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catopoliscat · 2 months

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next time / kento nanami/fem!reader.

who would have thought that kento nanami was a virgin? not you. not after this long. perhaps he was saving himself for someone. perhaps he was waiting for you.

tags: nsfw. 18+. fem!reader. afab reader. penetrative sex. alcohol. dry humping. virgin!nanami. mutual pining. friends to lovers. creampie (wrap it kids). unprotected sex. touch-starved!nanami. canon!verse. you've known nanami since school. tinges of angst. nanami wanted you bad lmao. it's love babey. reader has experience. no use of y/n or any other placeholders. ever. wc: 7.7k. a/n: i kind of fear nanami's a little ooc here lmao, but i've spent too long on this so fuck it we ball he deserves this

also how mad would you be if i said this was set a week before shibuya arc be honest

mdni.

You’re a bottle and half of zinfandel deep when Nanami tells you.

Although you’re both a little warm, tipsy perhaps, you didn’t think either of you were quite drunk enough for this conversation just yet. It was a regular occurrence for the two of you to share a drink on a Friday, or a bottle in more pressing times.

There were more bottles than glasses, lately.

It was just two old friends, catching up. Talking. Complaining--usually about Satoru. Often you’d reminisce on easier times. Warm summers in the Jujutsu High courtyard, the cold tin of a soda in your hands, a bottle of water in his. Quiet talks of dreams and eventualities. Ignoring the gaping absence of a third at between you.

Tonight though, you’re not sure when the topic had changed. Somewhere between the last dregs of the first bottle and the beginning of the second, the conversation had grown more sombre than usual. Talk of love and relationships always seemed to make the air heavier around the two of you, for different reasons. A stark air of loneliness that not even the most tart of white wine could overpower.

You had offhandedly mentioned turning down one of the windows you had met on your last mission. He had been younger than you, still full of life where the holes in yourself had long since emptied it out. You had shaken your head, flattered, but tired. There were better options for a man like him, still full of hope and vitality, a whole life ahead of him… when you knew any day yours could be cut deftly short.

You had told yourself it had little to do with the fact that the man’s bright smile had reminded you of another, so many years ago.

In the quiet of Nanami’s living room, swirling the last drops of your wine in your glass, you had mentioned that you had no real desire for relationships anymore. Other than sex, of course, but only sexual. A temporary release, one of the few you had left. Nameless faces and hurried touches. Sometimes clinical, sometimes primal. Always quick, and never the same person twice.

You know?

To which Nanami had replied, “No.”

Misunderstanding the gravity of what he was saying, you had raised an eyebrow, a curious smile playing at your lips. “Not one for one-night stands?”

It occurs to you distantly that you don’t know a lot about Nanami’s romantic life. Close as you two were, or so you liked to believe, he had never really mentioned it. And you had never asked.

Nanami had shook his head in response to your question, and you had nodded. It aligned with his character, you thought. As cold and stoic as he liked to act, you couldn’t imagine a world where he would use and discard someone. He felt too much, cared too much. He would love too much too, if given the chance. If he gave himself the chance.

In your musings, you had almost missed what he had murmured next.

“I’ve never had sex at all.”

Kento Nanami. A virgin.

The confession has your lips parting, your eyes blinking. Once, then twice, akin to an owl. You glance down at your wine glass for a moment, as if it had been the slightly smeared glass that had been speaking to you instead, and not the esteemed stoic sorcerer you had known for the better part of ten years.

You look over at Nanami on the couch, but he’s staring at the carpet, his expression contemplative, almost pensive. His brows are drawn taut, a small knit on his forehead. His lips are drawn into a thin line, a slight crease in his chin. There was a specific emotion dancing in his eyes. You almost dared to use the word vulnerable.

It seems… ridiculous. Nanami? Attractive as he was? Kind, considerate, hard-working, to a degree. A woman’s dream. In another life, perhaps your dream too.

Had it not been for Nanami’s serious demeanour, and the fact that ‘joke’ and ‘Nanami’ rarely went together in the same sentence, you might have thought he was pulling your leg. A joke between friends.

But he wasn’t. He very clearly wasn’t.

“That’s… fine,” you finally say after a small moment, fearing you had let the silence linger too long. “There’s no rush for these things.”

Nanami’s hum is short and clipped. Gruff, almost. He still refuses to meet your eye for now, and you make no move to change that. You get the distinct feeling that this newfound vulnerability doesn’t stem from him never having sex, but rather, the reason why he’s denied himself - because you know for a fact it has little to do with opportunity.

You had lost track of how many women you had watched Nanami turn down, clipped and short, yet always polite.

The silence is heavy between you. In the other room, you can hear the hum of his refrigerator, the buzz of the bulbs in the lights. Nanami’s apartment has always been quiet, but this silence feels suffocating. Paired with the wine, your head feels thick, your tongue thicker.

A few moments pass, and as the revelation of his virginity settles into your stomach like seltzer water, you realise… it makes sense. Nanami wasn’t the type to use someone for sex, even if eager. He’d only have sex with someone he was in love with. Someone he trusted at the very least.

And Nanami, as he had told you and a few others before, refused to entertain the thought of love whilst he was a sorcerer. No one with two working brain cells needed to ask why. He wasn’t alone in that choice, either.

You toy with the stem of your wineglass whilst you toy with a reoccurring thought in your mind, one that you entertained often, but had yet to voice aloud.

“You shouldn’t keep depriving yourself, Kento,” you say quietly. The use of his first name, rarely used in your adulthood, garners you a glance from him. It’s a small sign that you’re taking this seriously.

“I’m not deprived of anything.”

You scoff at that, small and quiet. “You deprive yourself of a lot, apart from pain,” you drawl, setting your wine glass down on the coffee table. Like always, the wine and Nanami’s masochistic tendencies have your tongue loosening more than it should. “I understand not wanting to have sex with anyone you’re not in a committed relationship with. It’s kind of… admirable, and definitely you.” You fold your arms across your chest, fixing him with a stare that he still refuses to meet head-on. “But why deny yourself the chance of love?”

In the back of your mind somewhere is a voice chanting ‘hypocrite’, but you ignore it. Nanami, however, does not.

He finally turns his head to face you, the lines underneath his eyes seemingly heavier in the dim light of his apartment. An eyebrow arches. “And meaningless sex is different?”

You scoff again, louder this time. “It’s not meaningless just because I don’t love my partner.”

“Or even know their name?”

You raise a sharp eyebrow, your own lips now pressing into a thin line. A part of you wants to retort, to snap, but you remember the vulnerability in his face from a few moments ago, and you just about hold your tongue.

With an exhale, you grab the half-empty wine bottle off of the coffee table instead and gesture for Nanami to hold out his glass. He does, and the glug of the wine fills the space between you.

“You ever thought about it?” You ask, filling up your own glass. In your peripheral, you see him sit quietly for a moment before he nods his head.

“I’m only human.”

You hum. “You should experience it,” you add. You swirl the wine in your glass once before bringing it up to your lips. “Even once. Even if it means nothing.”

With one glance, you can tell immediately that the idea doesn’t sit right with him. It was easy to forget sometimes how rigid and traditional he could be. Formalities that few seemed to care about these days. Always on the things you least expected.

“I couldn’t,” Nanami replies, shaking his head.

Oddly, you feel the desire to insist. Days of a sorcerer were short, and getting shorter every year. Younger than yourself and Nanami had already died long before they would ever have the opportunity to touch another, kiss another; to feel the warmth of a body against your own. They would never know what that distinct pleasure was like, even if they desperately wanted to. Time was infinite to the young, until it wasn’t.

It occurs to you quickly that you’re thinking of Haibara, and everything you and Nanami had experienced that he never would.

Something must show in your expression because Nanami raises an eyebrow at you. You swallow, before setting your glass back down on the coffee table with a dull clink. You look at him, your face surprisingly collected and casual for what you’re about to ask.

“What about me?”

Nanami’s questioning look only deepens for a moment, before something passes by his eyes. His lips part, his version of a falter. You know he knows what you’re implying, but still, he asks, “…what about you?”

“What if we had sex?” You say without hesitation. “You know me. You trust me.”

Nanami falters further. He straightens in his seat, his glass resting on his thigh, the thick muscle straining against his slacks. His whole body is thick with a tension you usually only see before a fight with a particularly highly graded curse. A vein protrudes from his neck.

His eyes flick between your face and your own glass, clearly wondering if it is time to call this night done, but you rise from your seat before he can, taking a small step toward the couch he’s sitting on.

You sit down next to him, a little closer than you usually might. He doesn’t move away. Your thigh brushes against his, and this close, you can hear his breath hitch in response.

“I’m not going to push this any further, Kento,” you say quietly, “but I’m letting you know it’s an option.”

Although you and Kento were hardly affectionate with one another like most friends, you decided to take a chance tonight. You had already taken several, what was one more?

Reaching out, you take his glass from his hand and set it next to yours on the coffee table. Hesitating only a moment, you place your hand on top of his, your fingers curling around until your fingertips touch his palm.

His hand is stiff and warm underneath your own. The bones and knuckles press against your skin.

Something in the back of your mind is wondering why you’re pushing this at all. Would it matter if Nanami died without experiencing the pleasures of the body, really? Would the world stop turning for either of you? You know if Nanami really wanted to, if he felt the want, the desire - then he could leave this apartment right now and find someone willing, someone other than you. He could have done so years ago, during those few years he had masqueraded as a normal human being with a nine-to-five.

You were risking a friendship over… what? The implied hopes and dreams of a dead fifteen-year-old? Haibara was dead. It didn’t matter to him whether Nanami experienced the things he never could.

Nanami’s gaze flickers between your eyes for a moment, and this close, you can see the faint traces of the wine staining his lips. Your gaze must linger for a touch too long because his tongue swipes across his bottom lip. The pink skin glistens with the faint glimmer of his saliva.

When you look up, you see his eyes trained on your own lips, before they quickly flick back up to meet your eyes.

“We’re friends,” he murmurs, his voice low, slightly thick.

“And we always will be,” you reply.

He glances down at your hands. Somewhere between your own thoughts and Nanami’s reiteration of your friendship, your hands had interlocked, fingers intertwined like vines. He was gripping your hand a little too tightly to be comfortable, but you didn’t flinch.

You’re not sure whether it had been your subconscious doing, or his.

“I… can’t,” Nanami mutters finally, closing his eyes for a moment. “Not like this. Not… now.”

Something clenches in your heart at his rejection, although you had expected it. You’re not sure if it’s because he’s denying you, or himself.

You smile softly nonetheless and nod. “If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me,” you say quietly, going to pull your hand from his grip and give him some space.

Only he doesn’t let go. If anything, his grip tightens slightly.

Your eyes flick between his hand and his eyes, still trained on your face. You raise an eyebrow, your lips parting to speak, but he beats you to it.

“But I’d like to kiss you.”

Something resembling a very quiet ‘uh’ pushes past your lips in a long exhale.

You’re not sure why the idea of kissing him felt more… intimate than the fact that you had offered your body to him only seconds prior. You’re not sure why there’s a prickle of heat at the back of your neck or your lips burn with a sudden need.

“Nanam-“

As if remembering himself, he shakes his head slightly, blinking away whatever stupor had just possessed him. He looks away, his grip on your hand loosening, but not quite pulling away.

“I… don’t know why I said that,” he mumbles. “You should go-“

Your free hand is already gripping his chin, turning his face toward yours a little too sharply. A subtle grunt leaves his throat as he looks at you, his gaze foggier than usual. From the wine, you, or the whole situation? Who knows.

Fingers against his neck, feeling the quickened thrum of his pulse, your thumb brushes against his chin, pulling the skin until his lips naturally part. You feel Nanami’s shaky exhale against your lips as you lean forward, warmth breath mingling with yours, the scent of wine heavy on the air.

You close the distance slowly, giving him time to stop this, to pull or push away. To draw an end to this nonsense before it went any further.

Instead of pulling back or pushing you away, he closes the gap so quickly your noses almost bump together.

The first press of his lips against you feels hurried and unsure. It’s off-center slightly, barely hitting the corner of your mouth, but Nanami is quick to correct it. He slots his lips against yours more firmly the second time, his lips parting to capture yours fully. You feel a rush of air against your cheek as he exhales through his nose.

The kiss is unhurried, curious almost, yet there’s a subtle urgency in it that surprises you. Your free hand moves from his chin to his jaw, fingertips softly caressing the sharp curve of it. The sound and feel of his sigh against your lips makes you shiver, and you become enamoured with it.

Enamoured with him.

You part your lips further, your tongue swiping against his bottom lip, finally tasting the remnants of the wine that you had spotted earlier. An odd sound builds at the back of his throat before his mouth parts too, his tongue brushing against yours.

Something changes quickly then. His hand, larger than you ever really noticed, cups the back of your neck, his calloused thumb pressing against your jaw, drawing you closer. Your other hands, still intertwined, seem to tighten around one another like a snake's coils. The wet smacks of your lips grow louder in the quiet of his apartment, just about overriding the sound of increasingly ragged breaths, borderline panting.

Your head feels thick. Dizzy. The kiss is indulgent, almost sloppy now. Nanami’s tongue is in your mouth, exploring every crevice, tasting you with an eagerness you hadn’t thought he was capable of. Every time you brush your tongue against his, your taste buds wetly sliding against his own, a small sound rumbles in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and grumble.

After a moment that feels like an eternity too short, you pull back slightly, just enough to see his eyes as you open yours. Nanami denies you this, however, because when you open your eyes, his are still closed, almost scrunched. A faint frown tugs at his brow.

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. The heat of his skin against yours feels searing, your noses softly brushing against one another’s. He sighs deeply, as if pulled from the back of his chest. It almost sounds like defeat.

“Kento-“

“I want you,” he breathes out, and your voice almost hitches as you feel rather than hear his voice. It’s a deep, husky sound, more rumble than syllable. But there’s a crack in his tone belying a raw vulnerability that you weren’t familiar with. Not from him.

His eyes finally open, looking up at you from underneath his brow. His hazel eyes are almost black, you realise, the familiar colour you’ve always admired swallowed up by a sea of coal. You wonder if yours are the same.

He’s trembling too. You can feel his fingertips shake where they press against the nape of your neck.

“I thought you didn’t want… this,” you murmur. ‘Sex’ suddenly feels too…

“I changed my mind,” he replies, a touch too quickly for you to believe that he was thinking clearly.

But God, did you want him too. You want him so fucking bad it almost makes you ache. Your feelings toward Nanami had always been friendly, respectful. He had been your closest friend, your ally, your confidant. You had been through so much together. You liked him, every part.

And somewhere along the way, between the four years apart as he pursued a different life and the first time you had hugged him when he finally returned, Gojo grinning over his shoulder… you think, that like had changed to love.

It quickly occurs to you that you weren’t pushing Nanami to experience sex for fear of him missing out. That was you. You were scared of missing out on him.

It’s that revelation that makes you pull back slightly, and Nanami’s eyes widen a little, some of the hazy fog clearing. His hand slides from the back of your neck, falling limply against the couch next to your thigh.

“I… I shouldn’t have put you in this position,” you mutter, glancing away, staring at the two wine glasses on the coffee table before looking back at him. “It’s your choice. Your first time should be on your terms, not because I think you’re missing out or depriving yourself.”

You go to remove your hand from his, but once again, his grip tightens, but there’s a tenderness to it this time. A gentle squeeze, almost begging you not to go. Not yet.

He looks serious now, staring at you squarely, as if about to deliver a mission report, and its the first familiar expression you’ve seen on his face thus far. He swallows thickly, the only thing belying his hesitation.

“I said I couldn’t have a one-night stand.”

You frown. “And th-“

“I don’t want this to be a one-night stand.”

Some of the breath flees your lungs as you look at him. His lips are still pink and slightly swollen from kissing, his cheeks still slightly flushed from the wine and your touch. You become distinctly aware of the scent of his cologne, faded but warm from his skin. It’s soft, smoky almost. You have the urge to bury his nose in the crook of his neck and breathe.

You know what he’s trying to say, what he’s trying to ask. You know what he wants because you want it too. You realise you’ve wanted it for a long damn time.

Words fail you. They feel… inadequate to describe what you’re feeling, what you desire, what you’ve always desired buried down underneath the guilt and trauma.

But you still can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. Not here. Not yet.

And neither can he.

You’re not sure who makes the first move, all you know is that your lips are pressed against his and he moans into your mouth as if something had finally let go. It’s like a cork had finally been released, a lifetime of pent-up feelings pouring out in one gush.

His hand is back at the nape of your neck, holding you tightly this time, unwilling to let go. His lips part more readily with every press, his tongue seeking yours with a pinpoint determination. You skip his jaw this time altogether, aiming straight for his hair that you’ve been dying to touch since… you don’t know when.

The hand that had been holding yours hostage finally releases, only so his fingers can brush against your waist. His fingers brush against your ribs through your clothes, tugging you closer until you’re rising up onto your knees on the couch just to oblige. He’s tilting back, his broad shoulders bumping against the couch cushions behind him - and it’s only distantly you register it’s because you’re pushing him back against it.

Something shouts at you in the back of your mind to take your time, to savour this, to savour him. You may want each other badly, but this is Nanami’s first time. It should be done carefully, respectfully, the way he would treat you if this position had been reversed.

But then Nanami’s hand has moved from your waist to your thigh, blindly grabbing it as he pulls it over his lap. Before you know it, you’re straddling his hips with a huff against his lips, and something like a sharp, pained groan leaves his lips.

You pull away from his lips with a ragged breath, concern knitting your brow until you realise what the cause of his groan was.

Straddling him, you can feel the pulse of his desire underneath you, the hard ridge of the bulge in his pants pressing insistently against your core through your own clothes. One hand is grabbing your hip tightly, almost too tight, as his forehead rests against your shoulder. The other hand is on your thigh, his thumb digging into the plush flesh there.

His breathing is ragged, extremely so. Hot puffs fall against your skin. You weave your fingers through his hair softly, and you watch with reverence as a strong shudder rolls down his spine in response.

“We can stop, if you’d like,” you murmur against his ear, going to rise up on your knees to give him a little breathing room.

“Don’t,” he grunts, the grip on your hip and thigh quickly stopping you. He exhales again, a shaky sound as he keeps his forehead stamped against your shoulder. His voice emerges again, barely audible, slightly pained. “...I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Your grip in his hair tightens in response. In a flood, memories of him rush through your mind. A thousand different glances, subtle touches, small clues. Even in school, the way he would linger, a touch closer every time Suguru or Satoru would appear. The hand at the bottom of your back in a restaurant. The way he would lean in to hear you in a crowded place.

The way his arms had tightened around you when he had returned after four years away. I missed you too, almost inaudible against your ear.

Nanami didn’t want a one-night stand. What was the point of sex at all, if it wasn’t with you?

The thought has you rolling your hips down against his before you can stop yourself, feeling the firm length of his cock grind against your core. A moan leaves your lips, and something guttural leaves his.

The hand on your thigh moves up to your other hip, pulling you down tighter against him as if he could slide inside you right now. “Don’t tease,” he hisses between clenched teeth. He turns his head slightly, his lips brushing against your neck. He leaves a searing, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point. “Not now, not after this long.”

“You think you’re the only one who waited?” You pant as you grind again, firmer this time. His hips buck against yours in response, a muffled groan leaving his lips, imprinted against your neck. You can feel his cock throb against you, twitching against the fabric that separates you.

“…you wanted this too?” He breathes out after a moment.

You nod, though you doubt he can see it from the way his face is buried against the crook of your neck. “Since you came back. Since you hugged me back and said you missed me.”

His hands move from your hips to wrap tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t bear for a single slither of space to be left between you two. His hips jut up against you once again, a ragged breath leaving his lips. It seems the idea of you wanting him for so long the same as he had the same effect on him as it had on you. If not more.

He holds you a little tighter, running the sharp point of his nose along your throat as he tilts his head up. Finally, finally, he breaks free of your neck to look up at you, lips parted, eyes almost desperate.

With a thick swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing, he goes to say something but falters, and murmurs your name instead. His dark eyes flick between your eyes and your lips. His cock twitches underneath you.

“Please,” is all he can croak out, and the moan that almost leaves your lips would have been primal.

You nod your head, giving his shoulders a small squeeze, pushing him back slightly. He seems reluctant to let go, but finally relents after a little insistence, reclining back against the couch. His arms unwind and his hands drop to your hips. He looks up at you, clearly waiting for your lead.

You sit back slightly on his parted thighs, the muscles firm and supportive underneath you. Letting your hands fall from his shoulders, you drag your fingertips slowly down over the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through his wrinkled shirt. As your fingers skate over his abdomen, you feel the muscles flex and roll. Nanami looks at you readily.

“We should do this properly,” you murmur, your eyes trained on the lower buttons of his shirt, near the waistband of his slacks. “In a bed.”

Nanami, to your surprise, shakes his head quickly, giving your hips a small squeeze. “We’ve waited long enough.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t disagree. Despite the need, the ache, the pulse of your own core, you can’t help but think of if the positions were reversed. The image of candles, roses and soft music fills your mind, Nanami’s guiding hands and murmured praises. It would be slow and romantic. Perfect.

“Nanami,” you breathe out, almost chastising. With the way his cock is pressing against you, you have no doubt he’s not thinking clearly right now; the thought of having what he had wanted for so long within his grasp clouding rational thought.

He shakes his head again, a lock of his mussed hair tickling his brow. “Next time.” He shifts, sliding down the couch a little more and spreading his thighs - and in turn, spreading yours. He grips your hips tighter, pulling you a little closer until you’re seated right on top of him. “Next time,” he repeats in a groan. “We’ll go slow. I’ll explore every inch of you, taste you. Now, I just want…” He exhales an unsteady breath, sounding like your name. “I just want you.”

Your fingers linger near his shirt's lower button, and one of Nanami’s hands unclasps itself from your hip to gently grasp your wrist. He guides your fingertips to the belt buckle, the metal cool against your hot fingers.

You meet his eyes once more, and his gaze is a paradox of firmness and vulnerability. He’s nervous, you think, but ready. Almost desperately so.

Without another word, your other hand reaches down to join your other one, and your fingers are surprisingly deft as you slide the leather through the metal. Nanami watches your hands with rapt attention until the belt is loose. Your fingers slide over the metal button of his slacks, and you don’t check in this time. You pop it open before sliding his zipper down, the crackle of the metal teeth as loud as a gunshot between you.

A small sigh of what you think is relief leaves his lips as the fabric parts, giving you a small glimpse of the dark boxers underneath, straining over his cock. A small wet patch blooms at the top, wear his tip would be, and a shudder runs through you.

Your fingers tuck into the waistband of his underwear, lingering for a moment. You look up at him at the same time he looks up at you. Without a sound, Nanami lifts his hips and you rise up to your knees.

With a few firm tugs, you manage to inch his slacks and boxers down enough to free him. A small huff leaves his lips as the cooler air of the apartment hits his overheated flesh, and you watch in rapt attention as his cock twitches, the flushed tip glistening already.

It’s longer than you expected. Thicker too. Uncut. A prominent vein runs up the underside of it, and you have the sudden urge to follow it with your finger, or your tongue.

Nanami shifts underneath you, and you realise you’ve been staring a touch too long.

You pull your eyes away from his cock to meet his eyes, and his breathing seemed to have quickened. Anticipation is making him stiff, almost antsy, a rare sight on a man you’ve rarely ever seen anything of other than composed.

It’s endearing.

Reaching down, you satisfy your own urge and run your fingertip up his shaft, following the vein, feeling it pulse steadily to the rhythm of his heart. Nanami’s hips twitch, his eyelids fluttering. Dark eyelashes tickle his cheeks.

When you curl your fingers around him, gripping him firmly at the base, his eyes shoot open, snapping to the sight of him in your palm. You give him one pull upwards, and a bead of pre-cum wells in the divot of his slit.

“Fuck,” comes out in a very quiet, gruff choke. Your eyebrows rise in surprise, a small smile on your lips. Nanami didn’t always curse, and especially not like that.

“Language, Nanami,” you tease, and his eyes flick up to you, something indignant and impatient in his eyes. You usually weren’t one to tease, and he wasn’t one to be teased.

You continue to stroke him slowly for a moment, rubbing your thumb against the sensitive tip. You fingers quickly become tacky, the glide of your hand more fluid, until the lewd wet noise starts to rise to the same level as Nanami’s breathing. He grunts with every upward stroke, his hips twitching underneath you. Had it not been for your weight on top of him, you get the distinct feeling he’d be bucking up into your palm a little more eagerly. His head falls back against the couch, lips parted, his eyes fluttering closed once more as he relaxes more into the sensation.

It occurs to you that you’ve seldom seen Nanami this relaxed.

“Are you sure you want to do this here?” you ask, “with me on top?”

He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His hands run up from your hips to your waist, a soft caress. “It’ll be… easier for me- hah-“ Another choked groan leaves his lips as you give the head of his cock a small squeeze, and Nanami’s hand flies to your wrist in a blink, stopping you from making another move.

You feel his cock throbbing in your grasp, and Nanami’s straight-up panting now, his eyes slightly wild as he tilts his head up to look at you. It’s an arousing reality to know that you had just pushed Nanami dangerously close to the edge without even meaning to.

“I won’t last,” he murmurs, looking up at you, his eyes shining.

You realise quickly that he’s actually asking a question. Are you sure?

“This time,” you reply with a small smile. With his hand still around your wrist, you give his cock another squeeze, and he grits his teeth, that vein in his neck protruding once more. You can see the taut muscles in his abdomen flexing from where his shirt has bunched up.

As much as the idea of making Nanami cum, right here, right now, appeals to you, you relent for now. You’d love nothing more than to watch him spill into your palm, to see the euphoria and bliss play out on his face… but that was for another time. The next time, perhaps.

You release his cock, letting it fall back against his lower stomach with a dull smack, making him hiss through his teeth. Leaning forward, you brush your lips against his throat, nipping at the skin softly.

You guide his hands to the waistband of your own bottoms, and he wastes little time in following your unspoken order. The press of your lips against his throat clearly distracts him, but he manages to pull down your clothes enough to leave you in your underwear. You kick them off the sofa haphazardly, not leaving his neck for a single moment.

He catches you off guard when his hand immediately dives for your sex, cupping your heat through the dampened fabric. You stutter against his neck, gripping onto his shoulders for support in response.

Your eyelids close, goosebumps erupting across your skin as you feel just how wet you are. “Nanami,” you gasp.

“Kento,” he whispers quickly. Once, then twice, he rubs his palm along your clothed pussy, something guttural building in the back of his throat as you buck down into his touch. “You’re… so wet.”

The wet spot on the fabric clings tightly to your folds, doing very little to dampen the sensation of his touch. His fingers are exploratory, a tentativeness that belies his lack of experience with this, but his touch, the fact it’s him, here and now, makes up for it all.

You can’t remember the last time you enjoyed a touch such as this. Not like this.

Despite toying with Nanami’s cock until he almost burst, hypocritical impatience gets the better of you, and you remove your hand from his shoulders to tug down your own underwear, kicking it off to join the growing pile on the floor. Bare from the waist down, Nanami’s eyes roam over the exposed skin almost hungrily.

Both calloused hands run up your thighs, pressing into the soft flesh slightly. You see his hand move for your pussy once more, but your fingers are curling back around his cock again before he can distract you.

Next time, keep parroting in your mind. Next time you can both endure hours of foreplay; touching, kissing, tasting, the whole nine yards. You promise to make him cry out before he even sinks inside you, to run your tongue along every inch of his skin until you’re sick of the taste of him. You’d know he’d do the same.

But you two had waited long enough.

Gripping the base of his cock again, you brush it up against your heat, your own slick smearing across him. Nanami’s eyes almost roll back into his head, but he closes his lids before you witness it. You’re faring little better, the mere sensation of having him against you like this, the tip of his cock rubbing up against your clit sending you dizzy. You angle your hips, and just feeling the thick head press against the tight, slick ring of muscle is enough for a moan to already tumble past your lips.

Something flickers in Nanami’s gaze as he opens his eyes again, honing in on the sight of you braced above him like this. He grips your hips, his touch light, merely supporting you for now. You look back once into his eyes, and go to check in just once more, but he leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s little more than teeth and raw need.

His lips pressed against yours, you sink down, the wider head of his cock slipping inside you. Your lips part in a soundless gasp against his mouth, swallowing the ragged groan that leaves his throat. The stretch is slightly more than you’re prepared for. Distantly, you think, skipping foreplay wasn’t the wisest idea, but desperation, need, pushes you forward regardless.

So you sink down further, inch by inch, and as he slides deeper and deeper, his grip on your hips grows tighter and tighter, until the force of his fingers dulls the ache of his cock kissing your cervix.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp as you finally bottom out, hips sitting on top of his. You realise you’re breathless, and that cowgirl might not have been the best position for taking someone of his size. Certainly not in one go, like you just had.

Nanami is fairing no better. His mouth is agape, his biceps trembling where he clings to you. He seems dazed, winded, panting into your mouth as his arms wind against you. He pulls you forward, and you both moan as his cock seems to slide just that little bit deeper.

You’re dizzy, strained, stretched out far more than you can ever remember being before. Your eyes are scrunched closed, your forehead knocking against his. Everything feels distant and muffled. It takes you a moment to realise Nanami’s muttering something repeatedly in fragmented gasps.

When you open your eyes, he’s looking at you almost panicked, his eyebrows knitted upward. His teeth are bared, gritted - and it’s now you notice that you’re clenching around him so tight that you’re not sure if you’re causing him more discomfort than pleasure.

You swallow thickly, trying to catch your breath. You’re flushed, prickly heat blooming across your chest and neck. You shift a little, and something pained rumbles from the back of Nanami’s chest in response.

“Do you want me to stop or-“

“Don’t,” he grunts, his fingers shaking against your back. “Don’t move.”

The throb of his cock inside you is insistent, and it takes everything in you not to clench tighter around him in response. You know he’s close, dangerously close, and as much as you want to rise up on your knees and slam yourself down on his cock until he’s begging you to stop, you clench your jaw and relax.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, kissing his skin softly; small pecks and affectionate touches. He shivers, and his cock still pulses, but slowly, muscle by muscle, he relaxes too, ragged pants dissolving into hot, muted breaths. His arms around you loosen, holding now, not gripping.

“Tell me when you want me to move,” you whisper against his ear, pressing a small kiss to the lobe.

He nods, brushing his cheek against yours with a soft sigh. His hand moves from your back upward, until he cups the back of your head, drawing your lips back to his. It’s a soft kiss, loving; slow and sensual slides of wet skin mingling with gentle exhales. Before you know it, and before he says, you’re rolling your hips greedily, just grinding against him for now.

A guttural sound leaves his lips. His forehead feels hot and sticky pressed against yours like this, a strand of his hair tickling your cheek.

You feel his thighs shift, widening as far as the slacks still around his thighs can allow, feet planted more firmly into the carpet. The first roll of his hips is disjointed, off rhythm with your own, but the slight drag of his cock against your walls has you moaning brokenly. The second roll, a little more confident, has you pressing your hips down to meet it, and your back arches like a cat.

“Fuck yes,” you moan, your voice thick and throaty. You moan his name, wait for the third shallow thrust, and meet it. “You feel so fucking good.”

He looks up at you like you hung the stars, his eyes widening at the sound of his name tumbling past your lips like a fractured halo. He loses his rhythm, but you soon pick it back up for him, starting to use your thighs to slide more eagerly down his cock. It’s still shallow, Nanami’s arms around your waist preventing you from really going for it, but you’re unwilling to part from the closeness for now.

You bounce a few inches at a time, the dull clap of your hips and the lewd squelch of your hot cunt wrapped tight around him filling the air of the apartment. With each bounce, a grunt pushes out from his chest, hot breath fanning across your face.

Nanami, though inexperienced, starts to let his body guide him. His hips buck up to meet you more confidently, and the growing force of his movements has you keening, fingernails biting into his shoulders.

You look square into his hooded eyes, breath mingling, and see the flush across his skin, his lips glistening with saliva. You moan again, higher pitched this time, and Nanami’s next thrust has you jolting up a little, nose bumping against his. You clench around him again, and his brow knits together.

“S-Shit,” he pants, his hips starting to jolt more readily, pushing a little too forcefully into you, quickly losing his rhythm. “I’m not… I’m not going to last…” His movements quicken, grow more erratic, and you’re not even sure he realises. “… you’re so fucking… tight.”

The last part is little more than a throaty whisper, his voice cracking. You stop meeting his thrusts and instead, widen your stance, tighten your core, and let him take what he needs. The movement, though small, isn’t lost on him, and he looks up at you, emotion swimming heavily in his dark gaze.

He thrusts up grow more erratic, sloppier, something like a grunt leaving his mouth with every dull thwap of his hips against your ass. His arms tighten around you, fingertips pressing into your skin. A groan, a hiss, and a swallow. The couch creaks and strains.

“N-Next time - hah - next time… I want t-to feel you cum around me,” he pants, his arms starting to shake. “I’ll give you everything, anything, fuck, I-I’ll keep going until… until… God-“

He’s barely pulling out now, a mere inch is all he’s moving, the head of his cock bullying against the soft spot right next to your cervix. Choked, high-pitch moans are the only sounds you can make, and you distantly note you’ve never sounded like before. Not ever.

You’re getting there, you realise. Not quite close, and definitely not as close as him, but the way his cock fits inside you, the slap of his hips against you, the way he’s looking at you… it’s pushing you there fast.

But it’s not quite enough.

“I’m close,” he gasps. “I… where…”

“Inside,” you reply without hesitation. Something passes by his eyes, a small flicker of concern, perhaps, swimming in the sea of lust and arousal. You try to find your bearings enough to tell him it’s okay, you wouldn’t have taken him inside if you weren’t protected-

-but then his cock is twitching inside you, and Nanami is shaking, shaking underneath you, his thighs jolting, nearly bucking you off his lap altogether.

With one last slam of his hips against you, buried as deep as he could possibly ago, a long, primal groan leaves him. It’s deep, visceral, easily mistaken for something pained - and it might be the most divine fucking sound you’ve ever heard in your life.

He buries his face against your throat as his hips buck involuntarily a few times, and you shiver as you feel that familiar warmth bloom inside you. He’s giving you everything, or what feels like it. Your pussy flutters around him, and his fingertips press into you so tight you wouldn’t be surprised to see bruises.

His heart is hammering against your chest, the thump pounding even in your own chest. Ragged pants and a heavy quiet settles over the living room. His cock continues to twitch inside you, growing weaker with every thud of his heart.

Nanami doesn’t pull his head from your throat for a long while, his nose pressing into your skin as he pants against you.

After a moment, he finally swallows. “… I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I… I should have made you-“

“Shut up,” you murmur against his warm hair, breathing in the faint scent of sweat and his shampoo. He seems to get the picture, of what you were trying to say. He always did. “Next time,” you add anyway, just to be sure.

He lifts his head from your skin, looking up at you blearily. You smile fondly as you see his face again, the harsh lines on his brow and his eyes smoother now, no longer creased as they always seemed to be. He looks… so much younger, you think, like this. Relaxed. Sated.

You brush some of his sweaty hair out of his face, and his eyelids flutter at the brief contact. He seems exhausted, you think.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. “I don’t want this to…” His palm moves against your back, sliding down your spine. “I want you. Properly. I always have.” He swallows. “Always.”

Your eyes soften. He looks at you expectantly, almost vulnerably.

“You have me,” you murmur in reply, finally. “Properly.”

A small smile tugs at his lips, and it’s warmer than you’ve ever seen before. Genuine. Light. It’s as if a decade of weight lifts from his broad shoulders, if only briefly.

He pulls you close once more, his lips pressing against yours softly, lovingly, and the world seems to fade away.

For now, of course.

masterlist.

#nanami x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #kento nanami x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami #kento nanami

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soleilnomoon · 2 years

Text

5.6k words, fem reader, 18+ mdni, nsfw babey (feat. a lil choking, shameless sex, drinking, 'special' brownies, etc. cute shit.), some angst bc why not, it gets cute at the end i think; gojo is the worst, idk what else to say.

a summary (of sorts): gojo gets a little greedy and helps you unwind. hijinks ensue.

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“so, that is why i’m not talking to him,” your words jumble together, one right after the other, incomprehensible to the casual listener, but given just how in tune he is with the people he’s invested in, he understands you perfectly fine. it’s a shame, really—fushiguro toji has you caught in his despicable web, forever trapped in a constant daze where you think about him more often than necessary. there’s no point, you know that, but a small part of you thinks he’s actually fond of you. in his own way.

drinking alone is a surefire way for family and friends to assume the worst, so you decide to contact the one person you know won’t judge you: gojo satoru.

in hindsight, this was a bad fucking idea. gojo is an untrustworthy, smooth-talking asshole that refuses to see reason; but he’s your best friend right now. sort of. you tap the bottom of your shot glass on his counter impatiently, the sound echoing in the kitchen, prompting him to look over his shoulder. he raises a delicate, pale eyebrow, his amused chuckle drawing you closer to him—although, a small voice in the back of your mind tells you to wise up, reminds you harshly to not get swept up in his charm again. you sit up straighter.

“encore!” you shout, much to his annoyance and entertainment, “fill ‘er up good.” you’re being ridiculous, but it’s the only way to distract yourself from admiring his stupidly attractive face.

he blinks slowly, your theatrics unable to sway him to your side. “i think that’s enough,” he says evenly, his own face also a little flushed from his own moderate alcohol consumption; he pours you another shot anyway.

you fix him with a sleepy glare—or you think you’re glaring anyway—and pick up from where you left off in your rant. “he doesn’t even call me back y’know that? it’s the worst, he’s so rude,” you swish the remainder of the tequila in your glass before knocking back the rest of it. the burn still aggravates your throat, but at this point you don’t really care.

gojo, on the other hand, is actually very tired of hearing you talk about toji and what the gambling, stoic assassin did or didn’t do for you. he only let you come over because you kept insisting you needed a drinking partner, and because he felt a little bad about how he set you up at his party a few weeks ago; he obliged without hesitation. he regrets it now, though, knowing full-well how high your tolerance is—and while his own tolerance is much higher than yours, he prefers to stay tipsy, wanting to keep some of his wits about him in case he somehow caves to his suppressed, unsavory urges.

while you absolutely want to drink your memories of toji away, gojo ‘the rudest man alive’ satoru cuts you off early. a groan coasts out of your mouth as you run your hands down your face. “this. is. the. WORST.”

he snickers loudly, grinning like a fool as he takes in your appearance. you’re being so dramatic, and he can’t help but want to tease you a bit for it.

“why do you keep going back to him?” it’s a question he’s been meaning to ask you for some time now. “i told you about men like him, y/n.” and he did; several times at that. the need to give you that sort of advice took over his logic out of nowhere; is it because he pitied you? no, that could hardly be the reason. is it because he can’t stand to see men like toji take things—people, really—that are of interest to him without a care in the world?

he’s not sure and has no intention of pursuing an answer to that.

“i know,” you say after a while, voice soft and contemplative; you puff out your cheeks as a pout forms on your lips, “it still hurts.” you’re not sure if it’s actually heartache or if the rejection is so strong that it feels like you’ll never be able to breathe properly again. toji made it clear a few weeks ago that he’d ruin you for anyone else. a part of you wants to find out how true that is—an idiotic, overly curious, irrevocably masochistic part that needs to be snuffed out before it gets you into more trouble.

but, if it is true, then you’re more fucked than you realize. and if it isn’t? well, you might be able to get away from him quicker than you think.

with a tilt of your head, you watch gojo move around the kitchen and grab a container of brownies that you know aren’t normal baked goods. this is gojo after all. still, you take a big piece, inspect it carefully, and eat it carelessly (wanting nothing more than to feel the effects so that you won’t be tethered to such bothersome feelings anymore.) in return, he eats one in solidarity and within twenty minutes, you’re both in tears, licking chocolate off of your fingers and laughing at something so incredibly stupid that you forgot who said what.

in the midst of the light-hearted conversation, you accidentally mention something about toji again, which only angers gojo this time—the forceful nature of the emotion takes him by surprise, he’s normally much more subdued than this. maybe it’s because he’s just had enough, or that it pisses him off how oblivious you are, but he rounds the counter and yanks you off the stool. before you’re able to even comprehend and tell him off, legs scrambling to keep up with his long strides, you find yourself pressed against the nearby wall. gojo twists your arms behind you, his large hand securely binding your wrists as his thigh parts your legs. your ass tantalizes him, a distraction that nearly makes him forget himself. despite his desire to remain focused, he also wants to see you unravel completely.

as your breath comes out in shallow puffs, you don’t even bother fighting him—his strength severely out masters yours. you bite down on your plush, bottom lip, cheeks flushed as you try to figure out his angle.

“w-what are you doing?”

his mouth latches onto the side of your neck, his subsequent laughter finding him again as you rub your ass on his thigh. “i should ask you the same,” he drawls, voice low, stoking a small, impetuous flame within you—one that grows with every second that he has you captive like this. mouth curving into a smile, gojo’s tongue darts out to run along your skin. a shiver passes through you, and you inadvertently squeeze your legs together, wanting so badly to relieve the ache that aggressively blossoms. wild, unstoppable, unparalleled. the front of your panties are damp, your shamelessness on full display as you grind back against his thigh, the friction barely enough, desperately hoping he’ll actually take pity on you.

but just like a certain man you both know, gojo isn’t the sort to abide by societal rules or standards. he does as he pleases, uncaring if the world burns and crumbles around him.

“ah, ah,” he says, disapproving of your tactics, mercilessly removing his thigh almost immediately. you actually let out an audible groan, which only makes him laugh again. “patience is a virtue, butterfly,” he sounds so sure of himself, his audacity makes you want to scream, “and i have a feeling… you’re going to be very patient, because there’s something you want from me, isn’t there?” you don’t bother answering, instead opting to swallow back whatever petty words you mean to say, your throat becomes dry and bothersome.

“gojo, leave me alone,” you say through clenched teeth, your mind growing fuzzy, his proximity too intoxicating for you to handle by yourself. “it’s too hot to stand this close.” even with the a/c on, you still can feel the heat from his body and it’s making you feverish.

he absently nips at a spot on your neck, your nipples hardening, the jolt of arousal coaxing that fire to burn bigger and brighter. he only meant to tease you for a few seconds and leave you alone for the rest of the night, but he underestimated how badly he wanted to be in this exact position with you. therefore his selfishness wins out.

“you want me to leave you alone,” he starts, confidently pressing kisses down the length of your neck as he continues talking, “but you keep squeezing your thighs together. you want this so badly you’d rather lie than admit it.” it’s funny, really; you can lie all you want, but he sees right through it. his words only further the flush that’s taken permanent residence on your face. the heat from his touch is unbearable, you’re devastated at how easy it is to get you in this state; but, isn’t this what you wanted? to test out that theory of toji’s? the one where he was so sure about the results, that you’re so very inclined to prove him wrong just for the hell of it.

yes, you know, there’s something off with you, but whether it’s the tequila, or the brownies, or just gojo’s ridiculous mouth you’re trapped in place, a buzz coursing through you as you contemplate your options. running isn’t feasible, and gojo will never let you live it down.

“i have a r-request,” you try to keep your voice steady but it barely works. “stop kissing me and listen for a sec!” it’s less anger and more annoyance, mostly because his lips are distracting, they’re softer than you thought they’d be, and much too skilled. you’ll never make it out of here alive.

he hums quietly and pries himself from your neck, opting to press his lips against your ear instead. “go on, i’m listening.” clamping down hard on your lip, you stifle whatever unnecessary noise that wants to creep out of you. his voice seeps into you, an unwanted shiver taking hold right after. he takes note of just how reactive you are to the smallest things—it strokes his ego, prompting him to act out more than he should.

“kinda hard to talk when you have me,” you pause and press your lips together tightly, his free hand trailing around to slip underneath your shirt, “gojo…” your breathing turns shallow as his lithe fingers make their ascent, grazing the fabric of your bra.

“i said, go on,” he insists, as if he hasn’t stolen your ability to speak coherently with the way he’s teasing you.

“right, well,” you swallow hard, your thoughts scrambling the longer gojo’s fingers caress your skin slowly, “so, toji thinks that i won’t—” he releases his hold on you, your hands finally free, wrists a little sore; for some strange, idiotic reason, you think he’s actually going to leave you alone for the rest of the night. but, you should know better. gojo satoru doesn’t do things half-assed, especially when it means you’ll somehow be indebted to him afterwards.

“first of all,” he says sharply, turning you around, so you’re facing him once more. “toji isn’t here, is he?” this is the side of him that you try to avoid; he’s unpredictable, impetuous, and a smug bastard when he gets his way. you refuse to let things go in his favor.

but—

“no,” you say quietly, biting down on your lip as his hand coasts upward; your chest rubs against his as you both inhale, heart somehow stuck on overload mode and beating erratically enough to make you gasp.

“secondly,” he brushes his knuckles along your jaw, goosebumps popping up along your arms as he continues, “why the hell would i ever give a damn about anything he says?”

“i’m not saying you do, i’m ju—”

“thirdly,” his hand wraps around your neck, taking you by surprise when he squeezes experimentally; your nipples harden at the sensation, making everything much more complicated. “i’m tired of hearing you say his fucking name, it’s boring.” the last bit he says with a dark expression on his face, voice dripping with venom. “in fact, i don’t give a single iota of a fuck about fushiguro, understand?” he doubts you do, but he wants to at least make it known, so you don’t get any funny ideas about the situation you’re both in.

as if you could.

awareness takes hold of your thoughts, reminding you bitterly that this won’t end well for either of you. in his mind, the issue isn’t whether or not this will end well—it’s more so a matter of whether or not he’ll be able to let you go after this. there’s no scenario that he’s come up with where this doesn’t snowball into something horrifically dramatic and messy; something that, if nanami were privy to the truth, might give him a heart attack. it’s a sacrifice gojo’s willing to make, one that he won’t regret, even if you hate him for the rest of your life.

not that he thinks you’ll do; on the contrary, he has a strong feeling that you could possibly never hate him. for now, anyway.

on impulse, he squeezes your neck again, the world spinning beneath your feet, making you unsteady and lightheaded—but also surprisingly very alive. you look up at him, curiosity burning through you faster than you can contain it, his blindfold still secure around his eyes, and wonder what it is that he sees. you’re not actually curious about the technical aspect of the answer, but you’re desperate to know if he actually sees you.

does he really know you the way he claims he does? so many have tried, failed, given up—you’re surprised you’ve kept his interest for as long as you have.

it’s easy enough for him to read your expressions; you’re entirely too honest without actually meaning to be. so when you suddenly bite your lip, when your eyelids lower—obscuring your hickory brown eyes, flecks of burnt caramel sprinkled about, turning them into miniature pieces of art—when your dark, curled eyelashes flutter as you inhale softly, he presses a kiss on the corner of your mouth, disrupting your peace, catapulting you into another dimension.

reckless. much too reckless. you turn your face slightly, catch his lips on a whim, the kiss hesitant and exploratory. his tongue makes its way into your mouth—a sneaky, curious thing that caresses yours; teasing, spiraling, mesmerizing, transforming you into a foolish puddle of mixed feelings. before you know it, gojo is tugging on your leggings, pulling them down, his long fingers grazing your hips and thighs. his touch is electric, pulverizing every single doubt you have, your pussy traitorous in the worst kind of way.

he kisses you until you can’t breathe, somehow managing to steal the oxygen from you entirely; but what he leaves behind is a brutalizing arousal that soaks through your panties and makes you press your thighs together tightly. gojo laughs as he kisses you again, his hands roaming along your curves, memorizing the shape of your ass, relishing in how soft it is. each kiss that follows devastates you more than the last, stealing the last of your rationality; it annoys you, how much you’re enjoying this.

it also annoys you that he’s enjoying this much more than he should be.

gojo moves closer to you, his hard cock straining behind his pants, your hips shifting so you can rub against him senselessly. it’s not the alcohol or the brownie that has you intoxicated, it’s him. your hands work to free him from his pants, fingers shaking as you undo his button and tug on his zipper. gojo lets out an uneven breath and presses his forehead against yours. his lips part and while he’s known for being verbose, words escape him; it’s the first time he’s ever found himself unable to properly articulate himself to anyone. let alone you.

that he can’t say a thing only propels you to act out once more; your hand slips under the band of his underwear, the warmth from your skin sears him the moment you start stroking. it’s slow, at first, but when he kisses you again, his mouth demanding as it stakes a claim on yours, your pace picks up. he hates being teased, but loves to antagonize others with his own brand of play; he’s a hypocrite, he knows this better than anyone, but he doesn’t care. when your grip tightens be bites your bottom lip roughly and tells you to behave, his voice low, but firm, stirring a hunger inside of you that you desperately want to keep in check.

but the longer you stand there with him, the longer you touch one another, the longer you put off the inevitable, a crack in your control eventually forms, leaving behind an insatiable desire that cannot be ignored.

you hastily undress, tossing your shirt and bra elsewhere, and gojo follows suit—his own clothes piling together onto the floor. your cell phone vibrates loudly on the kitchen counter, violently ripping you from your gojo-induced daze. blinking slowly, you try to look around him, eyes drifting towards the kitchen, only for him to grab your face roughly.

“eyes on me,” he says, irritation coloring his voice; you can feel his gaze even more now, your cheeks flushed, embarrassment making it difficult to keep looking at him. “always keep your eyes on me.” there’s no real meaning behind his words, but they feel necessary for him to say in the moment. in the interim of your confusion, he picks you up, startling you enough that you let out a soft squeal—one that’s followed by the sound of his laughter, your surprise clearly an entertaining element in all of this.

his cock is so painfully hard that he almost can’t stand it, but the walk is short; after sitting you on top of his dining room table, he pushes your legs apart, his hands grabbing onto your thighs with the sort of reverence that has your heart leaping out of your chest. you watch him intently as he first drops a kiss onto your collarbone before making a slow descent down your chest. his mouth latches onto your nipples, sucking wildly, forcing your back to arch; your moans encourage him to keep on going—you should push him off, tell him this isn’t appropriate, but you don’t.

you’re too wrapped up in him to care about consequences.

“i think i like you like this,” he murmurs mostly to himself once his lips reach your navel, admiring the various marks he’s left behind, “i want to take my time, but…” gojo tugs your panties to the side, your wetness greeting the tips of his fingers immediately; shame eats at you, brings an unnecessary flush to your face. you try to close your legs in retaliation, not wanting gojo to see how much he’s affected you, but he gives you a mischievous smirk and wags a finger at you. “naughty. that’s not how a guest is supposed to act when they’re at someone’s home, is it?”

with a sigh, you say, “oh shut up, gojo, i am not a damn gu—”

the insertion of his finger makes you reconsider whatever it is you try to tell him; your words are replaced by your unavoidable moaning instead. the warmth of your pussy as it clenches around his finger only tells him one thing. you want him as much as he wants you. and that’s all that matters to him right now.

“you were saying?” he asks innocently, his finger sliding in and out of you easily, his pace overly familiar, as if this is the sort of thing you do with him all the time. you bite down hard on your lip, not wanting to give him any more satisfaction, but gojo’s already inserting a second finger, pumping them into your puffy pussy, fast and hard. your hips roll to meet his hand, his fingers curling, prying an embarrassingly shrill whine out of you. “i’m sorry, you need to speak up, butterfly,” he’s laughing again, loving the way your reactions are so raw and unfiltered.

“d-damn it,” you manage to let out, hating the way his fingers are just as skilled as you thought they’d be, “i can’t stand you.” your moans say otherwise; your fingers tangle into his hair as you tug selfishly.

gojo, however, doesn’t let up. if anything, he pushes you down onto the table and brings his mouth lower. “i wonder,” he says softly, almost as if he’s actually contemplating this—his words crawling along your inner thighs as he continues speaking, “if you’ll still say that after i’m done with you.” the finality of his words catches you off guard, and before you can respond, gojo brushes his lips against your clit, that electricity zapping your entire body all at once, the sensation nearly making you beg.

you don’t, though. not yet. your pride is on the line, after all.

his tongue swirls around your clit, your mind spinning helplessly out of control; the way his fingers ardently plunge into you has you saying his name repeatedly, much to your dismay. but, you can’t deny how much you want this; how much you want him. you feel everything much too much, your senses overloading faster than you realize, making it difficult to see reason. his cologne chokes you, his elegant fingers scissor mercilessly inside of your pussy, his mouth sucking your soul out while using your clit as a conduit.

an unexpected orgasm shoots through you, has you seeing tiny bursts of light when you open your eyes, chest heaving, and does he leave you alone? no. no, of course not.

gojo plucks his fingers out, admiring the way your wetness wraps around his fingers, gliding down like sparkling drops of honey. you want to close your eyes, but find that you’re unable to; a sly smile touches his lips before he licks his fingers in the most obnoxious way—the sight of him tasting you turns you on, much to your annoyance. you’re afraid to speak, not wanting your voice to betray you the way the rest of your body has.

your panties are ruined—not that he cares. he slides it down your legs, grinning like the devious fiend he is.

“guess you won’t be needing these, back, huh?”

you sit up immediately, eyes widening. “oh, no. you are not keeping those.” what is with these men keeping your underwear? if anything, he can always buy you more—but you refused to tread down that path with him. it’s much too dangerous of an option. “where are you going?” you watch him leave the room momentarily, foolishly wondering if he would just leave you naked on his table like that. gojo pops back in after a few seconds, his cell phone in hand, his fingers tapping on the screen quickly.

“just want a keepsake for later,” he says lightly, angling his phone and snapping a few pictures of you. really, he just wants to remember this moment for as long as he can. he likes the idea of you being a mess because of him—and on his damn table? it’s much hotter than he thought it’d be; a win-win situation, really.

“you’re the worst,” you say, lower lip jutting out as you pout, “that’s so embarrassing, c’mon.” you can’t bring yourself to tell him to delete the pictures, simply because… you possibly might like the idea of him wanting to look at you like this.

he tilts his head, a curious smile prancing onto his mouth. “want me to delete them?”

your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes closing on their own. you shrug, opting for nonchalance in the hopes that he won’t keep bothering you about it. “do as you please.” you really shouldn’t give him that level of power over you, but at this point you’re too tired to fight over it.

gojo puts his phone down onto the table and rubs his cock in between the folds of your pussy. “are you sure about that?” he leans closer, his mouth dangerously close to your ear, a shudder imploding inside of you, making his lips quirk into a smile again.

you place your hands over your face and inhale deeply. this man can make you feel a million things at once and still get on your fucking nerves. why does he do that? defense mechanism, probably; you’re never quite sure with him. he glides the tip of his cock against your entrance, dragging your arousal around. a small moan spills out of your mouth, hips trembling with all of his teasing. you refuse to let him win, refuse to see him so smug after barely touching you again.

“i really want you to be sure, though,” he says while feigning concern, precum leaking down the thick head of his cock and mixing with your wetness, “it can be our little secret, if you like.” he’s so full of shit but you can’t think straight; your pussy is calling the shots now, and she’s a salacious brat that wants attention for the rest of the night.

the kind that gojo is currently giving you; but, he has a penchant for switching things up. like when he decides to spread your pussy and slide his cock into your tight cunt without warning, burying it to the hilt with a single stroke.

“i said it’s fin—fuck.” a heat surges through him as he hears you say that; again, he’s very invested in seeing your reactions, especially with the way your pussy is clamping down hard around him, scattering his thoughts, and tossing his plans into chaos.

you’re so angry with yourself—with how easily you let him infiltrate your defenses, proving that you’re obviously not in your right state of mind when you willingly lift your hips to meet his next thrust, his name falling off of your tongue like a secret prayer. you’re also obviously not yourself, when you greedily watch as he powers into you, hips rocking against yours in quick succession, his balls slapping against your soft ass. and you’re obviously not yourself, when you lock your legs around him, keeping him closer, breasts bouncing as he drives his cock into you harder and harder, his mouth seeking out yours.

he kisses you like this is the last time he’ll be allowed this bit of selfishness—and maybe it will be, but he knows that things never exactly work the way he wants them too. his tongue slips into your mouth, your arms wrap around his neck, skin warm and a little sweaty, the kiss a scorching parting gift. one of many, for the night.

you’re sure this must be some vivid dream, but you can’t deny the way you’re bucking your hips against his wildly, the way your arousal overwhelms you in a way that shocks you, or the way you inadvertently clench your pussy around his thick cock when you taste his moans in your mouth. he’s usually so much more restrained, preferring to let his lovers think of him as a detached entity that wretches orgasm after orgasm from them for the pleasure of having that power over them.

now? he’s disregarded all of that.

your cunt keeps sucking him back in, turning him stupid, foolish, and hopeful. he’s never wanted to keep fucking someone as badly as he wants to keep fucking you. it’s a terrifying reality—one he wants to leave behind as quickly as he can. but that’s not how life works, does it? it’s much more complicated and devastating than that. much more ruthless and unforgiving. he knows that, and yet—

“that’s it, butterfly,” he says in between sloppy tongue kisses, “fuck your pussy is so tight.” an understatement if he’s ever made one, he realizes belatedly. how the hell did he get wrapped up in you so fast? he moves your legs and drapes them over his shoulder, the change in position allowing him to give you quick, deep strokes, his cock reaching a place that has your toes curling and eyes rolling back.

“oh. my. god.” it’s all you repeat, like you’re stuck on a loop that you can’t get out of. his grunts push you over the edge, the lust-filled haze wraps around you so tightly you’re not sure you’ll survive the night at this rate. “y-yes, fuck right there, right there, s-satoru.” you don’t even mean to call him by his first name—you don’t want to and yet you can’t stop.

who are you and what has gojo done to make you this way? because the only proper explanation is that he’s somehow at fault for all of this anyway.

gojo playfully bites your leg, before pulling out prematurely.

“wh-what, what, why did you stop?” your annoyance mixes in with your desire, while your pussy clenches around nothing. you’re so damn close and he wants to play around. why is he like this?

“say please,” he insists, chuckling darkly when his cock teases your pussy all over again, “like you mean it.”

a tear slides down your cheek, frustration coating your words when you speak. “i—” you clamp your mouth shut and reconsider before responding. “please, satoru,” you say softly, “i…i need you.” badly. you almost say that, but you have your dignity to consider.

“well,” he says, his tone suspiciously sweet and understanding, “when you say it like that,” and he slams his cock into you again, pausing to acclimate himself to your pussy’s deadly hold. “who am i to deny you when you ask politely like that?” gojo pounds into you fervently; his thrusts are relentless, brutal, intense—but oh so good. he whispers sweet and filthy praises against your lips, your nails raking down his back as you desperately try to hold onto your sanity. it’s impossible now, not when his cock forces your pussy to make such lewd noises—ones that you unfortunately can’t hide from.

he likes it though, more than he cares to admit. so when he gives you another hot, open-mouthed kiss, you cum hard enough to have you babble incoherently at him. it’s hilarious enough that he wants to laugh, but instead he continues to pummel his cock into your aching, dripping cunt, your orgasm lasting much longer than it should from the way he’s still fucking you. it’s only when he feels his own orgasm creeping up on him that he pulls out at the last minute to cum all along your thighs and stomach.

a work of art, if he does say so himself.

panting lightly, gojo runs a hand through his hair, whistling at the impressive mess you both made on his table. you can’t believe him, but you shouldn’t be surprised; and when he pulls out his phone again, capturing your swollen lips, glassy eyes, disheveled hair, the hickeys littered along your body, and the cum on your skin. you’re beautiful and angelic, but he won’t tell you that.

not now, anyway.

“still upset with me?” he asks knowingly, his smug grin pissing you off all over again.

“shut up,” you mumble and scramble off of the table, legs shaky but determined as you find a way to stand properly. “you’re the worst.”

you can feel the way his eyes burn into you, even with your back turned. you don’t bother collecting your clothes and head straight to the bathroom, slamming the door childishly before turning the water on in the large shower. you keep the water cold enough to make you shiver; needing to dose the heat that won’t leave your body, even though you desperately need it to in order to move on from all of this. you can’t believe you let yourself get caught up, can’t believe that gojo was able to make you cum like that, but, most importantly, you can’t believe that toji was fucking right.

you hate him, hate gojo, hate your pussy, hate yourself, hate everything. life was messy enough before, and now that you’ve let gojo fuck you, you’ll never hear the end of it.

“god damn it, i’m so fucked,” you say out loud, the frigid water finally clearing whatever fog gojo had you trapped in. no amount of justification will be able to remove the guilt that lingers in your mind, but that’s something you’ll just have to deal with on another day. for now, you have to figure out how to navigate around gojo without giving yourself away.

you shower long enough to scrub your skin raw, and by the time you finish, dry off with a fluffy towel, and step back out into the hallway, gojo’s managed to clean off the table and even collects your clothes for you.

“you can stay over, if you want,” he says from the couch. he’s also showered and changed into some comfy joggers and a thin t-shirt. you want to tell him that you’re not staying another minute, but you also don’t mind his company; you like that despite being rough with you, he was still somewhat considerate. your conflicting feelings on gojo satoru are what cause you to hesitate, they’re what make you head to the couch, eye him curiously before perching yourself on his lap. you lightly kiss his jaw as his arm wraps around you lazily. you’re out of words for the night, not wanting to think or make any decisions just yet.

if you can just be in the moment for just a while longer, maybe you’ll feel better about it all tomorrow. gojo lets you sit like that for as long as you like, the strange urge to stay close to you taking hold of him again, making him think impossible things about you. about himself. there’s no way any of this ends well, but he won’t press the issue; for now, he’ll relish in the tranquility that nestles into him from your proximity, and you’ll pretend that your mind isn’t currently a mess.

maybe that’s all it’ll take, but you’re sure of one thing; you really, truly, did not think any of this through.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo ‘can’t stop won’t stop’ satoru #fic request #idk what to say except *washes hands of this*#y/n has zero self preservation skills as u can see; wait til toji finds out #gojo satoru smut #💋🍯— honeycomb and 808s —🍯💔#gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #jjk angst

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