Jamiecakes🥀🖤

“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”

As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.

Fucking laughing.

Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below. 

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?

Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.

As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player? 

And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.

After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).

With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.

But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.

Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him. 

Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.

And then he’d started playing. 

He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.

And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.

He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.

Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.

Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.

Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.

In middle school they adored him just as much.

The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot? 

He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him. 

And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.

Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?

He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.

Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.

Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?

Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.

He smoked them all- hah!

Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?

Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.

Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.

They actually did puncture his football.

He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.

But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.

Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair? 

Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.

Fuck again.

This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-

And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion. 

The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.

For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.

“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”

The. Fucking. Audacity.

Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.

Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.

And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.

You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.

For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?

That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-

But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.

“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”

His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”

“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”

“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”

You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”

“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?

Geto Suguru.

“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”

“Nothing.”

That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”

“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”

“Oh-”

“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”

“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”

“What did you just-”

“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?

Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille. 

Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”

“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’

“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”

You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.

And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.

Gojo smiles wide.

And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it. 

Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—

“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.

And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”

“Mhm.”

“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”

Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”

“Well…”

And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.

Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?

Was he?

.

.

.

“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.

From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions. 

Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.

“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”

They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.

At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.

“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?

Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.

Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.

And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs. 

To you.

And stops right before you.

“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.

You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago. 

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-

“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”

“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.

Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”

You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”

“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”

It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”

Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”

“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.” 

She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”

“No promises.”

And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.

.

.

.

“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day. 

And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…

The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.

And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.

All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.

And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.

In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.

And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”

Ah…

And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity. 

She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”

You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”

“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”

You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”

“You look good enough to eat- now go.”

Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.

He’d texted you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): guess whooOOoooooOooOOO~? (⌒▽⌒)☆

You: ?

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww. 

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)

You: Ah, of course. 

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)

(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!

You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…

(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)

Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.

You suppose.

And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar? 

What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.

From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat. 

Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…

That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.

Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.

In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”

“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”

And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”

“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”

He wastes no more time.

“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”

“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”

His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”

“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”

“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”

That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.

And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.

The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.

Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.

And yet, here you were.

Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet. 

“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.

“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”

You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”

He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”

“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”

“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”

“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”

“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.

“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.

“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”

“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”

“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?

Oh, who were you kidding.

You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”

“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”

“Getting dating rumors?”

“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”

“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”

Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.

In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.

“Did you really mean it?”

Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”

Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”

“I did. Why?”

“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”

“Awwww-”

You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.

He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.

There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”

“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”

A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”

You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”

And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—

He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.

You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.

With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”

And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—

But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.

Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.

And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”

“Me.” 

As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”

“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”

Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”

“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.

“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.

All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.

“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”

And just as he’s about to lean in-

You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.

Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern. 

But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”

His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

“Shut up and get over here.”

And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.

With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—

“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.

“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”

“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”

“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”

“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”

“I’m in.”

And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.

“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-

“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”

“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”

And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…

Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”

Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.

It’s just so much.

You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.

Your eyes widen.

How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!

Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”

“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.

And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?

In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.

But Gojo was…really massive.

Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.

As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.

“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”

From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.

His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”

“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.

“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.

The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”

“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”

You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”

“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.

It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.

One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.

And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times. 

But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.

And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”

“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”

 He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.

You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.

A stalemate.

Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.

With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved. 

But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.

You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.

“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”

Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.

You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice. 

He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”

“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”

“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.

Speaking of tender spots…

“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…” 

“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”

“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”

“N-no-”

“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”

“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”

“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”

“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.

You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.

And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”

“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”

Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up. 

Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”

Your jaw drops.

His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.

Fucking unfair. 

By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-

“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.

Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.

“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”

His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that. 

“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”

Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-

“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”

To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for. 

And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.

“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”

“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.

“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”

And, well, a bet is a bet.

You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.

Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.

Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—

“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”

You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”

“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”

“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”

He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.

You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”

In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.

Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”

Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.

He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.

Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.

Not that you were going to admit it, of course.

“Cock got your-”

“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.

And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.

But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.

And he’s taking you right along with him.

Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.

His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight. 

Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…

Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.

You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.

“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead. 

As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.

Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”

The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?

This fucking good?

And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.

At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”

He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”

“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”

“I-I am-”

“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”

He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.

But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal. 

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-

Grinding.

And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.

“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips. 

And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”

You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.

“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.

Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.

Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”

Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”

“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.

“Fuck-”

“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”

“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.

“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”

He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”

Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”

You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”

“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”

You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”

“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.

“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”

Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.

Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”

It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.

And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”

And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.

Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.

More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).

Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.

White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.

Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.

He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.

Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.

It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping. 

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”

Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”

And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”

“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”

“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”

“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”

“Pardon?”

“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”

“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.

And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”

“Aw, man.”

“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.

It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.

Well, as the second chair occupied.

So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.

Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping. 

And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.

Expressionless. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”

“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”

You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”

He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”

“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”

The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.

“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”

At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”

“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”

“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”

You share your name.

He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.

And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.

He turns.

And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”

You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”

And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared. 

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.

Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal

Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—

“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!” 

1-2 to Japan.

To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.

Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.

You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.

“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”

His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”

He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.

A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.

Your sloppy wet tongue slurps and sucks desperately along one cock while rubbing the other in a rough circular motion in your grip at a frantic pace. Every movement was taut with want and need. Your hips and hands working over time as you whimpered drunk on cock.

“You’re so fucking desperate…”

Sukuna began through teethy groans.

“But I know now you're the only one of my concubines who can ngh-, handle both…fuck—!”

He grits out landing a rough smack to your moving and rolling ass on his stomach.

Your mouth whines just as your could manage to fit just the fat cockhead of him in your drooling mouth. Almost instantly sloshing away at the needy thing throbbing between your lips. Your lips spread at his girth till your lips feel tight. You rest there, just slurping and sucking away at the the tip of his bulbous cockhead waiting to adjust before you finally move your lips down, down, down until your choking.

“Come on y/n, I know my favorite concubine can do better than that right?”

And you coo with a whimper filled with desperate need to take him only egging you on with that taunt. Sukuna is grinning at the sight of you struggling to take on just the one of his cocks. And just as you were working your lips around his veiny demon cock, the feeling of rough fleshy buds tease and rub along your pulsing pussy that's been rolling over the mouth on his stomach. And oh the mule that tears from your throat that makes your lips pop off of the anaconda cock you tried so hard to suck raw. His large stomach tongue hums with satisfaction as it runs it rough buds up and down, up and down in a steady slobbery wet motion.

You arch your wet mouth smothered in drool in the messiest of ways from sucking tei cocks before shouting and whining pathetically. Sukuna watched you with barely another sound. Watching you come apart was his favorite hobby. He knows you'd smack him for making it so difficult to make it through this one particular summoning. He'd summon you once a week but oh this time? Sukuna had almost milked you dry. You're not sure why he decided that this week he needed you almost everyday going on 4 days today that he will most likely leave you ruined just again.

Your hands roll, yank and pull at the throbbing and pulsing cocks in the tight grip of your palms as you bounced, and bounced now on sukuna stomach tongue that was now pushing it's fat tongue in and out of your tight little insatiable whole.

“Yes!yes! Yes!”

Your chanting only groomed the ego of the most feared curse in the word.

“Keep going”

He egged you on.

“You’ve been such a filthy good girl”

You'd respond with how aroused it made you, but you were too busy waiting on the building of pressure between your hips and the steady slapping of skin on sukunas stomach. Your thighs trembled, your eyes rolled back. Shuddering, shaking and oh you knew you were surely on your way to having a pure out of body experience but you weren't sure when it would hit like a Russian roulette.

But just then sukuna stomack had stopped it's naughty ways for only just a moment before the sound of his voices echoes though his room.

“Both. At the same time.”

He demands. You pant catching your breath, your body still shuddering hard from the closeness of that orgasm. Your pussy tingled with the desperate need to finish and sukuna grinned knowing exactly what he had done.

“The human body is weak. Pathetic. I expected no less even from my favorite little slut. But you'll still do as I say. Go on an just push yourself a little harder you can do it”

He teases and taunts from underneath you. Your hands trembled on his cocks, you were already a little dizzy and drooling from your mouth but you nod with a sharpness of determination and stuff your lips with one of sukuna’s needy cocks slick now between your lips before you were pushing, pushing, and pushinggggggg, the second in to squeeze between your lips. Thankfully sukuna wasn't shy away from teeth, ultimately enjoying the slight nipping pain. (he had was a bit sadistic, or a lot abit sadistic)

Your mouth gurgled full of him as he scoffs and a rough large hand threads through the hair in the back of your head. You hum believing that he would be gentle, that he'd nurture his favorite concubine. But no, his had pushed your head down further on his dual cocks and made you whimper even more pathetically than usual.

“I enjoy watching you squirm, pathetic and absolutely useless. Unless it was for this then. I guess you do have some good use.”

You muffled something aloud before sukuna had already lost his patience and his enjoyment in watching you suffer while trying to handle the fullness of him. The massive demon tattooed man had officially sat up. And you knew he meant business, his cocks easily slipped from you wet lips still harder than steel as he picked you up by your shoulders and turned you to straddle and face him directly. And oh how you loved. Loved. Loved the king of curses. He watched you with hazy eyes, clearly more affected than he'd let on. But without further words he’d lifted you again and hovered you. Teasing your entrance with both cocks at once, your orifice immediately wanting to claim and suction while beginning to stretched to fit the one. Your slick already dripping down his erect flesh. Sukuna's hands hold you so tight and steady above him that his biceps twitch with restraint. And your arms hurt.

He watches with an intensity that boarded on obsession as he groaned loudly in his throat. He let you adjust before pushing in just a little bit. And then the other, neglected pulsing cock was oh so jealous of the other before sukuna was helping guide the other right toward your already filled whole.

“You can take it right?”

You nod eagerly

“Oh yes sukuna! I'll take whatever you give me!”

He hums low in his throat satisfied at you groveling. Just the way he loved it. Perfect. Pitiful, and weak. His second cockhead pushes along the other smearing along the slick coated in the other to finally gain entrance to your hidden opening. He pushes, and pushes, teasing along your pussy lips until he's finally parting his way through to squeeze into you tight gripping canal, spreading as best it will go. Pushing, pushing, pushing until finally POP! Both cocks were spreading you completely thin, thank god you were wet enough to fill a pool. Your elasticity around sukuna’s needy cocks has him groaning. Now he could FINALLY have you. Nice and snug in your wet heat. He lets you adjust ignoring your pleads, and whimpers for him to let you sink down onto them both.

“Fucking needy huh? Think you're gonna just take’m both just like that in your slutty little whole? Don't be stupid.”

You whimper weakily. He had no idea the nerves alite in your body. Your sensitive nerves were on fire actually with arousal and the instinct to move. Sukuna was so so mean, but compared to the others? He was still the nicest to you. He keeps you hovered over his cocks that had only fit the tips in for now. his strong bulky grip watching you adjust on the cocks that throb aggressively inside of you in the tight snug as they shared your one little while. Sukuna was actually pretty sure you wouldn't get this far. Yes he was panting and groaning in restraint but he didn't want to rip you apart. Because then who would handle him the way you did?

“Relax. Stop whining and squirming. You're too tense. Wanna die taking my dicks?”

You wanna answer. You almost do. You wanna grovel and tell him yes over and over again and chant it like a ritualistic mantra to to summon him but you keep silent. You know it would piss him off. He cares about you. So you instead silent shake your head no.

“Thought so”

He says before finally, moving you when you relaxed. Shoulders dropping. Body loosening with tension.

“There you go….good fucking girl…”

He grits out through his teeth his tone thick and dark with arousal. And then when your walls unclench? He thrusts his cock slow, in and out. Pumping them and stretching you with each spreading thrust.

“Your taking them so well…good job..”

You wish you could savor sukuna’s praising but your head was too busy being thrown back to let out soft moans from the back of your throat. Eyes rolled back, you were gone, so gone. Lost in the pleasure, you'd felt good before, even with him you'd felt a high. But not a high like this.

Sukuna grins at your untethered state. He thrusts harder now, seeing as you can take him thrusting at all now. One at time, and little by little he picks up the pace, sloshing your water fountain slick all over him as he pumps his cocks deep in your womb. A big stretch spreading your inner womb over. And over, and over again, you'd never felt such a stretch, such girth and even then? They were increasingly pushing deeper, and deeper, now beginning to pound away at your cervix. Not your g-spot. No no, you were past that point. In fact you past any point at all, your eyes were dazed wildly with pleasure.

But your cute little cervix before? Will look nothing like that when sukuna is done spreading you to fill capacity. His hips buck up repeatedly, moving quicker, squeezing those cocks right into your spread out whole. Tenderizing you, pump by pump you cervix grew more and more sensitive at just the combination of the sheer force and spread between your walls. You let out a choked loud whimper, just as meek as sukuna would typically expect bug he was too busy pile driving his cocks into you with an intensity that would shock most. He groaned, grunted, huffed and panted under his breath, his hands with that steady firm grip on your arms had flown to your waist gripping so hard he'd leave bruises.

Pumping and pumping his fault cocks into your slipping slick canal until you where completely and utterly broken. A loud choked cry tire from you, your body shuddered and seized violently before you squeezed and leaked your special cream all over his cockheads.

Sukuna grinned devilishy as you plummeted onto his sweaty chest. Your hands curl up meekly into the hard plane of his chest. You panted and the world around you darkened. Almost fainting until you could hear sukuna chuckling.

“Fainting already? Think you might have another 6 rounds in you at least….?”

Now, usually Toji Fushiguro was one to keep his inhuman strength in check. Usually, he didn’t go overboard. 

Usually. 

But oh he couldn’t bring it in himself to feel even an ounce of regret when you gasp. Whirling your drunken eyes around to meet his sleazy grin - he knew what he was doing. 

Pecking a trailway of innocent kisses down your thoroughly tear-glossed cheeks, Toji licks a languid line up the salty taste. And he’s still not stopping. Hell, he’s not even slowing down - could barely even imagine it.

Because Toji Fushiguro is out of control. Feral. Jostling his hips upwards into yours to rummage around your stretchy walls. His thick shaft spreads your gummy channel open oh-so-perfectly to nudge up against your hidden sweet spots, rotund cockhead shooting out wet sloshes of precum.

“Y-you did that on purpose.” you moan.

“Hmm, did I?” he takes a few seconds to mockingly ponder, dark brows knitting across his sweat-sheened forehead in concern. Before grinning, “Yeah- heh, yeah I did-” Barely even giving you the time to snap back before he’s forcing his relentless, fatigued limbs standing upright. Dragging you in midair right along with him - held up so pliantly like some ragdoll in a full nelson hooked underneath your dangling legs. “-but I don’t hear hngh- her complainin’.”

God, if anything it was the opposite.

Because your sloppy cunt was talking for you. Wrenching out the most obscenely syrupy squelches that make Toji’s mouth water. 

Dragging his tongue down his lips and toying with the edge of his scar in a way he wishes he could with your slobbery pussy. “L-look at that. She’s m-more than happy to be all filled up- she’s practically hngh- begging for one more. Isn’t she?”

And you could hear the way that Toji’s deep baritone cracks at the very end. It didn’t even sound like him - unsteady and hot. Begging.

Muscles flexing when he bounces you up and down- You didn’t even know if he was in control of his heavenly restriction at this point.

Bulging biceps bruise into your tender skin when he’s slamming you bent over all prettily onto the cool mahogany surface of your desk. One leg hiking upwards, the other kneeing open your boneless thighs wider. Pound after heavy pound that rattles the furniture against the wall. 

“This won’t do-” he groans, circling the very ends of his fingers around your stretched hole. Stuffing back those creamy dredges of remnants from his cum from just before, “-told ya to t-take it not waste it.”

He’s so mean. Gifting the curve of your pussymound with a sharp swat! that leaves syrupy splatters of seed glossing all down Toji’s palm. His wrist. All for him to dart out a tongue down the filthy mess, before plugging back into your overspilling pussy. 

“M-maybe you should just- ah-” You struggle uselessly in his hold, your bumbling mess of babbles so sweet in his ears that it makes his sensitive cock twitch. “-fill me up all over a-again, baby-”

Oh.

Oh.

Now, he knew you were thoroughly drunken on his cock, but he didn’t think you were already this fucked stupid. Fuck twitching - Toji thinks he could cum right then and there. 

“Ah f-fuck- s’that what my pretty mama wants, hm?” Uncharacteristically gently, he’s swiping away a few stray plaster pieces that had fallen their way down from the wall. “Wan’ me to fill this c-cute cunt ‘ntil she heh- can’t fit anymore, huh?” Bruising now. His hip bones on your ass, fingers around your hips, twitchy balls so heavy and smacking away against your drooling pussy. Veiny knuckles of his clasp around the edge of the desk to fuck you like he hates you. Out of control. “To f-fuck her until she- haah- makes me a daddy a-all over again?”

“Yes!” you’re nodding half-lucidly. Shaky fingers clawing their way over the expensive desk, those office documents you really should’ve been working on, allll the way around to drag red, red lines down Toji’s throat. “Need it- hngh- n-need more Toji so badly-”

And he gulps, eyes glassing over with fucking tears at the sting. So good. Hissing, “F-filthy girl.” Two of his fat fingers dance their groping way down to your plump clit and pinches, “Then ya better take it- all-”

You see white-hot electricity pass by yours eyes when you cum - or maybe that was the way that Toji fucks up his orgasm into you like an animal. 

Feral.

Wave after wave of thick seed being milked so thoroughly by your gripping walls. It makes him slump every muscle of his towering body drained, he’s falling onto two pathetic elbows to crush you underneath his bodyweight. 

There’s so much of him. And Toji only has to blink. He only has to crack his dewy eyes open a mere millimeter, one sneaking glance downwards at your gaping cunt before-

THUD!

“Oh, mama—” he gasps - and you do, too. But not for the same reason as Toji, no, because you’re just now noticing that your desk was sagging suspiciously low. 

You don’t get to ask since when, because in a split-second, you’re being wrangled onto all fours on the floor. 

Still not done. Still not pulling out. Still not slowing down a singular second, Toji rests one of his feet on top of your head. Hard. “Can’t break the f-floor now…can we?”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - Evil twin?!

“Y-you want me to what?” Nanami’s husky baritone quakes - trembling at your little request. Jittery fingers sensually smack! smack! smacking his sodden tip down onto your sweet sopping pussy lips. Filthy. “Be rough? Are you sure, my love?”

“Of course, Ken. I trust you–” you’re batting your lashes up at your half-delirious husband in a way that makes his lower lip wobble. “It’ll be a good way to de-stress, dontcha think?”

Is he in heaven?

Nanami curls his fingers around that velvety yellow tie he didn’t even bother removing after his overtime.

And he’s so soft when he’s kissing away the pearly beads of sweat on your forehead, dragging his plump lips down, down, down to press pretty peck after peck on your lips. Hushly whispering, “B-but the kids are just down the hall- we don’t ah- don’t want them to wake up…”

You only grin, “Then you better make sure I stay quiet, hm?”

And that string of slurring words makes Nanami pant, it makes his glassy hazel eyes widen almost comically- and, truly, you’d almost forgotten just what your powerful husband was capable of. 

Just how ruthless. 

Because it doesn’t take even a split-second for him to flip you onto all fours. You yelp when that tie of his finds its way to tie your wrists together. All but ripping your silky nightgown, and you…moan.

Oh? He jostles two thumbs to smear your soaking folds open and smiles. How cute.

“S’fuckin’ drenched-” Nanami hisses. Strained. In awe. Peaking in one syrupily coated finger into his mouth and moaning. And you just gasp when you’re being gifted with a bruising smack! right around the rim of your entrance, slobbering out a fresh wave of sweet, sweet slick. “-s’this all f’me, darling?”

“Y-yes-”

Swat!

“Ah ah- none of that. Big girls don’t stutter.”

All you can do is whirl your eyes back over your shoulder because who is this? 

But what you’re met with is the utterly sexy display of your ruined husband - strands of his blond hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks flushed, eyes wild. Heaving. Like something primal was just awoken…

Clutching onto the wrinkled sheets, you mewl, “Yes- s’all for you, Kento–”

Shit. You watch as his rosy lips sag open into an oh! before craning downwards to spit a silky rivulet of saliva right into your glistening pussy. 

And even after so many years, even after having kids, you’d still never gotten used to the way Nanami’s girth would split you apart so sinfully. How massive he was. Barging between your pursed lips to feed you inch after hefty inch of his girth, they’re dragging out the most sinful squelches from down below. And from your mouth-

“Shh sh sh-” He’s covering your slack maw shut with all five long fingers, and you keen at the cool contrast of Nanami’s wedding ring. “Quietly- love- quiet. You can do it- ah- y-you can take my fuckin’ cock, m’kay?”

Nanami’s words were every bit of gentleness that his hips weren’t. 

Fucking into you in languid, deep strokes to swipe a steamy wave of precum down your sweetest spots. It was too much-

“W-where do you think you’re going, my love?” 

Fuck.

You didn’t even realize the way that your helpless fingers were closing in around the headboard, gyrating your hips away from the thoroughly mean crashes of your husband’s cock. Blinking away the big, bulbous tears in your eyes, you muffle out a whiny, “S-sorry Ken-”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Without warning, five harsh fingers wrap around your tender throat in a vice-like necklace - hauling your limp body up against his front. “If you’re really s-sorry, darling, wontcha be a good girl n’ open that mouth f’me?”

Usually, your husband was the absolute sweetest. Mumbling out sweet praises into your ear and helping you take your time to milk him whole. 

But right now Nanami was impatient. 

He was out of control - like a completely different person.

Treating you like some ragdoll when he’s tugging down your mouth open with a few calloused pads of his fingers. Leering his handsome face closer to spit. 

Missing halfway - on purpose.

Nanami chuckles when he’s lolling his pinkish tongue out to swipe at the translucent splatters. Pinning you to his cushiony pecs with that rough restraint, he’s slanting a syrupy sweet kiss at the corner of your mouth. “Good- fuckin’- girl-”

And the bed creaks. The bed protests - headboard rickety when Nanami slams! one veined arm down and rams everything he has to give - seconds away from shattering, both him and the bedframe. Everything. 

Shit-

Shit shit shi- he swears you just got wetter.

Nanami gapes, powerful hips thrusting and thrusting until your ass scratches up against that golden happy trail running through the middle of his abs. Weepy, rotund head probing against your spongy cervix and just the slight recoil that had him parting stickily from it makes him almost sob. 

“There we go- thereee we go-” Nanami rattles out, hollowed. Every squeeze of your clingy walls around his throbbing shaft was so cozy, fucking you into the mattress until his skin reddened. “-there we fuckin’ go- s’what you hngh- wanted, right? Wanted to be fucked like such a slut?”

“Please-” you’re hiccuping, now fully bent into such an obscene curve and wrangling uselessly. “-yes-  yes yes yes feel s’good-”

You’re drooling now, lips falling further and further open with every French kiss Nanami was placing on your bruised and battered g-spot. Dangerously so.

Dangerously loud.

With a proud chuckle, he’s slapping another dripping wet swat on your plump clit - glissading your presoaked slit. Before bullying between your soft lips to swirl his fat digits around your tongue. Deep. Forcing you to taste yourself. 

His gruff moan is dark. Promising. “Told ya to be quiet. The kids are asleep n’ we don’t n-need them to know they’re gonna be ngh- b-big siblings, yet. Right, my love?”

♡ GETO SUGURU - An example…

Now, to Geto Suguru, sex was an art. Sex was the time he could toy with your pretty pussy until you were crying for more, more, more-

So- why is he here - strong limbs jostling your own into such a painful mating press, swollen cockhead battering and bruising away at your bulging g-spot with each pound. Furious. 

All in front of his association, to boot.

Because, Geto Suguru was angry. 

“Ngh- please Suguru- more-”

“What was that?” he’s leering down, lips curled into such a feral grin that was splashed across his pretty features. And you couldn’t answer even if you wanted to, because he’s forcing your knees down to push against your bouncing tits. Folding you utterly in half, he turns to your audience. “Do you think she ah- deserves to speak?”

Through your lusty haze, you don’t get to see the answers. But Geto spits out a husking, “Speak.”

The entire room jolts at his eerie sweet voice - dangerous. Roughened around the edges in a tone he’d never used on you before. 

Batting away a few glistening tears on your lashes, you mumble, “M-m’sorry for ah- costing us the m-mission-”

“Shut up.” And he’s planting a smack onto the sensitive spot on your plump clit so hard that you’re seeing stars - suns, even. Slowing down his mean cadence to carve down every gooey sensitive spot inside you with his throbbing veins. Every rasping word of his was hoarse, punctuated with a thorough clash against the very bottom of your pussy. Pushing your legs up so tight you hear your joints pop! “Do you hngh- know how much I- we trusted you, gorgeous?”

Your nails leave raking red lines down his flexing back, and the way his muscles shifted underneath your touch was drool-worthy. “I-I know- m’sorry-”

“All because ya got a little distracted by the fuck- strongest-” 

And, truly, Geto admits that perhaps he was there to watch you carry out your little spy mission. He admits that the sight of you batting your lashes at a certain sorcerer had him clenching his teeth harder than necessary. Fuming. 

Because you were his. 

It has him looming over the delicate crook of your neck, so up close and personal that every heated pant feels condensed. And he can’t think - can’t do anything but sink his teeth down hard into your skin. Enough to draw blood-

“Fuck! Sugu-” you cry out. “It w-won’t happen again, I promise-”

“Heh, you sure?” Geto grins, but he can’t hide the way the pale column of his neck falls to swipe his inky black hair out of his face. Crushing you like a lawnchair in half, he’s twisting his strong forearm to block your heaving airway. “What do we think? Is our lovely hngh- second-in-command sorry?”

It takes you a few seconds to register he’s not even talking to you, and even more to register the soft, murmuring answers.

You don’t have the right state to even try and understand them right now - but luckily for you, Geto snarls his way into a clash of teeth and lips with yours. Tugging hard on your glossed lower lip, “Better not fuckin’ mess up again.”

Oh, he was still fucking you so furiously. 

Wrestling your pathetically droopy legs further and further up his sculpted deltoids, you’re sure that the tatami mat below would be patterned on your back already. One hand of his cranes behind his neck to pin your ankles together. And Geto-

Shit, Geto was letting his jaw hang slack - drooling. Eyes locked on you and you only.

Whispering, “You’re mine.” The headlock only growing tighter. Dangerous. You didn’t know whether it was from the lack of air or from his ruthless rummages at your mushy walls but it had you so lightheaded. He slides a thumb down your soaking wet slit and presses onto the button of your clit. Hard. “Y-you’re mine here-” Then up, up, up to about halfway down your stomach, splaying out to feel for the lewd nudge of his fat, burning hot head thump! thump! thumping against the insides of your pussy. Inflating you from the inside out. “-and you’re mine here-” Before finally - finally - pressing a saturated kiss onto your lips, as he usually would. “-and here.”

Your leader looked utterly ruined. 

And it’s not long - not long at all - before his sloppy strokes get almost painfully filthy. Before he feels stars burst behind his firmly scrunched shut lids, and his thwacking balls clench. Building and building-

“Open that mouth- fuck! Open it-” Geto hiccups out, plump lower lip trembling at the sheer need. And the very moment your lips are opening just wide enough - he’s pulling out. Your disappointed whine falling on deaf ears when Geto drags himself up to straddle your pretty face with his thick, muscular thighs. And he cums. “Take it- hngh- you’ll fuckin’ take it alll up- wontcha?”

Creamy ribbons of his seed splat their way right onto the middle of your tastebuds and it makes Geto huff out a drunken bout of laughter at the mess he’s making. Thick fingers flying up and down to milk out every pearly ounce of his cum onto your face. 

Heh, it’s not a bad punishment - he’s musing.

Guiding to swipe the curve of his reddened tip along your trembly lips like a little lipstick. You look so much like his that he can’t help but cum- again. And again. And again and again and-

“Sh-shit look what ya do to me-” Geto moans, and you swear it cracks into a whine at the very end. “I can’t- oh fuck- can’t stop.”

He wouldn’t stop - he couldn’t.

Greedy gaze locked on you, one massive palm slams! somewhere above your head to hunch his toned body over. Geto’s entire body wracks violently above you with each shuddering wave. Filthy. “Can’t be a-anyone- can’t be anyone else. B-because…you’re mine, right?”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - Candy Crush

Oh…if heaven exists then it would be right here, right now - with Choso desperately stuffing himself into your thinly-clothed cunt for the first time ever. Breathing- no, gulping in deep heavals of your essence in a way that makes his dewy eyes roll back. 

“B-baby- my pretty baby…are you sure?” he’s gasping out in feverishly hot puffs of condensation. And despite the tiny tremor of uncertainty in his voice, he’s spreading your thighs even further open all for him.

You huff out a drunken giggle, tugging impatiently at one of his sweat-dampened locks. “M’sure, Cho- really need you.”

“Oh, d-don’t say that-” he’s hiccuping, coral pink lips wobbling. And you feel the back of Choso’s thumb swipe down the puffy mound of your soaked pussy, smearing down a wet coating all over his slender digits. “I-I can’t when you say things like that- oh-”

Anything and everything that Choso was babbling is thrown out of the window with just one darting lick at the sloppy dredges of your sweet, sweet slick on his fingers. With an electric-like jolt, he’s popping it into his mouth to suck. That syrupy taste enough to have him bucking his achy erection down hard into the plush mattress. 

To have him gape, “B-baby…”

And before you know it, he’s dragging you halfway down the mattress like a toy to roughly attach his lips with your own swollen ones - too hasty, too depraved to even think of pulling aside your sticky panties. Strong forearms pinning your squirming thighs so hard to the bed that you half-wonder whether it would bruise. His heated tongue darts through and around that sliver of fabric - tasting it.

“Y-you’re ngh! liking this, baby?” you coo, threading your fingers through his strands in a useless attempt to get an answer - but Choso barely budges. Biceps flexing when he cushions you to his body even tigher. “How are you f-feeling?”

It takes him a few seconds to even hear your words - too wrapped up tonguing away your absolutely ruined panties to swirl a sensual circle around your saturated clit. Groaning gingerly, “It feels- ngh- feels like I could cum from j-jus’ this.”

And he was being so honest that it made Choso blush - a bright crimson flush that started from his hollow cheeks and all the way down to his bawling, reddish head. Hips rutting over and over into the silken sheets, but he couldn’t spare a hand to fuck into it right now.

None at all - because Choso needed to have you cum all over his face before he did himself. 

So you gasp when he drags his tongue away with a final, spit-slicked smooch right on your puffy clit. Whimpering out a soft, “R-ride my face, baby–”

That nod of yours is just barely done halfway through, just barely moving your head affirmative before with a sudden nudge of his soft, mountainous palms on your hips - you’re straddling Choso’s pretty face. And he’s not letting you hover - no, the complete opposite, in fact.

You’re being manhandled with a rough hand around your waist to drag your full weight onto Choso’s greedy mouth. Puckering up to plunge his tongue into your sloppy entrance, swirling around a wet circle at your rim before fucking into you.

Pure animal instinct - he’s so messy.

Muffling out a throaty, “S-so sweet- fuck- like candy. S-s’this right? Does this feel good- ah-” Those half-lidded eyes of his are immediately latching onto the way a few of your trembly fingers were dancing their way down to your neglected clit. 

Your boyfriend - your sweet, gentle boyfriend - is swatting away that hand rudely. Brows furrowing together into a plea when he rolls his free thumb over your plump clit. Toying. 

“Nuh uh- m’sorry, baby- m’sorry but-” Eyes blazing. “-s’all for me.” 

He’s so chin-deep into your cunt that every word comes out lewdly garbled, poking the upper half of his face over to suck on one of your sensitive pussy lips and bites. Choso’s dragging his face wherever you’d let him and it was hypnotic. “H-have the biggest fuckin’ c-crush on you, y’know?”

You didn’t know if he even realized what he was saying right now.

“Y-you do?” you’re tittering, core aching with the quick, dribbling gyrations of your hips down onto his face. But it wasn’t enough - it might never be enough and he was constantly leaving a light swat on your ass to make you use him. Faster. 

“Mhmm–” Choso nods and nods and nods and he’s plunging his hot and heavy tongue into your gummy walls. “-the biggest c-crush. I really wanna hngh! make you my- ngh- my lover…my wife.”

“Choso…” you hum, voice sending blood pumping to his beautifully flushed face all over again. And he finds it in himself to bite into your clit and suck. Shit. “-I am your lover.”

“R-really?” In awe.

You don’t know who’s cumming first - you or Choso. 

Because only with a few more syrupy slurps of his tongue on your throbbing cunt, you’re gushing all your juices down the lower half of his face. Forming an obscenely wet mask all down his dripping chin, his nose, all the way up to his cheekbones. 

And oh Choso loves it. 

Choso can’t get enough.

He can’t help but gulp and gulp down every one of your pearly splatters as he fucks you through your high. Over and over-.

That is, until-

“N-noo-” Choso’s whimpering, hands bruising where they’re immediately digging into your waist to halt you to a stop. And his bulging biceps flex in such a mouth-watering way when he’s easily plopping your entire body weight down onto his lap easily - onto his urgently twitching cock. Nudging apart your puffy pussy folds to slide just his fattened tip into the snug channel of your cunt before- “N-need to cum inside. Please- ngh! Need to.”

And Choso’s cumming just from tasting your pretty pussy. 

Shooting out thick waves of his seed, your clingy walls are gripping so tightly around his bolting cock that it makes him sob. It makes him attach his fingers bruisingly onto your waist as he ruts his hips up mindlessly. 

“C-can I taste it again, baby…” He’s gulping at the oozes of cum that overspills a glossy coat down his shaft in the perfect creampie. “-w-wanna see if it tastes sweeter now.”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - “Both…”

“I should fuck ya stupid-” Sukuna utters, followed by a rough sinking of his teeth into your earlobe. And it takes everything in him to keep out the tiny cracking of his rumbling baritone, to try and not fucking stutter like some weakling. “-th-then maybe ya wouldn’t be able to hah- talk outta that slutty pussy, brat.”

You’re huffing in indignation, biting your own set of teeth into the tattooed skin of the king’s shoulder. Barely even a kitten nip to him. “I-I’m serious, Kuna- I wanna take b-”

SLAM!

His curled first comes down hard onto the decadent armrest on his royal throne. Anything - everything - that’s keeping his composure right now. 

Sukuna spits out a heated, “Don’t you dare s-say it-”

You roll your eyes, jostling your hips a little too sensually when you lean up to his toweringly inhuman figure. All the way up to whisper smugly in his ear, “-both.”

It’s silence, at first.

And you’re not even sure that Sukuna heard you at first - that special word just about on the tip of your tongue once more - before, wordlessly, he picking you up with two of his big, beefy arms. Fully. Remaining two curling around the thick hilts of his matchingly hard cocks to guide them all the way to your tearful slit. 

“Well then…” Sukuna’s dark snicker snaps you out of your reverent awe, because his fat, rotund tips were so swollen. The sheer circumference staggering that you had no idea how they were going to fit. “-better take it all then, woman.”

It feels like you’re being split-apart, Sukuna’s barely even bullying his twin heads to spearhead open your sopping cunt and you swear you already feel him poking around at your womb. He’s so ruthless. Not hesitating for even a second before pumping your walls stock full of his thickened inches. Over and over-

“Well?” he’s manspreading his muscular thighs in a way that makes you bounce precariously. All four arms crossing while he bears you with a sleazy grin you know doesn’t bode well. “Was heh- whinin’ and crying until you got it. Take it, then.”

Oh, he was so mean.

But you weren’t one to back down so easily, either. 

“F-fine-” you huff, hands steadying on his flexing shoulders when you’re gyrating your hips downwards. Gulping up his long, hefty inches that rub against all your sweet spots without even trying. “Shit- y-you’re in so deep, Kuna-”

And this makes Sukuna stiffen, it makes his massive cocks swell even girthier with a sudden rush of blood likely all the way from his brain. Leaving him throughly pussydrunken but in denial. Smack! You feel his sharp nails sting against your ass. “D-don’t think those ngh- filthy words of yours are gonna work this time, lil’ human.”

“M’jus’ saying-” you whine. Splaying a hand down to the nudging divot forming at your stomach, and you’re pressing down hard to thumb over the ruthless curve of his rummaging tips. “-can already feel you right h-here n’ you’re not even halfway- mmpf-”

Sukuna has to make you shut up.

He needs to.

And his first way of going about it is to cover your mouth with one of his monstrous hands, manifesting that second mouth of his from his stomach to smear across his palm. Into a wet, sinful French kiss. 

And his second? Well…

“God- y-you don’t even know what you-” he shudders out, two hands possessively forming a vice-like grip onto your waist. Body wracking with heaves when your clingy walls mesh and mold around his rock-hard cocks. “-what you do to me.”

You squeal - or, at least, you think you do. It’s muffled into your filthy, filthy kiss with Sukuna’s other mouth when he’s slamming your hips down riotously into his.

There’s no warning. No start signal - nothing before all of a sudden the king of curses is bucking your hips down, down, down into his over and over. Like some toy. The stretch is so dizzying that you can feel your maw slack open, drool trailing its delirious pathway down the side of your lips - with his excess mouth happily slurping it all up.

You honestly feel like you’re being ruined. 

Pulled to and fro anywhere and everywhere.

“Heh, too much?” Sukuna has the audacity to giggle - giggle. Low and husky in a hot pant against your ear. 

Yet, of course, the king never apologizes - well, to anyone except you. But for now he’s only stringing his hand away from your mouth, snapping away delicate ropes of saliva from the both of you. Instead, replacing it with another hand attached right onto your plump clit - and with it, his second mouth.

“Oh- shit shit shit-” you jolt. The dual- no, triple stimulation of his cocks kissing swooping glides of precum down your spongy cervix all the way to your g-spot and his mouth sucking on your sensitive nub was too much. Toying with you. “I-I didn’t know you could- ngh- could do- that-”

And Sukuna laughs, only grinding his palm up in a sopping wet smear against your stuffed pussymound to lap up each splatter of your sweet, sweet juices. Dredged out every time his hefty, cum-filled balls slam into your cunt.

“Special treatment fer taking ngh- both of me.” he’s grunting. The third of his beefy arms smush your cheeks together into an embarrassing pout, overgrown digits so large that he’s squeezing into your airway. “Does the queen h-have any more requests, hm?”

You can only shake your head no - anything more and you had a feeling that you just might not be making it out in one piece. That is, if you do this time. 

“Good.” And Sukuna only smiles. Three of his arms slithering their way around your trembly body - the fourth taking its sweet, sweet time to dive into your clit and bite. Lightly. You’re giving up practically every ounce of control to him. “Now, jus’ relax n’ let your husband take over.”

♡ GOJO SATORU - Stronger.

“I-I can take it-”

“Toru…”

“Promise- ngh- promise I can take it, s-sweetheart. Heh, it’s you that has to be worried.”

You had absolutely zero idea how an impromptu sparring session with Gojo Satoru - the strongest, longtime rival and absolute pain in your ass - ended up like this. With you flat on your back and splayed out across his navy bedsheets in such a tight mating press, with him running on complete fumes and his revered cursed technique to drag out his- sixth orgasm of the night. 

But you weren’t complaining.

And neither was Gojo - in fact, mumbling out a slurring slew of profanities into your open mouth. Followed by the most broken “I’m w-winning this bet-”

“No-” you’re spitting hot-headedly with a merciless little bite on his pouty lower lip, and it’s so pretty the way his lips grow as rawly rosy as the rest of his blushing cheeks. Leveraging your years and years of practice to flip the two of you over, “I-I’m winning.”

Neither of you could even remember what the bet was about. 

Something about who’d admit defeat? Ah, Gojo doesn’t give a shit - not even your puffy pussy lips were sliding down his overstimulated cock. Sheathing him in a freshly drenched coating of your honeyed slick when you straddle his slender hips and ride.

“Heheh- y-you think this is- oh!” His hands wrangle around your waist urgently in such a bruising grip to slow down your sloppy cadence. And he’s using his powerful arms to completely drag your drooling cunt in languid, lazy bounces up and down up and down up and- bruising. “-this isn’t going to m-make me-”

But he already was.

Oh, he already was with every clingy kiss of your gummy walls around his steadily swelling cock, every syrupy slosh of cum that made his heavy balls clench. And it’s only a matter of time before his thoroughly overwhelmed cock bursts out once more. 

Gojo’s letting his head loll drunkenly against the sweat-dampened pillows - shit, everything was such a mess. From the creamy puddle of cum sobbing from your sopping wet slit, to the way your fatigued bodies were so furiously glissading across one another. 

“Make you what?” you bat your lashes down at him in a way that should be infuriating, but it only makes his reddish tip twitch into your g-spot. “Admit it- ngh- a-admit defeat, Toru–”

But that’s the last thing he would do. 

There’s a sudden crack! of jujutsu in the air, and you already know from who before your stupidly fucked mind even registers it. Because it only takes a split-second - a split-second - for Gojo to teleport from right underneath you being ridden out of his fucking mind to be shovelling all girthy inches of his cock into you from behind.

“Ah! What-” you yelp, precariously collapsing onto the silken pillowcases now. Whirling your greedy gaze over your shoulder, “Th-that’s cheating.”

And Gojo doesn’t even hear you - fuck, he doesn’t even feel alive. 

The only thing one his delirious mind right now being the way your dribbling cunt was swallowing him up so well. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, entire heavy bodyweight slumping on top of yours when he’s jackhammering inch after inch.Tiny, mindless gyrations just to fit deeper - as if your clingy walls had forgotten how massive he was already. So heavy - you could barely breathe.

And it’s only when he’d bottomed out, it’s only when Gojo could feel your saturated folds kiss his fat base, his weepy tip drawing a long line of translucent precum across your cervix that you hear a noise from above you. 

It’s hoarse - pained. You’re halfway concerned before you hear that rumbling groan turn into a bout of laughter. Humorless, so, so pussydrunken. 

Gojo’s eyes glow with miniscule bolts of lightning when he’s dragging your face to crane upwards into his oh-so-feral gaze. The toothy grin smeared across his handsome features made it seem like he was fucking you like he hated you. Whispering - low. “You win th-this round, my girl.”

You feel a sudden spike in cursed energy - and you’re sure every electrical source within the next twenty-five miles does, too. Before Gojo plants one foot on your head and angles his hips deeply to pummel your womb with thick, knocking spurts of cum.

Fuck, every sudden ribbon of seed had him pressing into you ever deeper. Rougher. And Gojo could feel your snug cunt drain his tight balls again. Again and again and again until his furious divot could only pump out a few wispy strings of creamy white.

“God…” Gojo breathes, so strained. He’s swiftly thwacking! a few fingertips against your plump clit - buzzing jujutsu hot on his digits. Swirling those excess dredges of cum to make such a filthy mess of your pretty cunt. “This fuckin’ p-pussy feels so hngh- good. S’fuckin’ unfair-”

“Unfair? You’re the one using-”

And, well, usually Gojo loved hearing you run that smart mouth of yours. But right now all he could do was run his slender fingers over to your sensitive nub over and over - before punishing you with a tiny squeeze. “Mhm- all’s fair in l-love and ngh- war.”

Shit, he can already feel the exact moment when you cum - your toes curling, kiss-bitten lips letting out such a sweet keen of his name when the tingling waves take over. 

“O-of course, you ah- quote that-” you’re babbling out, strangled moans choking out with every clash of his bawling head into your g-spot. He’s memorized it by now. Perfected it.

Probing so deep that you think Gojo’s ready to batter a fat, circular bruise at that spot. Especially when his powerful hands wrap in a vice-like restraint around both your arms; biceps flexing, slack lips grunting as he manhandles your entire body to lift cleanly off the mess you call sheets. 

The strongest - he’s such a show-off.

Snickering when you gasp at the change in angle middair, jostling his expansive cock inside you rummagingly. He’s sweetly coating your insides with a sweltering hot pool of cum - once. Twice. And then nothing. 

Shooting blanks. 

You flinch when you feel the splat! splat! splat! of something wet, slowly realizing that Gojo was crying pearly tears from his pussydrunkenly droopy eyes. Smearing it when he rubs his face into the crook of your neck with a purr, “B-best out of ten…?”

“...”

A/N. PHEWWW I got CARRIED AWAYY with this one oml it was saur fun.