pairing: yuta okkotsu x afab reader
synopsis: yuta’s your sweet, smart, dedicated tutor, assigned to help get your grades up. you’ve got other plans that are a little.. off-syllabus.
mdni,nerdy!yuta, smut, kissing, f!ngering, swearing, orál (f receiving), chok!ng (m receiving), creamp!e, yuta’s inexperienced, whimpers a lot, she calls him a good boy, corruption if u squint 😜,black-coded reader, wc: 7.2k
a/n: wrote this after smoking and i think i discovered some things ab myself LMAO (need submissive yuta so bad 😖) enjoyy ֯݁კ🎀 ྀི𓈒
“-and then if you arrange it like this, you can isolate the variable a little easier. See what I mean?”
No, not at all. Not one bit.
Not that it’s rocket science, or even mildly confusing. It’d all be pretty straight forward if you’d actually been listening for the past 10 minutes, but, as per, you haven’t.
Your chin’s propped in your hand, you’re nodding along at all the right times, eyes on the paper just enough to make it look like you’re locked in, but it’d be a lie to say, your attention isn’t… snagging.
On his hands, for example– that’s always where it starts. He’ll be taking you through some problem, pointing at the printed numbers so you can follow, but then the pretty silver band glints just right and suddenly you can’t look away from his long, ink-smudged fingers, at the veins that pop a little when he grips his pen tighter to underline something. Yuta’s got beautiful handwriting, and he writes precisely, like he actually cares whether you can read it back later or not.
Then naturally, you follow the trail up his wrists, then to the slight bulge of his forearms where his sleeves are pushed up, the way they tighten slightly when he leans in.
And he does lean in. A lot. Close enough for you to see how his thin, black lashes dare to kiss his cheeks when he looks down, darkening the shadows under his eyes where the moon’s kissed him. Close enough that his voice, already so soft and calming, drops a little, somehow even softer, more focussed.
“... then if you substitute it back in here–”
Your eyes drag up to his shoulders, at the way they hunch slightly when he’s concentrating. Then you’re staring at his face; dark brows drawn together, faintly peach tinted lips parted as he talks, pausing to think through everything he says, how best to help you understand.
He’s so pretty it’s unfair. It’s unfair that you aren’t sitting on his face right this second.
“... and that should get you to the final solution. Make sense?”
“Hmm,” you hum, looking at the jumble of numbers and symbols on the paper. “Could we maybe take a break?”
His eyebrows raise a fraction. You don’t normally interrupt so blatantly “Oh, yeah, sure! Is everything ok? I know I can go too fast sometimes.”
And yet, your problem is quite the opposite, actually. Yuta Okkotsu is too fucking slow.
Too cartoonishly oblivious.
Your interest in Yuta was piqued long before this arrangement even started. It was one day last term, the day you had no choice but to admit to yourself that you were actually, genuinely struggling, and not in a cute way, in a if I don’t get my shit together, I might fail this class, way. You stayed behind after the lecture, a little embarrassed, a little annoyed, waiting to have a word with your professor, and there he was, right at the front.
You found yourself hovering by as he helped some other student, something about his soft-spoken, yet focussed tone pulling your attention. The girl was nodding along to his every word, blushing a little; clearly she had a little crush. But he didn’t do the boy thing, didn’t flirt or linger, just quietly checked if she understood. Once she said yes, he smiled, and your gaze caught on that barely there dimple, the kind creases at the corners of his eyes.
A week later, your professor was recommending a tutor for you.
“He’s one of my best PhD students, so I have him help out with tutoring undergrads, free of charge. I’ve recommended him to a few others like you, and they all improved massively. He’s lovely. You’ll be fine.”
That same evening you’d found him in the library, headphones on, a gentle frown on his face that gave his otherwise boyish features a slightly mature air.
You knew of the stereotypes, how postgrads liked to steer clear of younger students, how they found them obnoxious and immature. But it didn’t deter you- there was something unassuming about his hunched posture that put you at ease.
You tapped him. He flinched.
“Oh! Uh… Hi,” He said, looking a bit embarrassed by his own jumpiness. “Can I help you?”
Oh, he was adorable. Too adorable for his own good.
You had to have him. Somehow, some way. You decided then and there: you’re going to ruin this kid.
It’s been three weeks since then. Three long weeks of scheming, of inappropriately flimsy cami tops, and tight little “pajamas” (as if you’d ever wear something that sexy to bed.) Three weeks of leaning over way more than you needed to, pitching your voice up and acting confused about things you definitely understood, for no reason other than to distract and stall. Three weeks of ‘accidental’ brushes, of dubious leg taps, of ridiculously high AC and ridiculously hard nipples. Three weeks of hour-long sessions every other day.
A whole hour, which always ended in his unceremonious departure, and you secretly mourning all the far more exciting ways that time could have been spent.
But alas. Yuta would rather talk about made up numbers.
At first you thought he was faking it; playing dumb, pretending not to notice. So you turned up the temperature; ditched the bonnets, lathered on your lipgloss, pushed your breasts against him as you hugged in greeting.
You thought it was working. You swore you caught him looking at you a second too long sometimes, and then suddenly not at all, like he was forcing himself not to.
But it must have been wishful thinking, because when you offered him a homemade cupcake and a hot cocoa after that evening’s session, he politely — always politely— declined.
You figured then, that he’s just cripplingly shy, and even if that’s the case, you can work with it.
Over the last week you’re beginning to suspect that he might actually just be fucking stupid.
“No, you’re good,” you reassure, trying not to let your frustration bleed through your sigh. “It’s just been a long day. I’ve got a bit of brain fog. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not,” he says, his dimple faintly winking at you again. “I’ve got some studying to catch up with anyway.”
Then he reaches into the folder on the side, takes out another piece of paper, and starts scribbling down God knows what.
You stare at him. This is insane.
“You know, maybe you should take a break too.”
He barely looks up. Your eye twitches.
“Oh, I’ll be fine. I’ve got a quiz this week, so-”
Oops. That was definitely a little more pointed than you meant it to be, but honestly, you’re not even trying to be smooth anymore. You’re just trying to see some kind of breaking point– his or yours, you’re not even sure if it matters.
Finally, he hesitates, pen hovering just above the page. Those stormy grey eyes glance in your direction. “Uh, yeah?”
“I’d really love it if you stopped working for a sec,” You start softer this time, trying to ease him in before you start playing hard. “You know, it’s been three weeks, and I feel like I’ve barely gotten to know you.”
Now he’s thrown. You see the confusion flicker across his face, his eyebrows pulling together with genuine uncertainty. As if it was so shocking that you might actually have an interest in what he had to say besides fucking equations.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Um.”
There’s a beat and you can see him mulling it over in his head.
Then he nods. He’s incapable of rudeness, even the accidental kind. “Yeah, I guess that’s– er, that’s fair.”
You watch, almost fascinated, as he realigns himself in his seat, back straightening. His fingers tighten around his pen for a second before finally, he places it down.
“Well, uh.. What do you want to know?” He asks, like it’s an interview.
Can he really be this prim and proper all the time? Even in private? Maybe he’s just too sensible to flirt.
You tilt your head, studying him as if you haven’t already spent most of the session doing precisely that.
“Anything,” You shrug. “Everything.”
He looks a little alarmed. You pull back a touch. “Like… I don’t know. You part of any clubs? What do you do in your free time? You know– when you aren’t doing such a good job of tutoring me?”
At last, you get a small huff of breath, an almost-laugh.
“Uh… I mean, I study a lot. Engineering’s quite a demanding course,” he admits, looking into his lap. “I’m not really that interesting–”
His eyes flick to yours, surprised. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t lie. You must do something,” You press, leaning an elbow on the desk. Your chin is in your palm again, but this time you’re fully looking. No pretense, no quickly looking away— fully staring at him. “You got hobbies. Everyone does. Friends? Are you in some secret society?”
His mouth twitches slightly. “Uh, no. No secret society," he says. “I have friends, sure, but we usually just.. Chill. Nothing crazy.”
“Mhm.” You let it breathe for a second, looking out of the window, at nothing in particular. Then slowly, intentionally, you let your gaze drift back to his face. “Girlfriend?”
His reaction is subtle, but you catch the way he blinks, eyes flicking away from yours.
“Oh– no. I don’t,” he says, trying to roll one of his sleeves up further, but there’s nowhere left to go.
“Really?” your tone lifts somewhat artificially .
He nods, more certain this time. “Yeah.”
“Huh,” You say, like you’re considering that. You tilt your head. “That’s surprising. You’re cute.”
Now he does look a little flustered. You wonder if he realises that his ears are turning pink.
“Oh,” he says, stiffly. Gives a tight nod. “Thanks.”
“No,” He blurts, way too quickly. “I– uh–”
“ – Don’t swing that way?” You finish for him. “I figured. You should consider it. You’d be popular.”
That earns you another half-laugh, although this one sounds shakier, and suddenly, so is his eye contact.
“I mean,” He says, directly into the desk. “It’s just– well. I guess I don’t really think about… Uh. That stuff.”
You raise an eyebrow. “That ‘stuff’? You mean, like dating?”
“Yeah, pretty much,” He says, pausing, and then, because he likes to be precise, he adds, “Not right now.”
“Oh, sure,” You smile lightly. “I get that. Sometimes it’s better to skip the drama and just focus on school..”
There’s a brief silence, but you let it breathe a little. Give him some recuperation time before you start with the heavy hitters. You can probably wait a little longer, but impatience gets the better of you.
“What about casual?” You say, in the same cadence one might ask for the time.
He coughs. “Oh, that’s—um. I don’t– uh..”
“Friends with benefits, fuckbuddies,” you drawl, nonchalant as anything. “You know: casual. No strings.”
Yuta has gone deathly still. This isn’t like his usually calm steady focus; he’s actually stuck, a deer in the headlights. You watch his fingers curl against his notebook, knuckles faintly tense, eyes darting all over the page. Poor guy doesn’t know what to do with himself.
“It’s really…” He starts, then the words get stuck in his throat. He swallows. He tries again. “I’ve never really–”
“Never!?” You’d like to think you’re controlling your excitement, but the speed at which his head snaps up makes you think you might be failing. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to answer but…” Stop smiling. ”—are you…”
He shakes his head quickly. “No!”
“Not never, I– I just don’t– it’s not really something I–”
“Think about?” you echo, softer now.
You watch him like a hawk, but he doesn’t once look in your direction. His gaze is trained downward, like he’ll spontaneously combust if he dares to make eye contact with you.
You lean even further forward, a smile tugging at your lips.
His posture stiffens immediately. “Try what?”
“Think about it, I mean,” you say, like the idea just suddenly came to you. “Let’s say– hypothetically– there was someone who was interested in, uh, that kind of engagement. With you. Would you say no?”
“I– “ He falters, voice getting smaller. “I mean– I can’t really say. I guess that would depend.”
He shrugs uselessly. “A lot of things. My schedule. The person– “
“The person,” You smile. “Obviously. You have a type, right? Let’s talk about that.”
“You know, maybe we should get back to-”
“Well, let’s say there’s a girl,” You cut him off smoothly, gesturing like you’re discussing the weather. “You know her well enough. Cool, pretty, fat ass,” you add that last part just to see him shift in his seat. Whether it’s true or not, it works. “One day, you’re chilling and she’s dropping hints. Asks you if you want to stay a little longer. You’d say…?”
“Well, I mean,” He starts, clicking his pen furiously. If he was anyone else, you’d call this stalling. “I’d um.. Probably ask what she wants to do?”
You laugh. You can’t help it. Of course he would.
“You can’t be fucking serious,” you snort, shaking your head.
“I am,” He insists, laughing a little himself, still a touch of pink lingering in his cheeks. “I just– I mean, I wouldn’t want to assume.”
“Oh definitely not. Can’t have that. God forbid you assume,” you mutter, sarcasm barely hidden.
He lets out a small breath, something between embarrassment and defensiveness. “I just think it’s better if we’re clear.”
You’re at your wits end. Exasperated. Once again, you find it hard to believe he’s not making this hard on purpose. But fine. Since he wants clarity so bad.
Your chair screeches abruptly as you stand up, marching right up to him in two smooth steps. Then you lean against the table, pleasantly aware of the way your thighs are spreading against its edge. Yuta’s got nowhere else to look, and you can see the moment he short-circuits, looking up at you like you’re about to deliver some divine punishment. Or blessing.
You fold your arms under your chest, staring down at him, straight faced.
“She wants to fuck you,” you state, loud and plain. “She wants you to fuck her. She wants to fuck. I wanna fuck. You.”
His eyes grow to the size of mini golf balls. His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.
“Oh,” is all he says. The silence stretches as you stare at him, and he looks at quite literally anything else, lips crumpling as he swallows nothing.
Then, he moves. Sudden and clumsy, gripping the arms of his chair. There’s a loud scrape as he pushes back, a sudden wince when he stands too quickly and his knee bumps the underside of the desk.
“You know, we should—uh— probably—” he starts, already half turned, retreating.
Your hand shoots out without you thinking.
“Yuta,” you start, voice soft. You can’t see his face but you know he’s tense- you can see the way his back rises and falls with a slow unsteady breath. “You.. you don’t want to?”
There’s a pause. Long enough for your hold to loosen. Something faintly unpleasant turns low in your stomach.
But then he turns, painfully slow, until he’s facing you. Now he’s close. Closer than he’s ever been before, so close you can make out the little moles on his neck, the specks of dark blue in his tired eyes.
He looks down at your hand on his wrist, then back to your face.
“It’s not that, it’s just—“ he’s barely above a whisper. “…I don’t know,” His other hand flies up to the back of his neck. “I’m… not good with this, uh..kind of thing. Clearly.”
He’s so shy, he can barely get the words out, all his sentences fading out at their end, like he’s somehow hoping you won’t hear.
“That’s okay,” You murmur, letting yourself smile. “I don’t mind. I like that you’re kinda awkward.”
He lets out another nervous chuckle, but his breath stutters halfway as you slowly bring his hand up to meet your face.
“Y-Yeah?” He asks, voice tight as he watches you press a tentative kiss to the inside of his wrist.
“Yeah. It’s cute.” Your climbing arousal has your voice dropping to a gentle purr. “I like a lot of things about you, Yuta. You’ve got really nice hands,” you kiss one of his knuckles and he sucks in a breath. “Has anyone told you that before?”
The look on his face when he realises what you’re about to do is priceless. His mouth goes crooked, shock gives way to something… visceral, flickering in those soft, dark eyes. It only makes the moment all the more rewarding when you slide his slender index finger between your lips.
“N-no,” His voice trembles as he whispers, prompting a muted giggle from you. You suck soft and mild, rolling your tongue once, twice around his finger, before pulling off him with a crude ‘pop’. He shudders at the sound, and when you glance down, you’re pleased to discover you’re having the exact effect you intended.
His eyes follow yours, then quickly dart away.
He’s too embarrassed to say anything, but then again, he doesn’t need to. His erection’s talking for him.
“Good,” you murmur, still holding his hand. “Let’s find out what else you like, hm?”
It’s almost imperceptible, so fast that if you blinked, you’d have missed it; the fleeting, but sure flick of his gaze to your breasts.
“My tits?” You cock your head, teasing. Yuta is trying, and failing, to stop looking at them. “Yuta Okkotsu: tits guy,” you snicker. “Who’d have guessed?”
His smile is small, sheepish, hesitant.
“You can touch, you know,” You urge, moving his hand a little lower down so that it’s hovering just above the curve of your breast. His other hand comes up naturally, like there’s some invisible magnetic pull that he can’t quite resist. But just as he’s about to make contact, he gets a hold of himself, stopping abruptly.
His eyes meet yours again, and the genuine concern in them, his silent plea for confirmation; it just melts you.
“Go on,” you nod sweetly.
And then he’s cupping your tits like they’re made of liquid gold, like if he’s too rough you’ll spill. A low hum comes from your throat when he applies gentle pressure, slowly, slowly kneading the swell of flesh.
“Holy shit. You’re so soft,” he mutters, and it sears something in you. You’ve hardly heard him curse. “Is— is this okay?”
But now you’re the one who’s short on words. All you do is nod dumbly, your back instinctively curving up to meet him as best you can.
He squeezes, a little firmer this time, his thumbs grazing over your nipples and there’s that delicious friction, the sure brush of fabric over the sweet spot. A broken little sound floats from your mouth before you can stop it.
His motion stills. You swear you see the tiniest curl at the corner of your mouth.
Then pain. Your eyes snap shut. Two short electric zings that travel right through your middle and down to your clit, transforming into pleasure somewhere along the way.
When you open your eyes again, he’s not looking down anymore. His hands work automatically but he’s watching your face, watching your eyes, your mouth, combing for a reaction.
“Have you..thought about this a lot?” he asks, but there’s a rasped edge to his words now, voice tinged with craving.
“I have, yeah,” you breathe. It feels good to be able to admit it after all this time, to have him grope you just as you like, his touch just as careful, but far more certain, than you’d imagined. “You’re just so fucking cute. ‘Specially when you’re teaching. It’s all I can think about. ”
He pulls away for just a moment, only an inch, his eyebrows raised in surprise. Then there’s a shift, and it’s blatant.
Something darkens in gaze. He’s focussed, utterly concentrated, like if he takes his eyes off of your you might poof into thin air.
That’s all it takes. There’s something so earnest about the question, something that reaches right inside you and tugs on that thin string of restraint that’s been somehow holding you together these past three weeks. And as it unravels, your hand slides into the back of his head, the other fist curls into his hoodie, and you pull down– hard– and kiss him.
All urgency, too much pressure as if you’re trying to make up for all the lost time in one go, your lips moving against him without a sure rhythm; just greed and unhoned lust.
He doesn’t move right away. There’s some hesitation, his brain catching up. It’s only when your tongue laps pleadingly at his bottom lip that he seems to come to you. To here and now.
The flip is immediate. You gasp into him when you feel his hands grasp the fat of your thighs, decisively easing them apart and slotting himself squarely between your legs. Then his palms run up your sides until he finds the small of your waist, and pulls you flush against him, so that you can feel his erection poking at your lower abdomen.
He tilts his head, chasing a better angle, and at long, long last, Yuta Okkotsu is actually kissing you. Not just reacting but pressing his soft lips against yours with a quiet hunger that makes you shiver in his hold, his fingertips dig into you gently like he’s anchoring you, or himself, or the both of you.
In all of your dirty daydreams, you’d been so consumed by your own heedless lust that you’d never considered that Yuta’s would be this… present. A little frenetic, maybe, but it’s endearing, the way his hips twitch without him meaning to, so that the hard curve in his jeans bumps against your clit just so, where your panties are growing a damp spot, no doubt. And those little sounds of his, not quite moans, not quite grunts, but just quiet breathy sighs, something on the edge of a whimper.
He’s losing it, you think, when he drags his hand across you chest, groping with a newfound confidence, hard enough this time to a moan from your lips.
And you are. Losing restraint, losing patience. Losing your mind a little.
His hoodie; you tug twice at the hem, an impatient, silent demand: you want it gone, right now. For the first time, Yuta obeys without hesitation. He breaks the kiss, pulling back enough to grab it, dragging it up and over his head in a smooth motion, his hair flopping back into place a second later a little tousled from the action.
He’s already surging forward again, hands reaching for you–
“Wait,” you instruct, fingertips at his chest.
He stills, reluctantly. You hold him there, arm’s length, and properly take him in.
He’s lean, in that unassuming way, but there’s way more definition there than you’d have ever guessed. Subtle from afar maybe, but when you’re this close it’s unmistakable. His shoulders are broader than they look under his usual layers, collarbones sharp, dotted with a few more of those gorgeous little moles that scatter down across his toned chest. When he fixes his posture, the muscles flutter with quiet strength.
He’s blushing again. You’d be able to tell even if his face was covered; the pale skin of his neck is faintly flushed.
“...What?” He asked quietly, voice uneven.
“Full of surprises, aren’t you?”
“Hiding all this under your baggy sweatshirts and nerdy little jumpers…” You gesture vaguely, heart swelling at the way his fingers curl and loosen at his sides. It’s so easy to make him nervous. “You a secret gym rat or something?”
He gives a half-hearted shrug, “I train a little. Nothing much.”
“Yuta,” you deadpan, eyes grazing over him again. “You have abs.”
“Nah, that’s just ‘cause I’m skinny,” he murmurs, lightly amused. “I'm pretty small right now… at least compared to my goal.”
Oh God, he has a goal. You’d pinch the life out of his cheeks right now, if you weren’t entirely too horny for wholesome.
“Hm,” you hum instead, lazily feeling up the bitable curve of his bicep. “Well, I happen to be a big fan of your slutty little waist. So don’t start none of that bodybuilding shit, m’kay?”
That earns an airy chuckle from him. “Yes ma’am.”
If only he knew how that sounded in your ears. Although, it’s looking like he’ll soon find out.
Your fingers skate down his frame dragging over the ridges of surprisingly firm torso, over his belt and right down to where the fabric of his jeans is pulled taut. You only so much as brush against what you think is his tip, and he’s already shuddering against you.
“Y/N,” he breathes, voice cracking. “W-wait—“
But you’re determined, working at his zipper with such fervour that he has to physically grab your hands to get your attention.
You look up to meet his endless pupils, blown wide so that there remains just a thin ring of slate coloured hue.
“I—,” he pants hoarsely, his hair slightly tousled from your exploration. He swallows. “— I wanna try something first. Wanna … taste you,” His eyes dart away as he adds, with a soft neediness, “Please.”
Electric pleasure spikes between your legs so sharp that you worry for a second that you might actually come.
“Oh. Okay,” you blink, grounding yourself. He’s killing you. “Okay. Er.. have you done it before?”
“Only once,” he answers, but he’s already disappearing from view, lowering himself kneeling. You lean forward, because you can’t stand to miss a second, relishing in the way those round eyes gleam up at you, utterly reverent, utterly devoted.
“I can learn fast. Trust me” He insists, already sounding a little dazed, his long fingers working at the waist band of your shorts. You wriggle your pelvis to help him, and before you know it the pink fabric is sliding down past your knees, and is soon left dangling at your ankle. All that remains is soaked, see-through cotton which he peels away with delicate precision until you feel the slight cool air on your hot core, and finally you’re completely bare. You hear his breath catch at the sight.
He doesn’t respond right away, and for a moment you’re convinced you really have broken him.
Then he clears his throat.
“You’re…” He starts, but he’s barely talking to you anymore. One of his deft fingers merely slides between your folds, just about nudging your clit. You jerk so suddenly that you almost feel bad for startling him, until you look down and realise he hasn’t so much as flinched. “You’re soaking,” he mumbles. He’s got that same distantly focussed expression as when he’s talking you through equations, although this time it looks far better, because.. Well.. he’s between your legs.
“That’s all you,” you coo, steadying yourself with one hand flat against the desk behind you, whilst the other finds home in his hair, gently ruffling it. “It’s that voice of yours. Gets me all wet and worked up.” You flash down a grin upon hearing what sounded like a failed attempt at holding back a moan. “Pretty ain’t it?”
Your only response is a wordless nod, and you’re realising that when he’s in this state, you’re not likely to get many words from him at all. His mental processing is hijacked.
You feel the pad of his finger circle your clit with brutal slowness, and any last bit of patience you’ve been clinging to dissipates at once.
“Your mouth, babe,” you almost groan. “Need your mouth.”
He’s cautious, to start with, naturally. At first there’s just soft fleeting kitten licks, his tongue darting out at the luckiest angle. All the build-up has left you almost embarrassingly sensitive, each flick sending a little static jolt right to the knot that’s clenching low in your stomach.
A good start, considering his inexperience. But you need more.
“Why don’t you try– fuck– kissing it?” You encourage letting your hand fall to caress the underside of his jaw. “Kind of like how you’d kiss me?”
As if your words were some sort of spell, suddenly he just gets it. You let out a surprised squeak when he suddenly wraps a lithely muscled arm around your hips, scooting you closer to the edge of the desk, deepening his own access. Somewhere, you’re not sure if it's your doing or his, or a joint effort, your legs end up hooked over his shoulders. He pulls away, takes a breath, and then quite literally falls head first into your pussy.
“Oh,” you gasp, when those soft lips close around your clit and he sucks. Gentle, but insistent. Your head tips backwards, and you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from yelping as his tongue presses zaps of pleasure right into you. “Oh, God. Like that. Yes, yes, just like that. Shit.”
Apparently emboldened by your praise, Yuta gets the bright idea to slide two fingers; the middle and ring ones, you can tell by the cool sting of metal, down your warm plump folds, pressing firm against the opening, before pushing inside. The pressure as he starts to thrust careful yet deliberate, has your upper thighs trembling,
“You taste amazing, Y/N” you hear– no– feel Yuta sigh against you, the tip of his nose bumping your clit just right, the subtle vibration skittering through down your inner thighs. “I love it. Love this so much.”
Then that gorgeous mouth is working over you again, and with every dizzying second, the rabid desire in your core grows wilder, and sharper, and the edges of your mind grow fuzzier and fuzzier.
You try to slow your breathing, try to squeeze your stomach tight and slow down the pending crash, but just as you think you’re controlling it, you notice that your moans are now being harmonised with. You try to look down— your abdominal muscles aren’t functioning at their best this second, but through your blurred vision and the difficult angle, you can just about see his furrowed eyebrows, the soft sweep of his lashes, and if those pleased little hums of his are anything to go by, it’s clear he wasn’t lying; he really does love this.
The thought alone has your grip on his silky strands tightening, your broken moans rising in pitch as need twists through you, twisting and twisting until, all at once, the pressure becomes too much.
Your hand flies to your mouth. You bite the fleshy part of your hand, just under your thumb, but don’t quite manage to suppress a short, shaking, shout.
Your orgasm is unforgiving. It rips through you in a sheer wave of euphoria, and for a second every muscle in your body goes limp, your chest heaving. Yuta’s tongue strokes you softly through each ebb of pleasure, and time sort of blurs until your back on earth.
When Yuta comes to stand again, his face is glistening . His breathing almost matches yours.
You peer at him through wet lashes.
“‘Only once’ my ass,” you mumble, every word still shivering. “There’s no way that was your second time giving head. I don’t believe you.”
His shiny lips spread to a toothy grin.
“I’m glad you think I’m lying,” He says, so cheerily it borders, arrogant. “But I’m not.” He’s leaning over your shaking body, in his eyes there’s a hungry gleam. He’s smug, you realise, a smile of your own coming on.
“Oh, yeah?” you whisper, genuinely taken aback by this newfound confidence. You might actually have ruined him. “So, what– natural talent?”
Is there a pussy-eating gene? Do genes even do that?
Oh shit. Is this what dumbification feels like!?
“I don’t think so,” He laughs quietly, the boyishness creeping in again. “You made it easy to learn. You’re er… pretty.. Responsive? I just listened, I guess.”
It could just be the work of the magical fairies that float around your mind and make everything all gooey after an orgasm, but you’re pretty sure that’s the sweetest thing a guy’s ever told you during sex. Completely honest, undressed of ego, just a boy doing his best to learn your body.
You have nothing to say. You just cradle his face close to yours and kiss him. Not frantic and careless like before; this time your lips are lazy, doting. He melts into you, letting you taste your own salty sweetness on his tongue.
“You’re too fucking precious,” you smile, pulling away. His eyes flutter closed when you peck his nose. “You did such a good job, Yuta. So good to me. How am I gonna reward you, hm? We can do anything you want.”
“You’ve earned it, don’t you think?” You run a hand over the firm plane of his chest, then drift finger over the dark wispy hair leading you right to your prize. “I can suck you off, let you come down my throat. Hm? Would you like that?”
You bite your lip, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows thickly, his grip on your upper thighs tightening as if by reflex.
“Well, maybe we could…” he starts, then stops. Looks up to the ceiling and starts again , and starts again. “I mean, if you’re comfortable with it— it’s completely up to you, of course.. ah, shit. I’m making it weird—“
“You wanna fuck me, huh?”
Then he starts rambling.You sigh.
“It’s fine, w-we don’t have to-“
“Babe,” you interrupt, firm and sure, “Respectfully—,” You hook two fingers into the waistband of his jeans and draw him in, his eyes widening with surprise. “— I need you to shut up and get these off. Now.”
He visibly short circuits, mouth opening and closing like he’s forgotten how to produce noise from it. But sure enough, something settles. He draws in a ragged breath, and you miss the heat of his hands when he moves them to his zipper, fingers making deft work. You think about sitting on your hands but not quickly enough to cancel out your more pressing instincts- to reach into his briefs and pull him free yourself.
The good news: his dick is just as pretty as the rest of him. The better news: he’s bigger than one would guess, looking at the rest of him.
“Goddamn,” you rasp a laugh once you’ve found your breath again, cradling the weight of his warm cock in one hand. “Good for you.”
Poor guy; he’s so hard it looks like it must hurt. You watch a little glistening pearl roll down his glossy tip, so deep a red that it more closely resembles the slight maroon of an early bruise. His muscles ripple, flexing involuntarily as you ghost a finger over the fat head down to the thick root, tracing the most prominent vein like one would a map.
“You okay?” you ask, letting those puppy eyes hold you for a moment.
“Yeah,” He says softly. You quirk an eyebrow; his twitching face and heaving chest suggest otherwise. “Yeah, I think so.”
His dick jumps when you wrap your fingers around him, and you can see him physicall fighting the urge to fuck your hand, hips punching forward, chasing you. Both of you watch with bated breath as you line him up with your entrance, and you’re suddenly choked with pure want.
He’s moaning well before his tip kisses your pussy. Then you’re hit by a drugging wave of sensation as he sinks into you, and—
“Oh fu-uck,” he rasps, the word broken by the tiniest sob. Suddenly he’s collapsing into you, breaths shivering out of him as his forehead falls against your shoulder. “Ah, shit! Wait—“ his pitchy sighs send pricks all over your ear, his face buried in your neck. “Oh, fuck, Y/N, ‘m gonna—“
“Shhh-sh-sh,” your voice is silvery and calming, and you try your hardest to fight the reflex to squeeze around him. Your hand curves into his nape, gently combing the hair there. “No, you’re not. Not yet. I need you to hold it. You can do that for me, can’t you?” You press a kiss into his hair. “Just go real slow, yeah?”
For a couple seconds he just stays there, panting hard into your ear, his fists balling and loosening on either side of you, like he’s trying to grip through the table.
But, he manages to draw back, just barely. He just sort of drags his face upwards until his forehead bumps gently against yours, and you get to see his pupils dilate, his breaths gradually getting back to a less concerning pace.
“O-okay,” he whispers, so close that he almost kisses you as he says it. You watch his eyelids grow heavy, his jaw clenching as he grabs the underside of your thighs, holding your legs up for better access so that your feet are dangling. He nods, more to himself. “Okay. Alright.”
And then he’s filling you, stretching you— slow, decadent like you said — and the pleasure forces your eyes closed. You just lean back, one palm flat against the table, the other still tangled in his hair, and let yourself take it. Take him.
“Mhm. That’s good, Yuta,” you sigh, as he finds a gradual rhythm. He’s still quivery, hips stuttering once every slow careful thrusts, but he is, undoubtedly, fucking you. It’s tender and luscious and you can’t keep yourself from fluttering around him, can’t fully bite back the wringing gasps. Neither can he, choking out little moans. “Talk to me,” you urge.
“Feel so good.” He sounds vaguely drunk, shy smile a little wonky from lust. “God, Y/N, so fucking good. You’re so w-warm, shit.”
There’s the slightest growl to that last part, and the novel sound makes something crack in you. You don’t even realise that your hand has snaked back down to his neck, until he whimpers again, and your eyes snap open to see your fingers around his throat, and his lips slightly parted and his eyes fluttering closed.
“You like that, Yuta?” You grip, dragging him down to meet you for a clumsy, wet kiss. “Like when I choke you like this?”
His lip is red and a little swollen from your biting, and his nose bumps yours when he nods rapidly.
“I-I do,” he stammers. Your airy moan coalesces into a dark laugh.
“You’re nasty,” You grin, letting your hand slide down the hard planes of his torso, slithering around to his back. “Such a good boy, aren’t you?” You prompt, just for the thrill of hearing him gasp—
“Fuck— I mean, yes, shit, yes,” He goes in for your neck, licking at your skin as hips start to meet you with more force. you writhe against him, rolling your hips as best you can. “Tell me what to do, Y/N. Wanna make you feel good.”
“Deeper,” you command. “More. Need more of you Yuta.”
Actually, you’re pretty damn full, to be honest. But seeing the tortured bliss on his face makes it easy for gluttony to override the physical limitations.
You’re asking for a lot, you know, and yet somehow, he delivers. Grits his teeth, holds on tight and thrusts, hard, and the spike of pressure pushes some incoherent sound out of you.
You hold onto him, fingers digging into his lithe muscle. Your breath hitches, as that riding tide of relief begins to show itself again. And still he fucks you harder, rutting his pelvis into you like he’s in heat.
“Fuck, please,” he chants, pressing into you with such force that your abandoned pens jump and rattle against the table, sheets of paper drifting to the floor. “Oh God, I—“
His words get swallowed up by some strangled sound when the first, tight flutterings of your impending orgasm start. His strokes are getting messier too, and you revel in his rising whines.
“Shit, I’m gonna come,” He pants, his body becoming rigid against you. He drops your legs, finds the curve of your hips and squeezes, and you respond by clamping around him. You can see the instant his panic blooms, thrusts becoming uncontrolled. “W-wait— I need to—“
His eyes screw shut as he attempts to pull out. But you’re stubborn, rocking back desperately, chasing that ache.
He’s almost crimson in the cheeks. “Shit—wait, let me—“
“Inside me. I’m on the pill,” You manage to rasp out, peering at him through one half open eye. He’s right on the edge. Of crying, or coming or both, you’re too blissed and his face is too crunched up to tell. Hopefully, it’s one of the latter. “Please.”
“In-side,” you hiss through clenched teeth, grabbing both sides of his head and yanking him close to your face. His eyes grow wide when you groan, “Don’t you fucking dare pull out.”
And then they drift closed, and his eyebrows pull up at their centre and he’s moaning, burrowing deep inside you like he’s trying to touch your spine with his throbbing cock, and you feel that delicious, liquidy heat pump into you.
You watch him utterly fascinated, an ache in your chest so intense that soon you’re shuddering too, and suddenly that ache is all throughout your tummy and your legs and you’re gasping for air as you come sharp, hard.
There’s that woozy, giddy feeling again. The room is wobbling a little, but you can feel Yuta slowing inside you, hear his breathless, trembling laugh. When you find the strength to open your eyes, he’s still slumped against you, murmuring something into the hollow of your shoulder.
“I— fuck. Sorry,” He breathes, and you watch intently, enjoying the slick sound as he slowly glides out of you, still just about hard, his cock shining and glazed with his own come. In his absence, you feel the creamy substance trickle slowly down your walls, which are still riding out the last few spasms. He’s transfixed on the lewd display, obsessed with the sight himself spilling out of you and into a tiny pool on the desk.
He forces his sleepy gaze to your face.
“Well,” He starts, bashful smile creeping back in. “Probably could’ve been… uh… neater.”
“I don’t think you could babe,” you snort, playfully tapping his cheek. “Anyway, we’ll work on that. Next week.”
Yuta lets out a short helpless laugh, dragging a hand over his face. Defeated in the best way.
With the way he’s looking at you though, still flushed, still a little undone, waiting until next week already feels optimistic. Might be best to have an emergency session at the weekend.
Strictly academic reasons. Obviously.
when i die there better be 5 subby freaks waiting for me at the pearly gates. amen 🙏🏾😌
