#itadoribites

[itadoribites]

Temptation Suite | Reader X

Multiple men

CHAPTER ONE — “The star”

Host Club AU

Prologue

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Summary: After a long, chaotic day of school, work, and unresolved tension with her project partner Satoru Gojo, the reader finally takes the plunge and visits The Velvet room (Club Kaisen.) What begins as a curious, slightly nervous first visit quickly spirals into something far more intimate when Gojo—her classmate and unexpectedly skilled host—personally takes her under his wing. The chemistry between them simmers past the limits of club rules, drawing her into his private mirrored suite where indulgence turns to desire. Between teasing touches, breathless edging, and Gojo’s deliciously cocky praise, she’s left unraveling in his hands—literally. By the time she’s gathering herself to leave, she stumbles into another familiar face: Choso. His cryptic suggestion that she try a one-on-one with someone else next time leaves her stunned and intrigued. One night in the club was enough to change everything… and she knows she’s coming back for more.

Contains: NSFW, oral sex (f!receiving), mirror sex, edging, spanking, light bondage (wrist holding), exhibitionism, praise kink, cocky!Gojo, dom!Gojo, private suite setting, professor/student dynamic (Nanami), double life tension, slow burn buildup, soft aftercare, other characters teased (Choso), smut-heavy chapter, Tumblr-style prose, mature content.

A/N: This one is quite long, but i swear it’s definitely worth it! Enjoy :)

Also sorry its so rushed. I felt obligated to get it out as soon as i could!

Business Ethics was never your favorite class. Not because the material was difficult, Not because you hated your professor or classmates, but because every week you were asked to look at systems, partnerships and people trusting them to make the right choice. You always ended up with the dumbest one.

It was a slow and dry Thursday morning, the kind where the fluorescents overhead lights buzzed too loudly and were too bright, your coffee tasted more like burnt cardboard than caffeine, and your classroom was as cold as a freezer.

You sat in your usual spot by the window, notebook out, pen in hand, and your group project printed, stapled, and color-coded, thanks to yourself.

You looked over to the seat next to you only to find it empty, of course.

You kept glancing at the clock on the wall, the sound of the hands ticking making your head ache. Yet you continued to watch the minutes tick down until Professor Nanami arrived. The project was due at the very start of class, and your partner, Satoru, had yet to make an appearance, but it wasn’t unusual for him to be this late.

You tried not to be annoyed ..of course you had failed.

When the door finally creaked open, the disruption didn’t even earn a glance or a turn of heads from most of your classmates. They were all accustomed to it by now.

Satoru had strolled in like he owned the room, he always did. His sunglasses were perched on his nose despite the fact that you were indoors and it was cloudy outside, no sunlight to be seen. His uniform shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, tie crooked, hair messier than usual. He dropped into the seat beside you with all the grace of someone who’d never known real consequences.

“Morning, partner,” he said, smirking ‘n dragging the word out like it amused him.

You didn’t even look at him. “You’re late.” You mumbled in annoyance.

“Nah,” he grinned whilst rolling his eyes, he was now leaning back in his chair. “I’m just fashionably on-time.”

You scrunched your nose up to try and keep yourself from cringing. You then handed over a copy of the project without making eye contact. “You’re welcome.”

He blinked at you in confusion, taking the paper in his hand. “Huh?”

“For the project.” You stated. “The one I wasted my time staying up all night finishing because you never sent your section.”

Satoru tilted his head, smirk still in place like it was glued on. “Ohhh! ..right. I meant to do that.” He chuckled whilst giving himself a small bop on the head.

You finally turned to look at him, expression flat. “well you didn’t.”

“I had notes,” he offered, voice smooth. “Mental ones. Was gonna send them after my nap.” He said whilst tapping the side of his head.

You stared at him and scoffed at his words. “You missed two deadlines, Satoru.” He scratched the back of his neck, still infuriatingly casual. “You seem like you have it handled.”

“I had no choice but to have it handled. I knew i couldn’t rely on you.” You rolled your eyes and grabbed the papers back from him.He looked you over for a moment, then leaned in slightly. “You mad at me?” He asked whilst fake pouting. You scoffed at his childish manner. “I’m mad at the fact that I’m going to lose marks because you couldn’t be bothered to write half a page.”

“You won’t,” he said easily. “You’ll crushed it. I’m sure Professor Nanami will give us a solid A.” You gave him a long look. “You’re unbelievable.” He smiled wider, as if you had complimented him. “That’s what they keep telling me.”

Before you could respond, the door at the front of the classroom shut with a soft but final click. Professor Nanami walked in, expression as severe as ever. No-nonsense, no patience. He carried a stack of folders and set them on the desk without a word.

“Project submissions,” he said simply, he began moving down each row, collecting everyone’s papers.

You sighed deeply whilst facing forward, your jaw tight. Satoru was still relaxed, one hand had been lazily flipping open his laptop, the other already doodling in the margins of your printed copy like it was his personal sketchpad.

You elbowed him lightly, and he only smirked more.

When Professor Nanami finally reached your desk, he looked down at the folder in your hands, then at the two of you. “Joint submission?” he asked, voice as even as ever—but something in his tone felt… heavier.

“Yes,” you said stiffly then glanced at satoru.

Satoru offered a wide, breezy smile. “Teamwork makes the dream work.” You gave him a look of disgust, you didn’t even try to hold back your scoff.

The professors eyes flicked toward him. For just a second, something unreadable passed across his face. The silence that followed felt just a little too long. You glanced between them. A confused look found its way to your face.

Nanami blinked slowly. “Indeed.”

Satoru was still smiling, but his posture shifted, just a hair more upright. You felt the smallest hint of tension pass through the space between them. The professor took the folder without another word and moved on to the next student, his steps just a little sharper than before.

You tried to hold in your laughter, you then slowly turned toward satoru, who was suddenly very interested in the doodle he was working on.

“…Do you two know each other.. like outside of school?” you whispered.

His shrugged his shoulders and then glanced at the professor. “we… are just in similar circles.” He said hesitantly. You narrowed your eyes. “What does that even mean?”

He just shrugged once more.

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Class had finally come to an end. Professor Nanami dismissed everyone promptly, no drawn-out lecture, no open floor discussion—just the click of his laptop closing and a firm, “That will be all.”

Most of the students packed up in a rush. Satoru, of course, took his time. You gathered your things more slowly, fingers tapping nervously against the edge of your folder. Your project sat at the front of the room now, submitted and sealed with the sour feeling of defeat. You weren’t used to mediocrity. Especially not when you worked so damn hard to avoid it.

You looked over and saw Saroru sauntering toward the door, his bag slung over one shoulder, whistling faintly. He caught your stare, smirked, and waved without a word. It made you cringe. He was most definitely not your friend, not after this project.

You exhaled slowly, eyes drifting toward the front of the room where your professor had remained, stacking papers with precise movements, like every crease and corner mattered more than the people who wrote them.

You hesitated. Then stepped forward. “Professor Nanami?” you called, voice tentative.

He looked up. Adjusting his glasses. “Yes?”

You shifted your bag on your shoulder, taking a few more steps forward until you were near his desk. The classroom was almost empty now, and almost completely silent.

“I wanted to talk about the project,” you said carefully, biting your lip for a moment. “About me and Satorus’ submission.”

His gaze flicked up from his papers, steady and unreadable. He had given you his full attention. His hands no folded in front of him on his desk. “Yes?” He said whilst arching his brow.

“I did most of the work,” you admitted. “If not all of it..” You trailed off. Curling a piece of your hair in one hand. “My partner—Satoru—he never submitted his section. He didn’t even attempt to contribute.”

Nanami’s expression didn’t change. But there was the barest twitch in his jaw and a small sigh followed after. “I understand,” he said after a beat. “And I appreciate your honesty.”

You swallowed. “Is there… anything I can do to make up for it? Extra credit? An independent project? I just don’t want my grade to reflect terribly because of someone else’s apathy.” He considered your words for a long moment. The kind of silence that made you wonder if he was trying to read you—dissect your tone, your body language, your desperation.

He now began to tap his index finger against the desk. As if he were in deep thought.

“Ordinarily, I would say no. Group projects are meant to reflect collaborative effort. Choosing a partner is part of the evaluation.”

You deflated slightly. Your face trying to hold back a frown. You nodded at is words.

But then, his eyes softened—only just. “You’re one of my more consistent students,” he said, voice quieter now. “I’m not blind to your effort.” he paused for a moment. “You’re one of my best students.” He looked up at you then cleared his throat.

You looked up, surprised. He paused. Then added, “Still. I can’t offer anything extra—not this late in the semester.” He sighed deeply, Organizing the papers.

Your shoulders dropped. “Right. Of course.” Nanami glanced toward the door, then back to you. “If it’s any consolation…”

He hesitated

“…I can ensure you that you two will never be paired again.”

You tried to hide the smirk that found its way to your face.

Nanami simply adjusted the cuffs of his shirt and offered a small, tight smile. “You may be dismissed.” You turned to leave, but as you reached the door, you could’ve sworn you heard him sigh softly behind you. Not in annoyance—but in resignation.

It was the first time Professor Nanami had ever sounded… tired.

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The hours after class passed in a dull blur of espresso shots, irritated customers, and aching feet.

Your shift at the café had started at noon sharp, and by 2 p.m., your apron was already splattered with milk foam and caramel drizzle. The aroma of the cafe beginning to irritate you.

Every small inconvenience from today began to flood your mind. The morning incident with satoru, the co-worker who showed up late, the customer who stared at your chest instead of your face while ordering. By the time you clocked out, your patience was scraped down to the bone.

You barely had the energy to take off your apron before slipping out the back door and heading toward the corner café across the street. It was quieter, classier—a place Mei Mei always insisted on for your post-shift lunches.

She was already there, of course. She looked far more classy than you had. She had sat outside under the awning with her legs crossed, sunglasses on, iced matcha in hand. She looked like she belonged in a Milan fashion spread, not leaning casually in a wicker chair next to a potted fern.

“Someone looks dead,” She called out as you approached, lips quirking upward into a smirk.

You collapsed into the seat across from her and dropped your bag with a thud. “I’m dying.”

She sipped her drink. “Bad shift?”

“Nightmare shift. I think a man tried to pay for his mocha with a gift card to Subway.” You scoffed as the memory replayed inside your head.

“And he winked at me. With both eyes. At the same time.” She cringed theatrically. “That’s not a wink, that’s a stroke.”

You snorted, just a little. “Exactly.”

The waitress brought you water and a menu. You barely glanced at it. Mei Mei leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “So. Any updates on Mr. Too-Pretty-To-Do-His-Own-Homework?”

You groaned and rubbed your temples in annoyance. “He didn’t even try to pretend he’d done anything. He doodled on our submission like it was a napkin.” Mei Mei arched a perfectly groomed brow. “And what about your hot professor, Nanami?”

You hesitated. “…Weird. Kind of. I told him Satoru didn’t help, and before that they both gave each other a weird look.”

You sat back. “Im just wondering if they know each other or something?”

Mei Mei hummed, as if weighing her words. “Maybe.” You gave her a suspicious look. “Do you know something?”

She shrugged, sipping on her drink now.

She began to change the subject, “since your day’s clearly going to shit, maybe now’s the time to consider my very thoughtful, entirely selfless recommendation.”

You blinked. “The host club?”

“The one and only.” She took another slow sip. “Club Kaisen.” You hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you admitted. Mei Mei perked up immediately. “Yeah?”

You nodded, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I’m not saying I’m going to let some guy whisper sweet nothings into my ear and turn me on or whatever. But… I don’t know. I’m tired. Burnt out. And you make it sound like a spa with dicks.”

Mei Mei laughed, tossing her head back.“I’m serious,” you muttered, even though you were smiling. “You know I dont just want a hook up, I just… I want to feel like someone actually sees me, for once. Not my uniform, or my transcript, or my due dates. Just—me.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s what I’m saying. No pressure. No expectations. Just… a night off.” You sighed. “And you’re sure they’re not creeps?” You asked, a worried look playing onto tour face.

“Professional,” Mei Mei assured, She then began to smirk. “Handsome. High-class..” She paused for a moment after trailing off. “Some of them even work regular jobs by day.”

You raised a brow. “Like?” She tapped her nail against her glass. “Your favorite ethics professor, maybe.” Your eyes widened. “Nanami?”

She smirked. You blinked. “Wait. Wait wait wait—Nanami works at Club Kaisen?”

“I didn’t say that.” She sipped innocently. “But I didn’t deny it either.” You stared at her. “That’s insane.”

“That’s Tokyo,” she replied. You took a long breath. “Okay. Fine. I’ll go.” Mei Mei clapped once, delighted. “Yes!”

“But I’m not booking anything. I just want to see what it’s like.” She shrugged. “Smart. Start slow. Scope the vibes. If you like what you see, nominate someone.”

You gave her a flat look. “That sounds too formal. “You’re going to a velvet-curtained man castle, sweetheart. Formal’s the point.” You finished your drink and stood. “You’re a menace.”

“Thank you.” As you walked away, she called after you: “Go for The Star! I heard he’s the perfect mood-lifter. Real high-energy. Likes to talk.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sounds perfect.”

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Shinjuku was different at night. Busier, brighter. A blur of neon signs, vending machines buzzing under fluorescent halos, the smell of sweet crepes and cigarette smoke mixing in the air. You weren’t dressed for anything special—just dark jeans and a soft oversized black sweater—but still, you felt exposed. Like you were carrying a secret.

The black velvet flyer burned a hole in your pocket.

It took longer than you thought to find the place you had saw yesterday. There was no grand entrance. No obvious sign. Just a side street you almost missed, tucked between a shuttered bookstore and an arcade, with a faint hint of incense drifting through the chill air.

And there it was. A red velvet door. No name. No bell. No windows.

You stared at it for a moment, nerves tangling in your chest. It had been like a bad version of butterflies.

Then, with a breath, you stepped forward and pushed it open.

The entryway was dim, it was fancy. A faint sound of jazz music played in the background. Everything smelled faintly of jasmine and warm leather. The floor was marble, dark and gleaming. A velvet rope curved between two gold stands. And behind it, at a sleek reception desk, stood a woman with sharp brown eyes, black hair and a scar across her face. She had been flipping through a small leather book.

She looked up the second you crossed the threshold. “You’re new,” she said, voice cool and soft, not overly friendly.

You swallowed. “Is it that obvious?” She smiled faintly. “I’m Utahime. Host manager. If you’re here, I assume you’re curious, interested, or very lost.”

“Definitely curious,” you replied. Utahime nodded once. “Then let me walk you through the rules.”

She stepped around the desk, clipboard in hand, and stopped in front of you.

“One,” she said, holding up a finger, “you will respect personal boundaries. Physical contact is only allowed with mutual consent. If a host feels uncomfortable, you’ll be warned once. Then removed.”

“Understood.”

“Two,” she continued, “conversations must remain respectful. Hosts aren’t your therapists, or your enemies. Keep things charming.”

You nodded again.

“Three—‘Nomination Overlap.’ Each host can entertain multiple guests in a night. If you want exclusive time, you pay the nomination fee up front.”

That made you pause. “How many people usually nominate a host?”

Utahime raised a brow. “Depends on the host.”

“…Who’s the most popular?” She didn’t answer. Just shrugged.

You hesitated, then reached for the pen on her clipboard.

She placed it firmly in your hand, then motioned to the velvet curtain behind her.

She pulled the curtain aside and gestured you through. Warm light spilled out. More low music played, something jazzy. The air was thick with perfume and expensive cologne, laughter and clinking glasses. The room opened up into a lounge glowing with chandeliers and amber lighting, plush seating in shades of crimson and black velvet, and soft chatter rolling like waves.

Before yo had time to take in the beautiful sight.

“Newbie alert!” a voice rang out, high and bright and smug.

You barely had a second to process it before a talk white-haired man appeared in front of you, grinning like he’d been expecting you all night.

He wore all black—unbuttoned shirt, slouchy slacks, long legs, too much charm packed into one lean frame. His eyes, hidden behind round sunglasses, glittered anyway. “Let me guess,” he said, leaning in just a little too close. “You’re here for me, aren’t you?”

He then grinned, wolfish. His eyes making their way up and down your figure. “You look even better outside the classroom.”

You blinked, confused for a moment. “Satoru?”

He grinned like the sun. “Knew you’d show.”

He winked. “And here I thought you were observant.” You crossed your arms, trying not to let your confusion show. “You’re a host.”

“And here I thought you’d be impressed.” He said with a small pout.

“Why would you be here?!

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he teased, eyes raking over you from behind his ridiculous glasses. “I look good, I talk pretty, and I give great… conversation.”

You scowled, trying not to feed into his delusions. He leaned in close, voice soft. “Besides, when you’re the most requested man on the roster, they let you break a few rules.”

You rolled your eyes at his words.

Satoru laughed, looping his arm through yours like you belonged to him already. “Come on. Let me show you around.” He led you through the lounge, pointing out the other hosts like exhibits at an upscale museum.

“That’s The Worshipped,” he said, motioning to a long-haired man reclining with a glass in his hand. “Suguru. He likes poetry, tattoos, and pretending he’s not the most manipulative bastard alive.”

You squinted. “Wait… that’s Suguru Geto. He’s in my Thought & Literature class.” Gojo’s smirk widened. “Oh yeah. The intellectuals hit different at night, huh?”

You turned again, catching sight of another man seated near a grand piano, face half-shadowed.

Gojo followed your gaze. “The Gentleman. Nanami. Knows how to fold a suit pocket square better than anyone.” You squinted. “No way. That’s Professor Nanami.”

“Bingo.”

“He teaches our class, business ethics!”

“Which is hilarious, considering what he does here after 6 p.m.” You nearly tripped at his words. You looked over to see satoru grinning mercilessly.

“And see that guy in the corner booth?” he whispered, tilting his head toward a man with striking green eyes “That’s The Sinner. You’d know him as Toji Fushiguro. Professor of Criminal Psychology.” You tried to hold in your laugh at the names, Some of them were just so corny.

..but your jaw just dropped. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” Gojo shrugged. “Toji’s got the whole ‘gruff daddy issues’ thing going. Women love it.” You barely heard the next names.

The Devoted. Choso. Your chemistry lab partner.

The God. Sukuna. Thank God he didn’t teach. He looked.. scary.

You weren’t sure when it happened—when your heartbeat had started to trip over itself or when the space between you and Satoru had shrunk to something almost indecent. But somehow, you found yourself nestled in a plush velvet booth with him beside you, closer than he needed to be. One arm draped along the backrest, fingers ghosting dangerously close to your shoulder, like he was trying to feel your pulse through the silk of your blouse.

He handed you a drink without a word. The glass was chilled, the rim delicately wet with condensation. “Drink this,” he said, voice low and coaxing, a lazy smile on his lips. “Process later.”

You hesitated for a second, your eyes flicking between the sparkling contents of the glass and his annoyingly pretty face. Then you took a small sip. Light bubbles danced across your tongue—floral, citrus, sweet and sharp all at once. Expensive. Like everything here.

He didn’t move away, just reclined beside you like he belonged there, like this booth was his throne and you were already part of his court. “So,” he began after a quiet beat, his voice quieter now, just for you. “Want to tell me why you’re really here?”

You looked at him, eyes wide, shoulders tense. You didn’t know how to answer. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was Mei Mei’s voice in your head. Or maybe it was the feeling of standing on the edge of something new, something dangerous, something that tasted like champagne and smelled like jasmine.

Instead of giving him a reason you didn’t have, you blinked slowly and turned your face to him. “Do all of you just… live double lives?” you asked, your tone softer now, less guarded.

Gojo smiled, but it was quieter than before—like a secret you weren’t supposed to hear. “We live fantasy, baby,” he said, leaning in so the words tickled your skin. “The double life is half the thrill.”

The way he said it—low, rich, warm—sent a ripple of heat curling beneath your skin. You weren’t sure if it was the drink or his voice, or both working in tandem.

Conversation flowed after that. Too easily. He talked about how he’d ended up here, how being a host wasn’t what you thought it’d be. Less sleazy, more psychological. Emotional labor with a velvet edge. He joked and teased, but somewhere in the haze of laughter, you realized he was listening. Really listening.

His eyes stayed on you, his posture open, like you were the most interesting person in the room. And for the first time in a long time, you felt seen.

Eventually, the compliments started—soft at first, then more direct. You tried to brush them off, your fingers playing with the edge of your glass, the rim kissed with sugar and Satorus lingering gaze.

“You’re different when you smile like that,” he said suddenly, voice dipped in something a little more serious. “Softer. I like it.”

You scoffed, nose scrunching, the heat in your cheeks rising. “You don’t have to butter me up, Satoru. You’re literally paid to flirt with girls.” The words came out a little too sharp, a little too honest.

But he didn’t flinch. Instead, the grin on his face deepened, slow and wolfish. He leaned in, his hand brushing your cheek—gentle, like he was testing your boundaries. Then his fingers tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his knuckles grazing your skin.

“You know…” he murmured, his voice low and syrup-sweet, “…I’ve always thought you were cute.”

Your breath caught in your throat. He didn’t stop there. His hand, previously innocent, slid down under the table. His fingers found the bare skin of your knee—warm and firm as they settled there, thumb drawing lazy, circular strokes. Casual. Possessive.

You swallowed hard, eyes flicking down to where his hand rested before meeting his gaze again. Satoru looked like he was waiting for something.

You tried to deflect again, heart thudding against your ribcage. “How many times do you use that line in a night?”

He tilted his head, that damned smirk still carved into his face. “Want me to prove it to you?”

It wasn’t a tease—it was a challenge. And for a moment, everything around you—voices, music, the shimmer of candlelight—faded into background noise. All you could feel was the heat of his touch and the weight of that question.

You didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway.

Your eyes met his, lips parted just slightly as the seconds stretched between you.

And then you nodded.

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You didn’t remember walking to his room.

One moment you were breathless in the booth, his hand still heavy on your thigh—the next, you were pressed against a door of smooth lacquered black, your back hitting it with a muffled thud as Gojo’s mouth finally crashed down onto yours.

His kiss was everything you’d expected and worse—hot, wet, teasing, demanding. His tongue coaxed yours into motion, lips plush and greedy as he tugged your lower lip between his teeth and let it go with a sinful sound. He grinned into the kiss when you moaned, a low chuckle vibrating through his chest.

“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured against your mouth, voice low and wrecked already, one hand braced against the door beside your head while the other wrapped firmly around your waist.

You barely had time to reply before he finally opened the door and guided you in.

It was unlike anything you had ever expected.

The room was drenched in low golden light. Every surface gleamed—mirrored panels on the ceiling and along the far wall reflected soft movement, fractured into shimmering duplicates. Silk sheets in obsidian black clung to a wide circular bed set in the center, plush and sprawling like something out of a decadent dream. A chaise lounge. A full-length mirror. Floor-to-ceiling curtains drawn halfway closed. Champagne still sweating on a side table.

Your eyes swept the room and came back to him. And he looked at you like he owned it. Like he owned you, too.

He stepped behind you and let his fingers slide down your arms. “I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered, breath ghosting against the shell of your ear. But his hands didn’t stop. “I’ve got rules,” he continued, his lips brushing your skin with every word. “No crossing the line. No fucking clients. No exceptions.”

His palms moved up, fingers curling gently under your jaw to tilt your face toward the nearest mirror. You caught a glimpse of yourself—flushed, wide-eyed—and him behind you, a tall silhouette of temptation in black slacks and a silk button-down you hadn’t realized he’d undone at the collar.

You swallowed thickly. “Then why are you—”

“Because you’re not just a client,” he interrupted, eyes locked on yours through the mirror. “You’re you. And I’ve wanted this since long before you walked through that door tonight.”

His hands slid to your waist, guiding you backward, walking you toward the bed in slow steps.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he whispered. “And I want you to watch.” You shivered.

He sat on the edge of the bed first, then pulled you between his legs, his hands stroking up the back of your thighs. “Strip for me,” he said softly. “Right here. In front of the mirror.”

Your breath hitched. You hesitated for half a second, but he reached up to help you pull off your sweater anyway, fingers deft and slow, teasing.

“I want to see how pretty you look when you realize how much I want you,” he said, lips grazing your sternum. “And you’re gonna see it too.”

He didn’t just watch you—he guided you through it, his voice smooth and low like honey poured slow. Praise fell from his lips with every inch of skin you revealed. “God, look at you. So fucking beautiful… I can’t believe I’ve been this close to you for so long and didn’t do something about it sooner.”

Your pants came next, and his fingers skimmed the band of your panties as he groaned softly. “You’re already wet for me. Fuck.”

He tugged you forward until you were straddling his thigh, letting you rock against it slow, lazy. “Go on,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips as you ground down. “Use me. Just like that, baby. Show me how badly you want it.”

You gasped when your clit brushed the taut curve of his leg.

He grinned up at you like he could read every thought in your head. His snowy hair was a mess, haloed in silk and moonlight, and his hands were splayed wide on your waist like he had no plans of letting go.

“You feel that?” he said, bouncing his thigh slightly under you—enough friction to make you cry out. “Yeah, you do. You’re already soaking through my leg.”

“Satoru—”

His face fell, serious now he cut you off gently, thumb tilting your chin so your dazed eyes met his in the mirror across from the bed, “grind on it.”

And so you did.

Slow at first—almost shy. You rocked forward, back, the friction maddening against the thin lace of your underwear. The muscle of his thigh flexed beneath you, and the angle was perfect—your clit catching on the same spot with each drag of your hips.

“Atta girl,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear. “Look at you. Using my body like your personal toy. Makes me wonder who’s in charge here.”

You whimpered, already panting, and he chuckled—cocky and fond and so turned on it hurt.

“That’s it. Just like that. You want to cum just from grinding my thigh, huh? Fuck, that’s so hot.” His voice dropped lower. “Is that what you think about in class? Me under you like this?”

You nodded desperately, pace faltering, and he immediately snapped his fingers in the air.

“Keep going. Don’t stop. I didn’t say you could stop.”

Your hips resumed their pace, faster now, desperate. You could feel how wet you were—how the slick sounds of you using him echoed off the walls, mixing with your breathy whimpers.

“Look at yourself,” he murmured, gripping your jaw to keep your eyes on the mirror. “Watch the way you ride my leg. Fuck. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You nodded, legs trembling, and his hands slid up your body—thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra.

“You’re close, aren’t you?” he whispered, rocking his thigh just enough to make you jerk. “I can feel it. Your whole body’s shaking.

You sobbed, clutching at his shoulders, hips grinding frantically now, chasing the edge.

Satorus smirk deepened.

“Don’t come yet.”

You froze—your body disobeying your brain, clit pulsing, release almost breaking open—

“No, no,” he said, cupping your face, voice suddenly laced with warning. “I said don’t. You come now, and I’ll edge you until sunrise.”

You whimpered, head falling to his shoulder, but you stopped. Barely.

He kissed your temple, voice velvet-smooth. “That’s my girl.”

Then he slipped his hand between your legs, finally, and dragged his fingers over the drenched lace clinging to your cunt.

“Let’s make you beg a little harder before I let you come.”

“You did so good,” Gojo murmured against the shell of your ear, lips curled in that playful little smirk that made your thighs twitch. “But I think it’s time I give you something back for working so hard.

He didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t need to.

His hands curved under your thighs and lifted you easily, laying you back on the sheets like you weighed nothing. The soft silk slid against your skin, cool and slippery, and everywhere you looked—mirrors. Mirrors on the ceiling, behind the headboard, across the far wall. All of them reflecting your flushed face, the sheen of sweat glistening on your skin, and him. Satoru Gojo, shirt undone, silver hair disheveled, hunger in his blue eyes like he’d waited weeks for this.

He kissed your stomach, then lower. Your panties were already ruined—sticky and soaked—and he kissed you through them, letting his breath ghost over the sensitive fabric just to watch you twitch.

“You’re a mess for me, you know that?” he muttered, mouthing the damp spot right over your clit. “All that grinding and you didn’t even cum. That’s dedication.”

You whimpered, hips lifting, trying to get him to do something—anything—more.

Gojo just laughed, low and pleased. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy so good, you’re gonna forget your own name.”

And then he pulled the ruined lace aside and dove in.

His mouth was hot and hungry, lips wrapping around your clit with sinful precision. His tongue was relentless, licking deep, slow strokes that made your toes curl. He licked like he was starving—like this was the first and last time he’d ever be allowed between your legs and he had to make it count.

Your moans echoed off the mirrored walls, wet and desperate.

“Satoru—fuck—” you gasped, your hands flying to his hair, threading into those soft white strands and tugging.

That earned you a groan. He liked that.

“Ohh, you like it sloppy?” he teased, pulling back just long enough to let you watch his tongue flick against your clit. “Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your eyes rolled back as he dragged the flat of his tongue slowly from your entrance to your clit, holding eye contact with a look of complete, smug satisfaction.

“Gonna make you cum on my tongue,” he whispered. “Gonna edge you til you’re crying for it. Think you can handle that, pretty girl?”

You nodded, voice gone, body shaking.

And so he kept going.

He teased, switching up the pressure, alternating soft flicks and hard sucks. He flattened his tongue and rolled it in tight little circles, watching every twitch of your thighs, every breathless moan, learning you like he planned to make this a nightly ritual.

Your orgasm was building again—fast. Too fast. Your hips were grinding into his mouth, chasing it. He let you. He wanted you to.

“You close?” he asked, thumb sliding in to press just above your clit while he licked beneath. “Wanna cum for me now?”

“Please—yes—” you choked out, nails digging into his scalp.

“Beg,” he growled, all playfulness suddenly gone. “Say you want it. Say you want to come on my mouth.”

“I—I want to come,” you gasped. “On your mouth. Please, Satoru—please—”

He was nestled between your legs like he fucking belonged there—elbows pinned against your thighs to hold you open, fingers digging into the softness above your knees like he dared you to cum. His face was buried in your pussy, tongue moving in slow, deliberate strokes that stopped just shy of tipping you over the edge.

“Satoru—” your voice was wrecked. “Please—”

“Mm-mm.” He pulled back with a wet, satisfied sound, lips shiny, breath hot against your swollen clit. He smiled up at you, cocky as ever. “Not yet.”

Your hips rolled toward him involuntarily, searching for friction, for anything, and he just laughed. “You’re so greedy,” he murmured, dragging a finger through your slick folds.

“I didn’t come,” you gasped. “You didn’t let me.”

“Oh, right,” he teased, tapping your clit once with the pad of his finger. You jolted. “That was just the pre-show.”

The mirrors across the room caught everything—the way your body writhed on his sheets, the glazed, fucked-out look on your face, the gleam of sweat beading on your collarbones. And him, between your legs, impossibly pretty and entirely too smug.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Gojo said softly, mouth hovering so close to your heat you could feel his breath when he spoke. “Say it pretty.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “I want… I want your mouth. I want to come on your tongue.”

His smile turned wicked. “Good girl.”

He dove back in—tongue flat and heavy, dragging from your entrance to your clit in one long, slow stroke that made you cry out. Then he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just enough pressure to make your toes curl. Your hand flew to his hair, gripping, tugging, and he groaned into you.

Your thighs trembled.

He started building a rhythm. Slow, then fast. Soft licks, then sudden sucks that made you jump. You were right there—so close, the coil in your belly wound tight, and—

He pulled away again.

You whimpered, hips lifting uselessly. “Satoru—what the fuck—”

He was grinning, chin slick with your arousal. “I said I’d make you cum, sweetheart,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Didn’t say when.”

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, I need—“

“You need my tongue?” he asked, crawling up to kiss your stomach, your ribs, your breasts. “Need me to fuck you with my mouth? Make you scream into these mirrors?”

You nodded frantically, words gone. Every nerve in your body was on fire.

He took pity on you then.

Gojo kissed down your body again, murmuring praises into your skin—“so good f’me” “such a sweet pussy” “gonna ruin you for anyone else.” He sucked on the inside of your thigh until you gasped, then finally—finally—buried his face between your legs again.

This time, he was relentless.

His tongue moved with intent, swirling over your clit while two fingers slid into you with ease. He curled them just, stroking that spot inside you like he owned it. His lips never left your clit—sucking and flicking and teasing until your back arched, your vision blurred, and you were teetering on the edge again.

“Satoru, I’m gonna—” you choked, legs shaking violently. “I can’t—”

Satoru laughed and pulled back slowly—dragging his tongue over your overstimulated clit one last time just to feel you jolt. You couldnt help but whine.

He looked utterly wrecked. Hair a mess, lips swollen, jaw slick. He wiped his chin and grinned up at you like he’d just conquered a country.

“Think that’s the hardest I’ve ever worked for a tip,” he murmured, crawling up to kiss you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Let’s see how pretty you look when I fuck you from behind.”

He had you in front of the mirror before you even fully caught your breath.

Your chest was still heaving, thighs slick and shaking, and Gojo—God, Gojo—had this serene, confident look on his face, like none of this was surprising. Like he always knew you’d fall apart for him. He stood behind you now, shirt discarded, hair wild and falling into his eyes, hands skimming over your bare hips as you stared at your reflection.

You looked fucked-out. Gorgeous. Eyes heavy-lidded, lips kissed red, your skin glowing in the low amber light of his private suite.

The room was decadent—full-length mirrors lined the walls, silk sheets tangled across a massive bed. There was the faint scent of cologne and sex in the air. You swallowed as his fingers dipped lower, brushing over the swell of your ass.

“Look at you,” Gojo murmured into your ear, voice low and indulgent. His hand slid up to your chest, fingers playing lazily with one nipple while the other arm wrapped around your waist. “Already ruined and I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

Your knees buckled slightly, but he caught you—of course he did. His grip tightened. He kept you upright as you into the mirror. Both of you.

“I want you to watch,” he whispered. “Want you to see what I see. How pretty you look with your legs spread, begging for it.”

You whimpered when his cock—hard and flushed, already leaking—pressed against your lower back. He was big, intimidating even, but the heat between your legs pulsed with need. You needed him. All of him.

Gojo reached forward to tilt your chin, making sure your eyes stayed locked on the mirror. “Think you can do that for me? Be good and watch while I fuck you?”

You nodded, mouth dry. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” he teased, teeth grazing your shoulder.

“Yes, Satoru.”

He hummed in approval. “That’s my girl.”

You watched in the mirror as he guided himself between your legs—his cock thick and heavy, nudging against your entrance. But he didn’t push in. Not yet.

Instead, he reached around you again, sliding one hand between your thighs. His fingers found your clit with ease, already swollen and desperate. He started circling it lazily, deliberately slow, watching your reflection as your hips jerked and your breath hitched.

“Still sensitive?” he murmured, feigning innocence. “But you’re still so wet. Messy little thing.”

You gasped when two of his fingers pushed inside you again, curling just right. He fucked them into you slow, knuckles brushing against your inner walls with maddening precision. You were practically soaking him. Slick sounds filled the room, only half-muffled by your choked moans.

Your head dropped forward, but Gojo’s hand came up again—tilting your chin until your gaze met the mirror once more.

“Nuh-uh. Eyes front. You don’t get to look away.”

His voice made you clench, dizzy with how deeply he was in control of every inch of you.

“Watch how you fall apart on my fingers,” he purred. “See how pretty your pussy looks when she’s begging for my cock?”

Your mouth parted with a soft cry, hips canting forward instinctively. He edged you again—his fingers bringing you right to the brink, just enough to make you tremble, then cruelly pulling back.

“Satoru..—” you whinned.

He chuckled darkly, letting your slick coat his cock now as he lined himself up. “Now, now, don’t cry,” he teased. “You’ll get what you want.”

He pushed in slowly—achingly slowly—and you both groaned in unison.

Your eyes fluttered shut, but his voice came again, sharp and low in your ear: “Open. Them.”

You obeyed. And there it was. You, in the mirror, stretched around his cock. You, bent over for him, lips parted in a perfect O, eyes wide and glassy. You looked wrecked already, and he wasn’t even halfway in.

He bottomed out with a hiss. His hands gripped your hips tight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, “you feel so fucking good. So warm. So tight.” He drew back, slow, then thrust back in, hips smacking yours. “And all mine for the night.”

He kept it slow at first. Painfully slow. Every roll of his hips designed to make you feel every ridge, every pulse, every stretch. His eyes were locked on your reflection, watching how your body trembled, how your tits bounced with each movement, how your mouth kept falling open like you couldn’t even remember how to speak.

“Look at this,” he groaned, voice wrecked with arousal. “Look how good you take me. Look how messy you are for it.”

His hand gripped your wrists and gently brought them behind your back, securing them with the silk tie from his robe that hung up by him.

Light bondage. Just enough to make your heart pound harder.

You could barely breathe. You were teetering again, so close, your body begging for release, but you knew him now. You knew he wouldn’t make it that easy.

The air was thick—humid with sweat, lust, and the dizzy scent of sex. Silk clung to your thighs, your knees weak, trembling beneath you as Gojo gripped your hips and rolled his into yours with slow, practiced control.

He was fucking you deep—measured, rhythmic thrusts that dragged the head of his cock along that perfect, aching spot inside you. Every time he bottomed out, you could feel his hips press flush to the swell of your ass, his pelvis grinding with just enough friction to make your clit throb.

But he was holding you there—suspended in that unbearable, desperate edge. Teasing you. Keeping you locked tight in place by the silk tie binding your wrists behind your back.

“Satoru—” your voice cracked into a whimper, high and needy, your eyes fluttering up toward the mirror again. You looked ruined. Sweaty, red-cheeked, lips kiss-swollen and parted as you gasped for breath. His cock split you open in slow motion behind you—so wet, so loud, the obscene sounds of him thrusting into your drenched cunt echoed like background music to your humiliation.

But still… he wouldn’t let you fall apart.

You could feel it—all of it—building fast. That pressure curling tighter in your gut, toes curling, legs trembling.

Gojo leaned forward, mouth brushing your ear as he slowed his pace again. His cock dragged out of you just halfway before sinking back in, hard and thick and overwhelming. His fingers moved to your clit, circling soft and slow—just enough to make you burn.

“Fuck, look at you,” Gojo purred against your ear, voice thick with lust and amusement, watching your reflection like it was the most addictive thing he’d ever seen. “You seeing this? How pretty you look stuffed full of my cock?”

His hand pressed against your lower back, forcing a deeper arch, hips slamming forward to seat himself all the way inside. Your bound hands twitched behind you as you tried to brace for him, but there was nowhere to run—nowhere to hide from the stretch, the drag, the pace he was so carefully controlling.

“toru’,” you whimpered, teetering on the edge, your whole body twitching in desperation. “Please—I’m gonna—”

“Nope.” His voice dropped to a near-growl, palm moving from your back to your throat, holding you there gently—but firmly—so your chin tilted back toward the mirror. “Not yet, baby. You’ll come when I say. You wanna come on my cock like a good girl? Then you watch yourself do it.”

His fingers slid down your belly again, teasing over your clit just to make your hips jump—and then away again. No mercy.

You sobbed out a shaky breath, the coil inside you wound so tight it hurt.

“You look fucking perfect like this,” he rasped, biting gently at your shoulder. “Tied up, dripping for me, begging like a mess.”

The praise. The possessiveness in his voice. The fucking mirror.

You watched your body shudder and tremble, your tits bouncing with every thrust, lips parted in a glossy, ruined pout. Your legs quivered as you fought to stay upright. And behind you—Gojo was grinning like sin, hair a mess, cock pistoning into you with a slick grind of hips that had no intention of giving you relief yet.

“You wanna cum?” he murmured, slowing down to an unbearable roll of his hips that made your thighs twitch. “Show me how bad you need it. Rub that pretty clit for me.” He seemed to be mocking your tied up state.

You moaned, wrists straining behind you. “You— you tied me up.”

“I know.” He laughed then licked over your shoulder, breath hot. “Guess that means I’ll have to do it for you.”

And then his hand was there again—stroking circles that made your knees give out, your voice crack, your orgasm just right there.

“Satoru—fuck, please, please—” you gasped, choking on a sob. Your reflection stared back at you, red-eyed and trembling.

He cursed under his breath, hand still moving over your clit, hips picking up again in brutal, perfect rhythm. “Alright, fuck. Cum for me, baby. Right there. Let me feel you squeeze me. Show me how good I make you feel.”

And you did—with a moans muffled into his palm as it slapped over your mouth, your pussy clenching so hard around his cock you swore you saw stars. Your whole body spasmed in his hold, overwhelmed and undone.

But he didn’t stop.

“God damn—so fucking tight when you come,” he hissed against your throat, still fucking you through it. “Bet you could take another. Don’t think I’m done yet.”

Your body twitched, oversensitive—but your hips were already rolling back against him, aching for more.

He chuckled. “Still twitching, sweetheart?” Gojo cooed into your ear, fingers dragging down your spine as your body slumped forward, chest pressed to the mirrored wall, knees weak and trembling from the force of your orgasm. “Thought you were done.”

You gave a soft whimper in response, cheek pressed to the cool glass, slick and heat still dripping between your thighs. You tried to catch your breath, only for his hand to smooth over your ass, cupping it, squeezing it—before he pulled back and smacked.

The sharp sound echoed in the mirrored suite.

You gasped, hips jerking forward instinctively, shocked at the sudden sting.

“Satoru—!”

“Shh,” he whispered against your ear, licking the shell of it. “You’ve been teasing me for as long as i can remember. Letting me look at you in that little skirt in class, saying my name like you don’t know what it does to me.

His hand came down again—slap—this time on the other cheek. You flinched but moaned.

“So I think it’s only fair,” he said, voice all sweet and cruel, “that I get to tease you a little too.”

Another strike, slower this time, more deliberate. He rubbed the pink heat after, thumbs pressing into your flesh, kneading it like he was memorizing the shape of your body. “You sound so pretty when you cry for it. Want me to stop?”

You shook your head quickly, already feeling your core clench again, body betraying you completely.

“Didn’t think so.”

You could see both of you in the mirror—his hand tangled in your hair, pulling you up just enough so you had to look at yourself again. He stood behind you with that same devilish grin, white hair falling into those icy, star-bright eyes, flushed from fucking you through an orgasm and still somehow looking hungry for more.

“Tell me how it feels.”

You swallowed around a moan. “It burns.” You whinnied.

“Good.” Another smack. “Then you’ll remember me when you’re squirming in your little classroom seat tomorrow.” He let go of you. He leaned in again, brushing kisses down your shoulder as his cock throbbed still hard between your legs. But he didn’t go again—not this time. Instead, he slipped his arms around your waist and tugged you into his chest, his chin resting on your shoulder.

You hesitantly sat up. Your body sore, your ass in pain. Your thighs clenched.

“You did so good, baby,” he murmured. “Gotta say, didn’t think I’d be breaking the rules this early in your visit. I usually wait ‘til the third appointment.”

You laughed softly, still breathless. “Guess I’m just special.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—wrapped up in silk, mirrors, and Satoru Gojo’s lazy post-fuck praise. But eventually, the time passed, and you had to leave.

He didn’t rush you. Helped you clean up, kissed your forehead with an infuriatingly soft smile, and whispered, “Don’t tell Nanamin, okay?” as he saw you to the door.

You stepped out into the hallway, adjusting your coat, cheeks still flushed and thighs trembling.

You thought you were in the clear. But as you moved past the lounge area toward the exit—

“Hey.”

You froze.

Turning, you found yourself face-to-face with a familiar pair of sleepy, dark eyes and a lazy smirk that tugged at the corner of Choso’s lips.

His tone was casual. Almost teasing.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see you in a place like this.”

You blinked. “Oh— i forgot you work here too.” You chuckled nervously.

He nodded once, expression unreadable. “Uh— Yeah… Satoru convinced me to join.”

There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flutter again.

“Next time,” he said, “you should try a one-on-one with someone else. We all have our specialties.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already walking past, hands tucked in his coat pockets, hair loose down his back, disappearing into the velvet-dark corridor.

You exhaled slowly. This place was going to be the end of you.

But damn if you didn’t want to come back.

AHHH WOW THIS WAS SO SUPER LONG. IM SO SORRY!! BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS THINK IT WAS WORTH IT!

Tags: @marvellover98 @dairyfaerie

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