bend of your knee, taking his time when it came to moments like these.

You appreciated that part the most.

The efforts your Satoru put into making you feel loved and cherished despite his tortured cock that was suffocated behind his briefs.

“I’ll give you want you want, mmkay?” He said against your skin, still kissing your legs. “Since you’re so patient, such a good girl, sweets.”

You moan softly in reply, watching your boyfriend do something as simple as kissing your body, already melting beneath him. “S-Satoru, please.” You begged him in a whiney tone, your voice inclined, reaching out for his hand that caressed the side of your thigh.

“You’re so cute when you beg me like that,” he chuckled, watching you caress his large hand. “You gonna beg for this dick? How badly do you want this dick up in your cunt?” He trailed his other hand towards your inner thigh, reaching for your wet center.

Instinctively, you slightly opened up your legs for him, exposing yourself even more to him, moisture gathered at your core, practically dribbling out for him in search of his touch.

“So fucking bad Satoru, I’m so wet for you.” You reached over, gently pulling the blindfold from over his head.

He allowed you, still wearing that cocky grin on his soft lips, looking up at you with those blissful eyelashes that always struck against the chords of your fluttering heart.

His white locks relaxed against his forehead, tufts that acted like curtains near his bucolic eyes that dazzled beneath glistening lights, reverence laced in his gorgeous irises that also donned hints of passion– hints of excitement and hunger.

“Even more gorgeous,” he mumbled under his breath, admiring your fevered body with a slow and deliberate gaze. “You’re so restless, sweetheart.” He began to pull at the waistband of his briefs, finally freeing his hard erection that sprung against his strong abdomen, a long and pleased sigh leaving his plush lips.

You simply watched, awestruck, never quite able to grow accustomed to such an erotic sight. The way the tip of his clean dick was already glistening with precome, dribbling from the mere sight of you lying above the desk, your lower half naked and exposed to him.

Satoru moved swiftly, positioning yourself at your crying entrance, having a firm grip on the leg that you laid over his left shoulder, readjusting it over his torso with his other hand over his cock, drawing slow and teasing circles above your cunt.

You gasped at his teasing behavior, your legs slightly gripping against his torso as he mixed your fluids together, stroking your clit with his wet tip, groaning to himself quietly, watching you writhe beneath him from such a simple deed.

Your heart raced against your aching chest, your stomach having a pulse of its own, still keeping yourself propped on the desk with your elbows, your vision blurred, nebulous as you watched your boyfriend tease you, that smirk on his lips didn’t dare falter.

Unexpectedly, he placed part of himself inside your begging entrance, earning a low gasp from your parted lips.

“Shhh you wouldn’t want anyone to hear us now, would you, sweets?” His voice was strained slightly, focused on shoving the rest of his girthy self in your tight core.

He groaned in difficulty as you moaned against his entirety, laying your head back as you panted. He hadn’t even started his pace and you were already so dazed, drunk off his stagnant self.

He grabbed your hand, pressing his lips against it. “You’re okay, right, gorgeous?” He asked, starting a gradual pace now that he was fully inside.

You just moaned in reply, trying to find the words to tell him that yes you were okay. You were more than okay. You were overwhelmed more than anything, but in the best way possible.

He hummed, thrusting against you slowly. “You can take it, love, you always do.” His eyebrows pressed together, biting his lower lip. “Try to be less tense for me, okay, baby? Can you do that for me? It’ll be easier for the both of us, lovely.” His voice was groggy, also seeming to be overwhelmed, drunk off your body.

You nodded your head, trying to relax the tension that sprouted throughout your body, but each time he thrusted into you, you couldn’t help but recoil in pleasure, filthy moans leaving your mouth, forming no words.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. “Ah, there it is, like that, such a good girl.” Satoru sighed, stroking your leg while he stroked the walls of your cunt that hugged him tightly. “Look at me now, huh? Can you look at me, baby?”

You had your head back, your eyes closed.

He caressed the leg on his torso, trying to get your attention. “Come onn baby~ look at me.” He pleaded with you, aching to see your eyes. “Watch me fuck you. Watch me stretch this fucking tight pussy open.” He said in a gruff voice, his eyes darting from your flushed countenance and back to your entrance that tugged at his cock in the best way possible.

You moaned at his crass words, they turned you on even more if that was somehow even possible anymore. Finding your composure, you did as he said, meeting his gaze.

That lustful gaze in his blue eyes, his grin widening when you meet his eyes. “Ooh, there you are. Thought I lost you, sexy.” He chuckled, caressing your thigh. “Taking this dick so good, this pussy knows this cock, doesn’t it?” He breathed out, stroking you steadily.

You nodded, humming, though it came out a whine against your tight throat. “Y-You can go faster, S-Satoru.” You permitted.

Although you were already at your limits, you still wanted to feel more of him. You wanted to hear the contact of your skin echo against the walls of your classroom.

He chuckled at your request, taking up on your offer immediately, speeding up the set pace in his relentless hips.

You let out another struggling moan, your left hand gripping the edge of your desk, your lips falling open against his slightly quickened pace.

The sound of your skin slapping together, the sound of his gruffs mixed with your light moans, his words. All the dirty words that just kept flowing from his wet lips, it was enough to get your body shuddering, to get your cunt aching further, to get your eyelids heavy.

His fingers found themselves against your distended clit, thursting into you whilst rubbing his dexterous fingers against you gently. “You look so fucking good under me like this, getting fucked over your desk like the dirty girl you are.” He talked through his thrusts, his voice slightly airy, lost in a cloud of passion and heat.

You reached your hand against his shoulder, desiring to touch and feel him, overwhelmed by his erection that pounded against your tight walls and his fingers that whisked against your clit, awakeining a deep ache in the center of your gut.

The desk beneath you began to tremble, unable to withstand the pressure and blunt force that was added by Satoru’s pitiless cock that continued to throb and twitch inside you.

You leaned closer to him, placing both hands on his shoulders now, bringing him closer to you, trying to ground yourself with the shaking desk.

He winced when he felt your nails dig into his clothed shoulders, now focusing his hands on your hips to steady you over the moving desk to keep his set pace over your g-spot. “Just hold onto me, baby, I got you, okay?”

You whined in reply, your fingers now finding themselves tangled up in his white locks, unable to resist your sights from the lewd scene in front of you.

The wet sounds that squelched from your core as he mercilessly pounded you, his hands on your hips, grounding you, almost like he was coaxing you into taking him wholly with such adamant force– determined to please you.

Watching him tend to your aching parts was enough for you to finish on it’s own.

It was quite a sight for him too, watching your body rock against his thrusts, your suffocated breasts in your top struggling to stay still, bouncing against his movements. The incessant moans that flowed from your hot mouth, the flush on your cheeks, the way your wet lips gripped around his thick and ruthless cock.

It drove him to his edge.

Satoru leaned against your ear, kissing at your lobe which only enticed you further, close to your edge. “This pussy is mine, isn’t it?” He continued his filthy talk, riling you up furhter.

He knew how much you loved it.

“Listen to the way it sounds when I’m inside,” he said teasingly, hinting at the constant wet sounds that played each time he thursted inside you, “so good I don’t think I ever wanna stop. The way it squeezes against my cock– I don’t think your pretty cunt wants me to stop either, hm?”

You shook your head, squeezing your hands against his fluffy white hair, panting against him. “N-No, I want you to keep fucking me, Satoru.”

He hummed as he pelted the shell of your ear with more kisses, satisfied with your response. “Yeah? Want to come up all inside this pussy? Want me to fill you up?”

You nodded eagerly, edged by the mere sound of that, already feeling the warmth of his potential fluids that would shoot inside you, sticking to your walls, marking himself inside you.

“F-Fill me u-up.” You said against his thrusts, breathing hard.

“I’ll fill you up, whatever my sexy princess wants~” he drawled, breathing against the crook of your neck, struggling to keep himself restrained, “fil you up ‘til you’re fucking leaking out all over this damn desk.”

You moaned at his words once more, your breath hot against his neck, your trembling fingers tangled up in his disheveled hair.

He groaned, feeling himself reach his end, and it was coming up so quickly. And you definitely weren’t making it any better.

He quickened his pace, cursing under his breath, panting.

The items on your desk rattled with Satoru’s thrusts, and it began to carefully creak beneath you.

You felt a coil in your gut, and you knew you were reaching your end.

“S-Satoru.” You breathed out, throwing your head back as he fucked you. “I-I”

“Yeahh baby, I hear you.” He groaned against you, already knowing what you were going to say. “Go ahead and come for me, yeah? Come all over this cock.”

You continued to moan against him, shutting your eyes, and focusing on the waves that were carefully teeming over your shuddering shoulders.

Before you knew it, you reached your peak, letting out one last stifling moan as you finished vigorously all over your boyfriend's dick, panting out in both pain and relief.

Satoru was right behind you, filling you up with his warm fluids as he grunted in response to his much-desired release, twitching inside you, dropping his head as his chest fell up and down, rhythmically, the two of you riding out your pleasures together, still stroking against your walls, causing some of your shared fluids to ooze out of you, trickling down.

Warm and satisfied. That’s what you invariably felt whenever Satoru finished fucking you.

He pulled himself out of your tight hole with another low growl despite its resistance, a string of fluid following his wet tip.

While you were busy trying to compose and gather yourself above your desk, Satoru was back in his boxers, your panties in his hands.

“Baby, you’re okay, aren’t you?” He breathed out, his face flushed, his white hair in tendrils from the sweat that gathered at his forehead.

He reached over, brushing the hair off your damp forehead, kissing your head, and waiting patiently for your response.

You took one last long sigh, staring into those blue eyes of his that held his utter admiration for you. “I-I’m okay, Satoru.” You muttered, your legs wrapping over his torso again.

He smiled, kissing you one more time. “That’s my girl. Let’s get you dressed, okay?”

You mimicked his expression, cherishing the meticulous ways he took care of you after you two had sex.

Satoru helped you off your desk, having dressed you.

The desk slightly wobbled as you held onto your boyfriend's strong biceps, hopping off the table.

You looked back at your table, which was now barely even stable.

He looked over at it, slightly chuckling. “I’ll fix that for you later, okay?” He promised, before kissing your warm cheek.

#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk #jjk fic #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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