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If someone would've told Gojo a couple years ago that he'd be running to pick up "his" 8-year-old after he got into a fight, he would've laughed.
But there he was.
He was okay. He wasn't the one beaten up. But what surprised him the most wasn't that Megumi had gotten into a fight—with his personality, it was only a matter of time—, but rather that he wasn't alone. Not only his demon dogs sat next to him wiggling their tails happily, but there was also a girl around his age next to him, chatting with him, and actually getting answers back. Gojo smiled fondly before the boy could spot him. Knowing Megumi had a friend was nice.
Time to embarrass him.
"Meeegumiiii!" He ran up to where he was sitting with this girl. Gojo crossed his arms playfully. "A fight? Detention?! You're so grounded, boy."
He couldn't hide his mocking grin. Of course, Megumi didn't look amused by it. He just shook his head, sighed in defeat, and turned to his friend.
"Sorry about him. He's embarrassing," he muttered, side-eyeing him.
When the little girl sniggered quietly, Gojo turned his attention to her. She stopped abruptly and looked back up at him with bright big eyes, opened as wide as they would go, as if she got caught doing something she shouldn't have. She curled into herself, cheek blushing at being stared. She lowered her head, looking down at her lap to hide her embarrassment.
Gojo laughed at her reaction. "Megumi is such a jester, isn't he?" He smiled at her, waiting for her to smile back, which never came. She just stared at him with her curious eyes.
"Stop it," Megumi scowled in that cute grumpy tone. "Take me home."
"Why? Am I embarrassing you in front of your friend?" he mocked.
"Yes," he deadpaned. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the girl stifling another chuckle. Megumi got up, his dogs following suit, and turned to his friend. "I'm leaving now. I'll see you tomorrow."
She got up as well, saying a quiet goodbye. Gojo was ready to take Megumi by the hand and start walking back home when she spoke up quietly.
"Can I pet your dogs goodbye?"
That caught his attention. The day was full of surprises apparently, especially because Megumi agreed. Five minutes later, when they started walking away, he looked at him with a smirk and a curious look on his face.
"She can see them," he shrugged.
"Interesting," he muttered. "What can she do?"
"Heal," he shrugged again. "Or at least I had a bruise and now it's gone."
Interesting indeed. Having that sole ability to use reversed curse technique was extremely rare. He would have to find out more about it next time he saw her.
Unfortunately, his curiosity would have to remain idle. Megumi was never one of inviting friends over.
From the moment she took her first step into that classroom, she knew she was doomed.
"You," she hissed, grabbing Megumi by the sleeve of his uniform. "You never said your dad was the teacher."
He jumps a little in his place and pushed her with much less force she knew he had. "He's not my dad, and you know it," he grunted.
Right. Thank God he isn't, she thought, because none of her other thoughts would be proper to think about a friend's dad. A teacher was no better, but she's not going to think about that. It's not like she's going to act on her thoughts... Right?
"Still! How did you miss this?" She scolded him.
He looks at her as if she was crazy. "You've seen him a handful of times in your life. What's the big deal?"
She huffed. He wouldn't get it. He's never showed any interest in anyone, that she knows of. Besides, telling him she found Gojo achingly hot would definitely traumatise him.
Back at her old and regular school, all teachers were old creepy men, or old hags that loved to send her to detention because her skirt didn't reach her knees. And all the boys were pricks. The only normal one ended up being her grumpy friend. So, she didn't have much expectations on her new school. But, damn, she wasn't prepared for who her teacher would be. Of course she knew who Satoru Gojo was. She just never paid enough attention to what he did besides looking after Megumi.
"Nothing. It's just something worth mentioning," she gave up. "Let's go to—"
She got interrupted. The sound of a door opening and her name being called made her freeze on the spot. A nervous shudder ran down her back at the sound of her teacher calling her, making her heart race.
What is wrong with her?
She turned around slowly, forcing herself to look like she was as calm on the inside as she looked on the outside.
"Yes, sensei?" She cleared her throat and straightened her back, making her already short jacket ride up a little bit above her belly button. It was probably a bad idea not wearing the uniform shirt underneath and only a regular top. If he noticed it, she couldn't tell for he had his eyes covered.
He totally noticed, and even chuckled when he noticed how stiff she looked.
"Oh, relax. It'll only be a minute," he waved his hand dismissively, leaning against the doorway. "I'm not going to give you detention for not abiding to the school's uniform."
"I... uh..." He couldn't stifle a mocking smirk when he cheeks visibly flushed.
"Never mind. So, you can use reversed cursed technique... just like that?" He snapped his fingers. She nods, unsure of where the question is coming from. "A healing technique... They're rare, you know?"
"I... guess? Are they?" She looks confused and he notices the way she subtly grips on her handbag, as if shielding and retreating herself. She looks shy. He finds it cute.
His smirk widens. "Oh, I have a lot to teach you, kid. And that's exactly what I wanted to talk to you about. There's someone in the school who might be able to help you a bit more with that. Don't worry, I'll oversee it. Who I'll present to you... Let's say she's not the teacher material."
There's nothing that gave him more satisfaction than seeing his students thrive and being there for the process, even if it's to watch. He recognised he couldn't do much for her when it came to her technique—he never understood how reversed curse technique functions, it just happens for him—, so, it was his responsibility to introduce her to Shoko.
Maybe someday he would be of help for her.
And he would be. Just not in the traditional way. But that's years away.
A few months into the school year, and she was utterly defeated.
She's always been a good student, even despite her (arguably) behavioural issues—like "disrespecting" the school's uniform. Still, she was determined to not allow this new school to be the exception. Except, it kind of was.
Shoko's help came more than in handy, sure. She learnt new things about her technique and all that. Except—and here's the main issue—, she was more efficient using it on herself than on others. Which she hated, but wouldn't be so bad if only she didn't suck at physical fighting.
She's never felt more useless.
Gojo, as the observant teacher he is, of course noticed the change in her behaviour. She was playful with her friends, shy when called out, yet determined and outspoken when it comes to her convictions. What she didn't say, she expressed it some other way. How she portrayed herself, always with a perfect posture and a perfect-student attitude despite her seemingly shrinking uniform and light, doll-face makeup. She just tried so hard, yet nothing seemed to satisfy her. Something was blocking her, but he couldn't pinpoint what exactly. He'd have to ask eventually, all he had to do was wait for the right moment.
How did one face a moody teenage girl? He pondered on the possibilities as he walked through the school's training yard. He's heading back to his room after talking to Shoko, hoping for some aid on how to approach a struggling student, but she was never of much help. However, all his thoughts vanished as soon as he heard frustrated, incoherent murmurs coming from somewhere in the yard. He stopped dead in his tracks and looked around until his blindfolded eyes stopped where the noise was coming from. For a moment, he thought of ignoring it, but then he hears a click and a hissed fuck, followed by some coughing, and recognised exactly who it was.
What a perfect timing, he thought ironically. Well, it's now or never.
He walked until he spotted her and silently watched from behind as she muttered to herself in the darkness of the night. Only when he noticed the smoke coming out of her mouth, he made himself known by calling her name.
She startled, visibly tensing and almost dropping the cigarette. She cleared her throat in acknowledgement, but she didn't turn around nor spoke up. With another sigh, he walked down the steps until he sat next to her.
"Stole that from Shoko?" he asked casually, no reproach in his voice.
"Yes," she took a moment to answer; a shy mumble. Although the answer was obvious, he was expecting a poor last-minute excuse. But she was just that good of a girl, wasn't she?
He exhaled heavily, a small scowl at the scent of smoke he found repulsive. "I just talked to her, you know?"
"How was I supposed to know? I was here," she replied bitterly, eyes focused down. His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. Snarky remarks are not really her thing. "Sorry. That was mean," and she regretted them immediately.
Gojo just hummed. "Don't worry about it."
They fell silent. Or more like, she went back to dissociate and he didn't find the right words to say. He observed from the corner of his eye how her leg started to bounce up and down and she visibly struggled to make it stop. Only then, he noticed the dried blood on her thigh.
"You injured yourself?" He pointed at it, his finger brushing over the skin.
The muscle on her leg tensed, the skin prickling. She tried to pull her training shorts down, but they weren't long enough to even reach a quarter of her thigh. She covered it with her hand.
"I already healed it, I just didn't have anything to clean the blood with," she murmured, curling into herself in shame, as always.
"What happened? You fell?" He couldn't help but sound teasing.
"Training," she replied dryly.
"You didn't get injured in training today," he frowned, quickly recalling how class went earlier.
She hesitated, but ended up confessing: "Because it didn't happen earlier today. It happened fifteen minutes ago."
He noticed how her fingers fidgeted with the cigarette, as if thinking if she should keep on or just give it up—she chose the former. But he wasn't having it.
In a sudden moment that neither expected, he grabbed her wrist before the stick reached her lips. She froze, gasping quietly at the firm grip. His whole hand was big enough to circle all the way around her. She turned to look at him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. She swore she could feel his eyes full of disappointment staring right into hers through the blindfold. He shook his head slowly, taking the cigarette from her fingers.
Absentmindedly, as if in trance because of what was happening, she leaned closer to him, trying to reach for the cigarette. But he lifted his arm above his head, far away from her reach. She was almost face to face with him, and that's when she realised her current position. With a shocked, embarrassed gulp, she backed slowly. Her face burned as she looked down, her hair falling down to cover it. He just observed, taking a deep breath himself to calm down. He had never done that, least of all to a student. He recomposed himself, nodding in satisfaction and throwing the almost complete cig to the ground, stepping on it.
"I asked Maki to train me. She beat me," she admitted reluctantly after a bit.
"Oh, but Maki always forgets that training isn't real fighting," he chuckled, playing it off.
She didn't seem amused. "She was being fair and square. I was too slow — I am too slow," and that was when her voice trembled.
He listened attentively; and felt a strange sense of relief now that he understood the issue and could be of actual help, reflected on a newfound smile.
"I'm offended you didn't ask me!" His hand went to her shoulder. Again, a firm and warm comforting grip.
She curled more into herself, but subtly leaned towards his touch. It didn't go unnoticed by him, so he started rubbing softly on her shoulder, trying to soothe her obvious distress. She may be upset, but his touch slowly made her insides melt.
"What would be the point?" she deflated quietly. "Everyone else can fight. Everyone but me. I feel... useless."
"You're not useless," he answered right away, mildly sternly. "You save people."
She scoffs. "I'm better using my technique to heal myself, but what's the point if I can't fight physically?"
"And didn't you think of just... asking for help? Professional help," he pointed at himself. "I'm a teacher for a reason."
"I..."
"You're not embarrassed, are you?" he mocked, earning a huff out of her. He then gets slightly more serious. "Don't be. It's only your first year. Shoko will teach you more about your technique, and let me take care of the hand-to-hand combat."
"... What?"
"I'm the teacher, I'll train you personally! You don't have to be ashamed of asking for help, kid."
She flinched slightly at the word kid. Gojo's best guess was that she didn't like being called kid, just like any other teenager. But he couldn't help it, his age was getting to him, apparently.
"No sulking on my watch," he encouraged further, squeezing her knee this time.
She bit her lip, looking up at him with her bambi-like eyes. "I'm not as strong as my friends."
"And we're fixing that soon," he said back, his tone borderline pushy. "What do you think? Deal?" he grinned—his characteristic and unintentional charming smile who would make anyone weak in the knees; and of course she wasn't the exception—and extended his hand, awaiting an handshake in agreement.
For a moment, her eyes flickered between his hand, his charming smile, and his covered eyes—she was highly aware he was staring into her soul. With a shaky breath, a sheepish smile slowly appeared in her lips, accentuating the reddened-up cheeks, and she extended her hand to him.
"Deal," she whispered, carefully taking his hand in hers.
While her grip was shy and soft, his—much—bigger hand closed firmly around her palm, shaking it enthusiastically as he cheered like no normal 28-year-old man would. But she could only focus on how his warm touch contrasted against her, making her her own skin heat up and tingle. She shook his hand back absentmindedly, looking at their intertwined hands, dumbfounded, as she tried to name the overwhelming sensation she was feeling.
She couldn't put a name to it before he pulled away, almost making her pout in complaint. Thankfully, he didn't seem to notice since he stood up right away and stretched his long legs. With her sitting down and him standing up, her face was level with his thighs, and she had to look away as the realisation only made her head spin further. To make matters worse, he ruffled her hair—it made her gasp in embarrassment, but he found it endearingly funny.
"Come on, it's late. Back to your dorm," he clapped his hands. "We'll discuss the details tomorrow. Meanwhile, clear your mind, okay? Halloween is coming soon, don't you have a costume or something like that to think about? Oh, and be ready, because I'm not going easy on you," he teased.
"I wouldn't expect any less," she smiled back, her stomach fluttering at the new—and very much welcomed—attention.
Only after farewells and when he was gone, she sighed in delight, her heart racing childishly but her mind relentlessly dreaming of all the possibilities.
But her private training lessons never lasted longer than two weeks—two weeks of her wearing her best and tightest sporty outfits and never getting a compliment out of him—because he got exiled.
Well, he got sealed first, then unsealed, then exiled by the higher-ups, and then reinstated in society in the span of three years. Because his life is that ridiculous.
If he's honest, he could've done something about it a long time ago. But he's not about to start pretending he didn't enjoy living in the outskirts with nothing to bother him. If he missed anything, it was his friends and teaching. But he's Satoru Gojo. He kept tabs on everyone, and the world had moved on from needing him, finally. For once, he focused on himself.
Until his father decided to die and he woke up the next day with the news that he was being reinstated as the head of his clan and his exiled was... forgotten. As if it had never happened.
He guesses he was always coming back one way or another.
Everything was back to the way it was before, as if nothing's happened. Teaching classes, grading, clan businesses... throwing a now 18-year-old Megumi down on the ground as they trained. In his defence, he asked for it. Maybe throwing punches at him was Megumi's way of saying he'd missed him.
"You're stronger," Gojo points out teasingly, looking down at him. He means it, though, but he also enjoys when Megumi's face turns into a scowl.
"This was a bad idea," he grunts, getting up from the floor. Gojo chuckles and grabs him by the arm before he storms out.
"Come on, this is fun! Besides, I'm not your teacher anymore. Let me have this," he insists. He missed his former first-years, now fourth-years, but they have a settled teacher already.
"Stop pouting, you're like thirty," he rolled his eyes, getting into position again. "Fine..."
They go another round, and Megumi handles him pretty well. Until the door opens and the moment his eyes flick to it, Gojo throws him to the ground. It's not the noise that distracts him, it's who enteres that does.
He hears a teasing and quiet hiss. "Ouch."
"It's your fault," Megumi grumbles, glaring at her, although he can tell his eyes lack the usual coldness.
Interesting.
Gojo turns around too, smiling at her as a greeting. She averts her eyes from the boy on the floor and looks back at him. She smiles brightly, waving her hand enthusiastically and bowing slightly.
"Gojo-sensei," she greets softly, stepping into the classroom. "Sorry to interrupt."
"It's fine, he was going to lose either way," he teases, pointing at Megumi who still sits on the floor and scowls at him. It makes her giggle, and that seems to be enough for Megumi to drop the scowl.
Interesting indeed.
"What did you need, kid?" He asks, his eyes carefully switching between the two of them. She seems a bit flushed now that he addressed her directly.
"Uh, yeah... Megumi," she turns to him, trying to ignore him. Gojo just steps back and watches the interaction. Poor thing, she must be embarrassed to address someone she likes in front of their teacher. "Yuji wants to go see a movie, Nobara and I are tagging along. Want to go? We leave in an hour."
Gojo notices the way he straightens up when she speaks to him, attentively listening to what she had to say. He bites back a smirk.
Kids really do grow up fast.
"Uh... I still have like an hour here, and I'll need to shower," he sounds almost regretful at turning down the request. Gojo won't let that happen.
"I don't want to spoil the fun! You can go. We're done for today," he pats him on the head.
He seems about to protest, but her hopeful smile makes him sigh and nod softly. "I'll be there."
"Yey! I'll let the rest know," she jumps happily on her place before politely saying goodbye.
"Thank me later," he grins cheekily, gathering his things as Megumi gets up.
"What the hell are you talking about?" He grumbles. Yet, he's not very good at hiding the pink hue of his cheeks. Both notice, but neither say anything.
Gojo only lowers his blindfold to wink at him. "Have fun during the movie."
His boy's first crush? He has to do something about it.
An idea comes to him when he's filling out incomplete reports of missions one evening. The missing information about the deceased in one of the many reports he has piled up on his desk sparks up his imagination. All information about deaths are stored in Shoko's office. And he knows for a fact she usually helps Shoko out in the office during the evenings.
He doesn't hesitate. He needs to see her, needs to know what she thinks of Megumi. This might be the most interesting thing that's happened since he came back.
He carelessly bursts into the office, as he's done his entire life, and finds exactly who he is looking for. He stares in fake surprise when he finds his former student on Shoko's desk, reading a thick book. She startles a little when he enters, her head snapping to the door, expression going from annoyed to soft in just a second. Next second, she smiles big.
"Gojo-sensei," she politely greets him as she always does dutifully. She gets up from the chair to walk closer to him. "Sorry, you caught me off guard. Is there anything you need?"
His eyes fix on her for longer than they should. Every time he's properly face to face with her, one thing becomes more and more clear. She's grown. Not only physically, but mentally. He remembers her as a tiny, blushing thing, curling into herself from embarrassment every time she failed a move. Although that initial awkwardness prevails, she carries herself more naturally.
But, although visibly no longer sixteen, her habits seem to remain because what is that uniform. The unbuttoned jacket barely reaches her waist and is too small for her; same with her plain white shirt, which is too tight and clearly struggling to stay buttoned on her chest; and don't even get him started on the length of her skirt. At least she's wearing thighs. Part of him knows it's not a big deal, but he still finds it somewhat scandalous and... something else he won't go further into.
He understands why Megumi, or anyone really, would be attracted to her. She's pretty from wherever you look at her.
Wait. What?
He blinks up at her just in time and returns the smile with one of his own. He has to clear his throat before speaking. "Actually, yes, kid," he forces the word out of his lips. "I need a file to complete this report."
He hands it to her and she eyes it quickly. "Hm. I remember this. Let me see..." she puts the paper down on the desk, turning around towards the shelf behind her.
She examines the first couple rows with furrowed brows, her tongue sticking out as she hums and focuses on finding what she's looking for. Perfect moment for small talk.
"You know, I was talking to Megumi the other day and he mentioned you wanted to become a doctor, that Shoko's been mentoring you these past three years..."
"Did he, now?" Her voice is soft, a bit distant as she looks for the file she needs. "Well, he didn’t lie."
"Yeah, he talks about you a lot, actually," he adds, hoping she catches what he means, but she doesn't seem to react to it. "And I was wondering if you ever kept on training physically? I always felt sorry I couldn't fulfill my promise."
That makes her stop her search, turning her head towards him with a serious expression. "That wasn't your fault, don't apologise... But the short answer is no. I tried, but no one had enough patience with me. Besides, focusing on my technique was the right thing to do after everyone we lost."
He's about to speak up; say that's ridiculous and she could still master those abilities if she wanted to. That he had enough patience to teach her every move. But she decides it's time to move to the following row of files, standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He doesn't mean to stare. He really doesn't, but... can skirts just randomly become shorter? Because to Gojo, it seems they can. Her skirt rides up as she leans in closer to the shelf. It covers her ass just so, but that's not the worst. He's absolutely baffled at finding out that the thighs are not thighs at all, but rather stockings.
And it gets worse. Because she's absolutely not doing it on purpose. It's just her choice of clothing. Staring at those long legs and bent back is all on him. Out of nervousness, he starts pacing around the office, looking everywhere but at her.
"Why do you ask?" She murmurs after she notices he went silent.
"I, uh," his throat feels dry. Not even drinking a full river would fix the drought. Focus. You're trying to do something nice here, are you not? "Just wondering. I figured, since I haven't seen you in the training yard since I came back... Do you ever think about trying again?"
She's quiet for a bit, as if pondering her answer. In reality, she's biting her tongue hard to suppress a grin. "Why? Are you offering?" She asks, voice low and slightly teasing.
He takes a calming breath and grins. Bingo.
"Maybe I am," he shrugs, still trying—and failing—to look at anywhere but her legs. "Interested? I'm kind of busy, but I can fit you in with Megumi, I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
It's his job as a teacher to force proximity and his role as a mentor to encourage him to go after what he wants, isn't it? He's just doing a good thing. He wants to do good. Even if he isn't thinking about Megumi at all as he offers his help, but rather about how easy would it be to just grab her and throw her to the ground; how light she'd feel in his arms; how easy it'd be to lift her up and go another round until she can get her hands on him and fight back..,
You need to stop. And get laid. With a woman your age, preferably. He feels like this is a battle he could actually lose. He barely notices when she speaks again.
"Well, maybe... Oh! Found it!" She interrupts herself when her eyes fall on the right folder. She takes a little jump to grab the file on the third row.
Just when he thought he could stop his stupid mind from wandering into dangerous territory, her skirt rides further up from the jump. He takes a deep breath and convinces himself she doesn't know what she's doing. It's not like he could tell her he's practically seeing her ass. He shakes the thought out of his mind when she turns around, handing him a rather thick file.
"Here it is! You can take it with you, take all the time you need," she smiles sweetly at him, her big eyes looking up at his much taller figure.
This can't be happening to him.
"Thanks," he murmurs hoarsely, swallowing thickly. "I... appreciate it."
"Absolutely, I can pass by your classroom any other day to pick it up. In the meanwhile... Is it okay if I think about the training? I'm not sure I'll be good at it," she fidgets with a strand of her hair as she speaks, her eyes never leaving his.
His—forcibly—stern face softens at the hesitance in her voice. His instincts kick in. Despite having an ego the size of an elephant and bad reputation of recklessness, he's always been drawn to those who don't feel enough, who feel they lack something. He grew up full of resentment, not truly understanding how privileged he actually was and how others struggled. Things have changed and so has he. He can't bear helpless looks, full of self-doubt. Not when there's something he can do about it. He's weak for the weak.
He takes a step closer, heightening their height difference. He looks down at her while he places a hand on her shoulder, a comforting weight that makes her cheeks flush, her breath hitch and her back arch, brining her chest closer to his. He remembers those reactions, she used to have them all the time back then.
"Take all the time you need," he smoothly shots her own words back at him. "But I'll be happy if you just give me one more chance to fix that. I promise to keep up my word this time."
"I..." Her lips part in a tiny gasp. She still nods firmly. "I'll consider it. I promise."
"Good. I'll be waiting your answer," his voice comes out quieter than he expected. He has to say goodbye right there, or else he'll start insisting. He totally forgets the little favour he planned for Megumi. Ah, whatever, he wasn't going to appreciate it anyway. This has turned into a personal challenge for himself and a complete disregard of his own boundaries.
It takes him two whole weeks to complete the report. Every time he looks at the file, all he sees are ridden-up skirts, black, transparent stockings, and butt cheeks peeking out.
Two weeks later, Gojo calls for her one late evening, ignoring the voice in his head warning him it's a bad idea. He swears he only has Megumi's best interests in mind when he calls for her with the intention to a) return the file she lent him, and b) organise their joint training sessions. Maybe he could send them on missions together too; it worked with Yuta and Maki.
He has his own interests in mind too, of course. He's been thinking too much about her, noticing behavioural patterns that make him think she may not be as innocent as she portrays herself, and he can't have that. It's wrong. She's still a student, a soon-to-be coworker, Megumi likes her. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. He blames his thoughts on the fact that it's been entirely too long since he had any sort of physical intimacy with anyone. He really needs to go out and get laid.
But he barely thinks of what he should or shouldn't do once she enters the room carefully, her usual uncertain and sheepish expression on her face.
Adorable.
Stop that.
"Did you want to see me?" She asks as soon as she closes the door.
"Ah, I'm so glad you made it," he says from his chair, motioning to the empty one next to him, on the side of his desk. "Take a seat, please."
She does so obediently, crossing one leg over the other and placing her hands on her lap. He's glad he's wearing the blindfold; it's been handy lately, especially when he can't help the way his eyes drag down to take a good glance at her stocking-clad legs, which he has a perfect view now that her skirt rides up the slightest bit. He keeps telling himself to stop, but only after he gets a good look of her. He can't help it. It's not easy to look away. Oftentimes, he finds himself wanting to tell her that she knows what she's doing and she should stop wearing those skirts on purpose. For obvious reasons, he doesn't.
She takes a moment to stare at him too. She always does, sometimes subtly, other times not so much—like right now. But she can't help it either, not when she's this close, when he called for her. It's got her wondering if she didn't misread his signals and there's something here. It makes her giddy, but she needs to control herself for a little longer.
"Did I do anything?" She asks, blinking up at him in confusion.
"Oh, no, not all. Don't worry your pretty face," he doesn't think before he speaks. But once again, he never quite does at the sight of a short skirt and tight shirt. He notices the way she bites her lip at his words, definitely bruising it. Stop it, he keeps hearing faintly in the back of his head. "I just wanted to give this back. It was very useful, thank you."
He hands her the file, which she takes with no hesitation and a small, relieved smile. "Any time."
"And there's something else," he adds, leaning slightly back on the chair, his arms flexed behind his neck, highlighting the way his muscles stretch his shirt. She wets her dry lips before chewing on it again. "Have you considered what I told you? About training?"
Of course she had. She'd just rather private lessons. Meaning, no annoying friends in her way as she tries to flirt with their teacher. But she can't exactly say that, can she? She needs another answer, quickly.
"Oh... Uh, yeah, but..." She can't think of an excuse at the moment, and she'll look weird if she just stays silent. So, she does the first stupid thing that comes to mind and drops the file she's holding, pretending they slip from her fingers with a tiny gasp. "Oh, silly me! Let me..."
Before he can say anything, she slides down the chair and kneels before him, bending down to grab all the papers that flew out of the folder. "Ugh, I made such a mess..."
Gojo looks down at the scene taking in place in front—well, below him. It's a perfectly unfortunate sight that has him choking on his spit. The way she kneels right between his legs, how she arches her back and stretches her arms to reach the papers, her tiny skirt riding up more than ever, giving him a teasing glimpse of her underwear. He's frozen in place, body entirely tense for a long minute, swallowing thickly and engraving the view in his brain despite his better judgement. She's not doing it on purpose, he repeats over and over, but he finds that hard to believe.
By the time he tames all thoughts of scolding her for making him think such thoughts, she's collected all the papers back. He glances down again, only to find her still on the floor, putting the papers back in the folder and smiling triumphantly at him. He hates how beautiful of a sight she is, how easy it'd be to run a hand through her hair and explain to her she's playing a dangerous game here, that he's not famous for his self-control.
You need to stop, Satoru.
No, she needs to stop.
You need to make her stop.
"I'm so sorry, I've got clumsy hands," she chuckles, holding the file tightly with one hand and stretches the other up. She looks up at him, batting her eyelashes, and pouts. "Help me up?"
Satoru Gojo is not as good as he thinks he is, not even when he tries his best.
"Sure," he replies in thick voice as his much stronger hand grabs hers.
He pulls her up effortlessly, with one swift and strong pull. A strength which he doesn't calculate, for she practically falls over him with a little yelp. She places both her hands on his chest as to not crash into him on time, and in turn, his hands find her waist before their heads crash. Well, that's his fault.
"Woah! So sorry," although his body is tense, he manages to chuckle apologetically. "I didn't mean to," or maybe he did, he isn't sure anymore.
But she takes it lightly and after she yelp, she begins to chuckle on his face. Her cheeks are reddish from what's going on, and from this angle, he has a perfect view of her semi-open shirt and the valley of her breasts. Again, he's thankful for the blindfold.
"It's fine," she says after her brief chuckles die down, her breath hitting his face. "You don't lie when you say you're the strongest, huh?"
"Oh, darling, I never lie," he scoffs, a smug grin on his face immediately. He doesn't play about his abilities. He doesn't play about being the strongest, or having control.
And it's like something switches in him right there. Two can play this game.
It's wrong, some deep part of his brain keeps saying. But the other side of his mind can't find any reasons why at the time. He's too enthralled, too tempted to put an end to this one way or another. He has half a mind to use this moment of silence to push her off him; end this for once and for all and forget it ever happened. But he doesn't, his body is not exactly responding to his mind. Instead, his thumbs start tracing circles over the thin fabric of her shirt and he can feel the way she shivers. It's been so long since he made someone feel that way, he almost forgot how addictive it was.
It's so easy to get lost in her. Her eyes, her lips, her voice, her body. Just her. He's no fool. She's pretty all over, from heads to toes. She's a menace to his self-control, to his principles and limits. But, when did he ever had any of those? He can't remember a single battle he's ever lost. This might be the one. It will be the one if she keeps looking at him with those glossy and half-lidded eyes as her face gets redder and redder with each firm circle his thumb traces—especially when her shirt rides up and his fingers finally make contact with the soft skin of her abdomen.
"Sensei," she mumbles, her voice wavering. She doesn't look so sure of herself now. If anything, she's more like that little girl that used to shy away. But he won't let her.
"What? Suddenly shy?" He mumbles back, that smug grin proudly on his lips. "You seemed so confident when you knelt down in front of me, when you wear that uniform.... Did you regret the game you started?" He doesn't expect his voice to sound so dark and husky, but it does.
"I didn't mean..." She parts her lips to make up an excuse, but he interrupts her.
"Oh, but you did, didn't you?" He loosens his grip on her waist, but, instead of letting her go, he taps on his thigh twice, inviting her to sit down. "Come on, don't be shy now. Is it not what you so desperately wanted?"
It totally is. That and more. But she's suddenly too self aware that she was never subtle around him and embarrassment takes over. She goes back to biting her lip until a little bead of blood appears. He ticks his tongue disapprovingly and she's taken by surprise when his thumb pulls on her lower lip until she releases it.
"Stop that. You're hurting yourself," he drags his thumb over her lip, gathering the blood. He's absolutely blinded and perplexed by his own actions. But he can't stop himself now, he knows it's too late for that. Whatever this is, it ends tonight. He holds his finger right in front of her. "Open up."
Whether she parts her lips to obey him, or to release the breath she was holding, she's not sure. She's not even sure if she's not dreaming as his thumb finds her tongue and she softly sucks on it, eliciting a hum from him. She releases his thumb quickly, not before dragging her tongue against the pad of it one last time.
Ah, fuck it. He's too lost in the moment to do any logical thinking, he's not even sure if he's even awake right now. Maybe he fell asleep grading and reviewing reports.
Neither is sure who moves first, but next thing they know, she has her arms around his neck and he's pulling her by the waist to straddle his lap. There are no words exchanged in the moment, as if they knew they shouldn't be in this situation but don't care. There's only a silent stare as she first slips a shy finger on the side of his blindfold, waiting for any sign of confirmation, and once he nods, she slips it down. A brief look at those dark, intense, ocean-blue eyes is all she needs to crash her lips against his.
It's like ripping a band-aid off; get done with the worst quickly. The first few seconds are the worst. It takes him a bit to react and she savours the pressure of her lips finally against his before he regrets this. But the regret doesn't come. Instead, his hand cups her cheek with a deep grunt and he tilts her head in a more comfortable position to kiss her back. His hand quickly finds the back of her head, tangling in her hair as he forces his tongue into her mouth, which is more than welcomed with a little whimper.
It's better than she ever imagined and she could die happily right there. But this is far from over, she notices, when his other hand goes to her hip to bring her closer; now their upper bodies pressing together as the kiss grows in intensity. It's messy and full of pent-up emotions on both sides. They only break apart when oxygen runs out.
She leans in for another kiss, but he chuckles darkly and turns his head to the side. "Is that not enough?" He murmurs in her ear, then proceeds to answer his own question. "Oh, of course it's not enough. You can't get enough, can you? Always needing more. Was it worth it? All the effort you put in your tiny uniforms, you perfect light make-up, your calculated reactions?"
"Worth every damn second," she sighs against his face, leaving soft pecks wherever she could—his jaw, his cheek, the corner of his lips.
"And you want more," it's not a question. He can feel the way her breath gets laboured as her hips involuntarily shift on his lap. She earns a shaky nod from her.
He looks down where she's sitting. Her skirt is completely ridden up, a perfect view of her legs and underwear-clad core. His eyes remain on her thighs, covered by the thin layer of the stockings. It's only logical his hands find her legs. He traces his palms up, starting at her knees and ending on the elastic band of the stockings.
"I haven't stopped thinking about these, you know?" he leans into her ear, one of his fingers tugging on the elastic and realising it, making a smacking sound on the soft flesh of her thigh. She hisses. "Who uses stockings instead of thighs?"
"I-it's easier," her voice is shaky. "Easy access to, uh, go the bathroom and all."
"Yeah, I can see it's easy access," he mumbles, eyes fixed on her core, his fingers itching to tease her.
His mind is spinning and he's definitely overwhelmed, but he's dizzy with a desire and urgency he forgot he had in him. His hands move on their own, gripping her thighs as one of his index fingers teases the edge of her panties. Her reaction makes him feel in Heaven, the way her breath hitches and she attempts to close her legs but can't.
"Stay still," he murmurs. She doesn't find her voice, so she nods weakly. "I bet you've been thinking about this for a long time, haven't you?" He asks as his hands move closer to her already damp underwear. When she doesn't answer, he pinches the skin of her thigh. "Answer me."
"I have," she gasps, her nails digging on his shoulder even over his shirt. "For so long."
He hums approvingly, now gripping her hips in place. "And do you know what you're doing? Do you know what you're getting into?"
"I'm not a kid," she mutters between gritted teeth, her eyes locking firmly on his again. "I'm not going to break."
"Aaand there's the attitude," he laughs mockingly. "You're not very consistent with your behaviour, you know? You're all bark and no bite."
"I'm not —"
"Then prove it," he interrupts, gripping her hips harder and forcefully making her grind on one of his thighs. "Prove me you know what you're doing. You're so smart and dedicated, I'm sure you won't have any issues. Unless... you're having doubts."
He's provoking her, he's well aware. But she's always been the type to need further encouraging. And he succeeds. Next thing he knows, she's assaulting his mouth with her lips, tongue and teeth; her hands behind his neck, one buried in his hair, the other holding onto his neck. He quite literally, can't draw back—not that he would've.
She's never been more thankful at being good at pretending. She rarely fails, and she hopes this is one of those times. If she's honest—and she won't be—she's never been here before. But he doesn't need to know that.
"I know what I'm doing," she mumbles against his lips, her hands now playing with the collar of his shirt, undoing the first button. "But I'm sure there's a thing or two you can teach me..."
His breathing picks up, but his grin becomes cockier. As do his hands, which have slipped under her shirt, tracing her curves. "You've always been bright, but I'm sure I can teach you more than one or two things."
He looks down again, where her hips are subtly shifting to and fro on his lap. The slow and absent-minded motion making him lose the last of his self-restraint, each subtle brush against his groin a reminder of what's to come. It's not enough to create friction, but it's enough to drive him crazy.
"Some discipline won't hurt you. Because this..." as he speaks, his hands move down her skirt to grab her ass. He savours her sweet moan as he runs his hands over her flesh before squeezing. "We can't have any more of this."
"Why not? Do I distract you?" Her voice is sultry, her ass rocking back against him.
"Yes, you do. You distract anyone who has eyes to appreciate you," he hisses, squeezing again and making her bounce a little. "You can't do that. It's all fun and games now, but you can't go around tempting everyone." She wants to argue it's not everyone, just him. But his next words have her speechless. "We can't have that, you've got to stop eventually... We have to get it out of you," his voice grows dark.
Next thing she knows, he uses the tight hold on her ass to lift her as he stands up. He sits her on top of his desk, his hands on her thighs again and parts them wide open.
"Do you want me to get it out of you?" Her answer is a weak whine and an even weaker nod. It's not enough for him. "Answer me."
"Get it out of me," she whispers, her voice and body shaking with anticipation.
"Good," he murmurs, his teeth tugging on her earlobe before he trails kisses up and down the side of her neck, his fingers finding the edge of her underwear again. "Just sit back and take it, I won't make it quick."
She's too weak on the knees to answer or even collaborate with any movement of her own. This is more than she ever expected, probably more than she's ready for, but she's no fool and no coward. If she backs down, there won't be a second chance. She's good at sitting back and taking it, she can do that.
Two of his fingers trace over her covered cunt, grinning darkly when he finds the wet spot on her very centre. He rubs his fingers against that spot a couple times before redirecting it up to rub over her clit, making her squirm and whimper.
"I hardly have to explain what I'm doing," he murmurs. "You're not as innocent as you seem."
Oh, but she is—to some extent—and the fact that he doesn't know just fuels her more and more. Her body keeps heating up and she grows restless.
"I've barely touched you, and look at you," his fingers increase in pressure. "I wonder how you'll react when I do... this..."
He moves her panties to the side, his fingers fully feeling the slickness that covers her. He hisses at the wet feeling and she cries out in surprise, her nails digging on the edge of the desk. He looks down with parted lips and breathing heavily. She looks so soft down there, and he only confirms it when he expertly runs his fingers down her slit.
"Yeah, I bet you like that," he rubs up and down torturously slow, voice rough. "But you need to quiet down, or else someone will come in."
"Sorry," she whispers, her mouth wide open in an O shape as she breathes heavily. "It just... feels good."
"I know, I know," he speaks almost soothingly, fingers rubbing over her entrance. "But this is nothing."
She's taken by surprise again when two fingers breach her at the same time. She really can't help the wail that comes out from her throat then. He enters her slowly, but the stretch of his thick fingers is too much too soon.
"Sens—"
"Don't," he grunts, fingers buried in her to the knuckles. "Gojo. Satoru. Whatever you want, just not sensei."
"Gojo," she tries shakily, his name foreign on her tongue, but both love the way it sounds. "That's —" She's interrupted by her own moans once he starts pumping in and out of her, curling his fingers every time he goes in and reaching places she didn't even know existed within her. She has to take a hand to her mouth in a lame attempt at muffling her sounds. But she gives up quickly when he starts kissing and nipping on her neck. Both her hands go to her shirt, unbuttoning it impatiently to feel over her breasts, softly fondling them. She's practically purring in his ear.
His fingers are a perfect mix between pumping, curling and rubbing his palm on her little bundle of nerves. She even feels herself getting wetter, the squelching sounds joining her little high-pitched moans. And it's wonderful. That's what Heaven must feel like. She feels close already, she knows her body and she knows she close and she lets him know by the way she's nearly screaming.
And that's when he stops, still buried in her. He tsks his tongue amusedly.
"Huh?" She whimpers. She swears she feels on the verge of tears. "No... No, no. I was close."
"Feeling neglected?" He whispers, looking down at her chest. She blushes even harder, lowering her hands from her chest. She opens her mouth to apologise, but he decides that's a good moment to withdraw his fingers from inside her and place one glistening finger on her lips, shutting her up. "Next time, just say so."
He proceeds to lick his fingers clean, humming at the taste. Without saying a word, he kisses her again, making her taste herself on his tongue. He uses the moment of distraction to slide her shirt down her shoulders, desperately looking for the clasp of her bra. It takes him half a second to undo it, the fabric falling to the ground right away. He breaks away from the kiss to stare at the newly exposed skin.
He has no more words to describe her, so he lets his actions speak for him. He slides his hands up her waist, feeling the way her abdomen contracts, until he softly cups her breasts in his hands. He gives a tentative squeeze at first, an anticipated and quiet moan coming out of her lips, and when his thumbs draw circles on her perked buds, she closes her eyes and throws her head back.
"You're sensitive here, huh?" He mumbles to himself as he pinches one nipple, making her hiss.
He admires the length of her neck, wishing to mark it up but knowing he can't. An idea pops in his mind then and he wastes no time in lowering her down on the desk, her back straight on the table, as he trails kisses down her collarbone and sternum, quickly reaching his destination. He looks up at her once more, winking playfully before he runs his tongue over one nipple before his lips wrap around it, sucking and biting. His hand works over the neglected one before he switches to it. He works carelessly over the only place he can mark up and he doesn't stop until her breasts are angry red and she's tugging on his hair.
He trails kisses up her neck, reaching her cheek and places chaste, almost sweet kisses over it. "You're divine. So easy to fluster, so easy to comply..."
"Gojo," she whimpers, her hands palming over his messed up and wrinkled shirt.
He understands the message right away and nods. She obeys so easily, as she always does, and undoes button by button. She traces her fingers over the hard lines of his abdomen, his breathing becoming laboured. In turn, his hands return to her thighs, running his hands over them.
They look into each others eyes, both clouded with lust and heavy with anticipation, as they explore their skins. He slowly lifts one of her legs until it's fully resting on top of the desk. Her fingers falter his movements in confusion, and she frowns slightly at him. The sight is cute, that little wrinkle between her brows, her lips parted as she thinks her words. He smiles gently, kissing her lips chastely.
"Just relax and enjoy," he whispers against her before he lowers himself to his knees, smiling wider when he hears her gasp. "Hm. These are on the way, don't you think?"
He tugs at the elastic of her panties. As if he'd pushed a button, she lifts her hips from the desk, allowing him to drag the drenched and useless fabric down her legs. He leaves them hanging on one of them, though. He moans to himself, quiet and deep, at the full sight of her. He spreads her glistening folds with his thumbs. He rubs over her slit once, twice and thrice before his lips take over. The mere taste of her, the softness of her most sensitive area against his lips makes his cock twitch in his trousers, begging for any kind of attention.
She's 100% sure she died and this isn't real. She wishes she could tell someone the Satoru Gojo is eating her out for the first time in her life and— Oh, God, it feels so good. Her body trembles with every flick of his tongue; louder sound coming out of her with every expert suck on her sensitive bud. She gets close embarrassingly quickly.
"G-gojo, I'm —" A sharp whimper cuts her off when she feels the knot on her lower abdomen tighten to the point of no return. Her mumbles become incoherent and she's right about to jump off the edge... when he stops. With a last and long stroke of his tongue, gathering as much of her juices as possible, he stops. It's only natural she whines in protests.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he stands up, wiping his chin and mouth with one hand. "Do you know what quiet means?"
She blinks up stupidly at him, rubbing the small, unshed tears on the corner of her eyes. "I– I'm sorry," she mumbles. "But... But I was so close. I..."
She shuts up when his hands grab her by the waist, pulling her up on a sitting position again. He brings her into his chest, wrapping his arms around her bare torso and petting her hair softly. His voice comes out equally tender. "I know, I know... Don't worry, I'll keep my word, but you need to lower your voice. Can you do that for me?"
"I can. I'll be quiet," she tries to sound convincing.
He frowns playfully, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Mm. You see, the thing is, I don't think you can, which is disappointing... you always knew when to keep your mouth shut. But I think I have the solution."
His blindfold hangs by his neck since she lowered it instead of taking it off, but it comes in handy now. He tugs on it, pulling it over his head. She looks at him curiously, silently wondering what a blindfold could do. Only when he pulls it over her head and past her eyes, she realises. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't back down.
"Open up," he murmurs. And, of course, she does. "Now bite down." When she does, he tightens the fabric around her mouth with a smile. "Much better... You okay?"
She hums around it, nodding in affirmation. With a renewed darkish smirk on his lips, his hands find her hips and bring her to the edge of the desk.
"Now we can go on," he murmurs in a sultry voice.
As his hands move down her thighs, her own hands start roaming over his bare torso again. Her touch feather-like on him as she explores his chest, his back, and his abdomen. Deep down, he liked the feeling, the softness and vulnerability of intimacy. But that's not what they're there for.
He grunts when she teases his sides, her fingers tracing down the v line until they reach the waistband of his obviously tight trousers. She toys with it and he can only close his eyes and let out a calming exhale when she hooks her fingers underneath and tugs on it, snapping back on his skin.
"You're killing me... Go on," he encourages her before he makes one of his brutish movements and just make her take him.
She seems to hesitate. She swallows thickly and for a second considers telling him she's never done this before and she hadn't had high expectations for today, so, this is a lot and she feels on a dreamy haze. But she'll be damned before that happens. So, she pushes through the self-doubt and drags her hand lower and lower until she feels the hard outline of his cock. She looks down curiously and squeezes tentatively. By the way his chest vibrates with his next grumble, she must've done something right. She repeats the action again and again, tightening each squeeze.
When she feels comfortably enough to cup him in her hand, she looks up at him. They lock eyes, and that makes something snap in him. He takes a moment to place a kiss on her forehead before taking his hands off her hips and unbutton his trouser in the blink of an eye, he lowers them alongside his boxers just enough to free his aching cock in one brutish movement, sighing in relief.
He then places a finger under her chin, lifting her head up. He sees the way she gulps, breathing rapidly through her nose, and closes her eyes shut. He wonders if she's having second thoughts and thinks of asking her. But he forgets about that as soon as he feels a hand significantly smaller and softer than his wrap tightly around him and give a few hesitant pumps.
"Fuck," he breathes out against her face, his hand wrapping around hers to encourage her movements. "Don't go shy on me. I taught you that a long time ago," he murmurs roughly. It seems to work, given that the twist of wrists becomes more pronounced and confident.
He hisses and hides his face on the crook of her neck. "That's it. You've always learnt quickly, haven't you? This is no different than a lesson, if you think about it. I show you how it's done, and you follow the instructions just — shit — just right. Like you always do."
He can't help but start babbling, his voice gruff and sultry, occasionally interrupted by his own groans. It's too much and it's not enough at the same time. And she must be feeling the same, he believes, by the way her strokes becomes sloppy and irregular, and she starts mumbling incoherencies. He lifts his head from her neck, their heavy-lidded eyes meeting.
"Please..." Is the only thing he understands when she tries to speak, the rest of the sentence muffled.
He tugs on the blindfold and lowers it, momentarily freeing her from the gag. She takes a big breath through her mouth, wiping the drool around her lips as her chest rises and falls erratically. He smiles sweetly at the sight in front of him, brining his hand up, brushing her cheek softly. "Hm? What was that?"
"I can't... My wrist hurts," his lips curve in a devilish smirk.
"Well, we can't have that," he says as he unwraps her hand from his cock.
He chuckles lightly and places a soft kiss on the crown of her head before he lowers her from the desk. Her brow furrows in confusion and she parts her lips, probably to wonder what's he doing, but he seizes the opportunity to place the blindfold back on her mouth.
"Shh... Quiet, remember? You trust me, right?" He barely waits for her to nod before he turns her around and bends her over the desk. He hears a muffled cry as his hands ride her skirt up, revealing the curve of her ass. "I'm gonna leave this skirt on, since you seem to like it so much."
His thumb runs over her slit again, opening her folds to get a good look of her. She focuses on breathing through her nose, trying to ignore her racing heartbeat, but the rest of her body acts on its own when she unconsciously bucks her hips back. He makes a sound between a chuckle and grunt, gripping her hips hard. He'll definitely leave his handprints around her after this, but he doesn't care and she hopes that's the case.
"Impatient, are we?" He keeps mumbling, his mind foggy. He barely brushes his hard-on against her to tease her until he hears her muffled cries again, coming with a new buck of her hips. He grips her hips harder. "Okay, okay... You are impatient. Lucky for you, patience is not my virtue either."
He takes himself into his hand, stroking a couple times against her to tease her entrance. She tries hard to not look nervous, but by the way she shivers and her body goes taut at the hard pressure on her cunt, she does a pretty poor job. He seems to enjoy the way she squirms and whimpers against the desk. He keeps teasing her entrance and she knows the moment is coming, so, she closes her eyes tightly and bites down on the blindfold when he pushes in. Or rather, he tries to push in, but he can't, so he stops momentarily.
"You see, if you're this tense, it's not going in," he speaks quietly, partly amused. She then feels his hands massage her inner thighs, then her hips, and her lower back, making her relax her body little by little. She nods weakly, loosening her body against the desk. He leans down for a second to place a few soft pecks on the back of her neck. "That feels better, doesn't it? Yeah, I bet it does. Okay, ready to try again? Yes? Good."
He placed a hand on her lower back, tracing calming patterns on her skin to keep her loose. His other hand takes himself in his hand again. He decides to be gentle at first, or else not even the gag would muffle her sharp cries. When he pushes in again, he's welcomed in painfully slowly. He manages to get half of his length inside before he makes a deliberate pause to let out a deep, guttural breath. How could someone be this tight was beyond his comprehension, but he's relishing in the way her walls are adapting to him. He takes a brief look at her already spent body before thrusting in again. He doesn't stop until he's fully in.
"Oh, fuck..." He grunts, dropping his weight on her back. He hears the little and incomprehensible murmurs she's trying to say. He ignores it; it can't be something bad by the way she's still as a statue and awaiting his next move. "You're so tight, how's it possible? You feel... I can't even describe it. Just... feel."
He moves slowly, thrusting half-way back before sliding in again. He hears her next muffled gasp, and the next, and so on as he starts to increase the pace of his thrusts. She feels utterly overwhelmed; stuffed as never before. It's not exactly painful, but the stretch is definitely noticeable and burning. But she's gotten this far, there's no way she can—or would—back from this. When he thrusts back next time, she takes a deep breath and digs her nails on the wooden desk, getting ready for the next pound. He's kind with her, she believes, by the way he keeps an even pace until she's not longer whimpering but rather gasping every time his hips meet hers. He seems to notice the shift. Her deep sighs increase, the squelching sounds become louder, her nails dragging down the desk, making a bit of an annoying sound.
He thinks he can ignore it, but it truly bothers him. He gives a particular sharp thrust as he grabs both her wrists. "Stop that," he grunts, increasing the speed of his thrusts.
But she doesn't stop, she can't. If anything, she cries out and digs her nails even harder on the desk, not caring about the annoying scratching sound. It annoyingly reaches his ears again, and he speeds up in frustration this time. The harder he buries himself into her squishy and warm walls, the more prominent the sound becomes. He groans, a mix between pleasure and annoyance.
"I said stop that," he hisses through gritted teeth. He grips her wrists tighter and pushes her arms behind her back, lifting her body a little before continuing. "Ah, that's better."
She nods weakly and he's sure he hears a mumbled Sorry. He grins sweetly, planting soft and reassuring kisses on the side of her neck as he starts moving again. He grabs both her wrists with one hand as his other hand lifts one of her legs on the desk. The new angle makes her cry out and him moan. He pushes in again, harder. When he's met by another sharp cry, he does so again, and again. He looks at her one last time and sees the way her eyes roll back and drool falls from the corner of her lips. She's fine. It's all he needs to close his own eyes and focus on himself. Even if it's for a short time because he's already so close, he can feel the heat bubbling up.
"You're so good," he murmurs, fingers digging on her plushy thigh firmly. "So tight. So warm. So pretty. Ugh — Taking you... it's so easy. Who could resist you? Look at you..."
His front meets her back almost mercilessly, hitting so deep inside her she's biting on the blindfold to swallow her own cries. It will definitely ache in the morning, but she cares less and less as he hits a spot she's never reached on her own before. She tightens around him, hindering his thrusts slightly, but he pushes forward with more and more force. He makes sure to hold her hips still as she begins to tremble and spasm around him. He looks down hungrily at where they meet, grunting deeply when he sees the way she's dripping down her thighs. He barely lets her catch her breath before he's giving his few final thrusts. She keeps crying out, whatever she's trying to say deaf to his ears as he seeks that lightening of pleasure that's just around the corner. A pushes forward once, twice, three times and... He's sensible enough to pull out, stroking himself a couple times more before he's aimlessly shooting his release. He closes his eyes tight, throwing his head back as he pumps himself empty with one hand and holds onto her thigh with the other.
A long minute goes by before he can breathe somewhat normally again and open his eyes. His gaze fell on his spent, spread through the flesh of her lower back, her ass, and the skirt. He notices the way she's still struggling to breathe properly, bent and spent on the desk. He makes a quick work of undoing the blindfold from around her mouth, and she takes deep and satisfactory breaths. As she focuses on that, he cleans their mess with her skirt—there's no way she'll use it again after tonight, anyway—and even winces when he spots a bit of blood. She's too lost in the haze for her to notice the way he easily moves her around, putting her school shirt back in place and somewhat fixing her appearance. She snaps back into reality only when he sits down on his chair and delicately sits her back on his lap.
Their eyes meet again. He smiles warmly, his hands gently rubbing her waist. "Hey, you there?"
She nods weakly, smiling lazily. "I'm right here," she whispers. "Just... shaken."
"A pretty thing like you should be used to it by now," he chuckles softly. "You okay, though? I spotted a bit of blood, I didn't hurt you, did I?"
She swallows thickly, but widens her smile a bit for him. "I'm fine... It happens sometimes," she murmurs.
"I figured," he nods, rubbing her waist softly. "You think you're good to go?"
"Maybe in a bit," she rests her head on his shoulder. "By the way, about going back to training, the answer is yes. Although, I think... a private session would be better than joining Megumi..."
Shit. Megumi. He completely forgot about that. He can never find out about this. Never.
"I... yes. I agree," he murmurs. "About him... Maybe don't mention any of this to your friends? He... You see, he kind of likes you. It's adorable, really, but giving the circumstances..."
Her face drops, sleepy eyes suddenly going wide. "Megumi what?" She asks in horror.
He winces. He really needs to learn to keep his mouth shut.