FOREVER, WITH YOU

“you’re gonna be late,” he said, but he didn’t sound concerned. not even a little. his voice was that low, gravelly thing that always made your stomach flip, and he was leaning against the open door of the backseat, one arm braced on the roof of the car, the other hanging loose at his side. he was so fucking big, all broad shoulders and thick arms, and he was looking at you like you were something he’d been waiting to unwrap all day. “like, really late.”

“then stop talking and do something about it, baby,” you shot back, grinning up at him, all teeth and attitude. you reached for him, your fingers catching the hem of his black t-shirt and tugging. “you’re the one who pulled over. you’re the one who said, and i quote, ‘get in the back, pretty girl.’ so. get in the back.”

he snorted, but it was soft, fond, the kind of sound that made you feel all warm inside. “bossy little thing.”

“you love meee.”

“didn’t say i didn’t.”

and then he was climbing in, the car dipping under his weight, and the space that had felt comfortably cramped before suddenly felt impossibly small. his knees brushed your thighs as he settled between your legs, and the heat of him—god, the heat of him—washed over you like a wave. he didn’t bother with the other door, just left it open a crack because this part of the campus parking lot was mostly empty this time of day, hidden behind a row of overgrown hedges that made it feel like your own little secret. your own little world.

he leaned over you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing across your lower lip. “you sure you wanna do this here?” he asked, and there was something teasing in his voice, something that said he already knew the answer.

you rolled your eyes, grabbing his wrist and holding his hand there, pressing a kiss to his palm. “toji. baby. daddy.” you watched his pupils blow wide at the last one, watched the way his jaw tightened, and you felt a thrill shoot straight down your spine. “i have been thinking about your mouth on me since you picked me up. that’s forty-five minutes. do you know how long forty-five minutes is when you’re just sitting there pretending to listen to a podcast about proper deadlift form?”

“that podcast is informational.”

“it’s boring.”

“it’s educational.”

“it’s not as educational as what you’re about to do to me.” you hooked your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, until you could feel the hard line of him pressing against your inner thigh through his jeans. “so quit stalling. you promised. you said ‘i’ll take care of you before your class, don’t worry.’ those were your exact words. i have a very good memory, toji fushiguro.”

he laughed then, a real laugh, low and rumbling, and it vibrated through his chest and into yours where you were pressed together. “alright, alright. fuck. you’re gonna give me a headache with all that whining.”

“i don’t whine,” you said, even as your voice pitched higher, even as you made a little sound of impatience in the back of your throat. “i communicate my needs. there’s a difference.”

“sure there is, sweetheart.” he dipped his head, pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear that made you gasp. “you’re so fucking needy, you know that?”

“yours,” you corrected, tilting your head back against the hoodie, giving him more access. “i’m your needy. big difference.”

he hummed against your skin, and the vibration of it sent a shiver through you, made your hips shift up against him. “can’t argue with that.”

his hands moved then, sliding down your sides, over the thin fabric of your top, settling on your waist. his palms were huge, calloused from years of lifting, and they spanned almost the entire width of you. he squeezed, just enough to make you gasp again, and then he was pushing your top up, baring your stomach, watching the way the afternoon light played across your skin.

“so pretty,” he murmured, almost to himself, and your heart did that stupid little flip it always did when he said things like that. “all spread out for me like this. you know how many guys in your class would kill to see you like this?”

“don’t care about them,” you said, breathless, because his hands were moving higher now, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “only care about you. only want you.”

“yeah?” his eyes met yours, dark and intense, and there was something in them that made you feel like the most important person in the world. “say it again.”

“i only want you, daddy.”

the word hung in the air between you, heavy and sweet, and you watched something shift in his expression. something hungrier. he pulled your top up over your head in one smooth motion, tossed it somewhere into the front seat, and then his mouth was on you—on your collarbone, your sternum, the swell of your breast. he took his time, laving his tongue over each spot, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark, and you arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“you’re so good to me,” you whispered, tugging gently at the dark strands. “always taking care of me. driving me to school. making sure i eat. making sure i—” your voice broke into a moan as his mouth closed over your nipple, his tongue flicking across the peak. “—oh, fuck, yeah, just like that.”

he pulled off with a wet sound, looking up at you through his lashes. “making sure you what? finish the sentence, baby.”

“you’re such an asshole,” you whined, but you were smiling, and he was smiling, and everything felt light and easy and so fucking good. “making sure i come so hard i forget my own name.”

“that’s my job.” he kissed his way down your stomach, his lips trailing fire across your skin, and you felt your muscles quiver in anticipation. “now lay back. don’t move.”

“i’m already laying back.”

“lay back harder.”

“that doesn’t make any sense.”

“shut up.”

you laughed, a bright, breathless sound, and let your head fall back against the hoodie again. your legs fell open wider, an invitation, a plea, and he settled between them like he belonged there. because he did. because there was nowhere else he’d rather be, and you knew it. the way he looked at you, like you were something precious and filthy all at once, told you everything you needed to know.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties—the lacy pair you’d put on this morning specifically because you knew he’d be seeing them—and he pulled them down slowly, agonizingly slowly, dragging the fabric over your hips, your thighs, your knees, until they were just a crumpled scrap on the floor of the car. the air hit your bare skin, cool and thrilling, and you shivered.

“look at you,” he said, and his voice had dropped an octave, gone all rough and reverent. “fucking soaked already, and i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“that’s your fault,” you managed, your voice coming out all high and needy. “you and your stupid voice and your stupid face and your stupid hands that are taking too long.”

“patience, princess.”

“i don’t have any.”

“i know.” he grinned, sharp and wicked, and then he was lowering his head, and his breath was hot against your inner thigh, and you were already squirming, already making those little sounds that you couldn’t seem to control. “that’s why you need me.”

his mouth found the crease of your hip first, his lips pressing open-mouthed kisses along the line where your leg met your body. he bit down gently, just a graze of teeth, and you gasped, your hips jerking up. he used his hands to push them back down, his grip firm on your pelvis, holding you in place.

“what did i say?” he murmured against your skin. “don’t move.”

“i can’t help it,” you whined. “you’re being mean.”

“i’m being thorough. there’s a difference.”

“oh my god, you’re using my own argument against me.”

“learned from the best.”

and then he stopped talking, and that was somehow worse, because the silence was filled with the sound of your breathing, ragged and uneven, and the distant hum of cars passing on the main road, and the wet sound of his mouth as he finally, finally pressed a kiss to your cunt.

the first touch of his tongue was soft, almost teasing, just a flick across your clit that made your whole body jolt. he hummed, low in his throat, and the vibration of it shot through you like electricity. your hands flew to his hair, gripping tight, and he let you this time, didn’t pull away, just kept licking in long, slow strokes that had you seeing stars behind your eyelids.

“fuck, toji,” you breathed, and you felt him smile against you. “fuck, yes, just like that.”

he took his time. he always did. he dragged it out until you were a mess of whimpers and pleas, your hips trying to move despite his hands holding you still, your fingers pulling at his hair hard enough that it had to hurt. but he didn’t complain. he just kept going, kept licking and sucking and fucking you with his tongue like he had all the time in the world, like your lecture didn’t start in twenty minutes, like you weren’t going to walk into that classroom with your thighs still shaking and your lipstick long gone.

“daddy,” you gasped, the word falling out of you unbidden, desperate. “please, i need—i need more, please, i’ve been so good, please—”

he pulled back just enough to speak, his lips slick and shining, his eyes dark. “you have been good, haven’t you?” his thumb found your clit, pressed down in slow circles, and you keened. “sat so pretty for me in the front seat. didn’t even try to touch yourself when i was getting gas. such a good girl.”

the praise went straight to your head, made your cheeks flush and your heart race. “i’m always a good girl for you.”

“yeah, you are.” he dipped his head again, licked a stripe up your slit, and you felt your thighs tremble on either side of his head. “you’re my good girl. and good girls get taken care of.”

he doubled down then, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking hard, and the sound you made was embarrassing—loud and broken and completely unchecked. but you didn’t care. you couldn’t care. not when his tongue was doing that thing, that flat-wide stroke followed by a pointed flick, over and over, building something inside you that felt like a wave about to crash.

“oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you chanted, your voice climbing higher with each repetition. your back arched off the seat, your heels digging into the leather, and he groaned against you—actually groaned, the sound vibrating through your entire body—and you felt it in your bones.

his hands were everywhere, one still holding your hip down, the other sliding up your stomach to palm your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple in time with his tongue. you were so close, teetering on the edge, and he knew it—of course he knew it, he always knew—because he slowed down, pulled back just enough to let the pressure ease, and you wanted to cry.

“don’t you dare,” you said, your voice ragged. “don’t you fucking dare edge me right now, toji, i swear to god—”

“language,” he said mildly, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “what happened to being a good girl?”

“i’ll be a good girl after i come. right now i’m a bad girl. a very bad girl who will key your car if you don’t let me finish.”

he laughed, actually laughed, and the sound was so warm and unexpected that you almost forgot to be mad. almost. “you wouldn’t.”

“try me.”

he looked up at you, his chin resting on your thigh, his face flushed and his lips swollen, and you thought you’d never seen anything more beautiful. “i love how crazy you get,” he said. “it’s cute.”

“i am not cute. i am a menace. a menace who needs to come.”

“such a menace.” he kissed your inner thigh, soft and sweet. “alright. one more minute. can you give me one more minute?”

“no,” you said immediately, and then, because you could see the way his eyes sparkled, you added, “i can give you thirty seconds. tops.”

“such a negotiator.” he shook his head, but he was already lowering his mouth again, already pressing his tongue flat against you, and the wave started building again, faster this time, harder. “thirty seconds. starting now.”

you didn’t even make it to twenty.

the orgasm crashed over you like a freight train, sudden and overwhelming, and you screamed—actually screamed—your back bowing off the seat, your thighs clamping around his head hard enough that he had to be suffocating. but he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, just kept licking and sucking through every wave until you were pushing at his head, too sensitive, too much.

“okay, okay, okay,” you gasped, your whole body trembling. “okay, i’m done, i’m done, you win.”

he pulled back slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and he was grinning like the cat who got the cream. “that was, what, seventeen seconds?”

“shut up.”

“eighteen, maybe.”

“i will actually key your car.”

he crawled up your body, bracing his weight on his elbows, and kissed you—soft and deep and tasting like you. you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer, not caring that you were both sweaty, not caring that your lecture was definitely starting in ten minutes and you still had to find your top.

“you’re so annoying,” you mumbled against his mouth.

“you love it.”

“i do.” you kissed him again, slower this time, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “i really, really do.”

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm on your lips. “you okay?”

“more than okay.” you smiled, soft and sleepy and satisfied. “you’re really good at that, you know.”

“i’ve had practice.”

“oh yeah? with who?”

“with you, dumbass. only you.”

you laughed, bright and loud, and he laughed too, and the car filled with the sound of it, warm and easy and full. this was what you loved most—not just the sex, though that was obviously incredible, but this. the way you could be completely yourselves together. the way you could be messy and loud and ridiculous and he never looked at you like you were too much. the way he always looked at you like you were exactly enough.

“you’re gonna be late,” he said again, but he didn’t move, just nuzzled his nose against yours.

“you’re gonna make me late,” you corrected. “you’re the one who started this.”

“you’re the one who asked.”

“i asked you to drive me to school. not to rearrange my insides with your tongue.”

he snorted. “rearrange your insides. dramatic.”

“i’m not dramatic, i’m accurate.”

“you’re a menace.”

“your menace,” you said, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

he sighed, but it was fond, and he pushed himself up, reaching into the front seat to grab your top. “come on. get dressed. i’ll walk you to your building.”

“you don’t have to do that.”

“i know.” he handed you your top, then bent to pick up your panties from the floor, holding them out to you with a raised eyebrow. “but i want to. and you’re still shaking, so.”

you snatched them from him, your cheeks flushing. “i am not shaking.”

“your hands are literally trembling, sweetheart.”

“that’s because you’re holding them.”

“i’m not holding anything.”

you glared at him, but you were smiling too hard for it to have any effect, and he just grinned back, all sharp teeth and soft eyes. you pulled your top back on, tugged your skirt down, and wiggled back into your panties—which were definitely ruined, but whatever, it was worth it. he held out his hand to help you climb over the center console into the front seat, and you took it, letting him pull you close for one more kiss before you settled into the passenger side.

he started the car, the engine purring to life, and you reached over to rest your hand on his thigh as he pulled out of the parking spot. he covered your hand with his own, squeezing gently, and you felt that familiar warmth spread through your chest.

“you know,” you said, watching the buildings slide by outside the window, “i’m gonna be thinking about that during my whole lecture.”

“good.”

“i’m not gonna learn anything.”

“not my problem.”

“you’re literally the cause of my academic downfall.”

he glanced at you, one eyebrow raised, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “you’re passing all your classes.”

“barely.”

“you have a 3.8.”

“okay, but that’s down from a 3.9, and i blame you.”

he laughed, shaking his head, and pulled into the drop-off circle in front of your building. “get out.”

“kiss me first.”

“i just kissed you.”

“that was two minutes ago. i’ve forgotten it already.” you leaned across the center console, puckering your lips dramatically, and he rolled his eyes but met you halfway, his hand cupping the back of your neck as he kissed you breathless.

“now get out,” he said when he finally pulled back, his voice a little rougher than before.

“fine.” you grabbed your bag from the floor, pushed open the door, and paused with one foot on the pavement. “pick me up at nine?”

“text me when you’re done.”

“i will.” you leaned back in, pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “love you, baby.”

“love you too, brat.” he reached out and flicked your nose, and you swatted his hand away, laughing. “now go. learn about your… whatever it is.”

“post-war architecture.”

“sounds fake.”

“you’re fake.”

“get out of my car.”

you got out of his car, but you watched him drive away until his taillights disappeared around the corner, and you were still smiling when you walked into your lecture, still warm and buzzing and full, and you didn’t learn a single thing about post-war architecture. but you did spend the entire hour thinking about the way his mouth felt on you, the way he said your good girl, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. and when he texted you at eight forty-five—‘outside. don’t make me wait.’—you practically ran out of the building, your professor’s confused look following you all the way down the hall.

standing just outside the white chalk lines. shaggy raven hair that never looks styled, stubble he clearly forgot—or chose not—to shave that morning. his infamous scar pulling at his lips as he shouts. he wears the same black team jacket unzipped, sleeves rolled up his thick forearms. when he folds his arms or gestures sharply toward the field, you always catch his muscles shifting beneath the fabric, veins flexing making it so impossible to ignore.

it’s just a photographer’s eye for striking subjects. for sure….

he beautifully contrasts against the chaos of the game…even if he’s shouting, or breaking his clipboard…. still, you capture him mid-shout, mid-thought, jaw clenched as he’s holding the entire team together.

and then later, when the photos run, and his photos dominate the highlights more than the actual goal, well, you pretend not to notice how often your name sits beneath them in a small, neat printed font.

he doesn’t know you. you’re just another person with a camera on the sidelines. you’re just another face in a sea of professional press badges, not just one of the universities many photographers. but you know him. you know the way his brows pinch when one of his players gets injured, the way his mouth twitches when his team scores, and the way he exhales with relief when the game ends.

and you keep clicking the shutter button—

“again?!” the head editor exclaims. “you didn’t get the goal?”

“I did!” you huff, glaring at the senior grad student who basically runs the entire school newspaper.

“not the first one, the final goal! the one scored by the universities ace! sukuna—“

“god forbid i missed a shot, I basically got everything else, plus I’m not the only one taking photos on the pitch. don’t you have other photographers?” you tsk, arms crossed.

he glares at you behind his desk, clicking through the photos you’d uploaded. “you got every single expression of the damn coach,” he mutters under his breath, clicking through one of toji shouting, then another of him spitting on the grass, then another of him scratching his jaw—

you nibble on your cheek, slouching slightly in the seat.

“you hate when we use someone else’s photos,” he adds, licking his teeth as he finally gets to your photos of the actual players. and they were spectacular. the action shots were perfect, you can see the sweat dribbling down their foreheads.

“because it’s my job,” you mutter, glancing at your editor who frowns when the photos return back to the head coach.

“unbelievable,” he mumbles, exhaling slowly as he sits back in his seat. “you’re killing me.”

your heel kicks the floor. this wasn’t a first. this happens almost every time. your lens just happens to drift away from the ball and fall on the head coach.

even with fans shouting in the stands, and the other cameras flashing in the other direction. your camera can’t help but find coach toji in the chaos. he was just as important as the team. he’s acting like toji isn’t mentioned a million times in the articles! god forbid you want him getting his flowers. but your editor wasn’t very appreciative of your sympathies.

“we’re going with these three, and taking one from the other photographers for the final goal you didn’t get,” he sighs, showing you your three photos, one of the team celebrating, another of satoru gojo sprinting across the field with the ball, and of course, the final — and in your opinion the best — of head coach toji standing with his muscular arms crossed at the start of the second half.

your editor rolls his eyes turning his screen back to him. “if you bring another folder and it’s seventy percent of this damn coach, I’ll drop you and pull noah up.”

the threat has you lowering your head and muttering a hesitate okay, because at the end of the day, you were the only photographer that worked full time for the paper, and you go to every single match. the rest are focused on other stories, or working their way to become editors.

while you liked photo-journalism more. it helped, that on weekends, you got someone to admire. and your editor was not the only one that’s noticed.

“what the hell, you’ve got to be kidding me,” geto huffs, snatching the paper from gojo as he sits on the pitch. “why am I never in these damn fucking articles??” he huffs with anger

“score more goals,” gojo sticks his tongue out, just to get kicked harshly by his friend.

“I fucking scored this game,” geto snaps, grumbling even more as he flips through the paper, seeing the team celebrating.

sukuna chugs his water behind them, “my picture sucks ass,” he grumbles, spitting the water right beside their goalie making him jerk back in annoyance. “you didn’t score, but I get the shit picture?” he snaps lowly at gojo.

geto frowns, “I scored, and at least you get a picture.”

gojo chuckles, pointing at the next photo, making the entire team roll their eyes simultaneously.

“some things never change,” one teammate, yuno, mutters. his hands are on his hips as him and the rest of the team glare at the immaculate, pristine, jaw-dropping photo captured of their strict, grumpy, nicotine addicted head coach, toji.

sukuna snarls as geto looks like he’s going to fucking tear out his luscious black hair. “fucking unbelievable.”

gojo snorts even louder, snatching the paper just to wave it from his place on the ground towards toji, who’d just gotten off the phone. “coach! you’re mogging the cameras again!”

toji’s brows pinch until he notices the photo. and it’s always the same reaction from the head coach. his eyes scan over the photo, then they fall down to the same printed name underneath. “not bad,” he casually says, handing back the newspaper like it’s nothing.

but the entire team is seething, with the exception of gojo laughing his ass off.

“I finally figured out who your secret admirer is,” gojo announces, “it’s definitely the cutie with the charm on her camera and stickers on her flashlight.”

geto raises a brow “how d’ya know that?” the rest of the team immediately huddle in.

gojo clears his throat.

“for the last few games I’ve been purposely fixing my shoes or drinking water on the sidelines where they’re all huddled up. obviously I ruled out all the old farts, then I narrowed it down to the ladies. then i crossed out the outside press, but it’s hard since I can’t see all their press badges—but then i noticed,” gojo holds up the newspaper, slapping his index finger on your name beneath the photo. the entire team have basically memorized your full name by now. “she was the only one still photographing the field, BUT it was pointed at coach,” gojo points to toji.

“AND,” gojo continues, “she had this cute little charm on her camera, and this sticker. and it’s definitely your secret admirer,” gojo confidently smiles.

however, geto scratches his jaw, glancing at gojo then the newspaper. “so which one was her instagram?”

oh right, gojo rubs his neck in disappointment.

your name under a majority of the game’s photos started catching the teams attention a couple months ago. your credentials at the bottom of the article was always signed with your first and last name. however, when the team caught on to your not-so secret admiration for their coach, and neglect of the rest of team, they tried stalking you.

yet, they couldn’t find a single social media handle. not your instagram, twitter, tiktok — even your linkedIn was just the default linkedIn pfp. and the school paper website didn’t have a photo for you. either way, the team was on a mission.

“I don’t think her socials are even under her name,” gojo admits, making the team groan.

toji, silently watching the ordeal transpire, claps his hands, breaking the gossip. “enough, continue your drills unless ya wanna stay till sunset!”

once the team finally finishes practice and began packing their gear. neither one of them notices the students enjoying the nice weather on campus, or the girl that take a detours to walk past the field.

your eyes easily fall on your perfect subject. his hand cracks his neck as he stifles a yawn, kicking the soccer ball towards one of the players as they kick it up, tucking it under their arm.

it was a routine….one that you found yourself subconsciously doing on practice days. you would follow the path down from the quad, until you reach the second soccer field on campus, mainly used for practice and training.

your bag hangs off your shoulder along with your camera — the lens was downsized to your fixed 24mm and the flash wasn’t on — that’s usually how your camera is when you aren’t at events, or games.

it isn’t uncommon to watch the schools infamous soccer team practice. especially when half of them are also part of a fraternity. hell, on the other side of the field were a few girls fawning over the sweaty players.

in other words, you don’t stand out. and you’re unbothered by the hot players that glance your way as they pack their bags. well, until a certain white haired player is squinting across the field, before muttering a quiet “no way…”

geto gives his friend a look, lifting his duffle over his shoulder as sukuna wipes his face with the hem of his jersey, “what?” he grumbles.

gojo’s bag hit the grass. he locks eyes with you. then he does the worst thing imaginable. he shouts your name.

the entire team snap their necks in your direction. gojo suddenly leads the pack of six foot whatever college men across the field — their bags drop, cleats half untied, some bare foot. but all on one mission.

you.

the color immediately drains from your face. your body freezes like a deer in headlights. and when the entire team of sweaty, built, hot men crowd the waist-high fence that separate them from you. you’re ultimately stuck.

“you’re-you’re—“ slightly out of breath and pumped full of adrenaline, gojo heaves out your name. not just a first name, no—your full government name. “right!?”

you eyes lazily drag between the men, fixing the strap of your bag, your camera clinking against the side, drawing every man’s attention to the little charm gojo had just described less than an hour ago.

“yeah,” you manage to exhale, shifting your balance. “did you need something?”

“yeah,” the low voice of the hot headed team captain interrupts. he hadn’t ran with rest of the players, instead he walked up, casual and full of loud confidence. finally making his way across the field, energy drink in hand, glaring right through you as he continues. “why the fuck was my picture the only one not taken by you? it looks like shit.”

you exhale, about to answer when another one cuts in.

“why haven’t you taken one of me? the game last month was my debut and you didn’t get me going on the pitch—“

“I liked that shot you got of me when—“

“can you get my good side next time—“

“why did you—“

“can you—“

“you didn’t get my goal!” geto manages to dogpile. all the men yell complaints and compliments, overwhelming you with critiques. until you’re frowning, glaring harshly at the group of men you’d watched from a distance since your freshman year.

“I don’t work for you guys,” you finally snap. your words are cold making the men frown. “I work for the schools paper, and they choose the photos, not me.”

“and yet coach is in every single one of em?” geto bites back, and that’s when they all catch the slight surprise that crosses your face.

gojo smirks, leaning over the fence, getting close as he tilts his head. “seems like a majority of your photos have our coach. it’s like your editor can’t help but be forced to put him in.”

you feel your stomach churn, glancing between the sharp sapphire eyes. “that’s not how it works,” you mutter.

you did not expect your first interaction with the soccer team to be this. accusing you of favoritism. you can practically feel all their eyes on you, like they knew exactly who you are, even if this is your first time speaking to them.

“sure looks like it,” sukuna drawls, smirking wide when he sees you shift uncomfortably. “you like our coach or somethin?”

“of course she does,” geto’s smooth voice cuts in. “do you get all hot lookin at coach toji?”

you swallow thickly, pushing down the heat crawling up your neck to glare at the men. “you guys are disgusting,” you spit, but the men don’t falter, instead they continue gloating and poking.

“we just wanna get to know you. you’ve been takin’ our pics for months, we can’t have a chat now?” geto cuts.

they were quietly impressed with your composure. your poker face would’ve been perfect if not for the slight fidgeting you’re doing with your bag and camera strap. either way, your glare was mean, unwavering until—

“cut it out.”

the sharp voice slices through the team. then, one strong palm shoves gojo into geto, and the rest of the team topple on each other like dominos. the head coach plants himself between the fence, his team, and you.

“i forget you’re all a couple children,” toji tsks, his arms are crossed standing like a lone knight keeping a pack a wolves from a poor princess.

your heart slams against your rib cage. all your composure evaporates into thin air, struggling to catch your breath. this was the closest you’ve gotten to the head coach. you can practically smell the mixture of his cologne and natural musk. your cheeks grow hotter by the second, completely dazed and loosing all other senses, unaware that practically half the team noticed your sudden shift.

gojo elbows geto eyeing the way your pupils basically turn into bright pink hearts. even your lips look more glossy from the drool collecting in your mouth.

they’d never seen anything like it, and for their coach of all people?!

you’re caught up in gawking at the huge man, eyeing his wide shoulders, the veins straining from his compression shirt, his shirt clinging to every muscle that could break you in a blink of an eye — that you miss his short lecture towards his boys to quit scaring off a young woman, all to end with him shouting—

“ten more laps!”

the team’s eyes bulge, jaws dropping in shock, and quickly follow up with a spew of complaints.

“ya heard coach!” sukuna, the hot-headed captain, interrupts. and if the team wasn’t scared of their coach, they definitely had a reason to be with their captain. they ultimately drop their things and start their laps. however, sukuna hangs back at bit, “I didn’t even say sh—“

“you were late to practice, so you were gonna do the laps anyways,” toji cuts, earning a loud tsk from the tattooed captain. his duffle drops on the floor dramatically, eyes flicking towards yours, which — no surprise — haven’t left the coach’s profile, and with his own groan, his cleats hit the grass starting his lap.

with the entire team running laps….you’re left alone.

coach toji doesn’t move.

instead, he leans against the fence, strong arms crossing. you’re barely a foot behind him, close enough that the scent of grass and dizzy cologne reaches you when he shifts his weight. close enough that your brain short-circuits again.

then he looks over his shoulder.

it’s not rushed or sharp. it was an easy turn of his head, his dark emerald eyes flick to you with calm, assessing. and up close, he’s worse. he’s broader than he looks from the sidelines, his stubble shadowing his jaw feels unfair for a sunday morning. sunlight catches the edge of his cheekbone, and the curve of his mouth makes you stare shamelessly especially when it lifts just slightly. he’s amused by something you’re not aware of yet and you don’t even notice.

your heart stutters.

you practically forget how to stand or how to function like a grown ass adult, instead you feel like someone who’s just had their fantasy materialize directly in front of them.

heat rushes to your face, your chest tightens, and you pray, desperately, that your expression isn’t as transparent as it feels. you focus on keeping your hands still, even as your pulse flutters wildly under your skin.

and toji’s gaze lingers. he takes you in like the way someone experienced does, without staring, without shame, just a brief glance that drifts. from your fidgeting fingers, to your necklace trapped between your pretty cleavage, to the tank top that hugs your chest, to the zip up hoodie falling off your soft shoulder. to your lips, wet from the amount of times you’d lick and bit them.

and you still don’t notice it! you’re too busy trying not to melt into the grass beneath your feet. all you register is how hot the space suddenly feels, how solid he seems standing there.

from the field, a player snickers mid-lap. a majority watching the entire interaction, waiting for someone to make a move. gojo snickers as geto analyzes.

you don’t hear any of it, all you know is that the knights are real, and he’s right in front of you, and your carefully maintained composure never stood a chance. especially when his eyes meet yours and his deep, husky, voice sinks into your bones.

“been wondering who was seein’ me like that, sweetheart.”

you were gone.

s-s-s-sweetheart!?

your heart bursts, veins burning through your skin as your lips part, words falling into the void as your brain struggles to reply.

and he finds it adorable.

college girls are cute, but you, you’re a little pervert. how many photos have you taken of him? and for the past year too? he’s wondered just like his team had, who was behind all those photos. who was oogling him while the best team in the nation was playing right before their eyes?

at first, he was bothered, confused even, how big of a stalker did you have to be to take his photos for months and not introduce yourself?

but now he sees it. the way you’re struggling to find words. the way your eyes flick between his — surprised even that you’re not shying away from eye contact, but instead, struggling to just respond. like the words are right there, but your dumb brain is getting fried just by his presence. cute.

“I’ll try an’ wink next time.”

he just hammers the nail straight into your heart. your face bursts into flames as you let out a strangled hum like whine, face burning even more. unfortunately, your audience isn’t as silent. instead a few had caught your reaction and were bursting with laughter. a few whistling at their coach.

“she’s too young for ya, coach!”

“get someone y’er own age!”

“coach, the shy ones are the freakiest!”

the last one — somehow — snapped you back to reality. your glare cut through the field, immediately hitting one of the players making him burst out laughing along with the others around him. your face pulls into a scowl, heart hammering at the teasing you’re receiving from the team. who even are they? they don’t know anything about you!

shy?! you?!!! you scowl in annoyance, eyes rollin—

“ignore em, sweetheart. they’re just being dicks.”

fuck.

your face burns hot again, heart hammering against your ribs as you stutter out another nod, fingers gripping your bag as you glance at the head coach again. his green eyes were unbelievably dark, just staring at them, you felt like you were getting dizzy.

the scar on his lip twitches up, leaning an elbow on the fence, his eyes flick down to your camera. “what kinda camera is that?”

your eyes widen, looking down like you’re surprised it’s there. but it seems like he flicks a switch in your brain with that question, because now you’re fumbling to hold the delicate thing in your hands. then you hold it out for him.

a small puff of air leaves his nose in amusement. you’re cute. he turns, reaching his hand out, just for your small ones to place the expensive camera in his. the same one you’d deny your friends from even holding, afraid they’ll drop it.

b-but if coach toji holds it…if he wants to hold it…who…who are you to stop him!!!

your blush only breaks out across your body once you feel your hands brush his, eyes so bright and big even he can see the hearts explode from your irises, fuzzy pink flowers glowing around your head like a cartoon.

“looks expensive,” he finally takes his eyes away from you to momentarily examine the camera. it was nice, sony. “bought it yourself?”

you nod, smiling as you rock on your heels. “it was…” oh first words, toji’s eyes flick to you, eyeing your glossy lips as they part. “my first big purchase,” you glance at the camera then back up at toji as you point with your manicured index finger, towards the camera. “it’s nice…right?”

well fuck me.

toji chuckles internally. he really can’t read you. from rude (to the team), to shy, to snappy (to the team), to demure, to charming—all while looking up at him like he’s some shinning knight and not a coach, albeit for the best team in the nation, but still.

his lips curl up, his internal switch already flipped when he shooed the team away, and the smooth voice of his poured out like second nature. “very nice, sweetheart.”

you nod, enthusiastically.

god, you were a cutie.

“and you take such good pictures with it too, you’re a natural,” the sweet words just keep pouring from his mouth like honey, and you’re eating up every drop. your feet manage to carry you closer to the fence…closer to him.

you wet your glossy lips, leaning close to point at the camera, “it also takes video here…I initially wanted to do more videography, but I stuck with photos. but it’s a nice perk with the camera…and I can shoot in raw and jpeg, so I can edit them afterwards if I want, and uh and I have other lenses too. this one is a fixed one, so it can’t zoom, but I have two other ones that zoom, I usually use those ones for work…like during your….games.”

your rambling was one of, if not, the most attractively adorable things you could’ve done at this moment. especially when you’re oblivious to the light flush that settles in the coach’s stomach as he eyes you down.

his gaze flicks between your fingers on the camera, and your profile from his height. your hair lightly brush’s back from the wind exposing your neck, your perfume reaching his nose.

“can I try takin’ a pic?”

your face bursts hot, you feel like it’ll melt off as you gawk up at the head coach, before nodding your head frantically, a wide smile pulling at your lips. you try to clear your throat as you turn the camera on for him and take the lens cap off.

“good?” he asks.

you just nod again, biting your cheek feeling how wide you’re smiling it almost hurts, but you can’t take your eyes off the way his big hands handle your camera. your biggest crush ever is using your camera!

you contain a squeal as he stands straight. he brings the camera to his eye, before lowering it again, confused. your eyes widen momentarily before realizing he’s struggling and quickly stepping up again.

you lean over the fence. and toji purposely avoids coming down to your height. instead, he watches you hold the fence to stand on your tippy toes, the other gently holds his wrist to ask him to lower the camera just a bit from his eye so you can instruct him. fuck, the confidence to touch him when you were just a jittery mess a second ago.

“the shutter button is here. if you half press it, it’ll auto-focus for you—“ you move to the front of the camera flipping some switch, “jus’ turned it on. but just press down all the way and it’ll take the picture,” you say, mistakenly glancing up from where you are, just to realize that coach toji’s face is inches from yours. his warm breath fans against your cheek, his scar so close, his lips right there and his eyes….

you were beyond gone. the steam immediately comes off your face as your eyes turn into big giant hearts. you’re so easy to read it should be illegal.

you fall back on your heels, allowing toji to attempt again. what you weren’t expecting was for him to point the camera at you.

well considering the wider lens, I guess he wants to shoot something closer for more satisfaction. but it caught you slightly off guard, your cheeks flame once more, heart stuttering, but your face immediately lights up.

his lips curve up behind the camera, watching you give him a cute smile, angling your head to tip to the side a bit. people that automatically smile when a camera is pointed at them is definitely a cute trait.

he takes a few quick photos, before pulling the camera back. “how do I see ‘em?”

this time he lowers the camera for you, but keeps it close to his body so you’re still leaning over and up beside him, albeit with the fence between you both.

“ah the sun was behind me,” you realize now looking at the photos. toji hums like he knows what that means (he doesn’t) but he clicks the button to go to the next picture and same thing.

“let’s do it again,” he says, already pulling the camera back, but your finger quickly reaches out, easily flipping it back to view mode before moving back. toji watches you glance up at the sky, before moving yourself in front of the sun. “smile f’er me, sweetheart.”

you were smiling, but now—toji chuckles through his nose at your reaction. he knows exactly what he’s doing. he takes one photo, than another.

your smile turns more pose worthy, not so big, but just as beautiful. “you’re a natural,” he comments, with full honesty.

your cheeks flush, waving your hand in front of you, “don’t glaze me.”

toji snorts, “jus’ saying what I see, not my fault you pose like a model.”

a model?!

toji notices the way you bite your cheek and the way your hands fidget with your bag. “put the bag down, sweetheart.”

your heart skips again, the nickname electing a response from you every time. but you oblige, setting your bag on the ground. now without anything to fidget with, your hands carefully clasp behind your back, your navy hoodie completely off your shoulder, exposing the casual white tank top. his eyes glance at the swell of your tits that your bra pushes up. and the sliver of skin that peaks at the bottom.

the wind was like a perfect accessory, blowing a warm spring breeze in your direction brushing your hair again.

you do your best to pose casually, smiling at the camera, eyes low as you stare into the lens, heart beating erratically as you wait for coach toji to finish.

your breath catches momentarily. cheeks stinging and lips parting like a deer in headlights, because you notice it. just briefly, the way toji lowers the camera from his eye, gaze tracking down your figure, eyeing your thighs, then your hips, then your tits.

he’s definitely checking you out.

you glance away, flustered, unaware that toji was now clicking the library to view the photos he’d just taken.

“I think I’m a pretty good shot,” he compliments his nonexistent skills, but the light hits you so well.

you smile watching him look at the photos. eyes glued to his lazy smirk, stomach hot and heart fluttering at his short comments. he’s so handsome, you glance at the curve of his nose, the stubble on his cheek. he’s so so pretty.

your mind was getting dizzy, all because coach toji is in front of you, but it made you completely forgetful that if he keeps clicking next, it’ll eventually reach—

“oh.”

you first notice the slight raise of his brows, then the scar on his lip twitching wider, then the greens of his eyes darkening.

“did ya’ submit these too, sweetheart?”

your brows furrow for half a second, then it clicks. you lunge forward.

this can’t be happening!

you immediately cover the screen and take the camera as you hear the coach chuckle. of course you’d forgotten that you had these on your sd card.

staring back at you is a photo of toji’s fat bulge from the game. you managed to catch the moment he reached down to itch himself, grabbing it. if he saw this one he definitely saw the three before this of the closeups of his lips, his big biceps, his ass when he was fixing his shoes.

your heart is beating in your ears, skin sizzling with embarrassment as your vision starts to narrow. your eyes flick up to the coach in horror, flustered beyond speech. “it’s not—“ you struggle to explain, “you weren’t supposed to see that. I was just taking one—then I someone bumped so like, the camera went down—“

the rambling was unlike the one before, this one was much more uncoordinated, fueled by your humiliation, anxiety, and desperate attempt at defending yourself to him, so that he doesn’t think you’re some creep.

“I wore that shirt from the match two weeks ago. not this one….” his head tilts, arms folded across his beefy chest. “why do you still have ‘em?”

the older man is quite unbothered. instead, his chest grew hot, and his mind wandered off imagining this hot college girl laying in her bed, staring at pictures of his crotch with her small fingers playing with her wet little pussy. his eyes flick to your chest again.

your eyes are wide, glancing at your camera.

“I just forgot to format the card,” you quickly reply, pretty chest rising and falling. “I always forget, and I realize after when I’m exporting the photos or run out of storage—I delete them, i-i swear!”

he snorts, head tilting, “you swear?”

you nod frantically.

his emerald eyes narrow, tongue poking out to wet his lips, touching his scar. his eyes flick to the camera in your hands. you’re quite the actor…

“okay, I’ll take your word then. you wouldn’t lie to me…?” his gaze was intimidating, the darkness of his pupils felt like a black hole pulling you in. but somehow you manage to shake your head.

“no, sir.”

toji holds eye contact, before tearing it away to reach for his phone, “good girl.”

your heart beats in your throat, threatening to tear out, but you step forward, eyes big and sad. “sorry, coach.” there’s a slight waver in your voice, the man’s eyes widen briefly, chuckling under his breath as he brings a hand up to the crown of your head.

“don’t worry about it, keep taking photos of me. ya’ make me feel important,” his comment is punctuated with a flirtatious wink, shooting another arrow straight into your heart.

you were lovestruck the entire trip home. and so unbelievably grateful.

you talked your way out of such incriminating evidence. because how could coach toji know that in truth, you have an entire album of photos just like the ones he saw, that you pull out almost every night to help you cum.

you really should be an actor, you think, blushing at the way he called you good girl. the way he looked at you, the way his fingers brushed yours on the camera —ahhhh, you bury your hot face in your hands.

you were in shock for days, heart slamming against your chest and face heating up every time you thought back to the moment.

you were so in your head that you hadn’t even noticed the two athletes walking up behind you on your way out of class, crossing the quad.

it’s like that thing that happens. when you’re finally introduced to someone for the first time, then you’re suddenly seeing them everywhere. that’s how geto and gojo felt. you’d been under their noses the entire time.

with a lecture of over two hundred students, of course they’d spot you when you entered today. gojo elbowed his friend, nodding in your direction. geto’s eyes nearly popped.

“what the hell?” geto leans forward, the two men closely watch you enter the lecture hall, walking a few rows down before slipping in. geto’s eyes narrow at the camera you carefully place in your lap as you take out your ipad.

it was like the cards were being dealt out for him perfectly.

“wait, I don’t get it,” gojo huffs catching up to his friend as the lecture hall empties.

geto tsks, “what’s not to get? I’m gonna bribe her into taking photos of me next game. I’m fucking tired of being some fucking blur—“

“you’ve gotten some photos man—“

“well i want more. ones where I’m actually scoring,” geto huffs, brushing his bang back in frustration.

once the two men hit the pavement outside, they spot you. gojo is tagging along for the fun, while geto is set on a mission. one he conjured up mid-lecture the second he saw you. it was perfect. genius—

“what?” your face scrunches in mild disgust. the two men baffle at your reaction, especially at the way you’re looking up at them with narrow, and irritated eyes. your expression isn’t hard to decipher, it’s basically screaming, why tf are you talking to me?

geto licks his teeth, exhaling through his nose, “you heard me fine, sweetheart—“

“don’t call me that.”

his jaw clenches, repeating his line without the pet name. “the next two games are the semifinals and then the finals, so I’ll give you access through our manager to join press during the media window two days before the matches—“

“I already have access to that through the school paper,” you give him a look, immediately ticking him off.

“let me fucking finish will you—“

“you’re taking forever and I’m being cornered,” you snap back, rolling your eyes at the pretentious athlete. geto bites his tongue, as gojo gasps.

“you’re not being cornered!” he states, just to exchange a look with geto as they both see that they’ve steered you off the pavement and against a tree. “no—we’re just talking.”

you exhale, glancing back at geto, “whatever, just finish.”

geto licks his lips, continuing, “you’ll also get access to our locker room strategy meeting or whatever, and behind the scenes access — you only do photos, no video or interviews?”

you shake your head, heart beating just a little quicker because now you’re starting to see the perks. bts access is the one thing university teams can deny since they don’t like any outsiders butting into their strategies or taking them out of “the zone.”

that also means you can see….coach toji.

gojo and geto both notice the realization crossing your face, especially when your lips part, much more glossy than before. unbelievable.

“but,” geto snaps you back, your eyes darting up to meet his, “you better take some good fucking shots of me during the game. if I’m not in the fucking paper and insta page, then no deal.”

you gasp, “dude, you’re literally acting like I’m the one in charge of that?? it’s my editor that picks the photos to put in the articles.”

geto tsks, “yet somehow coach is in every single one.” your jaw clenches, stomach heating up. “take more photos of me so it’s inevitable. got it?”

your lip curls in annoyance, eyeing geto, just for gojo to suddenly but in—

“but also take some of me, i look so hot in them and i like reposting them on my insta,” gojo flashes you a smile.

your frown deepens, “there’s other photographers. you guys know that right?”

“yours are the only ones they choose and they look better than whoever took sukuna’s,” gojo snorts, remembering their captains complaints.

nevertheless, geto and gojo wait for you to agree, both men standing with their arms crossed, blocking the spring sun from hitting you.

then a certain captain happens to pass by, noticing his two teammates, and frat brothers.

“the fuck are you guys doing?”

the men whip their heads as sukuna steps up, bag slung over his shoulder wearing a backwards baseball cap. and with a quick explanation from his friends, sukuna tsks glancing at you and adding.

“coach always showers before or after our games.”

and it was that one bit of information that automatically has you saying: “deal.”

—

you don’t rush setting up. you check your flash, bouncing it once off the ceiling to make sure it won’t wash anyone out. your fingers move with muscle memory, standing in these rooms plenty of times for the school paper, along with other journalists from the school paper especially for media days, post-game scrums, pre-season press.

so this isn’t new territory.

the room is packed, though. there’s national outlets mingling with campus press, and clusters of journalists already talking. you hear familiar phrases float past as you move, many talking about the teams unbeaten streak, their goal differentials, their historic season.

familiar names are easily getting tossed around. captain sukuna coming up first, always, and his leadership, and the way he commands the field. gojo’s speed follows after, and his natural talent and eye for goals, then geto’s consistency, his intelligence and composure. someone mentions scouts again, plural this time, and how a few clubs have been hovering around those three all season.

you barely react because you’ve heard all of this before, and it was impressive of course, you enjoy it. however, what does get you, embarrassingly, is his name.

every time coach toji is mentioned—his tactics, his discipline, the way he rebuilt the program and incorporated new strategies —you feel heat creep up your neck. it’s a soft and traitorous blush that you’re grateful no one’s looking closely enough to notice you smiling.

you keep your eyes on your camera, pretending to fiddle with a setting you don’t actually need to adjust, reminding yourself that he’s just part of the team. a very effective, very respected part of it.

then finally, the noise dips and the conversations fade into an expectant quiet as the side door opens.

the players file in first, with sukuna at the front, expression unreadable, gojo already grinning, geto calm and observant as ever. everyone’s cameras lift, and recorders click on. and then he steps in behind them.

coach toji, in a suit.

your face breaks into a hot mess, heart skipping a beat as you eye him through your lens. it fits him too well. dark, sharp, shoulders filling it out like it was tailored perfectly. no team jacket today, no morning stumble. no, he looked clean, with polished shoes, and authority. he guides the team forward eyes sweeping the room calmly.

your flash fires once, professionalism wavering again. how can it not when your knight is walking into the room and reminding you exactly how out of reach he is.

the entire team easily spots you in the front row for the first time. your charm hangs from your camera strap, along with the little sticker on your godox flash. they all know who you are now, so their wasn’t any hiding the way they’d purposely glance at your camera lens, giving you their best shots.

many of the questions are being directed towards the coach, your eyes focus on his reaction, lens zooming close as he rolls his dress shirt over his forearms. your camera flashes and your cheeks warm. you do this every time. acting like it’s your first time seeing the coach in a suit even though he wears one every semifinals press. but you can’t help it!

journalists throw questions without breath, firing rounds until the set time is up.

“photographers only, please.”

the room clears out fast. chairs scrape back, and laptops snap shut. you step forward instinctively, already lifting your camera. the players shift back into place. sukuna straightens, his expression resetting into something stoic. gojo cracks a joke under his breath that earns him a look. geto adjusts his sleeves, calm as ever.

toji moves standing just off to the side at first, arms crossed, smooth dress shirt crinkling over his taut muscles, and unforgiving across his shoulders.

the manager gestures. “let’s get the team all together first.”

cameras flash as the team pose, all in their uniform. you move easily getting their shots, unaware of the emerald eyes watching your every move.

coach toji noticed you the minute he stepped into the room. however, he remained composed, knowing how many eyes were on him. but now, his eyes sweep over your figure.

your grey dress pants hugging that right ass, and those hips. the tight dress shirt hugged your frame, with the top buttons undone allowing some of your cleavage to be revealed along with your necklace stack. business casual, but he’s sure half the team is looking at your tits. your pretty anklet catching the light as you move in your kitten heels.

“coach with sukuna,” the manager says.

toji steps forward.

you track him without thinking, framing the shot as he places a hand lightly at sukuna’s back, guiding him a half-step to the left. your shutter clicks, noticing how easily he steps into your frame, how naturally he fills it. his height just a hair taller than the hot headed captain, at least in your eyes.

“alright, another group photo,” the manager says.

toji turns, motioning the players in with two fingers. his eyes briefly catch yours making your eyes widen. the team clusters around their coach, heads bowed slightly, listening even though there’s nothing to hear. he speaks low anyway. you circle to the side, careful, capturing the curve of his shoulder, the way his jaw tightens when he focuses.

toji’s gaze lifts again, slow and deliberate, landing on you.

why does he keep doing that?!

it’s brief. just a glance that lingers a fraction longer, his eyes flick from your face to the camera in your hands and back again, like he’s remembering the photos he saw on your camera.

you feel heat blooming under your skin, pulse kicking hard enough to throw you off guard. you steady your hands, inhaling subtly, pretending you don’t feel the way the air shifts when he turns slightly…when he ends up closer than before, just at the edge of your frame.

“okay, we’re good,” the manager calls.

the team breaks, the players disperse, but toji stays put for a beat longer, adjusting his sleeve, posture relaxed again, unreadable.

you lower your camera only when it’s over, breath leaving you in a quiet rush you didn’t realize you were holding. you don’t see him glance at you when you step back to check your photos. you also don’t notice the small, satisfied curve of his mouth.

not until you’re feeling a gentle, firm, hand on your waist, and a low voice right against your ear, “say hi next time. you’re not a stranger anymore.”

your body immediately catches on fire, eyes snapping to the man like a magnet, heart slamming against your ribs as you watch him pull back, emerald eyes meeting yours.

“right, sweetheart?”

your face stings, as you nod quickly, heat pooling deep in your stomach, feeling his thumb caress your hip over your shirt. your lips part, mind dizzy as you glance as his strong forearms, he’s towering over you, slightly leaning down to speak to you in quiet whispers.

“I’ll see c’ya tomorrow, yeah,” he gives your waist a squeeze as he greets you with a kiss to your cheek like some gentleman. then he walks away. and if you weren’t a mess before, the casual glance he shoots over his shoulder has a third arrow piercing your heart.

you couldn’t contain it anymore. you were consumed by this man. every waking thought was spent daydreaming about him— his voice, his eyes, his hands, his demeanor. it was intoxicating.

all for you to show up in the lockerroom, the next day, hours before the match. the team is either dressed in their uniforms, or still shirtless, huddling around the white board as they prep for the game.

geto was the second to notice you, after gojo. both their eyes twinkling as they walk up to you. “they gave you the pass,” geto nods to the press badge around your neck.

you nod, glancing around the lockerroom. it felt tense, the aura suspenseful as the time ticks closer to when they walk onto the pitch.

“get your vip shots, but you better get my photo,” geto hushes in your ear.

“and mine!” gojo blurts, just as a certain coach is stepping out of the steam.

and you feel it. the towel wrapped low around his waist, skin still slick with water that traces unhurried paths down his sculpted torso. his hair is darker when it’s wet, heavier, droplets slide from it and disappear along the hard lines of his shoulders.

your eyes catch his muscles moving when he walks, hard mass, that shifts beneath skin without effort. you swallow thickly, body heating up, stomach fluttering as you catch the trail of dark coarse hair leading down from his navel, and disappearing beneath the towel. your eyes follow it to the bulge you know is under there. your cheeks sting at the thought of it.

you were utterly shameless. as if the two men standing beside aren’t still talking to you. but they immediately recognize the shift in your attitude and notice the steam leaving your face. gojo stifles a laugh, as geto sighs. you’re hopeless.

your eyes follow the scars you’ve never seen before. the old pale marks catch the light, etched across his side, his pecs, and back, proof of some life before this one. then he turns just enough and your heart stutters, and your panties soak.

ink blooms along his ribs where the towel dips. the tattoos are sharp and intimate, black against his skin that’s still flushed from the heat. you’ve photographed him dozens of times, from every angle, but you’ve never seen a peak of a tattoo.

“how wet are you right now?”

the comment snaps you back, glaring straight at the crystal ocean eyes narrowed in amusement.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, “I’m working.” your attitude really is night and day when it comes to anyone else and toji.

gojo blushes, “I love mean girls.”

you roll your eyes.

“what’re you two doing? get the fuck over here,” sukuna snaps.

the team huddles as the fifteen minute timer starts. and that’s what you should be photographing, but instead you glance back. toji is now pulling up his pants, wet hair still dripping down the expanse of his back. his eyes catch yours for a second, gaze flicking to your camera, taunting…

his hand subtly cups his crotch, squeezing his girth just to present you with a size, one that has your lips parting with a shaky exhale, heart pounding as you glance between his emerald eyes and the way his forearms flex when he fixes the waistband of his boxers, pulling the material down just a bit that you catch more of the thick patch of hair at his base seeing a peak of it, before he’s fixing himself again.

and once he zips his pants up, glancing at the team as they huddle for some words from the captain before coach steps in, toji walks to you. just a few feet away, your eyes widen in surprise, heart stuttering as you watch him lean down to greet you with a kiss to your cheek, again!

he’s acting like you’re familiar even though this is just your third interaction with him…but maybe you are…

“thought I told you to say hi next time,” he says against your ear, pulling away.

your face heats up, “you were….changing.”

“so?”

you gulp, eyes flicking between his, heart pounding. he’s so close. your breath catches when his scent hits your nose, sandalwood, oak and something deeper under it. his stubble is darker than yesterday, rougher along his jaw, and you realize you’ve been staring for too long when the heat creeps up your neck.

he doesn’t move away though, he stands beside you, attention forward on sukuna as he speaks. focused, and so aware of you’re attention he has to hold back a smirk. and maybe he doesn’t mind messing with you, so his hand remains at your lower back, light, almost absent, but there.

your stomach flips, attention gone. you try to listen, you do. sukuna is talking about positioning, about discipline, about not getting sloppy or something and the room is locking in around you, everyone leaning in. these would be great photos—but all you can think about is how close he is.

how his hand hasn’t moved, every small shift makes your pulse jump. you keep your eyes forward. you don’t trust yourself to look at him again.

and that gives toji the opportunity to take you in. his pupils dilate just a fraction as his gaze travels down your body. his eyes zero in on the multiple open buttons of your tight dress shirt. you’re not even hiding yourself, and the sliver of skin that peaks between your pants and shirt doesn’t help.

his hand remains over your clothes, heat settling in his stomach when you take a deeper breath and your tits push up, and his eyes shamelessly look down your shirt from his towering height. fuck, he wants a look at that pretty ass too—

“coach! you’re up!” sukuna’s voice cuts through everything, snapping toji back. your gaze whips with it, catching him off guard as you wait for his next move like anything he touches is gold.

he controls himself, giving your waist that same squeeze before his hand leaves you just like that.

you push down the feeling that hits immediately, sharp and cold. but now you can finally breathe properly when he steps away. he moves past the players without rushing — a few of the boys let their eyes roam over you— toji adjusts his sleeve ignoring the feeling bubbling up when he notices them. and then he’s at the front.

he doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t need to now, but he usually gets to that point around the halfway mark. but this was the first time you’re seeing him speak in private…and when he speaks, they all listen—every single one of them.

gojo notices, gossip second nature to him. but the quick glance your way already has a grin tugging at his mouth before he nudges geto. geto follows his gaze, then sukuna does too, just briefly—and it’s obvious. painfully obvious. the way your expression softens, the way your attention doesn’t wavers. it’s written all over you.

“she’s actually really hot,” gojo comments.

though you wish you could stand there forever, the time finally comes for the team to head to the pitch, and that’s when the chaos begins.

not just on the field…but off it.

the press box is packed, bodies press against you shoulder to shoulder. the field below is relentless. everything fast, and aggressive, and loud enough that the noise bleeds through everything. you always forget how overstimulating and exhilarating semifinal matches are. but you remember the deal you made with the three stars.

your camera moves with them, tracking their plays, snapping multiple shots of them without hesitation, and then catching the moment when things go wrong...

sukuna gets taken down hard during a penalty shot—and there’s no whistle. no call.

you’re already shooting when the other team pushes, then scores, and the stadium erupts, but sukuna is on his feet, shouting. the goal should be discounted. the captain was known to be a hot head, but even you could see that the tackle he received was completely brushed off by the ref and he was right.

everyone watches as the team moves forward in defense of sukuna, but also holding him back. the other side meets them just as hard. the crowd shouts as they watch the players shove, yell, and slam into each other—and through it all you keep shooting. you catch toji too, voice cutting through the chaos as he orders his players to pull sukuna back.

the press talk amongst themselves as halftime quickly breaks up the argument. your feet quickly carry you out of the press box, towards the locker room.

“no locker room access.”

your jaw tightens immediately irritation flaring hot and sharp.

“I have a different badge,” you show the security guard your press ID. the one geto gave you.

“no press allowed, do i need to repeat myself?” the man snaps.

your irritation ticks at your side. fine. whatever. the second you step back, your mind is already running, already circling back to geto. you scoff under your breath, shaking your head as you pace along the corridor, camera swinging lightly at your side.

seriously? all that talk, all that stupid ass convincing, and for what? you were supposed to be there. that was the whole point! you roll your eyes, heat building the longer you think about it, every step feeding into this petty irritation instead of cooling it. were you overreacting —yes, but whatever—if he’s not holding up his end, then why should you?

by the time you make it back up, you’re done. done thinking about it, done entertaining it, done with their stupid deal.

the second half starts and you fall back into rhythm. camera up, focus sharp, and attention on only one thing now, the ball….

gojo and geto drift near the press box occasionally, clearly expecting something, acknowledgment, a photo, but you don’t even bat an eye. not a look, not a flicker, hell, they might as well not exist.

it’s almost satisfying. almost.

the final whistle blows and the stadium erupts, the first leg ended in a draw, preparing for next game to see who’ll continue. cameras around you go wild, capturing every second of it. the quiet annoyance of both teams, the noise in the crowd. but you don’t. you lower yours, expression flat, already turning away. it’s petty. a little unfair, but still, you walk.

“you’re not coming to the locker room?” gojo’s voice follows you, footsteps quick behind yours as you head in the opposite direction.

“why would i?” you snap, sharp, not even slowing. “am i even allowed,” there’s an obvious clip in your tone that has gojo confused.

“what’re you talking about?”

“deal’s off.”

huh?!????

gojo barely has time to react, before you’re walking away.

baffled and utterly confused, gojo makes his way back to the locker rooms. the energy is stiff, sukuna is grumbling under his breath about how embarrassing it was to end their first leg in a draw, geto is lounged beside his bag scrolling on his phone, and toji is in the corner talking to the managers. ugh, does no one care that their personal photographer isn’t taking photos of them???

they do care.

especially when the next paper comes out and the article is filled with photos taken by other people, not you!

“WHY THE FUCK DO I LOOK LIKE THAT!??” sukuna shouts, entire body fumming as they all sit outside during practice. sukuna is not the only one pissed, geto is practically seething because there isn’t even a single photo of him or gojo.

“what is this girl’s problem?! i thought you idiots made a deal with her?!” sukuna snaps, already in a foul mood, but now it’s worse.

geto licks his teeth, jaw ticking, “we did.”

“I told you guys she was pissed that she didn’t come in during halftime,” gojo throws, as if anyone was listening to him after their shitty match.

“so she throws a tantrum because she didn’t see coach’s dick during halftime?” sukuna clips.

“she looked super hot when she was all pissed though,” gojo throws, “she’d definitely go for me after she realizes how old coach is.”

“what’s wrong with you?” geto rolls his eyes, confused how gojo can talk about your looks when you screwed them over. even if he maybe also finds you attractive, it doesn’t negate your shitty attitude.

gojo throws his hands up in defensive, “I’m just calling dibs now.”

toji, just a few feet away, strides over after noticing the group no longer doing drills. “what’s the hold up!” he grunts, also in a shit mood because of the embarrassing match and then overheating what gojo had said.

“your stalker fucked us over,” geto snaps, eyes burning into the school paper. “she didn’t even get a pic of you.”

gojo’s eyes light up, “oh shit, yeah—she’s definitely over you!”

the paper then hits toji’s chest, his brows furrowing as he holds it up. his eyes glance over the sports section, and just as geto had stated, there wasn’t a single photo of him, unless you’re counting the wide shot of the field and you see him standing in the corner, but it definitely was a starch contrast from the streak you’d created.

“so?” toji tosses the paper like it’s nothing, “you guys playing for the cameras or because you want to win?!”

the men baffled, gasp and scoff. “we want to win!”

“then get off your fucking asses! I don’t have time to be doing this shit with you all!” he snaps aggressively, uncharacteristically pissed off, whether it’s because of the teams misdirected frustrations, or something else. either way, the school paper is long forgotten beside their bags and the team is splitting into practice teams.

it doesn’t matter…

it doesn’t matter that you made a deal with suguru geto and satoru gojo. and the captain pushed you to seal that deal with the information about coach — and they broke it. none of it matters! you still should’ve taken those photos, especially when you’re receiving an earful from your editor, and then sulking through the week of classes.

“what’s your problem,” your friend, shoko, cuts in, snapping you back to the campus day festival. you were once again sulking on the picnic bench, ice cream melting in the cup as you stare off.

“you’re gonna get annoyed…” you mutter, brows pinched in agony.

for most passing by, they immediately steered clear of you, not only did you carry a lethal rbf, your words of “agony” really translates to, you’ll rip someone’s head off and if looks could kill, everyone would be dead. it was quite funny, considering how you’re pretty sweet when you want to be, shoko quietly thinks. still, most would rather avoid you, thanking the heavens that you stay behind the camera so you don’t interact directly with people.

“don’t start,” shoko groans, piecing together the not so subtle mystery.

you frown, “i didn’t even say anything!” you whine even more, glaring at your ice cream. your pretty camera sits on the table beside you, collecting dust when you should be photographing this event. “I just screwed myself over,” your tongue laps at the dripping ice cream.

“agreed.”

your glare snaps to your friend, to which she brushes off with a shrug.

“you should’ve taken those photos,” she starts.

“I know…”

“then you would’ve made your editor happy,”

“I know…”

“and then you wouldn’t have to do this event.”

“I know.”

“and you’d have more weird pictures of coach toji.”

your heart drops. eyes snapping to shoko. “what?!”

shoko goes mute. suddenly realizing what she said. “nothing.”

“pictures?” you repeat, “I have weird pictures of the coach?? I don’t—why would you even say that??“ you’re not subtle at all. and shoko feels guilty at your horrible lying skills, but still…she confesses…

“you uploaded photos to your drive, when we’d study together,” she tries to hold in her laugh as heat crawls up your neck, “like more than once.”

you glance away, eyes flicking over your camera, “that’s it?”

shoko raises a brow. “yeah…what do you mean?”

you look back, “like that’s how you know, it’s not like you heard from someone else or anything?”

shoko shakes her head, “no, who else would know?”

your cheeks are burning at this point, and it was written all over your face now. the realization hit shoko in seconds. “no…” you’re silent. “does the coach know about your photos?”

you don’t want to make eye contact.

“how?!!”

even though it happened days ago, why is it now starting to feel even more embarrassing. maybe because of your cool headed friends reaction— “it was an accident.”

“how did he find out though?” shoko pushes.

you cringe, “well…” you swallow, “when I first spoke to him, remember…” shoko nods, “I let him use my camera because he was interested.” you pause, reliving the humiliation all over again. “then he kept swiping to see the pics, and just found them…” your hands slap your face, “that’s not bad!”

shoko is getting second hand embarrassment, “dude.”

“STOP IM GONNA KILL MYSELF!!” you cry out, humiliation seeping from your pores.

shoko is trying not to laugh, but it’s quite hard not too, especially when you’re groaning like that. “what was his reaction?”

“I obviously said it was an accident, and he was like whatever and seemed fine,” you explain quickly, trying to cool the situation. “It’s not bad!”

“okay okay!!” shoko laughs, trying to calm your reaction. however, shoko knows about your huge crush, what she didn’t know is about a deal her two friends made with you. heck, she didn’t even know that you interacted with them. not until those two men are standing directly behind you, sweaty and pissed. “what the hell—“

“I guess you don’t know how to keep your word,” geto spits, bag dropping aggressively on the bench beside you.

you jump, then, your eyes flick over your shoulder, immediately rolling them when you see them. you turn back to shoko.

geto snaps. “there wasn’t a single photo of us!”

“not my problem,” you scoff, attitude returning in seconds, shoko completely used to it. but she’s shocked that you know gojo and geto. “not like you guys even played well.”

gojo’s vein bulges, “we played fucking good, we didn’t lose!”

“you didn’t win,” you shrug, cold.

that’s when gojo and geto both glance up at shoko. shock crossing their expressions. “you know her?!” they both point down at you.

shoko raises a brow, “she’s my friend.”

“she’s a bitch—“ geto spits, just to receive the worst glare of his life from you, but he just rolls his eyes. “how the fuck do you know each other?”

“I just told you she’s my friend. you’re the ones that screwed her over.” shoko takes your side.

gojo gasps, “we didn’t screw her over! she screwed us over! you saw the paper this week—not a single highlight!”

you glance at shoko, ignoring the men behind you, “how do you know them?”

“we went to high school together,” shoko throws with a bored wave.

frustrated, geto straddles the bench facing you, his hand falls on top of your camera, immediately making you snap your attention to him.

“hey—“

“listen. our deal was that you get access and then we get photos, you didn’t finish your job,” he keeps a grip on your camera. shoko frowns.

“you guys didn’t give me access—i got like ten minutes before the match, then I couldn’t even go in during halftime where everyone was pissed, so what’s the point?” you snap, getting in his face.

“the point is that has nothing to do with me!” geto shouts, your eyes pierce his in two, but neither of you back down.

“it literally does though!”

“guys,” shoko and gojo attempt at intervening, but neither of you will back down. especially when geto won’t let go of your camera.

“let go,” you seethe, hand on the camera as geto flexes, grip strengthening around it.

your heart pounds against your chest, the hot spring sun beats over the four of you, sweat building on your neck while geto scoffs. “you better take those photos of us this week—“

“or what?” you glare, “are you seriously threatening me?” you were dripping with ego and confidence, except for the fact that your eyes kept darting to your camera, your poor, expensive, beautiful camera—

“is this your first time being threatened—“

“the fuck.”

the deep, intimidating voice breaks the argument in seconds. geto’s eyes widen as he feels the gravity taken away from him and being lifted off the seat. the collar of his jersey tightens around none other than toji’s brutal grip.

your eyes break into hearts, grasping your camera before it clatters back on the table, glancing up to see geto gripping his coach’s forearm.

“since when do you fucking shout at girls. you?!” toji barks, baffled. sukuna sure, gojo maybe, but geto?!

“I wasn’t fucking shouting, we were talking,” geto tsks, neck red from embarrassment.

toji shoves him back. geto slams on the bench. you hadn’t realized it but they all looked like they just finished practice, geto and gojo both still in practice uniforms and duffle bags, and coach toji wearing his usual black cargos, and that compression shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

geto scowls, rubbing his back in pain.

“you were shouting, that’s why i came over—“

“she was shouting at me!”

“so what!?”

the table is quiet. a few passerby’s glance over before quickly walking away. it isn’t a shock to know how unbelievably hot your face is right now. especially when coach toji continues his stern lecture to geto.

“you’re defending some girl that can’t keep her word, mind you,” geto mutters, flashing you a glare—his breath catches. you’re not even looking at him!! shoko stifles another laugh along with gojo, because you really were, truly, unbelievable.

how can you look at someone like that?!? like he’s some idol?! him! a musty ass college coach?!

but none of it mattered, not when toji’s attention shifts to you!!! a warm heat floods between your legs, as your lips part. then suddenly, you glance away…

“I actually did shout too…” you confess, taking accountability. “and kinda screwed them over.”

gojo, geto, and shoko, stare at you in shock.

toji sighs, like some grown ass man (which he is), his hand settles on his hip as the other scratches his hair like he’s surrounded by immature children and figuring out what the fuck to do with you all. so he decides to confess too…

“i told security not to allow any outsiders.”

your heart drops.

“including you.”

oh shit.

the three audience members immediately glance at you, and what none of them, not a single one, expected, is to suddenly see the your eyes tear up.

toji felt a sharp twist in his gut, eyes widening for a moment, before sighing. “it wasn’t personal.”

your throat feels dry, unable to look away until now. a tear hits your camera. “how is that not personal,” you whisper, bottom lip trembling.

shoko’s brows pinch in hurt, at least out of everyone, she knows how much and how long you’ve liked this man. and then sulking and now— she knows you’re absolutely shattered.

“I needed the team to focus, and you’re press,” he states like some cold fact, and that hurt even more.

your grip tightens on the camera. “but…” your not a stranger anymore…. but you can’t get the words out…your heart pounds loudly in your ears, the heat surrounding you felt suffocating, and your head was growing dizzier by the second. and the only thing spinning in your mind was how fucking embarrassing this is.

“don’t be upset.”

you manage a small nod, though another tear falls on the camera, and your body freezes. “how can i not be upset?” your small voice catches toji off guard.

you’re standing up, eyes hot with tears, walking past the esteemed coach.

“wait,” he catches your wrist, “if you have something to say don’t just run away.”

you’re fuming, your pretty chest rises and falls, the disappointment turning into built up anger, “I don’t have anything to say right now, and it’s stupid—“ your hand twists in his grip. “let go.”

he does.

you’re practically heaving, tempted to turn away, especially when the dryness in your throat gets worse. the stinging behind your eyes burns like hell as you try to rip your gaze away from the towering man. you really are stupid…

toji wets his lip, head tilting as if disinterested, but the cooling in his chest says otherwise. why does he have a weak spot for women?

“we can talk.”

his words hang in the air. a silent, open invitation for her. it’s a clear sign of his guilt for making this cute college girl cry. he was too blunt, forgetting she isn’t one of his boys.

your hand comes up to the bridge of your nose, quietly recentering yourself as this older coach watches. your shoulders rise with a deep exhale, then inhale.

pull yourself together…

you nod. cute.

you swallow the embarrassing lump in your throat, clearing your throat. “can we talk while walking…I have to work,” your usual clipped tone used for everyone except him, comes out, but he can hear the slight shakiness.

“sure.”

gojo, geto, and shoko are left in utter shock. it’s not until you and toji completely disappear into the crowd, do they slowly exchange looks.

“what…”

“the fuck,” geto finishes shoko’s sentence.

gojo stares baffled, “did we just set them up?!”

geto’s brow jumps up, “why is he always saving her like some knight?? and he was the one that screwed us all over!!”

gojo shakes his head in agreement, “nah for real, what the hell, blaming us but it’s all him.”

geto slouches back in the picnic table, rolling his eyes. “still,” he tsks, “she didn’t have to be so bitchy and not take our pictures. isn’t it her fucking job—“

“hey!”

“ow!” geto feels a slap upside the head from brunette, her eyes harsh. “what the hell!”

“don’t call girls bitches what’s wrong with you?!” shoko huffs, baffled by geto’s attitude.

gojo snickers beside the man, “he’s been like this since he met her.”

“I haven’t,” he grits, rolling his eyes at the thought of you. “she’s just a—she just gets on my nerves.”

“really because she reminds me of you,” shoko cuts him off. geto’s eyes widen, as gojo breaks into a loud laugh.

“WHAT?!”

“oh god BAHAHA she does!” gojo’s obnoxious laugh sounds like knives stabbing his ears.

shoko hums, “she has that rbf look, intimidating, very blunt, but also so cute with her friends.”

“cute?” geto frowns.

gojo smiles, “it comes out when you’re hanging out with ussss.” gojo and shoko dramatically strike a cute pose. geto tsks.

the campus was packed with students and faculty roaming to booths and small events. it was the university’s 102nd anniversary, and as memorable as it is for the students to enjoy the activities during this nice spring day, you couldn’t bring yourself to give a shit.

not only did your editor scream at you all week, still pissed about the shit photos you took during the match, he also threatened removal if you didn’t take good photos during this event. and now, after sulking with shoko, then procrastinating some more, you decided you’d be able to take such fanatic pictures while your idol and crush trails beside you….sure.

toji lets out another sigh, hands in his pockets as he stands to your left watching you snap some shots of laughing students beside a booth.

“it’s not a big deal,” you mutter, behind the camera. toji notices the twitch in your fingers. “I overreacted, so it’s whatever.”

toji wets his lip, “sukuna and a couple others jus’ get jumpy with cameras.”

you hum, looking at the photos you just took. “I understand.”

“I didn’t know about this deal you did with geto,” toji admits, hand instinctively coming to your waist and guiding you away from some unaware boys shouting and laughing. your cheeks flush, stepping away from his hand. toji notices. “we didn’t have a good game anyways.”

“I know, so it whatever. not a big deal,” you sigh, heat crawling up your neck. this is so embarrassing, so embarrassing! ugh you really don’t know how to keep a cool head at all when it comes to this coach. you overreacted during the match, then blamed geto for screwing you over, then almost cried because the coach locked you out on purpose, and now—

“I feel bad.”

your heart stops.

toji glances at your manicured nails holding your camera, your cute necklaces dangling on your exposed chest, cleavage glistening from the heat. but then his eyes flick up, and you’re staring at him like he’s holding the entire world.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” his voice is softer, gentler, nothing like how you’ve heard him for months, shouting, harsh. your stomach heats up, face stinging.

his hand, unexpectedly, comes up, feeling your hair between his fingers. “you work hard, and all your pictures come out so nice…” the compliment hits your heart. “but I couldn’t risk the boys getting distracted.”

your face suddenly twists, lips pursing and jutting out just a bit, your brows pinch. your dewy makeup makes you look like a fucking doll, he thinks. “I was jus’ gonna take photos in the corner, not interview them,” you reply harshly.

“you saw how they are when they talk to you,” he cuts in. your brow quirks, noticing his sharp inhale. “sweetheart, you’re hot.”

your face bursts into flames, pupils turning to literal swirls, and brain getting fried in seconds.

what?!

your reaction was priceless. toji controls his smirk, thumb brushing your adorable cheek, glancing at your glossy lips then your eyes. “I know you’re a professional, but most of those boys aren’t, y’ understand?”

you nod, cheeks sizzling, you’re surprised his thumb isn’t burning.

“so you see why I couldn’t allow you in the locker room then, and i won’t next time,” he watches you nod again. god, you’re fucking precious.

then, your tongue wets your bottom lip before speaking… “are they the only ones that would’ve been distracted?”

shit. can a grown man really pop a boner that fast?

toji’s chest heats up, glancing between your pretty eyes filled with hope. this isn’t the first time a younger girl has crushed on him, and it also isn’t the first time he’s nice to one. but what really got him, is the way you’re maintaining eye contact, almost afraid to look away, and you’re holding your ground against him.

“no,” he admits, “they’re not the only ones.”

oh. your lips curve into a smile toji hasn’t seen before, and his hand flexes in response. you look like you’re going to eat him alive right there, and he’d let you, no questions asked—

“that’s good to hear,” you pull away. you touch your heated cheek with the back of your hand, wetting your lip as you glance over the coach’s flushed face. “your cheeks are red.”

what?! his eyes bulge, catching you off guard as you break into a loud laugh.

“tch,” he looks away, his own hand rubbing down his face. it really is burning out here. but even so, his emerald eyes look through his fingers at this pretty college girl laughing at him and he doesn’t know why his chest warms at the sight.

“I can buy you ice cream. I feel bad now that you had to explain yourself when I was just being the unprofessional one,” you start, already leading him to the nearest ice cream booth.

your camera hangs over your shoulder as you point to your favorite flavor than glance up at him, he points at the cookies n cream. “oh! I love cookies n cream,” you say, reaching for your phone to pay.

ding.

your eyes widen as toji pays instead.

“wha—it was supposed to be my treat, man,” you huff, accepting the cone he gives you, hand on your lower back as he guides you away from the booth. neither of you batting an eye to the multiple people gawking at the renowned coach of their soccer team, walking around with the hot, rude, student photographer.

“as if I’d let you pay,” he snorts.

your brows pinch as you take a lick of your ice cream, the cool sensation leveling your body temperature. your eyes narrow at him as he enjoys his ice cream, grateful to have something that cools the heat building up under his skin. “so not fair,” you mutter.

“how come?”

the two of you walk across the quad, sun still beating down.

“I wanted to use it as an apology,” you say, “I said that.”

“you don’t need to apologize,” he shrugs, casual, unbothered. you huff again. this time toji smiles, scar twitching up. “you can pay next time.”

your heart skips a beat, stomach doing a stupid flip.

“….next time.”

toji catches the smile behind your cone, his eyes trailing over the ice cream coating your tongue, your pretty hand wrapped around the waffle as your bracelets clank around your wrists.

“there’s other things you need to apologize for,” he coolly says, finding a bench and dropping his weight, eyeing you as you sit close beside him. unashamed.

your brow quirks, eyes narrowing, full body facing him, “what other things?”

toji shrugs, “we can talk about it next time.”

“but I can’t just be left in suspense, that’ll give me anxiety?!”

toji snorts, loud. his big tongue is finishing the ice cream so quick he’s already eating the cone. “don’t be anxious,” he says with his mouth full.

you tsk, rolling your eyes, and you don’t notice the twinkle in the older coach’s eyes. he can definitely see geto’s point about your attitude, but if he leans over—

your eyes go wide. stomach flipping.

he takes a bold bite of your ice cream, emerald eyes shut, and thick lashes kissing his flushed cheeks. your heart feels like it’ll break from your ribs, then, he opens his eyes. he doesn’t pull away yet, instead his tongue cleans his lips, humming in low delight. the heat around you wasn’t helping your own body temperature as it skyrockets.

“taste’s sweeter than mine,” his voice his huskier than before, catching you by surprise, and the heat pools between your legs.

“i—“ you can’t even form words! your eyes won’t tear away from his lips, and your chest is moving erratically because he’s so close.

“do you want a taste of mine. I took a bite without asking yo—“

his words cut the minute your lips press against his.

shock prevents him from reacting, eyes going wide. you gave in so quick, sure he was teasing, but still. he could feel the certainty in your kiss, along with the warmth, and anxiety. after a long ten seconds you pull away—

you pant against his lips, chest rising and falling, brain scrambled. “i jus’…” your heart is beating loudly in your ears. mind trying to keep up with what your body just did. you kissed him. you kissed the coach. the one you’ve been idolizing and photographing for months—

“we can do it again.” his free hand tilts your chin up, lips hovering over yours again. his breath is warm. “kiss me.”

you do.

this time you’re a little bolder. your lips connect with his, soft again, sucking his bottom lip, skillfully. slowly. he brushes your jaw with his thumb, humming in delight just like he did with the ice cream. but the sound goes straight to your core. completely unbothered by the rowdiness of the uni day activities around you. your free hand rests on his thigh, leaning more into the kiss.

“open,” you murmur against his lips. you can feel the the shit-eating smirk that breaks his face, groaning just low enough to make the heat furiously spread under your skin.

then, his lips part.

his tongue immediately connects with yours. caressing the wet muscle. he tastes the ice cream, delving a little more. it was just so easy taking control, and your little whines are too sweet for him to stop. his jaw opens wider, taking the lead as you follow. his hand cups the side of your face, unexpectedly possessive, ignoring the alarms sounding off in his head.

you had a crush, you’re fucking adorable, and you kissed him. plus, you make these cute sounds when he shoves his tongue against yours, thumb pressing into your cheek. how could he resist?

your grip against his thigh tightens, his back is pressed fully against the bench, while you were practically leaning over him, trying to swallow him whole.

“breathe,” he mutters, lips hovering close, waiting for you to inhale. his scar quirks up, you’re so cute. his thumb brushes your cheekbone again, eyes glancing between your fluttering lashes. “if we keep kissing, I’ll have a problem.”

your face burns, eyes darting down to the tent pressing up near your hand. and unlike toji, you let your second ice cream of the day melt and fall to the ground. you were a mess. you carefully lean back in your seat, the sudden space between you allowing you to take another deep breath. being near coach toji is intoxicating. it’s not that you didn’t feel like yourself, but you definitely throw all common sense out the door when he’s in front of you.

“are you staying to see the booths and stuff?” you clear your throat, trying to ease your erratic heartbeat.

toji finds it cute. his hand once cupping your face, slides down to brush the hair off your shoulder, fingers brushing the multiple earrings that dangle from your piercings. you’re much more stylish than he is…your accessories, the cute tank top that hugs your breasts, and embroidered low rise flared jeans.

“nah, gotta drive back home so i can take my son to practice.”

toji eases, not a single thing can bother him. it was a routine, the subtle throw away line about having a son that scared off many young women, or had them wanting a one night stand with the older dilf. so his eyes flick over you, the second he finishes his sentence.

your freeze.

your blood runs cold, eyes flicking down to his ring finger.

even if you’re looking, you know he isn’t married. you know. you’ve been photographing him for months, and not a single time have you ever seen him daunt a ring on his finger.

“there’s no one waiting for him at home?” you question, wetting your lip.

toji’s fingers slide from your earrings to the dried ice cream on your chin. “nah, if I’m late he’ll go to his friends house.”

you nod, anxiety slowly dissipating. “how old is he?”

“ten.”

your eyes light up, “my nephew is just a year older, that’s when they get really fun to hang out with,” your voice is so light and sweet, toji has to shove down the weird somersault his stomach does.

“really?” toji is not convinced. “all my son does is give me attitude and bully everything i do.”

you laugh, waving your hand, “yeah they get super opinionated, but it’s funny—trust trust he’s just doing it because you’re an easy target.”

“I’m an easy target.”

you nod, waving a hand again, “your his dad, my brothers and i were the same to our parents.”

brothers? toji doesn’t comment how that peaks his interest, but he naturally asks, “how many siblings do you have?”

“three older brothers,” you nod.

damn….toji hums, that explains your attitude and how you can handle geto’s bitchy moods. what also quietly settles in his mind is how your oldest brother would probably be around his age, considering your nephew is a year older than megumi. is that why you’re easily holding a conversation this long…maybe the age gap isn’t that big then…

“they were so freakin bossy, definitely why i pushed to dorm away from them,” you huff, toji zoning back into your rambling. it was cute watching you talk mindlessly, hands waving making your bracelets clank against each other. the sweat glistened across your skin, making you look eternal, which is amusing since you’re just talking.

but still, toji is the one to lean up this time. his hand settling on your waist as a anchor and he presses a firm kiss to your warm cheek.

your glossy lips part in shock, heart stuttering again. unbothered, toji casually stands up, towering over you as his hand gently settles atop your head. “i have’ta get going, but I’ll see you next week for the match. I’ll also let em know you can come in before and after the game, but not during halftime. okay?”

you nod.

“I’ll see ya’ sweetheart.”

and with a wink, he solidifies the fourth arrow straight through your heart.

—

it was very likely that your entire week looked like sunshine and rainbows, all because you had a full on make out session with your idol on a park bench. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much about anything else—well except for your job. you had to scramble to get photos after toji left, afraid of staying on your editor’s bad side.

luckily you pulled through, and convinced him to keep you on for the semi final match this coming weekend.

which leads you to your current blissful state. watching toji speak to the team in the locker rooms. unlike last time, you grabbed different shots, smiling every time toji glanced at the camera, but frowning any time any of the other boys looked.

“surprise surprise, couldn’t stay away too long,” gojo coo’s after the team breaks to finish changing.

“don’t bother me or I won’t take photos of you,” you throw, eyes flicking up at the tall man.

gojo pouts, “but I’m just talking to you,” his words drag.

geto is scowling a few feet away, jaw tightening and relaxing, until he finally comes up to you. your attitude shifts, eyes narrowing up. geto holds eye contact, chest rising with a subtle inhale. but once he exhales, his shoulders ease, and his eyes close, the fakest smile you’ve ever seen graces his naturally attractive features.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your photos after the game.”

your lips purse, brow quirking. “yeah…”

geto leaves. shortly after, the team gets called out. gojo utters the same line geto had just said, but much more cheerfully, all while toji walks up to you. brow furrowing at the two athletes as they walk towards the exit.

“they still bothering you?”

your eyes light up the moment you see him. “s’ fine,” your pretty lips pull into an easy smile, unexpectedly warming the coach’s heart. is it that easy to smile because of him?

“I’ll tell them to fuck off again,” his voice is naturally deep, hand subconsciously roaming up to the strap of your camera.

you smile, “okay.”

god, you’re really cute. his hand cups your cheek, leaning down and easily locking lips with you.

you’re immediately caught off guard, but his hand is so firm on your cheek, you just melt. your lashes flutter shut, leaning in more. he’s so big and tall. your cheeks sting, humming against his lips, trying to fight off the butterflies in your stomach. but it’s worse when he pulls away, and your heart leaps into your throat as he brushes his rough thumb against your lip, dragging the spit across the plumpness.

“I’ll c’ya after.” he winks.

you barely feel your feet when you step back out onto the field. your camera in hand, strap tight around your neck, everything exactly where it should be, and still, your entire body is giddy.

toji….toji toji toji—

you press your lips together, trying to fight it down, but it’s useless. your mouth keeps twitching, threatening to break into a smile and you can’t help it! he kissed you. twice now! like it was nothing—

you snap a shot.

sukuna’s first goal. the team and stadium erupts, and you’re already capturing it, body moving before your thoughts can catch up. you don’t need your editor screaming at you this time, so you shift angles, crouch lower, shoot through. geto lines up for a penalty shot, and you catch that too. the strike, the follow-through, and the way the net snaps back as the ball hits. you don’t miss a second of it.

but…inevitably…your lens drifts…to him. you can’t help it!

toji’s on the sidelines, where he always is. his sleeves are pushed up again, pacing, shouting, running a hand through his hair. you catch the flex of his arm, his biceps bulge and you feel heat pooling between your legs. you catch the drag of his palm across his broad huge chest, the set of his jaw when gojo almost tackles into another player.

you shouldn’t be taking this many photos of him. you know that, but you take them anyway. your chest feels tight with every picture, cheeks still burning, and your smile impossible to get rid of.

halftime comes and goes, and you don’t even try to get into the locker room this time. instead, you linger with the rest of the press, nodding along to conversations, camera hanging loose in your hands. you don’t care. not really. not when your mind keeps replaying it—his hand on your face, the way he looked at you after, the wink.

the second half starts and you’re back in position immediately. getting more action shots of the players—ugh but you keep stealing other moments too…small unnecessary ones. his biceps when he folds his arms. the scratch of his chest. the tilt of his head as he watches the field.

your thoughts don’t stop. why did he kiss you? why did he kiss you again? what is that supposed to mean? is he going to kiss you again??

the spiral doesn’t fully come to an end until the pitch breaks out into celebration. the team is off to the finals!

managers and the rest of the team flood the pitch as the stadium breaks out. you do your best to get the best shots of the team together, and you stay after to capture them talking to journalists, and press. unaware of the coach that slips away.

you follow the team and a couple managers back to the locker room as they continue celebrating. you can’t help the smile about how happy they are, they played well.

“how was the match?” geto corners you quickly.

“good,” you nod casually, fixing your flash. “you guys played really well.”

geto’s brow quirks. that’s nice….his lips purse. “I scored.” he mutters, glancing at the multiple piercings on your ear as you tuck a hair behind it.

“yeah, it was a nice shot,” your eyes flick over your camera before glancing up to meet his eyes, testing, “you wanna see?”

his eyes narrow again, “no.”

he’s quick to ignore your eye roll, as he points over his shoulder. “coach is calling for you.”

you can’t control the way your head whips to geto, then following the direction he’s pointing at. you don’t hesitate, your legs carry you across the locker room, and into the steamed shower room.

your heart hammers against your chest, putting the lens cap back on your camera and carefully sliding it off your shoulder, afraid to step further in until you put it back in your bag.

a single curtain is closed. shower running.

“coach toji?” your voice echos.

there a beat of silence, then…

“that you, sweetheart?”

you flush. controlling the smile that breaks your face as you hum, “yeah.”

the shower is still running, steam collecting in the room. your heart is beating erratically, you barely register anything aside from the fact that coach toji is definitely one hundred percent fully nude just a few feet away. his clothes are laid on his duffle on the bench beside the door.

“sweetheart?”

you jump. “yeah?”

“you gonna come in?”

you blink. again, then once more. then— “WHAT?”

your screech bounces off the tile floors, making you shrink at how loud you are. but it was a normal reaction. he just asked you if you wanted to come in? how else would you react—

“leave your things by my bag,” he doesn’t even react, like what he’s saying is the most casual kind of flirting. the kissing was one thing, but this…

your camera is zipped back in your bag, and in seconds, you’re peeling your panties off standing completely naked in the middle of a shower room. goosebumps break out, necklace and bracelets still on as your nipples harden.

what’re you doing, seriously?

one, this is highly unprofessional (whatever). two, you haven’t even gone a date with this man. and three, w-why would he even ask you to come in?!?! does he like you?! he does—he has too—

your bare feet pad against the steamed tiles until you reach the curtains. your hands won’t stop shaking, face burning hot, and lips parting as you let out a shaky exhale. then, you slowly pull back the curtains—

“come in before someone sees you,” is what you hear just as you’re being dragged into the steaming water, curtain pulled closed behind you.

the steam wraps around your skin instantly, thick and suffocating. your pretty nipples perk up in seconds. and standing right in front of you is the 6’5 two hundred pound man. water cascading down his body in slow, steady streams. you don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest tightens, and your hands hover close to his forearm.

you’re so close.

your gaze is eye level with his broad solid chest, rising and falling slow and controlled like none of this affects him. like you standing in front of him naked is something he expected. but your too dazed to care. especially when you follow the droplets sliding over his muscles, catching the shallow lines as you continue going lower, and lower. the heat pools more obviously between your legs as you see the thick patch of dark coarse hair…then you see it.

your face burns hotter, stomach flipping hard making you even dizzier.

his cock twitches under your gaze. your knees almost buckle just at the sight. it’s huge. you have to suppress a whine, lashes fluttering as you feel a strong hand cup your chin.

“say hi first,” his voice is unbelievably deep, tearing your gaze away from the monster between his legs. his dark forest green eyes sink into you.

“hi.”

shit. he bites back a groan, eyes trailing down your naked body. nipples already perky and standing all pretty for him. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as he leans down, lips colliding with yours.

you whine immediately. your lips move together, tongues colliding as your hands slide up his muscular chest, feeling the deep ridges of his abs as he holds the side of your face, dominating the kiss.

it was overwhelming, the shower box, his body heat, his cock touching your thigh, it was all making you dizzy in the best ways possible. he pulls away, letting you catch your breath, but he stays close, brushing his lips over yours like it’s not enough. because it isn’t.

“did anyone see you come in?” he husks, hand still cradling your face as the other brushes your naked waist, pulling you closer. your skin is so soft under his palm.

“no,” you shake your head adorably, tongue poking out to wet your lip, “I don’t think so.”

the older coach hums, his hands freely roaming your side as he nudges your nose with his. “good,” is all he adds before he resumes the heated make out.

your tongues collide and caress, jaw falling slack as you moan a little louder when he grips your ass. groaning into your lip when your arms lock around his shoulders, wet chest pressing against his. you were such a sweet tasting girl.

his hand nudges your thigh. “jump.”

you gasp when he easily picks you up, back already pressed against the tiled wall. the hot water cascades down his back as he continues kissing you. “were you mad at me?”

you pull away, breath hot as you glance at his features. he’s so handsome, your hand cups his face, pushing his drenched raven hair back. “why would I mad?”

“because I kept ya out during halftime.”

you shake your head, lips curving as you trace his wet eyebrows, chest rising and falling. “no,” you drawl, wetting your glossy lips again. “I was jus’ confused about how much you kiss me.”

his scar tugs up, biting back a smirk threatening to break free. “you kissed me first.”

“that one time.”

“you started it,” he leans close, lips brushing yours, “so you can’t blame me for getting hooked.” his eyes are lidded. “it’s really hard for me to break bad habits.”

this time you kiss me.

you’re so unbelievably hungry for this man’s affection, you can ignore all the blaring red light going off in your head. he’s so hot, he’s so big, and he’s so fucking sexy! your mind has been completely and utterly fried and you don’t care.

“fuck, you’re dripping,” toji husks, his finger collecting your juices from your pussy, groaning at how turned you are. “kissing me makes ya feel that good? your cunt always dripping like a fountain?”

“yeah-aah—“ your lips part as he shoves a finger inside. he groans against you, chuckling at the choked whines leaving your pretty lips, your nails dig crescents along his shoulder.

his lips trail down your neck, tongue flattening against the wet skin and licking until you squirm a cute whimper. his smirk is impossible to hold back. he sucks a dark bruise as another finger pushes in your fluttering hole.

“c-coach—“ you gasp, lips so wet from spit. you try to look down at his fingers pistoning inside you. every muscle on his body flexing, keeping you up like you weigh nothing, while fingering you against the little shower wall. “fu-fuck, I’m gonna—cu-uhm—“

it really is too much for your obsessed brain.

coach toji’s fingers are inside you. he’s kissing you like he’s hasn’t pleasured a woman in years. and his groans are going straight to your pussy—

“I wan’…coach—“ your whine drawls a little longer, thighs shaking, and arms locking around him, head falling to neck.

the older man chuckles close to your ear, voice deep and husky as you fall apart, in his arms. hugging him like he’s your savior. his fingers curl, slowly pumping you through your orgasm. “that was quick. my baby hasn’t cum in awhile?” he says as a matter of a fact, but you just hug him closer, lips pulling away to trail kisses up his neck. your fingers coarse through the back of his head, grasping them as you kiss the corner of his mouth.

“it’s b’cause of you, toji.” you kiss his scar, panting as he pulls his fingers out and lifts you up suddenly, hooking his arm under your knee.

“you want a good fucking princess?”

you nod frantically, cheeks dewy and stinging, as you glance over his face then his chest, then you feel his cock between your slick folds.

“it’s a big stretch,” he mutters against your lips. “you saw.”

you nod, nervous stirring at the way he’s preparing you. but you don’t break away. you doubt you physically can, when your mind is only screaming his name over and over.

“I can take it, coach,” you nod, determined.

“you’re so fucking cute,” he snorts, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he kisses your lips in quiet reassurance. “ever take a cock this big?”

you shake your head, water droplets falling from the tips of your hair. your pretty necklaces still wrapped around your neck, all wet and glistening between your perky breasts.

“it’ll hurt,” he strokes himself underneath you, thumb running over his tip multiple times before lining it with your pretty clit and teasing you. “then you’re gonna cry.” you gulp, nodding along. “then you’re gonna tell me to stop—“

“I won’t!”

he snorts. “it’s okay if you do.”

you shake your head, “I won’t I’ll be okay. okay coach? I can take it, I wan’ you inside me. please.”

the tug to his heart is immediate. how can it not be when this cute hot girl is begging him to fuck her? but he can’t even formulate this emotional string that’s tying him to you. the only physical response coming out is this fucking erection that feels like the most painful shit he’s experienced, twitching after he first spoke to you and then again when you kissed him. surely it’s disgusting….an older man like him getting that quickly turned on…

but maybe it was the way he’s only felt this tug in his chest one other time in his life, and even if it didn’t end the way he wanted, he never regretted pursuing his baby mama.

so he’s all in right now.

“deep breath, sweetheart.”

you inhale sharply, just as toji pushes his engorged tip past the tight rim of your pussy, and you suddenly clench—

“shit!—“

your eyes widen, “I don’t feel anything,” you mutter, glancing down to see his ears burning a deep shade of red.

“your cunt squeezed me too early and shoved me out,” he wets his lips, as he crashes his lips against you. “relax, baby,” he husks.

you whine against his dominating mouth, lower body relaxing as he lines up again and the moment you ease up, he snaps his hips in.

“angh!—“

your jaw slacks, and he continues kissing, groaning at the unbelievable tightness that’s squeezing every corner of his tip.

“Mmm so warm, took me in good,” he groans, rocking his hips and grabbing a handle of your ass. “you’re gonna make me feel good?”

you nod, lips connecting with his, it’s messy, teeth clashing, spit mixing.

toji’s guttural groan echos through the shower, bouncing off the tiles as he rocks his hips, going in inch by inch, until he’s finally shoving his entire length deep inside your cunt with one mean thrust.

“fhuck—“ he chokes, jaw slacking as you clamp around him again. “full?”

you nod, brain scrambled as you glance at your tummy, cheeks stinging at the obvious bulge. “keep going,” you pant, securing yourself better as he grunts, pulling out and snapping his hips back.

it was mind numbing, toji holding you up with his strong arms hooked under your knees, hands gripping each ass cheek as he ruts into you like a beast in heat. the squelch and clapping was deafening as it bounced off the walls, the steam enveloping you closer as your whines flow right into his ear.

“nghhh—gettin’ me worked up,” thrust. “when you squeeze me,” thrust. “with this tight.” thrust. “fucking.” thrust. “cunt!”

his massive cock is stretching you in ways you never could’ve imagined. his blunt tip slams into your cervix with every thrust. your thighs shake, eyes filling with unshed tears as your nails dig into his tough skin.

“m’ s-sorry—haah ah coa—ahh! it feels s’ fuhh—fuh’me ple-easee—ahh!” your pretty lips were so glossy, drool coming down as water droplets fall from your pretty breasts with each vicious slam of his hips.

he was unforgiving. and his laugh like groan didn’t help your pussy from fluttering and tightening around his chubby cock. you can feel every thick pulsing vein and ridge. it was numbing your brain to mush. your fingers curled into his hair, tugging as he gives your ass a mean, violent, spank!

“angh!” your eyes bulge, a wave of heat crashing into you.

toji laughs, gripping your ass as he quickens his pace. “admit it,” he husks, voice condensing, and eyes dark with lust. “this is what ya’ wanted.” you’re falling apart around his cock, and he’s not slowing down, even as the tears finally break, making you look even more irresistible. you’re gasping like you can’t breathe. “you always wanted the coach to fuck you. taking those dirty photos of my bulge—nghh!” thrust. “imagining how big my dick is.” thrust. “how big is it baby, tell me.” thrust!

you were fucked dumb.

your face is flushed, eyes glossed over, as you whine like a full blown slut. and even with your two orgasms in a matter of minutes. your mind was still screaming one thing: toji.

“c’mon baby, I know you’re still with me,” he snorts, ears red, and body flushed with sweat as he feels his climax edge closer. “tell me—fuck—how big is it?”

your stupid brain catches his words, and your fingers dig into his neck as you gasp and moan, the stimulation of his massive cock slamming into you was ruining you. mentally and physically. it was humiliating. but still…

“haah—fuh its’ it’s so big— i wan’ you to cum in me! please —wan’ your cum so bad, wanna feel your big fat cock cum inside my pussy toji—ahh!”

anothet sharp spank takes your breath away.

toji is at a loss.

his grunts grew louder and thrusts sloppier, until finally, he gave you one final thrust, and stilled. his ass tightens, body pressing you into the tiled walls, face buried in your neck, and teeth sinking into your shoulder. toji completely unravels in the shower, holding up a pretty college girl that whines so beautifully in his ear he thinks he’d never cum this hard again, but sure enough—

your adorable whine has him rutting shallow thrusts into your pussy, like a fucking dog. his cum pumping out as he continued stuffing you full, purposely milking out ever drop as his dark wet pubes rubbed against your puffy clit.

you both catch your breath. your lashes wet from tears, as the water from the shower head fills the silence. after a moment, toji pulls away from your neck, his lidded eyes, hypnotizing as he stares up at yours.

you don’t know why you suddenly feel shy. your cheeks burn as the emerald irises bore into your own. lips parting, and a gentle hand coming up to his cheek. you brush back the raven hair flattening against his features, smiling softly when his full face comes into view.

and he could’ve sworn you looked like an actual angel at this moment.

your eyes twinkled above, face illuminating in the dark shower, and body glistening like you’re an eternal being.

“toji…” the soft call has his heart doing something it hasn’t done in years. and that has his soft cock twitching inside you. “I’m,” you lean closer, arms wrapping around his shoulder, lips hovering near his, breasts smushed against his chest. your confidence comes back the moment you feel the man lean closer..but you continue. “I hope you don’t think…i wanted to have sex…just because i thought your dick was really big.”

toji blinks.

then he does the worst thing ever.

he laughs.

your cheeks sting, watching his head fall back in loud laughter. your hand flys to your face, embarrassed. “I’m being serious!” you yell.

toji laughs louder, body shaking as he lifts you up, his cock slipping out. he carefully sets your shaky feet down on the wet tile. the height difference returns, making you even more ticked off, your little attitude was oozing out, and his slick cock couldn’t help but twitch against his thigh at your pouting.

god, you’re fucking hot.

he brings your attention back to him. hands cupping your face, tilting your head to look up at him. your brows are pinched together, and lips pulled in a subtle scowl.

toji smirks. “don’t worry, I know you also took pictures of my face.”

you flush, rolling your eyes. “those were accidents.”

“so you just wanted pictures of my dick?”

your eyes widen, “no! i told you they were all accidents.”

toji clicks his tongue, leaning down to your level, making your tummy flip “you’re fucking cute, but let’s not lie to adults.”

“I’m an adult though,” you raise a brow, pushing back, and god if that wasn’t the hottest thing ever.

but still, toji’s easygoing smile remains on his playful lips, “it’s embarrassing. i understand,” he softens the blow as your face heats. it was humiliating when he found those pictures, “taking photos of the coach like that. but now’s the time to take some accountability.”

you lick your teeth, eyes boring into him, narrowing. but it’s toji. toji is asking. and you can’t hold back any longer…

you exhale, glancing away, even though he’s still cupping your face. “yeah, obviously I took those photos on purpose,” your eyes meet. “happy?”

water is still running down his shoulders as he keeps your face tucked carefully in his hands like you’re something precious despite the grin threatening to split across his face again.

but then toji smirks. “ecstatic.”

your eyes narrow immediately, “you’re so annoying.”

he huffs another laugh under his breath, quieter this time, thumbs brushing over your heated cheeks. standing this close to him is ridiculous now that the adrenaline’s settling. he’s huge. his broad chest still damp against yours, muscles flexing every time he shifts, towering over you while you stand there completely naked except for the necklaces you’re wearing. the little gold chains glisten under the shower head, delicate against flushed skin, and toji’s eyes flick down to them for a second before returning to your face.

that look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten all over again. he knows he’s not trying to be mocking, or casual like before. it’s fondness.

“those shots were real creative, sweetheart,” he says, voice rougher now. “nice and close too.”

you groan, immediately trying to shove his chest, but he barely moves. “oh my god, can you let it go already?”

“can’t,” he answers easily. “been thinkin’ about it for weeks.”

your face burns hotter. weeks?!

toji watches it happen in real time, watches the attitude crack just enough for embarrassment to slip through, again. and it does something terrible to him. you’re sharp with everyone else—cool, hard to impress. he’s seen it. seen the way you brush off gojo and geto without a second thought. but with him? you melt.

even now, glaring up at him with your brows pulled tight, lips still swollen from kissing, legs trembling from the multiple orgasms, trying so hard to stay irritated while your body keeps betraying you. it’s fucking adorable.

“don’t look at me like that,” you mutter weakly.

“like what?”

“like you know things.”

his grin widens instantly. “but i do know things now.”

what proceeded after was the thirty something year old coach, dropping to his knee and lifting your leg up, burying his face between your legs like a starving man. your lips part in shock.

but still, as toji works your pretty body to another orgasm, tongue shoved inside, cleaning this little pussy up, jaw slack as he gulps down his own cum. your fingers thread through his hair, tugging whenever he’d give your clit a mean rough suck, cheeks hollowing. his hand, grips your ass from behind, squeezing and slapping as he pleased, until you were falling apart.

afterwards, he cleaned you up. this time with some soap. his big hands roamed your body, every crevice and curve, hands massaging your breasts as he had your back pressed to his chest, chuckling when you’d whine. thumbs tugging playfully. hand rubbing between your legs, head tucked in your shoulder as he watches your smaller hands hold his forehead, face hot.

“toji,” you whine, embarrassed, as he teasing a finger against your hole again.

“what,” he smirks, watching your reactions, “I’m jus’ cleaning you up.”

he’s a fucking perv. but still, he teases you through the whole shower, keeping you close to his body and even letting you wash his back, admiring the muscles and ink that decorate his skin.

eventually, he steps out first, keeping you inside so he can grab an extra towel. his own wrapped around his waist.

that was the start of all of it.

three months later….

you and shoko are sitting out in the quad. table covered in assignments and forgotten laptops. all while you explained to shoko how your weekend went.

“no, we definitely got along. megumi is so cute!” you gush about the ten year old, describing how your first meeting went. toji had spoken about you enough to prepare megumi, waiting until the right time to introduce you both.

and now, you’re going to every single one of their soccer games, toji and megumi’s.

and eventually, after another hour passes by. a group of athletes comes walking down the path. covered in sweat, holding their duffles, and behind them is a very hot coach, already breaking into a smile when you jump up.

“toji!”

it was a routine. your arms thrown around his shoulders, as he lifts you up with one hand. zero regard for any pda, as he kisses you deeply. smiling as you hum, pecking him over and over.

“why do you guys look like that?” shoko grimaces, looking at gojo and geto who look far worse than the rest of the team that leave.

geto scowls, glaring at his best friend, “fucking coach overhead him again.”

shoko shakes her head, rolling her eyes, at the white haired idiot. “you need to stop—“

“it’s been three months and she’s not over that old man?!”

“he’s not even that old!” shoko defends.

but gojo scowls harder, glancing over his shoulder at you laughing and talking, hands animated, like the man in front of you was holding the world. “it’s always the mean girls.”

shoko frowns, “you’re messed up in the head.”

but even geto narrows his eyes when toji wraps a possessive arm around you, glaring up at the two players.

it was clear as day.

you’re his.

a/n: this was LOONG overdue, mb guys!!! but i hope you all enjoyed it!!! ahhhh i love coach toji sososososo much—like its a serious problem, i cant make reader behave normally when its toji, like she has to be obsessed with himmm

and he is.

fuck, he is.

“you’re killin’ me,” he rasps against your mouth, voice hoarse and low, breath hot where it fans across your cheek. “can’t even look at you without gettin’ hard.”

you giggle, barely, and he swallows it down with another kiss, wetter this time, messier, dragging the slick from your bottom lip all the way to your chin with his tongue.

“slow down,” you pant, trying to pull back, voice airy and breathless. “i can’t even breathe, toji—”

“don’t need to,” he grunts, hand sliding up to cup the back of your head. “just stay right here, baby. let me kiss you.”

your lips are already swollen, spit-slick and puffy, smeared at the edges from how long he’s been mouthing at them like he’s trying to imprint himself. your thighs twitch where they’re pressed tight around his waist, and he can feel the heat of your cunt through the flimsy cotton shorts you’re wearing. it’s driving him insane.

he wants to ruin you. wants to drag this out until you’re trembling on top of him, crying from how good it feels, from how much you want more.

but he also just wants to kiss you.

and kiss you.

and kiss you again.

“so fuckin’ pretty,” he groans, lips dragging down to your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, mouthing open-mouthed kisses into every inch of your skin. “my girl. my fuckin’ girl.”

his voice sounds wrecked, like he’s been holding this in for hours, maybe days. truth is, he has.

you grind down slightly and his hips jerk up on instinct, cock thick and heavy beneath you, the fabric of his sweats doing nothing to hide how hard he’s been from the second you sat on him. and even now, he doesn’t move to fuck you. doesn’t slip his hand into your shorts. just keeps kissing you as if it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

your eyes are glossy now.

barely focused, blinking dreamily as your body melts further into his lap, every breath puffing out in soft little huffs. your thighs quiver where they’re straddling his hips, your cunt’s soaked through your shorts and pressed flush to the thick line of his cock. it’s so obvious, the heat of it, the wetness— he could swear he feels you pulse when he shifts beneath you.

your forehead’s damp, strands of hair starting to cling to your skin from how warm it’s gotten in the room, or maybe from how long he’s been touching you, mouthing at your jaw, your throat, your cheek, your lips like he’s addicted.

and god, your fucking lips.

toji’s staring again, totally fixated— he can’t help it. they’re so red. so wet. raw at the edges, shiny with both your spit and his, like they’ve been fucked just as thoroughly as your cunt is about to be. and they tremble when you breathe. twitch when you shift. part just barely when you try to speak.

“open your mouth for me,” he instructs, voice rough. “and keep your eyes on mine.”

you do it without thinking, flattening your tongue as your lips parted. and toji lets out the filthiest fucking sound, low in his throat, gaze dark, almost fevered when he leans in and drags his tongue across yours.

your whole body jumps.

he licks slow. deliberate. tongue thick and heavy as he presses it flat and smooth over yours, tracing the underside, dragging it back and forth with obscenely wet sounds filling the air between you. your lashes flutter. your hips buck once, a small gasp leaving you, and toji growls.

“fuck- look at you,” he breathes, eyes flicking up to your face. “so fuckin’ sweet, baby. you gonna cum just from this?”

you don’t answer. can’t. you’re shaking now, thighs clamped tight around his waist as your cunt pulses and clenches over nothing. it’s too much— too filthy, too intimate, too messy.

spit drips from your tongue down your chin, pooling at the corners of your mouth, and toji watches it fall like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. he shifts his hand to your jaw, thumbing at the stretch of your lips, smearing it a little more.

you try to pull back— but he holds you still.

his other hand is splayed over your thigh, squeezing, thumb pressing into the soft inside near your hip. he knows what he’s doing. knows exactly what kind of mess you’re turning into.

“you’re shakin’, baby,” he murmurs, licking into your mouth again. “too much?”

“no—” your voice is barely a whisper, breath stuttering out as he nudges your tongue with his, slower this time, sloppier. “toji, please…”

“please what?” he croons, trailing his mouth along your cheek, all the way up to your ear. “you want more? want me to fuck you right here, just like this? haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already so wet for me.”

his voice is so proud. too proud. and your face burns, heat creeping up your neck as he grinds his hips up against your core, just enough to make you choke on a moan.

his lips find yours again. hungry. greedy. suckling on your bottom lip like it’s his last meal. he shifts under you, pushing his thigh between yours so your soaked cunt has something to rut against, and god— you do.

you start rocking desperately. humping the muscle of his leg like you can’t help it.

and he watches you.

dark, hooded gaze burning into you as he whispers, “that’s it. fuck yourself on me. juuust like that.”

his hand drags up, fingers catching on the hem of your shirt before palming over your tits. your nipple’s already hard, poking through the thin fabric— and he rolls it between his fingers lazily, pinching just enough to make you gasp.

“y’know,” he says between kisses, “you talk like you’re innocent, but look at you now…”

he pauses to kiss you again— long, slow, tongue pushing deep.

“makin’ a mess on my fuckin’ thigh. grindin’ on me like a needy little bitch in heat.”

you whimper. he grins. and then he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip again, tugging, soothing the bite with his tongue.

“you love it when i talk to you like this, don’t you.”

he doesn’t wait for an answer.

because he already knows.

your breathing starts to hitch.

you try to roll your hips harder, grind down and get something, but toji doesn’t let you. his hands clasp firmly around your waist, fingers digging in with bruising force, keeping your pace slow and steady, borderline torturous. his leg still flexed between yours, cock still hard under your soaked core, but he won’t move.

just watches you unravel.

he shifts a little— subtle. enough for the outline of his erection to nudge against the curve of your ass, but not enough to give you the pressure you need. it’s cruel. calculated. every tiny movement he makes is designed to keep you needy. teetering.

“you wanna go faster?” he murmurs, low and smug against your jaw. “too bad, baby. you’re gonna stay just like this.”

you whimper in frustration.

the ache is unbearable now, all heat and no friction. your pussy throbs with every shift of his thigh, your shorts utterly ruined by how wet you are. toji grins against your skin when he feels it— the sticky drag of your cunt trying to hump him through your clothes, and the tremble in your thighs when he doesn’t let you.

you snap.

fingers tangle in his hair and you yank hard.

his head tilts back, throat exposed, and the growl he lets out is guttural— feral. it rumbles from his chest like it’s been clawing to get out, and it only makes your cunt clench tighter. you don’t even think, you just lean in and bite.

his bottom lip, swollen and raw, caught between your teeth. you suck, then bite again, leaving it slick and puffy before switching to the top. you mouth at it, nip and tug, until toji’s breath catches and his tongue pushes against your lips, desperate to be let in.

you smirk.

and let him.

only to suck on it the second it slips past your teeth.

toji shudders. literally. his arms jerk around you, dragging your body flush against his like he can’t bear another second of distance. you’re both pressed together now— chests heaving, thighs locked, mouths devouring, his cock twitching beneath you with zero friction and way too much tension.

“fuck,” he pants into your mouth, voice wrecked. “fuckin’ knew you were nasty.”

you moan in response, tongue swirling around his just like you do when you’re going down on him— when you lick around the head of his cock, slow and teasing, eyes up, lips stretched wide. and from the way toji’s hips jerk up this time, you know he’s thinking about it too.

he leans back, dragging you with him until he’s slouched deep into the couch, your chest pressed against his, thighs spread wide, and your entire weight pushing down onto him.

the second your hips are free. your pace no longer restrained, you start moving again.

grinding. humping. rubbing your soaked pussy up and down the firm swell of his abs, catching on the ridges of his stomach and letting out a moan so obscene toji actually curses.

“jesus christ—” he mutters, watching you rock against him like you don’t care about anything else.

his hands trail down your back, then up under your shirt, dragging the fabric up until his fingers find your tits, already bare, already sensitive. he palms one, kneading the soft flesh lazily before flicking his thumb over your nipple.

you arch into him with a high, broken sound.

but he’s not done.

he pulls back from the kiss, eyes locked on your face, and brings one hand to your cheek— then slips his thumb between your lips.

you don’t hesitate.

you take it. suck it deep, tongue dragging along the pad as you whimper, lashes fluttering, completely gone.

“open wider,” he says quietly.

you do.

his thumb presses deeper, back along your tongue, until your throat tightens and your eyes well with tears. you gag around it, drool slipping past your lips in endless, sticky streams, and toji watches like he’s watching the sun rise.

“fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, “you don’t even know how good you look like this.”

he pulls his thumb out slowly, coating the saliva all over your lips, across your cheeks, your chin— messy and unbothered.

you rut against him harder.

“that feel good?” he teases, dragging the wet thumb down to your throat. “you like when i get you all messy, baby? don’t even know where you’re lookin’. you’re so far gone already.”

you really are.

your fingers are clawing at his shoulders, thighs trembling, face dazed and soaked, cunt throbbing where it presses down again and again, leaving a wet patch on his abs. toji swears he could cum just from watching you do this.

toji should take a picture. he wants to. wants to save this exact image of you— mouth open, tongue flicking out on instinct, lips shiny and swollen, face flushed and slack, like you’ve officially stopped functioning. but he knows if he moves right now, even a little, you’ll whine. complain. maybe even cry.

and god help him, he can’t handle that.

not when you’re riding the edge, writhing on his lap with your cunt absolutely drenched through your shorts. he kisses you again instead— slow and wet, spit getting everywhere. occasionally he switches it out for his thumb, pushing it past your lips, watching you suck it with shaky little moans like your brain’s running on autopilot now.

you feel as if you’re floating.

your pussy aches, hot and puffy and overstimulated from how long he’s been teasing you. the lack of underwear only makes it worse— makes every movement drag raw over the ridges of his abs, every grind smear more slick against him. you try to kiss back, but you’re gone. breath too short, limbs too loose. so you just keep your mouth open, let him do what he wants— licking, biting, spitting, owning every inch of you with his mouth.

your hips stutter, rhythm breaking. your moans are airy, high-pitched, on the verge of breaking into sobs, and that’s how toji knows—

you’re close.

real close.

and he wants it.

he suddenly straightens his back, dragging you up by the hair, angling your face so your hazy eyes meet his. his pupils are blown wide, lips wet and agape, and the look on his face is pure hunger.

“baby,” you gasp, barely able to speak, “i’m- i think—”

“yeah,” he whispers, nodding. “i know. cum for me.”

that’s all it takes.

your body locks up. your mouth drops open on a cry you barely register, and you cum so hard your thighs tremble, your arms give out, your whole body shudders with it. your hips are still moving, but only because toji won’t let you stop, guiding them with his hands in slow, deep grinds that keep the aftershocks rolling.

your brain is static. your limbs jelly. your mouth hangs open again, breathing ragged—

and toji leans in.

lets a fat string of spit fall from his mouth straight into yours.

you gasp, loud and sharp, and he smirks when your thighs twitch violently, body jolting from the oversensitivity. he presses two fingers under your chin and closes your mouth gently, coaxing you to swallow, watching your throat bob with pride practically dripping from his expression.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, voice thick. “good girl. swallow it all.”

he doesn’t stop touching you. doesn’t stop whispering things you can barely hear as he lays you gently against his chest, massive arms wrapped around you, thumb stroking up and down your spine. you’re limp, almost dazed out, but you feel safe. floaty. warm.

his dick is throbbing in his sweats— aching, hard as stone— but he ignores it for now. more than content knowing he made you fall apart just from this.

solely just from kissing you.

minutes pass. your breathing steadies. you shift a little, lifting your head off his shoulder and blinking at him, your eyes glassy but clear again.

toji raises a brow.

you pout.

he smirks.

“what?” he says, all fake innocence.

you scowl, slap his chest lightly, then trail your fingers up to your face— poking at your lips with a frown. “you’re a freak,” you mumble, voice hoarse. “my mouth is so fucking sore. i can’t even talk properly.”

“hmm.” toji clears his throat, smug as ever. “well, this freak just made you cum so hard you forgot your own name, so maybe say thank you next time.”

you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. but you don’t deny it.

he grins wider, shifting under you— pressing his cock against your bare pussy once more. “plus,” he drawls, “i think i deserve a little extra for bein’ such a good boy, no?”

you snort. “you’re lucky i’m even still conscious.”

his hips flex on purpose again, and you glare at him, but the twitch between your legs betrays you.

“you’re getting a handjob,” you mutter. “maybe.”

toji’s already nodding. “i’ll take it. gladly.”

your hand slips under the waistband of his sweats.

he groans.

and by the time you’ve got him moaning under your touch, his head thrown back and his voice breaking with every pump of your fist, you’re whispering a promise against his ear—

“shower tomorrow. my turn to ruin you.”

“stop it, it's embarrassing!” you whimper and bury your face in your hands, though you both know it's futile when the rest of you is naked and exposed underneath him anyway. 

“embarrassing?” that makes him laugh, and the sound sends vibrations straight to your core. “i've been hearing you moan like this for weeks, baby.”

“shut up!” you huff, cheeks aflame with shame and maybe just a hint, the tiniest bit of arousal burning in your core that enjin had heard you at your most debauched. “i'm not your fucking baby.” 

“that so? i always hear you crying and whining like one though.” enjin teases, fingers flexing at your hips as he grips you so tightly it's like he's trying to brand you as his, “bet these little fingers can't stuff you good enough, right?” he tilts his head, blonde hair falling in front of his eyes and voice dropping an octave lower, “not like this.”

“you're so fucking full of yourself.” you retort, biting your lower lip to catch the keen that threatens to slip out when he strokes your clit with those idiotically long fingers.

“you're pretty fuckin’ full of me too, baby.” a pleased smirk curves enjin's mouth as he bullies his cock deeper, pinning you down so you can't escape, can't run from it, can't do anything except succumb to the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you.

“you-!”

“yeah, yeah, you hate me.” enjin snickers, one hand spreading your cunt to admire the way slick pearls at your entrance, a white ring forming around the base of his dick, “hard to believe that when your pussy's begging for more.” 

“fuck, enjin, just-!” 

“shit, keep saying my name like that, pretty. gonna make me fucking cum.” he groans, eyes rolling back in his head as his dick throbs inside you. you feel so fucking good – so tight, so hot, so wet he thinks he's gone to heaven. he could die here between your thighs and he'd die a happy man. 

“surprised your damn vibrator isn't your jinki.” he teases, dipping his head to lave his tongue over your neck, making everything that much messier and the wet glide of his saliva across your skin is driving you fucking insane. “since you've been using it so much.” 

“enjin, oh fuck, just shut the fuck up, ngh!” 

“you got it, baby.” enjin laughs, fucking you harder, relentlessly hitting you in that perfect spot until your toes are curling and you're hooking your legs around his waist just to pull him impossibly closer and your mind is going blank with pleasure. “and don't worry, you won't have to rely on that thing anymore – you've got me now.”

my fucking driving theory test is tmrw and this is what i wrote instead of studying . can u tell im ovulating

at first, he figured it was temporary. you were just settling in, maybe a little too quickly, but regardless, it was probably just a phase. hell, he even thought he might catch a break during november. you know, the whole ‘no nut’ thing going around. but nope, you lasted three whole days. three. and on day four, it was like something inside you snapped— because you came back swinging harder than ever.

tuesday night. 12:46 a.m. toji was laying in bed, phone charging, pillow over his head, already exhausted from a long day of work.

and just when he thought he might get some peace, he hears it:

“fuckfuck, right there, oh my goddd—”

he groaned into the mattress. it wasn’t the porn. it was you. again.

and lately, it had started bleeding into everything. gotten so bad to the point where he swore he could hear you even when you weren’t home. he’d walk past your empty room during the day, fully locked up, and still think he could hear those breathy little whines echoing faintly from inside. your voice was imprinted on his fucking brain. sometimes when he closed his eyes, he swore he could hear the faint buzz of your vibrator like phantom noise.

you were haunting him.

then, the next morning?

like nothing ever happened.

you’d walk into the kitchen wearing your stupid little slippers and oversized tee like a good girl, yawning as if you weren’t the reason he was up all night, cock hard and jaw clenched. you didn’t even look at him with shame or guilt, not even an ounce of embarrassment.

like you didn’t just finger yourself to a compilation of tentacle hentai for two and a half hours straight.

toji had finally had enough.

+

you didn’t hear him come in.

not at first. you were too far gone— back arched, slick fingers stuffed inside you as another video played, screen propped up on your pillows. your thighs were shaking. your eyes were glossy. you hadn’t even cum yet, but you’d been edging yourself for almost an hour, pussy so wet the sheets were damp beneath your ass.

then the door creaked open.

you sat up halfway, blinking, chest heaving, “toji—?”

he didn’t say anything.

just stepped inside, shirtless and pissed off, dark hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed, eyes low with something you couldn’t quite place.

“what the hell—”

“you don’t know how to be quiet, do you?”

you flinched.

he shut the door behind him, locked it.

“every night. moaning. whining. crying into your fucking pillow—” his voice dropped as he stepped closer, towering over you now, gaze sliding down to where your fingers were still between your thighs, glistening with your arousal.

you yanked your hand back. “i-i didn’t think you—”

“didn’t think i could hear you?” he scoffed. “sweetheart, the whole building can hear you.”

your breath hitched.

you should’ve been embarrassed. maybe even scrambled to cover up. but you didn’t. you couldn’t. your heart was pounding, your pussy was throbbing, and your body was still soaked from the half dozen orgasms you hadn’t let yourself have yet.

“you know what your problem is?” he asked, eyes narrowing as he crouched in front of the bed, one knee pressed to the mattress. “you don’t know how to ask for help.”

you stared, wide-eyed, caught somewhere between panic and desire. he reached forward, grabbed your vibrator— warm, wet, softly humming, and tossed it to the floor.

“gonna shut you up for real.”

before you even got the chance to speak, he’s already dropping down between your legs, his huge palms spreading them apart, pulling your hips closer to the edge of the bed. his mouth was on your pussy right away. no teasing, no warm-up. he licks straight through your folds, wide and heavy, collecting all the slick you had worked up for the past hour.

“you don’t know when to stop,” he muttered, breath hot against your core. “so i’ll do it for you.”

his hands clamp down on your thighs, nails pressing crescents into your skin. his tongue works you open, licking everything, sucking on your clit before dipping down again. your whole lower half was a disaster. sticky and overheated, juices leaking down your crack while his spit slides over it, pooling between your thighs. he groaned into you, the sound rough and low, and the second he heard you whimper, he slid two fingers inside you without saying a word.

you gasped— tight around him already, walls fluttering from the stretch. he curls them instantly, fucking them in slow, deep strokes as his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard.

“f-fuck, toji—” your voice broke a little when you said his name.

he doesn’t let up.

his fingers pumped into you steady, knuckles deep, thumb rubbing circles into your clit when his mouth pulls away just for a moment. he’s watching you now, watching the way you react— how you clench everytime he curls his fingers just right.

“you make this much of a mess by yourself, baby? fuckin’ dripping—” he muttered, voice thick, a string of spit still clinging from his lips to your cunt.

then he lets another glob fall, watching it land right on your clit before pushing it in with his fingers, leaning down again to lick around them, fucking you open with his hand.

you screamed.

your legs kicked, heels digging into the bed, hands flying to his hair— pulling, gripping, trying to stop him because it was too much.

he just moaned.

“t-too much, wait, wait, i—!”

you cum hard. your legs shaking, pussy squeezing around his fingers as your orgasm hits full force. you cry out as your vision went white and your brain flatlined. but he didn’t stop. he fucks you through it, tongue lapping up your cum, dragging it back into you with this obscene, slurping groan, like he couldn’t get enough.

when he finally pulls away, his fingers slid out soaked and glistening, he brings them to his mouth and licks them clean, savoring every drop.

“get on all fours.”

you blinked, barely able to breathe.

“now.”

you scrambled up before you could think, limbs unsteady, body still twitching from the comedown. your chest rose sharp and shallow as you flipped over onto your hands and knees. hands trembling where they pressed into the sheets, ass high up in the air like you were presenting it for him— because you were.

you heard him behind you. the soft rustle of fabric, the harsh clink of his belt being unbuckled. his pants hit the floor with a heavy thud, and then, a wet slap.

his fist, pumping along his cock. slow, heavy strokes. breathing deeper now.

you didn’t even have to look back to know he was staring. you could feel it. the heat of his gaze crawling down your spine, burning low in your stomach. your walls clenched on nothing in anticipation, hole fluttering around the emptiness, desperate to be filled.

and then you felt it.

his tip— thick, hot, flushed— pressing between your folds, dragging slow through the mess he’d made earlier. he rubbed it up and down, coating himself in your slick, teasing your entrance while your hips jolted everytime he passed over your clit.

“this what you wanted, baby?” he murmured, breath warm against your back. “been fucking yourself for weeks just to stay empty, begging for something real.”

you nodded frantically, biting your lip so hard it almost bled.

and then he slammed into you.

you screamed into the pillow, whole body jerking forward from the force of it. he didn’t give you a second to adjust— just bottomed out, buried to the hilt, his pelvis flush against your ass.

“so loud,” he growled, fucking into you with bruising force, the sound of skin slapping against skin already bouncing off the walls. “so fuckin’ noisy all the time. whining, moaning, always actin’ like a dumb little slut in heat—”

you were gushing. literally.

your pussy took him deep with every thrust, swallowing him whole, over and over, no resistance. the flood between your thighs was nonstop. wet, loud, splattering out around the base of his cock with every movement. your thighs were already soaked. his were worse.

“you like this shit, don’t you?” he groaned, grabbing your hips harder. “like being used, fucked stupid, so wet for me i can barely stay inside, fuck, baby, you’re making a mess.”

you sobbed into the sheets, mouth open, jaw slack, eyes rolling. you didn’t care.

you were writhing, whining, gooning on his cock like you’d never touched yourself a day in your life, already close to cumming again because he was hitting so deep, grinding against that spot that made your legs go numb.

“p-please- need it, need more—”

“more?” he scoffed, laughing under his breath. “can’t even hold yourself up and you’re still beggin’? greedy lil thing.”

his palm lands a harsh strike to your ass, then grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back until your spine arched. he fucked into you harder, every thrust faster than the last, hips snapping against yours with a punishing pace.

“then take it.”

you came again.

a sharp, overwhelming release forced out of you, squirting all over his cock with a squelch so loud it made him groan, eyes locked on the mess coating his length. the spray hit his thighs, ran down his balls, made everything slippery. his hips stuttered for just a second, slick pouring out of you in waves as your pussy clenched around him, still trying to milk him for more.

“jesus- fuck- keep doing that and i’m gonna ruin you.”

you couldn’t even speak. couldn’t form words. your mouth was open but empty, tongue hanging out, drool leaking onto the sheets below you. all you could do was take it— whimpering while he used you like a toy, grunting with every heavy thrust, cock battering your walls over and over.

he leaned over you then, chest colliding your back, one hand still in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tight it hurt. his mouth ghosted over your ear.

“should’ve done this weeks ago,” he whispered. “then maybe you wouldn’t be such a brat.”

+

you passed out after round three.

he fucked you until your legs fully gave out. until your eyes rolled back. until your muscles seized, overstimmed, crying into the sheets and begging him to slow down.

he never once did.

he stayed buried inside you for a full minute after, cock twitching, both of you panting, drenched in sweat and cum and everything else.

you fell asleep on his chest.

and for once— for once— your room was quiet that night.

…though not for long.

because in the morning, he woke up to you already rutting against his thigh.

“toji,” you whispered sweetly, shameless as ever. “wanna go again?”

he dragged a hand down his face, still hard.

You jolt.

“Oh!”

A man in a white lab coat and slacks sits at a desk. He has luscious blond hair, glasses, and a face as stoic as a speculum. You’re taken aback by his handsomeness. Broad shoulders, defined features, chiselled face, and great height. How is it possible that he’s a doctor and not a Breeder?

The demand for his superior genetics would be through the roof. 

“H-hi, doctor. Forgive me, I didn’t see you.”

You’re grateful to be paired with someone young and attractive. One of your neighbours had an old man who she claimed should have retired decades ago. It’s a blessing to have nice eye candy.

As though he knows exactly what you’re thinking, he purses his lips. “It’s quite alright.” Then he jerks his chin, encouraging you to step in and close the door behind you. “I’m Doctor Kento Nanami, you may call me Doctor or Nanami or the two combined.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

His eyes meet yours. One glance up and down your body is all he needs, and he’s returning to his papers. 

Scribbling notes down on a pad, your eyes focus on the slenderness of his fingers and their length. Is he gentle or clinical in his approach?

Your older friend had a very gentle one and she said the process felt quite relaxing, almost therapeutic. Meanwhile, your other friend remarked how cold and unfeeling her doctor was, and that she was on edge the entire time. And another one of your friends said hers was actually rather rough, like a father scolding a child!

Which would you prefer, you wonder.

Doctor Nanami asks, “You have been informed about the due process, yes?”

The State mandated broadcasts are your bread and butter as a young woman; there’s no way you could forget the procedure. For the longest time, you’d been dreaming of this moment and finally it’s here. You won’t mess it up. 

“Yes, of course — I must strip all of my clothes, lie on the chair, and place my feet on the stirrups,” you recite, cheerfully. 

He raises a brow at you. 

Somehow you’re getting the impression that he’s not very impressed with your enthusiasm. Maybe it’s because he’s been doing this for so long. Maybe he’s seen it all, and more, and he’s just looking forward to getting it over and done with. Or maybe he just really doesn’t like you. 

Regardless, you’re undeterred. 

Humming under your breath, you shrug off your clothes and fold them on the table to the side, like you’ve seen in  the videos. It’s cold here, and you fight the shivers threatening to wrack your body. 

As an aspiring Female Breeder, nudity is something you’ve had to grow familiar and comfortable with but now that you’re faced with your first time being nude in front of the opposite gender, it feels a little too daunting. 

Heat flushes on your skin, embarrassment coursing through your veins, although one shy glance at him reveals he isn’t looking at you at all. 

Are you disappointed or relieved?

The nurses had thoroughly cleansed and prepped your body — you’re washed, exfoliated, and waxed from head to toe. You’ve never felt cleaner and softer, like a newborn baby. 

You climb onto the chair, the protective paper crinkling beneath you, and spread your legs. It faces him entirely, and you have to rationalise with yourself that he’s probably seen a thousand vaginas in his life and he won’t think yours look weird at all.

Bright, white light shines down upon you, and you squint at its blinding capacity. Then, you hear him put his pen down, and push his chair back.

“Alright, I will begin the examination now.” 

Craning to see him, you watch him roll his sleeves up revealing the thickness of his forearms, the light hairs, and the prominent veins that run up the length and bulge with his movement. Doctor Nanami snaps latex gloves on with expert precision, a rehearsed move that’s become a habit. 

He carries a clipboard and a pen, and he comes to stand over you, eyes roving over your body. 

“I’ll be making notes for your record, please don’t mind me,” he mutters, adjusting his glasses. 

You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze; it’s like you can feel the weight of his all-seeing eyes and where they land, where they skim, where they narrow in on, and where they return to. Does he find you attractive? If he saw you in the streets, would he be overcome with the need to breed you, hard and rough on the dirty ground?

“Forgive my touch,” Doctor Nanami says, reaching a hand down to press three fingers on the fat of your breast. He watches it bounce, and notes down his thoughts. “Your areolas seem to be quite average in size, neither too small nor too large per regulations. Its shade is also of interest.”

No one’s ever voiced out their assessment of your body like so. He’s so blunt, so matter-of-fact. Yet, you find that you don’t really mind it. It’s much better than the crude lies boys tell you. Many have tried to get under your skirt but you never let them. You vowed that your first time being touched would be by a respectable man who would accurately know your worth. And who would be better than someone whose whole occupation is dedicated to determining the worth of Breeders?

Doctor Nanami asks, “Do you touch your breasts?”

“Um, touch as in…”

He looks at you over the clipboard. “Do you play with your breasts? Do you squeeze them, grope them, tease your nipples, have you determined their sensitivity?”

“No…sorry.”

The State encourages you all to explore their bodies, to know your likes and dislikes as appropriate, but you never did. It seemed too scary for you. Virgins are not seen as especially good nor particularly bad in today’s climate. In fact, experience and skill is more valuable. That’s why you were hoping you could just leave it to the experts, when it came down to ‘getting down.’ At least then, they wouldn’t accidentally break something, like you fear you would.

Shaking his head, he says, “It’s nothing to apologise for. It simply means I will have to determine for myself.” He flicks to a different page on his clipboard and signs something. “Do you consent?”

“I consent.”

Board placed down on a metal table, he leaves both hands free. 

You gulp as they approach your breasts.

A finger brushes lightly against the underside. You stiffen. It ventures up, circling your nipple but not touching just yet. Voice deep, he asks, “You know the breeding term for your breasts, yes?”

Suddenly feeling like you’re back in school, you answer, “Tits, sir— sorry, I mean, Doctor.”

His lip twitches. “That’s quite alright.”

His finger flicks your nipple, the bud already hard due to the chill of the examination room. You gasp. 

Doctor Nanami nods, and does the same to the other. Now, both of your breasts are being groped. You writhe beneath him. “You have above average sensitivity,” he notes. “Are you partial to the sting of pain?”

“I-I don’t know,” you confess, distracted by the sensation of your nipples being flicked and rolled by latex-covered fingers. 

“Well, let’s see, shall we?” That’s all the warning he gives you before he pinches both nipples hard. You wince, body ever so slightly jerking away from his merciless touch. The doctor hums. “It does not appear to be your thing. I’ll have to conduct more tests to determine for sure you do not have masochistic traits.”

Quietly and with a drop of fright, you ask, “Tests? What kind of tests?”

He presses a button on the chair, and the top half of your body is lowered down until your eyes are at his crotch level. You avert your eyes. 

“Full-body tests. As per your records, you are a virgin and with little to no sexual exploration of yourself, correct?” He waits for your nod. He continues. “It means there is much information about you the State will be missing. It is my duty to fill in those blanks. You may revoke your consent now, but do be aware that you will have to rebook, and there is a backlog, so you may have to wait months before gaining your certification.”

You shake your head. “No, no, I don’t want to wait. You’re free to do whatever you’d like with me, Doctor.”

“Careful,” he rasps. “Those are Breeding words, Miss, and you are aware that, as per regulations, upon your consent to please, I have every right to take you up on that offer.”

Licking your lips, you allow yourself to eye the bulge that’s steadily growing in his slacks. Heat rushes to your pussy. You hadn’t meant to say those words, especially because you’re not yet qualified to do so, but you’re only one step away and, S.M.S.E. (State Mandated Sexual Examiners) have the privilege of being able to examine anyone they’d like — women who are not yet 21 but are at least 18, already married women, mothers, strangers on the street who wear the yellow pin to show they’re certified to fornicate in public. 

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to learn all about yourself before you step out into the wider world a real woman. 

Plus, it’d be nice if your first time could be taken by someone as hot as him.

“I’d like a full body examination please, Doctor. I understand the implications of my word and consent to leaving my body to your full scrutiny,” you recite the prepared speech. “Please take care of me.”

Doctor Nanami sighs and picks up the clipboard. He signs another random page and hands it over to you. The page is titled ‘Virginity Removal Consent Form.’

At the bottom line, you sign too. 

The dull thud of it placed back on the table signifies the finality of the contract. 

Your heart beats faster, palms sweating, and core tingling to life.

“Alright, let’s start with your vagina.” 

He drags his chair over to where your legs are spread on the stirrups, and sits there. You know he can see everything, and you know he’s properly looking now. You hope he’s not weirded out by how wet you are. His gloved hands rests on your knees, sliding down your inner thighs, rubbing warmth there, before they push them wider. 

“Do you know the correct term for your vagina?”

“P-pussy,” you answer.

He nods, patting your thigh. “Good. Will you describe for me what I’m doing right now?”

“You’re looking at my pussy, Doctor.”

His fingers stroke your puffy lips, assessing the shape, size and colour, you’re sure. He spreads them open then, revealing you fully to his watchful eyes. “And now?”

“You’re spreading my pussy lips open, Doctor.”

“And if I have an erection in my pants, it means?”

You’re breathless at the question, and you’re aware that, at the twitch of his lips, he saw the twitch of your clit. You want to hide from him, but you can’t. And he wouldn’t let you. Despite your nervousness, you reply, “It means you like what you see?”

“And if my mouth is watering?”

A gasp tears out of you. 

Countless videos have prepared you for your lines, but they’ve never prepared you for the real thing, never prepped you to be so openly desired by someone older and more experienced. How can he so easily say something like that? Doesn’t he know the effect he has on women?

His voice is so deep, so raspy, and his touch is warm despite the layer that keeps him from really touching you. Having such a hot doctor wasn’t a blessing, you realise; it’s a curse.

SMACK!

You yelp, thighs shutting around his hand. He’d slapped your pussy. 

Growling, he shoves them back open and says, “I will repeat myself once, and only once — what does it mean if my mouth waters at the sight of your pretty pussy?”

“You want to taste it.”

Doctor Nanami’s breath fans across your sopping cunt. His hands tuuuuug you down so you’re even closer to his face. He doesn’t touch you there yet. No, he’s taking his time. First, he tests you again. “What’s this action called, hmm?”

“C-cunnilingus?”

“Are you asking or telling me?”

His curt tone leaves no room for argument; he’s not the kind of man who’s playful during sex, or even before nor after, it seems. 

Eager to feel his mouth on you, to know what it feels like to be eaten out, to know for yourself if it feels as good as the couple you always see on the park bench on your way to school makes it seem, you whine, “Telling you, sir. Please taste me, please, Doctor.”

The scruff on his jaw rubs your inner thigh as he mutters, “You must be top in your class in Begging 101.”

Then, he’s tasting you.

A lap of his long, flat tongue covers your entire slit from hole to clit. He collects your wetness and gulps it down. Doctor Nanami mulls the taste over and says aloud, “Sweet. A 9.2 out of 10. I can tell you keep a healthy diet. Very good.”

“Thank you, sir.”

You feel his smile on your clit, lips mouthing against the pulsing thing. “Such a polite girl you are. You’ll make for a very good Breeder.”

That’s all you’ve ever wanted — to be taken so readily in the streets, to be watched as you’re fucked so good by a big, strong man who only wants to pump his cum inside your pussy, and be stretched out enough for another to slip in easily. You want to make your country proud.

Doctor Nanami laps up your juices precisely. 

He doesn’t hesitate to circle the rim of your other hole too, if an errant drop were to escape him. In fact, he lingers there for a moment, waiting until you’re absolutely squirming and whimpering for it. 

His tongue flicks your clit over and over again, sucking on the bud so you’ll hear the squelches! and feel the incredible pleasure of being eaten out by a pro.

Your hips rock towards his face, seeking the friction. The doctor’s gorging himself on your creamy juices, tasting you as if you’re just so delicious, so intoxicating. Tongue lashing through your cunt, he slithers it through, all while massaging your ass, kneading the flesh to comfort you.

He’s paying so much attention on your clit, it has you panting like a dog, and fighting to scramble away from him. “Ngh! Not there, please doctor.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he scolds, yanking you back, and slapping your clit in punishment. You squeal. “The clitoris is where you’ll feel the most pleasure. Do not run from it.”

Squirming and blubbering, you confess, “It feels too scary.”

“Then I highly recommend you rub your little clit when you get home until you’re cumming all over your sheets. Grow very familiar with your pussy. I don’t want any arguments about it. You think a Breeder would go easy on your cunt?”

Of course the answer is no. You’ve seen from demonstrations in your college how relentless and cruel dominant Breeders can be — they’ll have you crying and begging and saying things you’d never say in any other situation. And by god, were you always so jealous. Like the other girls, you’d squeeze your thighs, soaking through your panties when piercing eyes would land on you, and scarred lips would curl into a smirk, as though vowing it’d be you next.

Delirious with the roughness of his slurrrping!, you can only nod and promise, “I will. I’ll rub my clit so hard later, Doctor.”

“Good girl.”

A dollop of spit lands with a thwack! right on your clit, sliding down your slit and mingling with your sloppy juices. Two fingers rub it in. He holds up his soaked hand, spreading the long digits to show you the translucent web it creates. Almost monotone, he quizzes you again, “What is the purpose of your pussy juices?”

“Lubrication.”

“Lubrication of what.”

“Of anything you want to put inside me, Doctor,” you mewl.

Doctor Nanami nods, pleased. “Clever girl. Most women answer with ‘cock’ or ‘fingers’ but the accurate answer is, the lubrication is to ease the entry of anything. Of course, there are a number of things you should not penetrate a pussy with, but in theory, anything goes. Now, relax for me.”

He pushes those two fingers in, pinning your hips with a heavy arm thrown over your belly so you can’t run away from the pressure.

They stretch you out, immediately curling upwards and finding that spot inside your gummy walls the broadcasts taught you was called a ‘g-spot’. It has you creaming even more on his fingers. 

The feeling of latex against soft skin is odd, though it doesn’t bother you. It’s not a very thick material at all. You can still feel the callouses on his fingers, albeit weakly. Still, you wish you could feel him bare.

A thumb rubs your clit in tight circles, all while his fingers press in from inside, thoroughly stimulating all around and you feel it building and building. The doctor clamps his mouth over your clit, resistant to shoving hands.

“S-shit, I think I’m going to pee!”

“No,” he says, dragging the word out like you’re a child. “It’s not pee. You know what it is. Say it.”

Your cunt clenches around him. “Cum! Doctor, I’m gonna cum.”

“Yes, yes you are. But you must hold it.”

Eyes widening, you stare down at him, bewildered. “No, I can’t. I can’t hold it in!”

His cold eyes pin you to the chair, and with challenge in those eyes, he doubles the speed and intensity in which he’s sucking your clit and curling against your g-spot. “You can, and you will. Do not come until I count to one, do you hear me?”

A strong wrist pistons his fingers in, never missing that sensitive spot inside you, never breaking eye contact and never letting your clit get a second to rest.

“Three,” he says.

The obscene squelches he’s wringing from you reach your ears, filling the room, and you have to wonder if anyone could hear what’s happening here from outside. They’d probably be so jealous, waiting for their turn. 

“Two.”

They’re imagining your lewd body played mercilessly by Doctor Nanami, and be incapable of deciding who they wanted to be more. 

You being fingered to your first proper orgasm or him, having the honour.

“One.”

You cum with a scream. Hot juices spring out of you, splashing and coating his arm and labcoat with the liquid. As the State recommends, he guzzles down as much of your cum as he can, even as it dribbles down his chin. Your whole body spasms. 

You’ve had orgasms before — accidentally realising you can feel good from humping your teddy bear in your bed, sitting on the washing machine as it was running, riding the crease of your jeans — but they’ve been weak in comparison to this.

The convulsions eventually slow. He gives your pulsing cunt a few final licks. 

Limp, you lie there, panting from the remnants of a mindmelting cum.

Doctor Nanami pats your pussy, and leisurely strolls over to the other end. “Well done. You did well. It’s a good sign that you can squirt so easily. 60% of Breeders value that in their partners; you’ll be quite a popular thing.”

His wet, gloved fingers drag over your naked body, circling your clit for the last time, climbing up your belly, the valley between your breasts, flicking a nipple and making it glisten with your spend, before finally arriving at your mouth.

He smears your own juices across your lips, humming with approval when you lick his fingers clean.

Soon, he rips his gloves off and a second later, cold, calloused hands are rubbing your cheek. Looming over you, he pulls your bottom lip down to watch it bounce back in place, and says, “Open wide for me, dear.”

Shining a flashlight pen inside your mouth, he inspects that part of you too. Satisfied, he stands up, and begins to unbuckle his belt. The sound of leather scraping and metal clinking has your thighs clenching tight together, feet no longer on the stirrups. 

His cock is freed and your mouth drools at the size. 

It’s bigger than the average penises they show on the broadcasts, in the school textbooks and live performances. Long, clean, thick, with two veins leading up to a pretty, pink tip. A Grade 1 cock for sure! 

Doctor Nanami taps the cockhead at your lips, and like the videos you’ve watched, you stretch your lips out into as big of an O as you can and readily swallow him in. You’ve practiced on dildos before, and even cucumbers, but none of your past experiences can compare to the feel of an actual cock.

The heat, the ridges, the salty taste of skin and pre…

It’s quite wonderful.

“No teeth,” he warns. “It will not reflect well on your record if you cannot blow a man properly.”

“I understand, Doctor.”

You shut your eyes tight, focusing on not gagging and throwing up all over him, like the textbooks warned against. To his credit, he’s going slowly, not shoving it all in one go. It’s an odd gentleness that contrasts with his usual harshness.

And when he’s about halfway in, he pulls out just enough to keep his tip inside your mouth, and inches back inside. Your hands clench into fists.

“Breathe through your nose,” he advises. “As soon as you are -hah- certified, there will be men wanting to take –mm, what a tight little mouth– t-take advantage of you. Be sure you warn them ahead of time you’re new and should not be deepthroated so casually, yes?”

You try to answer, but it comes out muffled, and when he groans, you realise maybe that was his intention all along. 

Doctor Nanami cradles your neck. His thumb runs up and down the column of your throat, and you know he must be admiring the bulge of his cock. “I have no doubt you’ll be a Special Grade whore very soon.”

A couple seconds later, he pulls out again. 

He doesn’t thrust back in. 

Instead, he keeps his tip inside and says, “Lick it, sweetheart. Around, and on the slit. Slow but firm, that’s how I like it.”

You do as he says — you tongue his slit, digging the tip of your tongue inside and swallowing the salty taste he leaks out. The doctor grunts, clamping down on his base, and then he’s pulling away completely.

It wasn’t the most comfortable experience, but you have to admit, there’s something rather addictive about having your mouth preoccupied. 

Back between your legs, he stands, tugging on his still-hard cock. It’s leaking precum and you almost want to lick it up again. 

Doctor Nanami drops his heavy cock right onto your pussy, and your sticky juices grab on immediately. Back and forth, he begins sawing your cunt, drawing back so that his tip will nudge against your clit on his way up. Each thrust of his hip has you gasping and moaning. 

“What do you call this act?”

He’s testing you again, and you don’t want to disappoint, so you answer, “Outercourse, sir. Or, pussyjob.”

“Good.”

Holding his cock down with a thumb, he makes sure the pressure and friction is just right. The squelches are coming back, so loud and so wet. He doesn’t make fun of you, doesn’t point out that you’re acting like a bitch in heat, he simply rubs his cock between your lips over and over again, until he’s smearing his pre on your lower belly.

Oh god, it’s so hot. His cock’s scalding against your pussy. You can’t believe you had to wait so long to be fucked.

The back of your knees are held. He pushes them back so that they’re grazing your chest. The position is uncomfortable, muscles creaking in complaint, and what’s more uncomfortable is the fact that he can see everything more clearly like this, even the puckering of your asshole.

“You will be bent in all sorts of positions,” he muses. “This is a personal favourite of mine, and soon you’ll have your own.”

That makes you smile. 

You wonder what position men will put you in most, and which you’ll find the most pleasurable. Maybe doggy, since men love it so much. Maybe missionary because you can stare into your partner’s eyes and know that they’re rolling to the back of their heads. Maybe you’ll love all of them equally.

“Show me why it’s your favourite, Doctor. I want to feel you.”

Doctor Nanami leans forward, stretching your legs out even more, until his nose skims yours. “Open,” he huskily mutters. And when you do, his spit lands on your tongue. You swallow it down with a moan. “What a good girl you are. It’d be my honour to be your first. I promise to make you feel very good. Hold on to my arms, if you need. It might sting a little.”

His fat cock prods your opening. He inspects your face for hesitation, and when he finds none, only the eager drool of a whore ready for cock, he pushes in.

A whine leaves your lips.

“Mm fuck! It’s too big!”

Tutting, he doesn’t stop. “Breeders don’t complain. Breeders are grateful to be fucked by big cocks, yes?”

Tears in your eyes, you peer up at him, panting and feeling like you might pass out. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I -ngh- really don’t think I can take it.”

He shakes his head. “You can. You can absolutely take it. Be a good girl, won’t you? Breathe and relax this pussy for me. Just bear with it for another second, and soon you’ll be begging for more.”

The doctor’s stretching you out so wide, spearing you whole with his cock, that you think he might break you. But you have to trust him. He wants the best for you. With no other choice, you have to cling onto his strong arms, digging your nails for purchase.

Soon, he bottoms out. His pelvis presses against your clit. Absentmindedly, your hips grind in circles, aching for friction there. 

“I’m going to start moving now. If you need to cum, you will tell me and ask for permission. Repeat it.”

“If I need to -hah- cum, I’ll ask for permission."

Doctor Nanami starts slowly, rutting his cock an inch at first, then two, then three, and soon he’s building up a clinical pace. His rhythm is consistent, unwavering, and it’s just what you need. 

The pain disappears, and you have to think hard to remember if it even existed at all.

Just like he said, you begin feeling good. Too good. 

Wantonly, you start moaning. Like something’s been awakened in you, you fuck back into him, eager to feel as much of him as you can. 

“Your body was made to be fucked,” he rasps, hips slamming into yours now. Skin slaps against each other, making a fwop! fwop! fwop! sound you can’t escape from. “Your body was made to take cock. A good little cockwhore. Say it.”

“I’m a good -hngh!- cockwhore,” you moan out. Your tits are bouncing with the force of his thrusting. It can’t even be called that anymore — he’s effectively ramming his cock in, ploughing you. 

His cockhead massages your inner walls, fighting against the pleats that try to hold onto him. He slides past your g-spot, constantly teasing the poor thing as he impales you on his fat, throbbing cock over and over again.

Doctor Nanami orders, “Look down. Tell me what you see.”

Your eyes fall to where you’re connected, and you clench hard on him. He grunts, hips speeding up.

“I see how deep you are, Doctor. I see my pussy taking you so easily now. Oh, fuck! Y-your cock, Doctor. I can see it pushing through my belly. You’re so big!”

“More,” he says.

You have to fight to keep your head steady, to make your glassy eyes clear enough to really see. “My juices and yours, they’re mixing a-and there’s a ring of cream at your base.”

Like he’d been waiting, he thumbs that cream and shoves it inside your mouth. It’s sweet, salty and tangy. You don’t hate it. You suck on it, bobbing your head up and down like it’s his cock. The doctor looks almost furious and he suddenly grabs your throat, squeezing hard enough to make you feel lightheaded. “God, you’re a filthy thing, aren’t you?”

Sweat layered over your skin, you know you’ve soaked through the paper beneath you. You slip and slide on the chair, kept in place by his firm hands. He’s ravaging you, rendering you a complete mess. No longer a woman, and just a slut for his cock. 

It’s the best feeling in the world.

Just as he had done before, you play with your tits, squeezing and pinching your nipples.

So caught in the pleasure, you don’t notice he’d moved until something cold touches your clit. You shriek, hips grinding up towards it. You look down and see he’s picked up a stethoscope from somewhere. He rubs it in circles on the bundle of nerves, watching drool leak out of your lips at the slight sting of the coldness..

He lifts his glasses out of the way, and licks your drool up. The doctor shoves his tongue inside your mouth.

For the first time in the appointment, he kisses you. Your tongues tangle together, and you think you’ve never tasted anything more amazing.

His rough hands gather you up, bringing you to a sitting position. “Wrap your arms around me,” he commands. 

Carried in his arms, he bounces you up and down on his cock, using gravity to do most of the work for him.

“Ngh! Y-you’re in so deep, Doctor!”

He huffs, glasses foggy with the humidity you two have created. You hold onto it, so it doesn’t rattle off. “You’re clamping down on me so hard,” he hisses. “You like this position, don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes! It’s so fucking good!”

Like this, he can push in even deeper. You swear you can feel him in your lungs. All the while, you’re still kissing him, sucking on his tongue and drinking up as much of his saliva as you can. 

One of his hands is carrying you up by the ass, and he repositions it enough so that his finger can circle your asshole. You moan into his mouth. “Doctor, n-no!”

“You signed the form,” he growls out. “Behave and take it.”

That finger pushes in, knuckle deep, and it’s enough to make you feel so impossibly full. 

“I’m going to cum,” you warn.

He shakes his head. “Wait.”

But you can’t. You cum again.

As you’re spasming in his arms, he doesn’t stop. He keeps fucking you, splitting you with his throbbing cock. Only when you stop does he drop you back down on the chair, spinning you around so you’re face down on the soaked paper.

He thrusts back in, holding your hips and dragging it back and forth. “I told you to wait, didn’t I?”

“I’m sorry, Doctor! I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh, but you could. You just didn’t want to, did you, you little cockslut?”

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!

Heat blossoms on your ass cheek, where he’d slapped the rippling flesh. He grunts with every clench of your cunt because of the pain. You don’t hate the pain. You almost beg him to spank you harder, but you don’t. Too much is already happening. You don’t think you can take any more.

You can only moan and moan and moan some more as he uses you like a fleshlight. The doctor spits on your puckering hole and hooks his thumb inside.

“Hngh! N-not -hic!- there.” 

“Not here?” he repeats, mocking now. “But your pussy’s pulsing like crazy. It’d be wise if you learned to be more honest.” The doctor bends down, lips grazing the shell of your ear, and he whispers, “Like you should be honest with me and say you’re about to cum again.”

Drowning in your own wetness, his hand shoving your face down right where your pussy juices had pooled, you scream loud enough for the whole hospital to hear, “I want to cum again!”

“Go ahead, darling.”

You howl, hands ripping up what’s left with the paper and threatening to break through the foam padding of the chair. You’re beyond sensitive now after the numerous orgasms he’s given you, and the slapping of his balls on your clit is enough stimulation to have mini orgasms suffocating you from inside.

Doctor Nanami bundles up a handful of your hair, and he yanks. Your back arches, and your ass slams back onto his hips. Your gargled gasp echoes in the room. He’s in so fucking deep and you think he might never leave you again. Oh god, you hope he never does.

“You want to be creampied? Hmm? You want this dirty pussy filled with my cum?”

“Yes!” you cry. “I want you to cum inside me!”

“How kind,” he growls out.

Doctor Nanami spurts inside with a low grunt, hips still rutting. The force of his orgasm sends you over the edge again. You cum another time, yelling his name, and thinking you might actually die. 

When he pulls out, jerking his cock to wring out the last spurts on your back. He groans out, “Such a good girl, you took my cock so well.”

Eventually, silence returns to the examination room. You wonder how long it’s been, if someone’s waiting to take your place, and then decide you don’t really care.

Your knees give up and you fall to the floor. 

With a sigh, he picks you up and lays you back down on the chair.

Running a hand through his sweat-slicked hair, he releases a breath and readjusts his glasses. As he fixes up his slacks, tucking his softening cock inside, he smiles warmly for the first time.

Doctor Nanami pecks your lips, fingers fucking the cum oozing out of you back inside your cunt, and keeping you plugged up.

“Congratulations. You’re officially a Breeder.”