Daydreaming

You are supposed to listen to your professor drawing some really beautiful and probably very intellectual anecdotal reference to Greek mythology right now, but instead? You're in his dorm room.

Geto Suguru has been your boyfriend for around 3 years now and even after all this time together, you still can't get enough of each other. What started out with Geto making a dumb bet that he'd have you wrapped around his finger during a game of 7-minutes-in-heaven at a stupid highschool party, ended with him being completely and utterly in love with you for the rest of senior year and beyond. Guess you could call each other highschool sweethearts…

Geto's dorm room was small, but he fought hard with administration to get a single room this year and finally be able to bring you over (aka sneak you in to spend the night) whenever he wants and without a roommate complaining. The already cramped space is a mess of scattered books and papers around his desk, some clothes lying in a pile on the floor—pushed to the side to free up space on his bed—and the air is stale and grey from cigarette smoke and heated breaths.

You two decided to ditch the rest of your classes after lunch in favor of being all over one another once again. Smoking and talking about everything and nothing, only interrupted by wandering hands and stolen kisses. One thing led to another and after two rounds of mind blowing sex with the love of your life, who knows you and your body better than anyone else, you're dressed in nothing but one of Geto's old, washed out band shirts with panties underneath.

He's sitting beside you, shirtless and still slightly out of breath, looking as beautiful as ever and you can't help but stare up at him with that small love struck smile that always seems to make its way onto your face when he is around and that all your friends like to tease you about.

His already long hair has gotten even longer over the past few weeks since he couldn't be bothered to get it trimmed and a few unruly strands that have fallen out of the casual half up he usually wears are now framing his face angelically. His head leans back against the wall, eyes closed in contempt as he blows out smoke from the cigarette he lit just moments ago after you got off his lap and collapsed into the sheets. His other hand is tangled in your hair, caressing the top of your head lovingly like it's muscle memory instead of a conscious decision.

“It's Satoru's birthday next week…” You say, rolling onto your side to rest your head on his thigh and one arm lazily draped over his lap. “Any idea what we could give? He'll be pouty if we show up without something that at least shows we tried to put in effort.”

You chuckle at the memory of Shoko getting blatantly ignored for 9 consecutive days after she showed up without anything for Gojo's birthday last year. Although she couldn't have cared less, it was Gojo himself who started speaking to her again with a lecture about friendship and a big list of what she might wanna give him as a late surprise.

“Hm. Don't really care. We could call a hooker or something. He always thrives on the attention of women.” Geto looks down and throws you a teasing smirk, taking another drag from the cigarette between his lips. “Or just introduce a few of your friends to him. You know the two cute ones he likes. What are their names again? Hibiki and Izu-something…”

You lift your upper body up off his lap and gasp in mock offense with theatrical mastery that would rival at least half the students from drama club. “Are you trying to compare my friends with random hookers, Geto Suguru?! And it's Izumi aaannd she's not even that much of a slut…just a tiny bit easy when the urges strike and alcohol loosens the restraint.”

Geto snuffs out the cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table before tackling you down into the sheets, one hand braced beside your head and the other splaying over your waist. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

You squeal when he presses you back into the tangled sheets, his teeth nipping at your jaw as he hovers over you. For a moment everything goes still and even breathing feels too intimate with the way he stares down at you, always studying your face like it might be the last time and he has to memorize every detail.

“The difference is that my carnal desires are only ignited by a certain someone, you know…” You breathe the words into the small space that's left between your faces. “Think he's a pretty amazing guy… Definitely never leaves me and my urges unsatisfied…”

You smile up at him, arms sneaking around his neck to pull him just a tad bit closer and make your lips almost brush against each other. It's not like you two ever needed words to communicate and that much gets clear when Geto immediately closes the remaining distance and locks his lips with yours.

The kiss is tender but passionate and tastes of nicotine and something so uniquely him, that it has your mind spinning already. Geto's hands start to wander while his tongue licks over your bottom lip to ask entrance and of course, you give in easily. One of his big hands slides underneath your thigh to hook your leg around his hips before gripping at the flesh of your ass to make you groan into the kiss.

You two are grinding against each other, the make out session igniting a fire in your lower stomach that you already thought satisfied. But the nice moment is suddenly shattered before it could bloom into anything more when the door to Geto's room bursts open and his best friend Gojo Satoru enters like it was his birthright.

“Daddy’s home! You won't believe me, but I had the worst day possible when-” Gojo's cheerful voice booms with entitled complaint before he goes dead quiet—those cerulean eyes of his lighting up with mischief as he slides those annoying glasses that he always wears down his nose and looks at the two of you with the biggest teasing grin you've seen from him in months.

Geto lets out a low growl at first, clearly annoyed that a certain someone just barged in. He lifts his head & shoots Gojo an unimpressed glare. "Have you ever heard of knocking and waiting for permission to enter, shithead?”

You writhe underneath Geto, whining at the lack of attention and the obvious interruption. So he decides to ignore Gojo completely, his focus entirely on you as soon as the soft sounds from your lips send a thrill through him.

Geto just adjusts his position above you slightly, shielding most of your body from Gojo's view before he lifts your shirt up—bunching it over your tits like you two don't currently have an audience—to lower his mouth to the perky nipples that drove him already crazy when he noticed them minutes ago through the fabric of his shirt on you.

Fuck Gojo. He had witnessed and interrupted far worse between the two of you in the past. (You three swore to every sacred god in this world to never talk about the picnic incident in spring again.)

Geto trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck before his tongue swirls around his end goal and his teeth playfully graze the sensitive area to make you arch into him with a gasp. One hand is still kneading your ass possessively while his other cups the currently unattended breast to give equal love to his favorite pillows—his thumb brushing over the peaked bud with slow attention before switching sides.

A quiet, pleased groan rumbles in Geto's chest as you press into him from beneath, your hands instinctively tangling in his black hair and tugging lightly at the strands in what he rightfully interprets as a desperate need for more.

Gojo, meanwhile, just stands in the open space for a second, taking in the scene: Geto half-naked above you, your shirt rucked up and lips swollen from kissing. “You two are worse than rabbits.” He teases, leaning against the doorframe with that stupidly charming grin plastered across his face.

Geto lifts his head just slightly—enough to glare at his best friend underneath those loose strands of hair—and then deliberately licks a slow stripe from base to peak of your breast before sucking hard enough to make you whimper.

"Close. The door." He mutters against your skin. "And shut up. Don't ruin the mood."

The hand on your ass leaves to caress the side of your face and Geto tugs a strand of hair behind your ear as he comes up to place lingering kisses against your temple. “Don't worry. ‘m not gonna stop. Gonna make you feel so good…yeah? You want that, right?” He's almost groaning inside your ear when he checks in—always checking in on you and your comfort—but when all you do is give him little nods of confirmation, he dives in again.

Without missing a beat he resumes kissing down your stomach. Lower and lower, until those broad shoulders push between your thighs.

Gojo closes the door with a soft click and rolls out the chair from Geto's desk to sit down right in front of the bed. For a moment, the quiet creak of Gojo dragging the chair to sit front-row is the only noise being heard as the room falls into quiet tension. He sits down—kicking his feet up on the edge of Geto's bed like he owns the space and this was an absolutely normal day occurrence and not him being the odd third wheel during intimacy with your boyfriend.

Geto exhales, low and satisfied like a predator reclaiming his space, his gaze not leaving his best friend as if daring him to say something stupid as his deep purple eyes meet Gojo's smug blue stare. "One word," Geto threatens, "and I throw you out.”

"Suguru~"

Your desperate moan—his name drawn out like a prayer—sents fire straight through him and to his dick. That single sound alone makes his fingers curl tighter at your hips, and without hesitation, he presses his open mouth right over your soaked panties, tongue swirling slow and filthy circles around your clit through the thin fabric.

A wet spot blooms instantly under his lips as he sucks gently on you, just enough to make you squirm and whimper louder, but not nearly enough to give relief yet before he deliberately licks a long stripe along your covered slit again, stopping on that same spot where you’re most sensitive.

A gasp leaves your lips that quickly cracks into a loud moan from your throat and tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut. The sensation is overwhelming, even through the thin fabric—the sensitivity from before not entirely gone yet—and it has you squirming in the firm hold he keeps on your waist.

Above you two, Gojo leans back with an obnoxious stretch, his arms behind his head as he watches with shameless amusement. That stupidly perfect face alight with mischief and something dangerously close to arousal as he studies how Geto worships every inch of you without shame or hesitation.

Your hips twitch up again like you couldn't help yourself, begging greedily for more friction and Geto obliged happily with slow precision. He exhales a slow, warm breath through his nose right over your covered heat—the damp fabric clinging to your pussy and outlining your sopping cunt perfectly. He presses another open kiss there, this time with more pressure, a teasing suck, before dragging his tongue in one long stripe from clit to waistband.

His hands slide down your waist, to your hips where he squeezes in reassurance before dragging his flat palms with little pressure over your abdomen, calloused fingers teasing just under the edge of those flimsy, soaked through panties.

Instead of pulling them down immediately, Geto did what he does best and teases you by stretching the waistband against your sensitive skin and pulling them up a bit to have you gasping and choking on a few mewls above while he continues licking that little bundle of nerves with maddening patience.

Then, without warning he hooks two fingers into the elastic and slowly begins dragging them down over your thighs in one smooth motion. The fabric clings to you from how wet it is and a quiet slick sound fills the room as they peel away from the sticky skin between your thighs.

Cool air hits your bare skin for just half a second before Geto dives back in. This time? No barrier. And a single glance downward confirms what he already knows: You are soaked. Glistening in the lighting filtering through the window of his room and you are entirely his.

He seals his mouth over you completely—a soft moan escaping him this time as he tastes you properly: sweet, salty perfection that floods his every sense and makes his cock throb in his boxer.

Your thighs tremble on either side of him and they instinctively try to clam shut around his head, but Geto holds them down with one strong hand on your hipbone while he's using his other to pin your thighs more open.

A choked cry bursts from your lips and one hand instinctively flies to cover your mouth to stifle it—it doesn't work at all when your fingers are busy gripping at the sheets the next second. You always jolt at the first contact of his skilled tongue, back arching violently off the bed as a high-pitched moan tore out: "Ah! S-Suguru!!"

Geto has always been methodical, even when wrecking someone with pleasure in his bed, but today, he devoured you. Flat drags of his tongue followed by featherlight flicks over your clit. Your wetness clings to his tongue and his nose is brushing against sensitive nerves with each hungry lick upward through your swollen folds before he's focusing right where it counts—the tip of that torturously perfect tongue flicking once…twice…right on target.

“Aw~ she’s so wrecked already~.” Gojo coos mockingly at your teary eyes, but his voice is raspier than usual and his pupils dilated as he stares down at your scrunched up face, betraying his fascination and arousal at this whole situation. “C’mon, Suguru! Stop being such a tease! Give her what she wants!”

A vein nearly pops in Geto's temple. He growls under his breath—low and dangerous—but then you whimper again beneath him and all irritation melts into pure devotion for you.

If Gojo is here? Fine. Let him watch. Call it an early birthday gift. And that motherfvcker better be grateful for it.

@missyonmission

If you'd ask most people, they would describe Denji as repulsive, dense and maybe a little too desperate. With how he grew up, he's so unaware and naive around every topic life has to offer that it's almost endearing. That statement becomes especially true whenever it comes to the opposite sex.

Girls never interacted much with him and after receiving a bunch of panicked screams for help and a handful of police calls whenever he tried to approach one, Denji has learned to solely rely on his absolute filthy imagination when it comes to women.

That is until you stepped into his life. He really wanted to touch and grope at Power’s big tits and he couldn't help the twitch of his cock and the whimper spilling past his lips every time Makima gave him that stern look, but you…with you it was different. The first thing he noticed about you were the soft features of your face and how hard it was to not stare into your beautiful eyes. He found himself wanting to tug the strands of hair behind your ears, hold your hand in his and whenever he thought of you, it was your bright laughter ringing in his head instead of the curves of your body.

He doesn't know how he did it or what a girl like you sees in someone like him, but Denji can proudly say that you're his first ever girlfriend. There is nothing he wouldn't do for you, always trying his best to figure out how things are supposed to work in normal relationships and going onto Aki’s very last nerve with the barrage of questions he has every day, only to still fuck something up in the end.

Despite, Denji really tries hard to be affectionate with you, to stop being such a pervert and give you all the attention you need—which means he obeys and listens blindly to everything you have to say. But it's not like you don't find it cute.

An inexperienced boy like him sweats buckets just by kissing your lips and he's sure he wouldn't survive anything more than that. Just the mental image of seeing you like the pin-up models from those magazines he hides underneath his bed or the thought of touching what lies beneath your clothes is enough to make his cheeks comically crimson and his heart feel like it's going to explode.

But here he is; in his dirty ass room, on his messy sheets and panting like a dog. What started out with an innocent movie marathon while the apartment emptied out—something about Power being a nuisance downtown and Aki having to go over to pick up the pieces—quickly escalated into some sweet little kisses and ended up with you on top of him, straddling his waist as you press him into the mattress with your weight.

A full blown make out session, Denji's first, and he has no idea how he ended up here or what to do next. His lips hang agape as he stares up at you with wide eyes, flushed and sweaty as your hands start to explore his body over the thin shirt he's wearing and his hands grip and flex into the sheets when he doesn't know where else to put them.

It's kinda disgusting, really. Sloppy kisses with too much tongue and saliva—teeth constantly clashing, both your chins glistening in a mix of spit and faces red from the lack of oxygen. Denji came into his pants twice already. He wanted you badly, but he was afraid of doing something wrong, panicking about you laughing at him before running away as soon as you see what a pathetic loser he really is and why girls usually keep their distance.

"Wait..." Denji whispers against your eager lips, his voice trembling as he reluctantly pulls back. But your lips only leave Denji's in favor of sucking marks and bruises along his neckline and he shivers when your hands move under his shirt, feeling completely flustered now as a whimper escapes his trembling, kiss bitten lips.

Your hands are still making their way up over his lean abs, resting against his skin just underneath his ribcage when you make contact with the chainsaw cord. “Want you…today…no more waiting, okay?” You breathe between kisses along his jawline, placing a last little peck against his spit slicked lips before pulling back completely to look down at him.

He looks so cute that you can't help but smile as Denji keeps shaking underneath you with sheer want and desperation, a flush to his cheeks and glossy eyes. He sounds so beautiful as well, all breathless and high pitched whines. You will never make him understand how much you actually love him. His clumsy attempts to handle daily life, the charming smiles over the smallest things, how strong he is during fights and how he looks out for others without even realizing… He will never get the deeply rooted feelings you hold towards him and how you adore him exactly like he is—boyish charm mixed with a peanut sized brain that only belongs to you.

You remove your hands from underneath his shirt to slowly pry his fingers out of the sheets, guiding them to your hips. The reaction is instant; a sharp inhale from Denji before his hips buck up into the air and his fingers dig into your flesh with more pressure than he wanted to.

“Want you to touch me, Denji.” Your eyes meet his with vulnerability, one hand steadying yourself on his waist and with the other you carefully trace over the scars on his torso—old, ugly marks from fights he picked when he was desperate for money.

He swallows hard as your hand keeps sliding up, up, up until your fingers brush the soft underside of his pecs and Denji nearly chokes. His knuckles whitening as he fights not to squirm under your touch and a whimper slips out before he can stop it. A high, broken little sound and he squeezes his eyes shut like that’ll hide how wrecked he already is.

Again his hips jerk up instinctively at the feeling of your small hands finding his nipples, and oh god… there's no hiding the wet stain spreading in his sweatpants anymore. Denji's brain short-circuits. He wants to cry and he wants to beg you not to change your mind once you see how bad he’ll be at this.

“I-I…” He has to swallow hard, throat bobbing nervously. “Y-You want me? Y-you really mean it? N-not just messin’ around?” His voice cracks on the last word. He can’t believe this is happening—can’t believe you’re still here with him, someone who stammers like an idiot, sweats too much and cums in his pants like a middle schooler. “B-But I don’t know how! W-What if I hurt you?! Or, or worse, I just pass out or somethin’! What if my stupid dick doesn't even work right?!” Denji chokes out, voice breaking like a kid about to cry. Tears prickle at the corners of his eyes—not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm: love so deep it scares him, a desire so hot it burns and the fear that one wrong move will ruin everything between you forever.

Your thumb brushes over his nipples again and a raw, embarrassingly high-pitched moan rips through his chest once again and his head falls back against the pillows. You can feel his dick twitching for release underneath you where it is pressed right into your core and you have to chuckle at his stupid insecurities showing again.

"Your dick works just fine, Denji. Maybe a little too well, don't you think?" You ask with that smile still playing around your lips, teasingly lifting an eyebrow as you stare at the wet patch of cum oozing from his sweatpants. "And you won't hurt me... We'll take this slow. I don't expect or want you to do perfect with this... I want you. Just you. Denji, the idiot who talks about motorboating my boobs every chance he gets but never follows through and who whimpers so prettily when I place kisses all over his sensitive spots..."

Just to tease him even further, you lean down to breathe the hint of a kiss against his neck just beneath his earlobe. “P-please don’t laugh… I’ll try my best! I swear I will!” Denji whisper shouts desperately, eyes still squeezed shut as the first tears slip down over his cheeks. He nods his head frantically. “I-I wanna be good for ya… please tell me what t’do…”

He feels pathetic for not knowing what to do—after everything he’s seen in porn, he thought he would at least be able to satisfy you without making a complete fool of himself. But this isn't just sex anymore, it never would have been just sex with you, this feels more real than he ever could have imagined. It feels like giving himself completely to someone who actually loves him back after years of loneliness, being ridiculed and taken advantage of.

To finally take things further, your fingers are retreating from under his shirt to take off your own and Denji's breath comes in ragged, wet gasps as his eyes lock onto your chest. It wasn't sexy lingerie or anything fancy. It wasn't lace or silk with straps meant for seduction. It was simple cotton with little pearl buttons down the front. Innocent-looking, yet somehow more intimate than anything else ever worn by any girl in these magazines or movies he secretly peeked at online when you weren't around.

Denji feels dizzy. His mouth goes dry and he doesn’t even think—just acts—palms sliding up your bare sides with desperate reverence before clumsily groping at the soft cotton of your bra as he stares without blinking, completely mesmerized. His fingers twitch where they hover over the fabric, trembling like he’s touching something sacred. And maybe it is. To him at least, this is holy ground. You’re holy. Especially your fucking perfect tits that fit perfectly in his palms like they were made for him.

He squeezes gently at first, then bolder when no scolding comes from you. Thumbs brushing over the sensitive mounts through fabric until one accidentally grazes a stiff nipple and another whimper escapes him when you arch into his touch.

“F-Fuck…” He croaks into his throat, voice cracking when another wave of arousal hits hard enough that precum leaks more visibly now. "Y-You're...so pretty..." He chokes out on a broken whisper, pupils blown wide as saucers despite how red-faced and teary-eyed he still is.

His fingers fumble over the clasp. What is this thing?! Why won’t it open?! Panic flares in his eyes when he realizes how dumb he must look trying to unhook something so simple. “C-Can I…” His throat locks tight around words stuck somewhere between fear and hope as he stares up at you still seated over his middle. “C-can I take it off?”

"Hmm..." You murmur absent-mindedly, too busy looking down at him lying beneath you.

His hands are shaking when he finally undoes your bra and all he can think about is how badly he wants to touch you. How he wants to bury his face between your tits, lick and suck until you’re gasping like the girls do in porn, he wants to feel your skin under his palms—every inch—and wants to learn how to make you feel good. So good. Because that's what you deserve. But Denji is terrified of disappointing you. He feels unworthy of the sight in front of him.

You help him slide the cotton down your body when you notice him lock up and just stare, not even breathing at the first peek of skin he's never got to witness before, and when the second strap falls down your arm, you carefully leave the fabric to fall down somewhere on the ground beside the bed. You are completely exposed, but with Denji you don't feel vulnerable in this position at all.

Denji meanwhile feels like he just got knocked right in the head—no, right down to his very soul. This is like seeing a god for the first time, like walking right into the gates of heaven when you’ve spent your entire life in hell. Is this what absolution feels like? He can't believe all of this perfection is real. You're... you're…

"Oh God, you're beautiful." He manages in a shaky whisper and his tongue instinctively darts out to wet his dry lips, gaze fixed on how much softer your skin looks there and how the fat jiggles slightly when you chuckle at his compliment. "Can I… can I touch you?”

He almost chokes on his own spit when you guide his palm over your skin, bare this time around with no fabric separating the sensation. His fingers flex instinctively, gentle at first before squeezing just a little tighter in awe. He’s fantasized about this exact moment a thousand times (okay, maybe ten thousand) but nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for how overwhelming it actually is. They’re so…soft. Like clouds, like warm dough fresh from the oven, and he can’t stop staring, can’t stop his thumb from rubbing slow circles around the peak just to watch it stiffen further under his touch.

Denji is pretty used to losing control. There are lots of things he loses control over. His temper. His hormones. His stupid mouth that just says whatever he thinks without any filter. Hell, he can’t even control his own heart when it comes to you, and his body? Is clearly not an exception. It’s too much. Way too much. The warmth of your skin, the way you arch just slightly into his touch, the faint scent of your perfume mixed with sweat and that barely audible gasp falling from your kiss swollen lips—it overwhelms him completely.

His mouth falls open in a silent scream before a pathetic, high-pitched and choked-off whimper finally escapes him. "Ngh—!!!" His vision whites out completely as heat surges through him, burning white and hot from his stomach down to his thighs, before—Oh. Oh no.

One hand stays to hold himself steady against your breast, the other falls down to grip your hips, fingers digging in desperately and nails biting skin while his back arches off the bed. “Oh, f-fuck—!” His hips stutter upward violently, pressing into you with helpless desperation as his cock throbs and spills right then and there—another hot, sticky load soaking through his sweatpants before he even got to do anything for you.

His sweatpants are absolutely ruined, soaked through with wet heat and his entire body trembles like a leaf in a storm when he's melting back onto the mattress with a weak, shuddering exhale. His chest heaves like he just ran a marathon, mouth hanging open in a silent gasp as his hips jerk through the aftershocks, his cock pulsing pathetically against his thigh. He looks destroyed. His lips are swollen, neck littered with marks, eyes glazed and wet—staring up at you wide and devastated.

Denji's cheeks burn hot and he buries his face with his elbow, desperate to hide his embarrassment. He hiccups wetly, tears welling up despite himself. His cock twitches weakly in his ruined pants, still half-hard from how painfully turned on he is, even after cumming like some fucking middle schooler who couldn’t last two seconds and he tries to keep his legs together instinctively as if that’ll hide the sticky mess.

“I-I didn’t—!” His voice cracks pathetically. "I-I'm... sorry… m’so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to! It—it just happened. I—” He whimpers softly, voice muffled by his own skin and gasping for air like he’s drowning.

It’s embarrassing. It’s pathetic. He actually came just from touching you. No thrusting, no grinding, just—just skin under his palms. He wants to curl up and die.

“P-Please don’t hate me…” He whispers, voice small and shaky. “I-I’ll do better next time… I promise! I-I'll clean it up and, and—” He sounds so hopeful it’s pitiful. It really is, with his throat tight as he sniffles pathetically, half-expecting laughter or rejection. But when he peeks at you from under his elbow, all he sees is the soft look you are giving him right now, your own cheeks dusted pink and that little glint in your eyes.

His hands fly up to wipe frantically at his teary face with trembling fingers. “C-Can we pretend that didn’t happen…?” He whimpers—cheeks puffed out in a pout—before burying his face against your chest with a miserable groan. “Y’feel so good… s’not fair…” His voice is muffled against your skin, breath hot and wet against your chest as his lips brush over the soft flesh and he nuzzles into you like a puppy seeking comfort.

"Y-You didn't even—! I-I didn't even got to do anything yet!" He wailed miserably. “…Y-You’re just too pretty.” His arms wrap around your waist anyway, clinging like you might vanish if he lets go and when you gently cradle his face—bring it out of the warm space between your tits to make him look up at you—Denji can feel his cock stir to live again, twitching against your thigh. That look that you're giving him…you really deserve the world.

“…C-Can I… t-touch them again?” He asks meekly. “J-Just gimme a sec and I—I’ll make sure this time…you feel good too, yeah? I'll last. I know I'll do…”

He won't. He absolutely will not do any better next time and he will certainly won't last longer. Denji is, and forever will be, a drooling, overeager mess when it comes to you. And honestly? You wouldn't have him any other way.

@missyonmission