Damn sure I’ll never let you know where you stand.
Frat AU Hockey!Gojo who is the captain of the hockey team—and insufferably handsome—is wrapped around the campus shy girl’s finger, unintentionally so, he was intending on having her clinging onto him. But oh how the tables have turned when she's the one playing with him.
Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's: Don't worry, I'll make you worry.
Tags: [MDNI] porn with plot, hate sex, missionary, fucking against a locker, exhibionism (?), breeding, p in v raw, praise kink if you look hard enough for it, oral (f receiving).
You do and will do just about anything BUT put up with the hockey captain’s bullshit.
Six months ago you became the victim of your college’s biggest star, Gojo Satoru.
You don’t really know why or how it even started. Just that one day, you entered your typical high-school playboy’s radar who hasn’t grown out of being immature and insufferable
He’s a Tokyo prodigy, grew up rich like they all apparently do and unfortunately for you, with enough looks to put up with his cocky attitude.
And somehow that’s the worst part. The idiot can flaunt left and right his greatness because the world just works in his favor. Despite his riches too, he’s on a full ride at JJKU for hockey just to rub salt into the wound even deeper.
So when he approached you half a year ago on a random day in October back in the library, catching you in an all nighter, knee deep in some math homework, you smelled lt the fishiness from miles away.
What was he doing talking to you?
You, who does not study anything that has to do with sports or his world or who doesn’t even want to do anything with his side of paradise.
You, who has never had a boyfriend and never peaked in high-school, who surely isn’t interested right now in getting to know anyone that isn’t the response to your math sheet exercises.
And you who most definitely was not about to get played by the school’s pretty boy.
Gojo was clad in a dark blue sweatshirt with the school’s logo slapped on the front, messy white hair under the pulled up hood, glasses sliding off his nose bridge despite it being three in the morning and matching sweatpants.
Looking entirely too good—objectively so—when you know he doesn’t even have to try to look that way.
You had moved onto a rathole for a research essay, something professor Gakuganji swore he could not leave class before assigning when Gojo finally stopped beating around the bush.
He strolled over, smacking his chewing gum against his molars over and over again—way too loudly for someone in a library—and rooted himself by your messy desk where papers were scattered all over and your face was illuminated by the artificial light of your laptop.
With your earbuds plugged in, of course you didn’t take notice of the towering 6 foot 3 menace looming over you from behind.
But one poke on your shoulder and your soul almost left your body. Instantly your face reddened, a fresh tomato shade spreading across your cheeks, ears and neck.
And Satoru, laughed. Like he wasn’t in your personal space—a stranger’s personal space.
You remember how your first encounter went with him.
Plucking out one of your earbuds just in time to hear him say:
You hesitated before replying. “Um, studying?”
His eyes rolled back over his glasses. “Duh, what else do you do at a library?” Not liking his response, or whatever this conversation was, you slightly nodded at the time and began to turn back around.
“Hey! Don’t turn around! We haven’t finished, tell me your name.”
Embarrassment, pure and unfiltered embarrassment ran down your spine at the loudness of his voice.
Squirming in your seat from the looks he’s attracted, you whisper back. “Why should I tell you my name?”
His lip caught in between his teeth as he pondered a reason, a second later a smile came on his face.
“Because I want us to get to know eachother-”
You cut him off. “Can you quiet down-”
“Gojo. Gojo Satoru.” He finished for you, wide smile plastered on his face. All pearly whites showing.
You sighed, realizing he wouldn’t let you go so easily. “Nice to meet you Gojo, I’m L/N Y/N.”
At the time, you assumed that if you gave him what he wanted now, he would disappear with it and then you’d lay low enough for him to completely forget about you.
Monday morning, October 27th, not even a week after the encounter you see a tall figure that has never been inside of your statistics class walk in.
Said figure walked up right to where you were sitting, row seven at the far back to be invisible, and plopped down right next to you instead of the thirteen other chairs.
The backpack that was slung over his shoulder unceremoniously fell down on the chair, a plop noise reaching your ear before his lanky body turned to face you.
That was when the rumours started.
Gojo Satoru knows the quiet girl at the back? Has our time finally come? What is going on?
You tried to physically disappear. He kept showing up.
Tuesday 28. Laptop open infront of you, essay halfway done, a freshly brewed warm cup of coffee by your notes, perfect cinnamon roll sitting by it.
It was the perfect evening. The perfect balance between studying and relaxing.
Then the door chime rung, a figure ducked under the door, and before you could even catch up to his face, you knew your evening was ruined.
He didn’t even try to act like he came for a drink, aiming for your table at the back immediately when he recognised you amidst the faces.
“Y/N! What a coincidence, saw you from outside and came to say hi.”
“Hi.” You quietly muttered back.
A frown came from him. “Have you forgotten my name already?” His lips turned downwards like you personally hurt him.
Taking a sip of your coffee, you licked your upper lip to get rid of the foam that clung onto them and slowly shook your head no.
Satisfied, he smiled. Doing a quick once-over, he then began itching closer to you and angling himself to see what was on your computer.
“Still working on that essay?”
“Yeah.” You breathed out, feeling the ends of his pale hair brush against your shoulder from how hunched over he is.
Picking at your cinnamon roll with your fork caught his eye. And he ended up eating your cinnamon roll while pestering your occupied mind with topics that left you with no idea what he was talking about.
Wednesday. He coincidentally shops at the same grocery store you do. One peek at his shopping cart—candy, candy, donuts, condoms—and you know his excuse of “What a coincidence, you shop here too?” Is bullshit.
And your decision to not fall for his tricks tenfold.
A few awkward interactions from your sides here and there, you mainly brushed him off until Thursday.
Thursday morning you saw him in statistics again. Green hoodie swallowing his torso, loose fit jeans, same bag thrown over his shoulder—seemingly empty.
It was empty. He asked you for a pen and you gave him one. Where was the harm in lending a classmate a pen when in need?
Except, you lent a pen to Gojo.
It shouldn’t have surprised you when he showed up that same evening at 11 P.M. at your door when you were in your tiny pyjamas , lounging around—not thinking about anyone coming to bother you.
Wrong, one look through the peephole and your world came crashing down. You answered the door with a blanket covering your body.
“Gojo… What are you doing here at this hour..?” You asked, looked around the corridor to see if anyone else caught sight of him.
The campus pretty boy cannot be caught at the girls dorms especially not after 6 P.M. so you were mortified some para social fangirl would find him here and ruin your life.
He shrugged and pulled out a pencil from his back pocket. “I came to bring you your pen!” Exclaiming way too loudly for the time it was.
“And I have to ask you something.” Suddenly he turned serious.
After a second of chewing on your inner lip and pondering whether you should let him in, you do.
You kindly asked him “Do you want something to drink?”
“Anything is fine.” So you opted to make him some tea, figuring that whatever he was about to say would take some time.
He dramatically fell down on the couch, you sat on the other keeping your legs tucked under yourself.
You both sat in silence for a minute while he took a look around your apartment. Observing the fairy lights hung around the ceiling, the portraits you have of who he assumes is your family, the simple trinkets you have around the apartment.
Finally, the silence broke when he said “So, I wanted to invite you to my party Friday.” He simply said, as if you were someone who went to those functions.
So you ask him, “Do I look like someone who would go to parties? Much less your parties, Gojo?”
His face comically scrunched up, as if your words had winced him. Though you knew they didn’t when his facial muscles fell into a frown.
“Ouch. What’s wrong with my parties?”
You didn’t miss a beat. “They have a reputation.”
A grin jumped onto his face. “Of being the best, I’m aware.”
Eerily smiling, he took a sip of his chamomile tea and cringed, “Jesus, do you have sugar? This tastes like grass.” while you thought about your next words.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Seems like you had hit a nerve with that because his eyes jumped out of their sockets at that. “What the hell do you mean whatever helps me sleep at night? My parties are the best-”
“The answer is no, Gojo-”
Apparently he didn’t like the sound of his name spilling from your lips either. “Satoru.”
You grimaced, “I’ve known you for a week max.”
His head fell sideways, “So?”
Internally, you groaned. “So, I’m not going.”
“Oh come onnn, leave this place for a while will ya? My party is going to be-”
“—you don’t even know me-”
“I will! Come to my party.”
It’s late, almost midnight. You’re not dressed to host but there’s a 6 foot 3 playboy on your couch begging you to come to his party when the most he probably knows about you is your apartment complex and living room.
A heavy sigh presses past your lips. “Fine.”
Almost as if your words were the on button to disneyland, Satoru lights up. “You’ll come?”
Maybe turned out to be a yes.
“Girl, why are you even doing this?”
Mei mei is the most superficial, materialistic, bratty, unloyal—the list unfortunately could go on—friend you have. But she's actually the only social butterfly from your acquaintances that actually goes to parties.
So she's the only one you can go to for these kinds of functions. It's needless to say that you are dreading spending the night attached to her hip, which leads you to the same question she's actually asking you.
You don't owe Gojo Satoru a single minute of your time. For fucks sake, you don't know the man. Parties aren't even your thing. So why are you dressed in Sally from Toy story's costume while Mei Mei readjusts her tiny—leaving little to the imagination—scandalously short euphoria-themed dress that has you swallowing bundles of nervousness at her possibly flashing someone with any minor movement?
Deciding that no matter how long you ponder the question, you won't find an answer and it's already too late to change your mind as you're in your costume—adding the finishing touches: freckles and curling the ends of your hair in a ponytail—you simply shrug Mei Mei off.
Half an hour later, Mei's boyfriend of the week—some guy from her economics class you swear has to just have popped into the school because you have never seen him—drops both of you in front of Satoru's mansion while he parks out back.
He really does have the money and privilege to be so full of himself.
Tall structured while walls, french style architecture—balanced, symmetrical sides—a huge as wooden door pried open where bodies storm in and out of the building.
The party has been going on for around two hours when your feet drag themselves forward and past a multitude of buzzed, drunk and high people who sway left and right to the DJ's mix who you could see working from the second floor balcony once you reached the back yard.
It's electric, people are having fun. At least that's what it looks like.
There's fog around Gojo's unnecessary huge pool where the guests are around—and if this is some cliché movie, they'll all jump inside and skinny dip at some point when the alcohol has really got to them.
You didn't even realize Mei Mei has already ran off from your side when you stopped scanning the place.
Panic quickly starts to grow under your skin. This isn't your kind of space, and you surely didn't want to be here alone. Anxiety latches onto your breathing, making it go shallow—breaths too short, not bringing enough oxygen to your blood.
Your head starts to spin, the smell of marijuana and vodka starting to be the only thing invading your nostrils—and white musk? What?
A hand finds it's way around your waist and your heart aggressively slams itself against your chest from the scare.
Soon enough, Satoru's cheeky smile comes into view, and then his whole face once you crane your head upwards to meet his eyes.
Just a bit, you relax. Breathing evening out, heartbeat steadying from seeing a familiar face. You're not particularly happy to see him, but he is the one who called you here after all.
"Oh, the princess came?" He muses. "Welcome to my party."
Gojo is... dressed in a fucking woody costume.
Woody. From Toy Story. As in the Toy Story your own costume is from. What are the odds.
How is it that every person in this room is wearing a costume not even remotely close to Toy Story—which, last time you checked was the most overused idea hence why it was so easy to find at the Halloween store—but Gojo is coincidentally wearing the one character that yours is shipped with.
And god help you does he look good.
His broad frame—jacked arms, bulky legs, veiny forearms revealed from his sleeves being pushed up, bundled around his elbows—pressing against the cotton yellow and red striped checkered shirt under his cow print vest. Matching your flare pants.
His fan girls will have your head by tomorrow morning.
You roll your eyes at his cheesy welcome.
"Look at that, we're matching!" He brightens up once his eyes finish raking over your every curve, dip of skin under the clothes, costume.
You fight the urge to roll your eyes even further this time. Growing uncomfortable under his dangerous stare, his large hands on your waist keeping you grounded in a way they shouldn't and the people pushing around you.
He notices. "Hey? You okay?"
Recieving no reply from you and only a doe-eyed look that spoke without you needing to part your pretty lips (and that made his pants grow a bit too tight for his liking), his hands leave your waist and grab one of your wrists before pulling you away and off to somewhere else.
Climbing a hidden pair of polished marble stairs in the kitchen, you reached a room tucked away in the giant lively mansion.
It's a sanctuary so different from everything else. The room is cozy, galaxy projector in the corner painting the roof in stars and material dreams are made of. A blue bean bag in the corner, one red next to it.
A TV screen in the middle with a PS5 under it. A couch pressed against a wall where he leads you to. The heels of your cowboy boots dig into the rug underneath you silently.
He plops down first onto the brown leather, man spreading as he gets comfortable and while his hand still on your wrist brings you down to sit next to him.
You sit, half uncomfortable from the proximity, half relived you're away from the chaos.
Satoru wastes no time in shattering the short-lived silence you were in.
From behind the closed door, you can hear the faint sound of "The Color Violet" by Tory Lanez play, typical party song, over his smooth voice.
"So, why'd you end up coming?"
Your eyes narrow to him, back peeling off the couch to lean closer to him, a faint but purposeful frown wedged between your features. "Are you not happy to see me?"
His lower lip catches between his teeth as he bites is, tension building as you see his eyes locked on your lips and your mock pout.
"No, I am glad you came." He says.
You sink back onto the couch, shrugging. "You talked so much about this party and I got curious."
There's a smile on his face now, amused. "And?"
"Curiosity kills the cat."
He winces. "Ouch, seriously?"
Now it's his turn to pout, though he can't hold it as his entertained smile keeps breaking through. "Aw come on Y/N, It's not bad."
You sigh, crossing your arms over your chest and admitting. "It's not. Just not my kinda place."
"I can make it your place." He coyly says as an arm of his finds the headrest behind your head. Body turned sideways to you now.
Your head spins to him. "How?"
His eyes, hungry and with a dangerous glint behind them, trail up from your neck to your lips, to your eyes and you feel your pulse picking up.
"You look good in that costume, you know?" The tip of his tongue sticks out as it pokes his canine.
"That's not what I asked." You shoot back, feeling something weird pool in your stomach.
He continues nonetheless, "People might think we are dating."
The scoff you let you is accidental, but it lands. "As if I'd ever date you."
He laughs. Propping his head on his now bent arm that was draped behind your frame. "They all say that."
And the tension grows while you stay quiet. Eyes locked onto his. His heat reaching your skin without even touching you, his minty breath fanning your cheek as he looks down at you.
While there's fire, annoyance and defiance behind your irises. Lust, passion and amusement cloud his.
You smirk because his tricks may work on many girls but you have no intention of being his bitch.
A manicured hand of yours finds the center of his chest, right on the sternum as you push him back. The hand his head was on stretches out again as he's put into his original position.
The couch makes squeaky noises as his body sinks back on it. His legs open again, manspreading and pressing against your thigh. Pants clinging to his thigh and making a sinful sight.
Not letting him react, you take the chance to throw your thigh over his before he's fully settled in. You straddle him as he grows red, face twisted into surprise.
The grin on your face softens around the corners as you peer down at him now. Feeling the hardness under his jeans grow and press at you. Satoru is shocked out of his words.
Arms open by his sides onto the couches top while your hands settle on his shoulders. You push the cowboy hat off of his head, leaving only yours on. His soft bundles of impossibly white hair stick up.
You brush them down with your fingernails at an excruciatingly slow pace. Making sure to shift the slightest bit, unnoticeable if someone were to see you both, but enough to make electricity shock Gojo's body over and over as his hard cock receives the stimulation.
His breath hitches, a pathetic little sound that snaps him out of it. Out of the haze you had momentarily caught him in. His hands fly to your waist, stilling you on his lap and locking you over his boner in place. Eyes darkening as you zero on the fact that you've lost the upper hand.
Satoru's voice rings close to your ear from how close your faces are. "Oh? What are you doing, angel?"
Swallowing the anxiety in your throat, you wet your lips and watch how his eyes flicker to them. You smile down at him, "Satoru, I'm not them."
You feel his chest vibrate when he chuckles. "Yeah?"
Your hands run over his collarbones, deliberately slow. Watching every fiber of his body betray him as his muscles tense under your touch.
Sky blue eyes looking up at you, trying to find what you're intending to do.
Fix your hat on your head.
Satoru knows you’ll crack sooner or later.
He’ll be buried to the hilt inside your pussy and leave you dry the next day.
He just needs to test a friend’s theory.
Monday mercilessly came once more.
Satoru had practice like always. From the start of the week till Friday they train, train and train. Off-ice conditioning and on-ice mechanics. Brutal drills.
Loads and loads of cardio resulting in him and Suguru leaving the rink with a parched throat, adrenaline pumping high and their clothes sticking underneath to their skin.
Not to mention the explosive, hard workouts their coach has them do for lower-body strengths. Most hockey players don't dare to sign up for the gym because of them.
Yaga keeps them fit. Diets, core power workout, high-intensity stuff that would have a normal college student fainting on round one.
Suguru is boasting about his new stick, 345 grams. The lightest one he's found by now. Probably going to allow him to be faster and more efficient on the ice—and last less.
Well, it would be breaking on the first match with Satoru. He's not really known for being calm when he gets played.
But as his best friend rambles to Choso, and apparently him, Suguru notices Satoru is uncharacteristically silent. Mind somewhere else. Eyes glued to the ceiling.
He hisses at him. "Yo, idiot. What are you looking at?"
Satoru's head snaps back into place, head spinning from the sudden movement.
"What?" He asks at the two men looking at him like he has a third head.
"What's up with you?" Suguru questions, eyebrow lifted.
Choso nods, his helmet bouncing against his leg. "Where were you Friday?" He asks out of the blue.
Gojo shrugs like it's obvious. "At my party, duh?" Uncertain of what they're trying to paint here.
The other long haired, pierced raven haired man groans. Choso continues. "No shit, bro."
Suguru sweeps in. "You disappeared for a while. Couldn't find you anywhere."
His throat goes dry. This has never happened before.
Come on, Satoru. Shrug it off. Smirk and say you snuck off with some girl.
While he struggles to find an answer, making him look suspicious in front of his friends, an insufferable green haired man skates over to crash their conversation.
He snaps out of his thoughts to be met with the unpleasant face of Naoya Zenin. "What do you want, Zenin?"
The three men stare at the newcomer with serious expressions, clearly unamused by his arrival.
"When did you start inviting losers to your parties?"
"I don't know, when did you start coming?"
Naoya shrugged it off. Grew the shit-eating grin on his face and continued "Care to explain what Y/N L/N was doing at your party Friday?"
Satoru tensed under the layers of clothes he was wearing.
But he deflected quick. "Fuck am I supposed to know? Mei Mei came with her."
The Zenin hummed, shooting him a strange look before leaving unconvinced.
Suguru and Choso were turned to Satoru by the time Naoya's figure disappeared.
"Y/N? The Sally girl?" Tries Choso.
"Apparently." Replies the white haired center.
The week flies by abnormally quick with Satoru catching no sight of you. Not even in stats.
November caught up to you after the cursed Halloween party. A cold knocking on your door on the first and leaving you bedridden to miss your classes.
Saturday you felt well enough and to celebrate studying so much while sick, trying your best to keep up with your classes—and totally not doing to keep your mind off sitting on Satoru's lap—you went out for coffee.
The off-campus coffee shop is the best local one. Tucked away at a five minute walk from your apartment, Mimi's cafe always greets you with the same atmosphere.
The sound of coffee grinding in the background, slow jazz spilling from the vintage record player in the corner, perfectly chosen wooden tables with mug stains that make it all the more cozier.
But you get your cappuccino to go today, needing to stop by the post office and pick up an order in a few minutes.
"Hey, chlo. One cappuccino please—" You start, smiling up at Chloe, a barista you'd become a regular to.
"I know, Y/N." She smiles, typing down the order.
"—And one hot chocolate with extra whip cream, chocolate flakes on top for me please. By card."
Satoru's smooth voice sends a chill down your spine as his chest presses against your frozen figure and taps his card while Chloe silently complies.
You look at him from your peripheral vision. Catching the cream wool scarf around his neck, his heavy dark blue coat and the pink tip of his nose.
"What are you doing here?" You whisper as you move to the waiting zone, him following with his hands shoved in his pockets by your side.
"Buying you a drink, pretty."
"You didn't have to do that."
You suspiciously eye him. "What do you want?"
"Where have you been all week? Haven't seen you since.." Satoru trails off.
You internally wince. "Way to dodge my question."
A deep sigh leaves his chest. "Fine you caught me."
"Come to my game tomorrow."
What is it with this dude inviting you everywhere?
He continues, a colly smirk on his handsome face you wish you could slap. "Cheer for me."
An idea comes into mind. You pretend to ponder for a second.
No idea that the very next day, Sunday, you will in fact attend his game.
Not in dark blue and white stripes with JJKU's logo printed in the middle.
With the number 19 on the back.
Sukuna motherfucking Ryomen.
Also nationally known as Satoru, star of JJKU'S hockey team's enemy.
They're the kind of rivals that drive each other up the wall. Bodies slamming against the boards. Sticks constantly clashing in fight for the puck.
Yelled insults, shoved bodies, bleeding lips and bruised skin in result.
They have history and tension.
You're there to play Satoru.
But you're not obedient enough to cheer him on.
Yorozu eyes you from her seat on the bleachers next to you, arms wrapped around herself and trying to heat her cold arms up under her cardigan by rubbing her hands over them.
You're not cold as you swim under Sukuna's jersey. 19 stitched onto your back, Ryomen in big white letters as his school's emblem sits on your chest.
"Last time I checked you study at JJKU and they wear blue." She points out, trying to riddle whatever you were doing.
"Correct!" You applaud. The red flag in your hand shaking as you do so.
She doesn't try to question you again.
Only glues her eyes to the rink once the speakers boom and the players spill onto the ice.
Hands in the air, stick shaking as he waves it to the many figures on the bleachers, secretly searching for a certain someone.
And then his eyes find you under his helmet.
He's shooting daggers at you.
You're smiling sweetly like you're buzzing with excitement for the game to start.
Sukuna shouts something that makes him lock into place.
Jaw tight under the protection, mouth guard in place as his teeth dig holes into it, hands tightly grasping his stick. Back hunched, blood boiling.
Jump with Yorozu when they score.
Groan when Toji misses a goal like it pains you and like you actually care about sports.
Satoru's eyes fly to you when he scores to find you blankly looking back at him. Unimpressed face in place.
He slams bodies onto the the boards, he yells. Throws the puck, his stick, glares at you with something you can't understand behind his eyes while he drinks water on the halftime.
He breaks a new record. 12 goals in a game at 21 fueled by pure rage.
Yorozu runs off when she sees Uraume at the rink's entry ready to pick her up.
You sit on the bleachers a little longer, watching Satoru's frustrated figure retreat. Throw his helmet on the padded floor behind the gate to the ice.
Start to move out of your row, heading for the door when a loud banging sound startles you.
From behind your back, you hear Satoru's voice booming through the empty arena.
His fist harshly colliding with the plastic board he smashes rivals against.
Your heart frantically jumpstarts into irregular beats.
But you slowly step down the bleachers, circle the rink and find him coming to you—meeting you halfway.
He's still in his skates.
Well over his normal height now, towering over you so much your neck hurts when you crane your head to look up at him.
The rink is to your right, the sturdy wall of plastic that separates the public from the chaos in the games being the only thing between you and the actual ice.
Satoru's looming figure is tense.
He's still in his uniform.
Blue and white suiting him criminally well while your red contrasts. It clashes.
Helmet gone, you see his half-lidded azure eyes piercing into yours. Gaze heavy. Tension about to snap at any second.
You can't breathe with how thick it is.
You blink one and you're pressed up against the board, his hands pressed against the plastic and you trapped under him.
"What are you doing Y/N?" He asks, voice hoarse.
Throat painfully dry. You swallow.
His body presses against yours, heat transferring like glue onto you. Hard muscles of his chest carving themselves against your chest.
Mere inches between the two of you.
Mint fills your mostrils again.
The familiar scent of him making your head go haywire.
Sweat, musk, something clean.
Your thoughts shatter at his voice reaching your ears again. "Cat got your tongue?"
You hadn't through your plan this through.
"I told you to cheer for me, baby."
Butterflies explode in your stomach.
His face drops even more, lips ghosting up the side of your neck.
And when he reaches your temple.
He whispers lowly. "I'll show you what happens when you're screaming another man's name."
How did you end up like this?
With your back against the cold metal of the hockey team's changing room. Sukuna's shirt thrown on the floor, your hair messy and drool spilling from the corners of your mouth—and Satoru's cock stretching you out like he wants his shape to be the only one your needy pussy remembers.
You're liquid in his hands as he bounces you on his cock against the wall. Raw. The sound of skin meeting skin and your mixed mewls and whimpers the only thing echoing through the empty zone.
Satoru's eyes are shining, blue orbs full of lust and hearts as he watches himself disappear in your wetness. A filthy pace ruining you in his arms.
There's a frothy white ring at the base of his cock where your juices mix while he rams and rams onto you. His mouth explores the exposed surface on your neck.
Marking with bites and hickeys you won't be able to cover. On your collarbone, neck, nipples, waist. He has a strong grip that's surely going to bruise on your hip as he dives in relentlessly.
Your brain is all mush so all you can say is his name.
He's feral. "Yeah, keep moaning my name like that. Told you what would happen."
"—It's-too much!" There are tears running down your eyes from the overstimulation, you've lost track of how many times you've cummed.
And you really can't because Satoru is huge. He's bruising your cervix as he hits it with every plunge in your pussy but you love it.
In one sharp movement you're back on the bench, back pressed against old wood. Satoru inside of you—pushing your legs up and changing the position before delivering that first toe-curling thrust.
A choked sound escapes your throat as he hits your g-spot. Spots of white clouding your vision.
Your nails finding his shoulders, scratching sensitive skin. Flushed cheeks and hot bodies meshing he unravels you in the locker room with the risk of being caught.
Which makes it all the more thrilling.
His large hand leaves your hip and trails up your side till it lands on your face. Delicately catching a stray tear from falling.
"Aw, look at you, babe." He muses.
You clench around him, pulling him back in stronger.
He continues. "You were right when you said you weren't like the others."
Another involuntary cry rips free from your chest.
He sees the fucked out face you're wearing. Your eyes rhythmically rolling back to your skull when he finds that hidden point. Your back arching when he blows past your cervix.
Placing slow, open mouthed kisses that are way too gentle with how his thick cock is tearing you apart, he hums against your warm skin.
You snap. "Mhm! Mh—It's so good, 'toru."
His dick twitches inside of you at the nickname. "Yeah? I can feel you're close."
A high pitched whimper escapes you when his thumb presses your clit. Drawing slow and increasingly fast circles that melt your whole existence as the coil in your stomach thins out.
"I'm so close, imsoclose, Satoru. Please—"
You're not even sure what you're begging for, but you want him to continue.
Satoru groans and whispers a trail of curses you can't understand before he shoves his tongue down your throat and starts absorbing your moans.
He picks up the pace one more time, balls meeting the soft globes of your ass hardly until you break and come undone on him.
Burying himself to the hilt and losing to your warmth, Satoru spills his cum deep inside of you as you shake under him.
Now slowly kissing each other to bring you down from the high, Satoru gently pulls out and parts from your lips.
Your breathing is heavy as you look up at him in between your legs.
You feel him spilling out of you.
Before his cum can leave any more of you, his finger picks it up and shoves it back inside. You hiss at the sting.
He chuckles deeply, finger still inside of you.
You drive him insane with that sweet and shy girl facade to everyone.
And act like a honey covered devil with him.
He’s barely known you for two weeks but you’re so magnetic he physically can’t forget you.
So he carries your trembling figure on his back with his gear in his other hand to his car while you wear his jersey and Sukuna's shirt stays wet on the floor.
Brings you over his lap on the driver's seat, has you straddling his thick thighs. Bunches his your shirt over your tits.
Sweat glazing his body, a hard-on that won't go down no matter how much you ride him with your weak legs and his palms helping you bounce.
White locks cling to his forehead, brushing over those drowsy, lust clouded cerulean eyes of his.
Satoru's mind starts to crash as you mewl and grind on him. The sound of your slick sticking to his lap as your ass meets his balls over and over sending his consciousness out the window.
Wet plop, plop, plop is all that resonates through the car.
His head is tipped back, jaw slack, mouth open as you kiss down his throat. Nails scratching his shoulders. He'll probably feel the sting of the sensitive skin tomorrow underneath his uniform.
It will all be worth it though.
A low rumble climbs out of his chest as you lean back away from his chest and continue lifting and dropping your hips hard on him.
Satoru is groaning with no control.
The cocky, hot hockey captain moaning under you, cute.
Your irregular breathing mixed with salty tears rings in his ear. The cars foggy windows do little to hide your figure over his, and somehow the risk of being caught drives him even more insane.
The familiar knot in your stomach churns. Looking down you're met with how your greedy pussy swallows Satoru's 8 inches with ease now that his own previous release and your juices serve as a lubricant and since your walls know his shape.
Quicky sensing you grow tighter around his length, Satoru's hands wrap around your waist—pulling you flush against him and tucking your head in his neck as he starts thrusting up.
You shatter, moaning loudly in his shoulder. He delivers the last few home runs and covers your insides in white again. New and old release mixing inside of you.
And you don't ever dare to wear red again.
Either way, Satoru doesn't expect you to shrug him off Monday.
With his hickeys peeking out from underneath your shirt.
You may have gotten your back blown out by the school's hockey center.
But he isn't anywhere close to getting you wrapped around his finger.
Which is why Suguru and Choso watch with their jaws dropped as their friend trails behind you like a desperate virgin in attempt to get you to tag along with their celebration dinner.
Because Gojo won twice that day.
What’s he going to do now so you end up dating him?
He tries to get you to attend something he throws or he’s involved in again—Tuesday he innocently appears in front of your apartment with a cup of coffee in hand and the words “My sister is getting married this week and I need a date.”
He doesn’t have a sister.
“Gojo, you have no sister.”
And that stops him dead in his tracks.
You grabbed the drink from his hand, surprisingly the same order you’d gotten the last time he popped up behind you at a coffee shop.
Thanked him, and said: “I’m a busy woman, Satoru. Maybe some other time.”
Did he need to know you had no other plans but to read and eat banana bread on your weekends? Absolutely not.
That was your personal you time.
But when Wednesday rolled around and you got your grade back for your last math exam—a depressing 31/100 that could have you ending up retaking first year statistics, you turned to straight A math student Satoru.
Having nowhere to go and desperately needing help if you didn’t want to fail the subject, he was unfortunately the only one around you with grades that were too good for how little he studied.
You remember the chill going down your spine at the thought of trading your cozy Saturday for a tutoring session with…him.
When you shyly asked him for help though, he lit up like a Christmas tree on December 25th. All big smiles and frantic nods with questions about when? Why? What should he bring?
“Um, yourself? I have my material at home, Satoru.”
He happily agreed with no complaints.
Cross-legged on the floor.
Three huge math textbooks he brought when you’d told him there was no need but he insisted that this was the guide to math 101.
Whom the numbers inside meshed into Chinese at some point for you.
And made a headache slowly start to brew instead of understanding whatever he was explaining.
That snaps you out of your head. Guilty, you slowly look back up at his face, gaze abandoning the rubber residue on the paper you’d been drilling holes into with your eyes and finding a playful pout on his face.
“Sorry, I can’t focus.” You confess, fingers picking at the ends of your skirt.
You’re not even sure why you wore a skirt.
But you refuse to admit it was for him even for a fleeting second.
“I can help you with that.”
Curiosity crawls under your skin.
You peek up at him. “You can?”
Seriously, how do you get in these situations?
Satoru had hooked an arm behind your back, another under your legs and in one swift motion lifted both you and him off the floor then plopped you on your bed.
Pushed you back gently till your head met your pillow. Crawled over you painfully slow. Traced the bare skin of your right thigh till it met the beginning of your skirt.
Watched your face till you shyly nodded.
Allowed his hands to go further up and meet the thin lace of your panties which made his boner harden more.
Press a thumb to your clit, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. Shocking every nerve in your system into consciousness.
And dipped his head in between your legs where he is now.
One big hand pressing against your twitching hips as his tongue relentlessly moves in unclear directions—from side to side, up and down.
Flattening it, drinking every single drop of sweet nectar you offer him. Earning a low grumble from him whenever he feels you flutter and clench around nothing.
He inserts a finger and grows jealous of it disappearing when it should be him inside of you.
But he continues watching your chest raise and fall, your breathing hitch at his every moment. The leaking of his saliva mixed with your slick onto your white bedsheets.
“You’re doing so well for me, baby.”
You feel the tears start to sting your waterline as your orgasm approaches. Your view of the ceiling and Satoru’s pale hair between your legs growing blurry.
The outside start to fade and your body tingles when it crashes over you.
“Come on, pretty. Come on my tongue.”
Satoru feels your essence spill onto his tongue and he wastes no time in enjoying it. Tongue nipping at your sensitive bud and making you jolt under every reverent lick.
You’re panting once he rises from beneath you.
Not thinking straight yet and on cloud 9 when he grabs your hips and turns you over. Now having you on top of his chest.
You learn that Gojo Satoru is an insatiable monster in bed that rewires your brain every time he gets in your pants.
Satoru finds out that the shy girl in his class has him wrapped around her pretty fingers after he gives her his all during sex and still can’t get her to even so much as look at him after the night bleeds into morning.
But he finds out that he’s more than willing to be your little toy until you’re ready to let him stay in the morning.
And make love to you instead.
He just has to wait some time till you warm up to him.
He thanks Choso for telling him that the shyest ones are the freakiest.
You may not even consider him a friend now.
But Gojo knows he’s going to be the one waiting at the end of the altar in a few years.
Woah what in the freak. Thank you to my useless ridiculous ex for teaching me hockey shit. Like and subscribe!
