Teaser: Childhood best friend!Suguru who has always looked like an emo, closed off loser in your eyes ever since you were awkward middle schoolers suddenly grows to be a womaniser you can’t seem to move on from.
Tags: [MDNI/18+] Porn with a whole lotta plot, smut, fluff and angst w comfort, pining, yearning and pathetic geto, blowjob, riding, f recieving, messy sex, hotel sex, doggy style… When will I actually write pure smut without feelings?
Satoru and Suguru are the two most inseparable but different boys you have had the misfortune to meet.
Suguru is the kind of man straight out of your kinkiest most freaky dreams that would have you floored if they were to ever escape the confines of your mind.
He’s all black clothes, ear gauges that suit him criminally well, long and shiny locks that took years of growing to achieve, subtle yet dangerous piercings that make you spiral whenever you catch glimpses of them.
Suguru is hot.
You know it.
Your body knows it.
But your mind refuses to resonate with that perfectly obvious fact.
Because you’ve known Suguru before the tattoos and the cigarettes he carries in his pockets.
You know the boy with less than shoulder-length jet black hair that was dry before he learnt to take care of it junior year of highschool to try and impress some preppy bitch that used to get on your nerves too quickly.
You know the version of him who threw his guts out in your bathroom toilet after his first party, and the one who collapsed with his then-boney figure on your bed and called it a night—only to wake up 16 hours later.
Groggy as shit, voice deeper than a broken speaker, eyes swollen as if he were crying but it was really just from the first time he smoked mary and had a bad reaction to it.
That is the Suguru you know.
The one who isn’t the muscular and seductive man he has turned into. You love him in the present either way, but your mind can’t process that little virgin Geto is now the same man that has thousands of girls wrapped around his pretty pale, long fingers without doing anything about it.
Maybe it’s a secret defence mechanism of sorts that your body set up for you after you noticed how popular he got first year of college.
Or it could be that deep down you hate not being the only girl around him anymore. The only one he could find comfort in after getting rejected by yet another girl because of Satoru.
Which brings us back.
Satoru is a complete 360 from Suguru. He’s bubbly, bright, dramatic, overly friendly and extroverted for his own good.
With no sense of personal space or privacy, Satoru jumps around life surprisingly with no repercussions—flunking all of his classes in high school due to his fucking around with girls but somehow ending up at the same prestigious school you, Suguru and Shoko got into by working hard.
Though none of you dare to say it out loud, you’re all aware it’s because of his connections. The Gojos are quite well off.
Which makes the three of you resent the little albino shit at times.
But you wouldn’t change him for anything.
Within your group of 4 though, Suguru and Satoru have always stuck out like sore thumbs. Being glued by the hip since babies, of course they share a bond deeper than you and Shoko do with them.
The difference is, you entered the picture a bit after Shoko did in middle school to kind of “replace” Satoru during that time as he discovered the world of girls and parties after only living in the comfort of video games and his best friend for the previous 15 years.
So while Gojo ran around flaunting his awkward charm and pick-up lines—living off the thrill of being able to get any girl he wanted because of his looks—you and Suguru naturally got closer as your short-haired friend was always buried in her books.
Weekends at Satoru’s turned into weekends at yours with cookies in the oven and chess pieces fighting eachother.
Somewhere along the lines, you stopped seing Suguru as someone else in the background and more like your own best friend.
He seemed to see it the same way. Soon confiding in you more and more—sharing plans about his future and how he wanted to pursue philosophy while his parents pushed him into a business-oriented career.
Back then, you supported him, convinced him that he didn’t have to listen to his parents nagging because he was his own person, forcefully drilled confidence into that innocent teenager until he finally grasped it.
Everything was going smoothly.
Satoru was in his own world.
Shoko was doing great in school and after-hours clubs, anything for extra credit so she could get better grades for uni.
You and Suguru shared dreams over tea.
Everything was fine until that party.
Suguru’s first.
Satoru had invited him, saying that his frat friends—the ones he had recently met and somehow managed to befriend despite being younger by a few years—promised fun and a good time.
You didn’t expect hard-headed Suguru to cave and go. But he did.
Shoko stayed with you that night while the boys were out until her mom picked her up at 11 P.M. as she had piano practice in the morning.
Fridays were usually the quietest days for you. Your parents took weekend trips to your grandparents house religiously and you usually skipped on visiting to study.
Which was what you were doing when at 1 in the morning, the front door was being unlocked and the sound sent a bone-chilling shiver down your spine.
An old baseball bat in hand and with hesitant steps, you slowly moved down the stairs to catch sight of messy black hair over a tall body slouching against the entry.
Your heart recognised him before your eyes caught up in the dark. And you managed to drop the bat, cross the distance and reach him before he fell over.
Later, you found out as he threw his guts out in the toilet bowl, that he was batshit drunk.
You remember holding his hair back, the dry locks in between your fingers as he retched on and on.
And then.
The hickeys.
The small purple and faint red marked along his side that peaked out from under his loosely fitted black shirt all across his collarbones.
Your breath had hitched without you even noticing it. But your world shattered.
Because you’d grown feelings for the man that you knew would cause you more harm than good. But who were you at the hands of love? Only 16 and already feeling betrayed when there was nothing promised between the both of you.
You never acted like you liked him, never spoke about love, never showed interest. So who were you trying to blame?
Who were you going to blame for being such a pussy when Suguru got on the same train Satoru was and started changing again.
Learned how to do his hair, got piercings, gauges and his first tattoos in no time. Suddenly turning into a woman magnet that had your heart clenching painfully in your chest.
Yet, throughout the years. No girl ever stuck. No woman made it past the texting stage, not a single one of them slept in his bed the way you did at times when you’d crash at his place.
And you never stuck to any man either. A relationship here and there to get Suguru off your mind with some asshole that only messed with your head even further before you’d ditch him and swim in regret over never having confessed to your best friend before the words carved themselves into your bones.
So Suguru, at 24, has been your crush for seven round years by now.
And you’re one sorry excuse of a supportive best friend when he mentions dates and girls. You want so badly to rip your ears out, stuff his mouth with cotton till he chokes on the skinny blondes and Coke addicted bitches he ends up with at random bars.
Your raspy, beer-ghosted voice cuts him off as he tries to scramble together where he met his latest situationship.
“I’m tired, Suguru. We should continue this tomorrow.”
It’s not often you cut him off so brutally but the few times you do, Suguru sees the sirens going off in his head.
Head lolling to the side, left hand holding his drink in between his fingertips, he subtly lifts an eyebrow as his eyes rake over every inch of your beautiful skin.
Covered in a sheet coat of shine, probably from a body oil that he will remember tonight as he pumps his cock in his hands like he does almost everytime he sees you because you always come so pretty for him.
Well, he hopes it’s for him.
But 7 years of acting like he’s fine with being your best friend with his feelings wrapped under bandages and buried under cement, and he’s fearing that soon he won’t be able to hold it in anymore.
You’ve never shown interest in him. He’s never caught a sliver of love swimming in your eyes when his onyx ones prayed to find it in them.
What was he supposed to do? Risk your friendship? No.
Instead, he put himself out there. For every other person to see, hoping that you realise someday he is actually selling himself open for you to snatch off the market.
Yet, time passes and time passed. Nothing.
You stay quiet.
When in the present, your jaw is working and you’re mumbling something along the lines of “I’m really worn out, not really in the mood for talking right now.”
Suguru softly sighs, eyes crinkling at the corners as his they soften under the dim yellow-light lit bar you’re both at after work.
“I’ll take you home.”
He can’t remember the amount of times he’s done it for you. Taken you home tipsy, carried you up your apartments stairs because the hellhole you live in has an elevator that works once a month, tucked you into bed after tugging most of your clothes on because he’s done it ever since you were young from times when you were too tired to change but refused to sleep in dirty clothes, kissed your forehead goodnight and let his chest tighten.
Because he wishes he could say “let’s go home.”.
And he wishes he would stay over, wake up with you in his arms in the morning where he’d kiss the soft corner of your shoulder before the pecks would turn warmer.
But he buries those thoughts deep down and walks out the front door, steps heavy and shoulders weighing a ton.
You wake up feeling like a truck slammed into you sometime in the night—muscles aching, head banging, eyes burning. Though last night you swore you didn’t drink too much, your morning dizziness is really screaming for a rain check on how many beers you actually had.
Were you turning into Shoko?
Catching sight of your phone plugged to charge on the nightstand, you open it to find a mess of texts from your coworkers in the group chat talking about some event they’re trying to set up.
A plethora of messages from Shoko stressed out because of her latest karen patient. A checking in text from Suguru you’ll reply to in a bit. And a thousand texts from Satoru..?
You click on his icon and swipe past the hundred of messages where he’s literally just screaming your name in order for you to reply and get straight to the point.
The favor he’s asking you seems almost ridiculous as it stares back at you.
You, me, Shoko and Suguru. Friday at my company, need u all there for a major event. But I don’t have a date, I need you to act like my girlfriend. 🙏🏻😭
Please help, can’t take Shoko ‘cause she’s already been here and everyone knows her.
I’ll literally buy you anything you want, you know I got the means, boo.
And unfortunately, that last text is what sells it for you.
Friday you waltz hand in hand into one of six eyes’ hotel branches with Satoru who paid for your custom Chanel outfit—elegant silk dress with the tiniest most intricate details around the hemming, a nice cream shade that brings out all the right places—and you wear your new Manolo Blahniks that he got you like the deal promised.
Feeling good, you barely notice how the hall holds you it’s breath when you come in. People’s spines straighten up, how certain women that aren’t really comfortable with being outshined with simplicity and elegance, narrow their eyes.
But the tiny gasps go straight to your blood vessels and straight into your heart. You feel good and nothing can stop you tonight.
Satoru whispers in your ear—hair gelled back, crisp cream suit to match your dress with subtle brown outlining, black slacks.
“Careful, Suguru is about to jump at anyone who stares at you for longer than three seconds.”
Your breath hitches, head swinging back to him. You’re supposed to feign innocence over your little huge crush on your best friend, but all along, Satoru has known.
“How do you know?”
He smirks, that cocky and know-it-all one that makes you want to slap him square sometimes. “You’re not so slick, Y/N. I am also your best friend after all.”
Well shit..?
Before you even have time to debunk his claim—which was already confirmed by your subconscious look of surprise, caught red handed in the worst possible moment—a figure you hadn’t noticed creeping up cleared their throat.
Your heartbeat jumps to the hundreds at the sight of Suguru. Clad in everything dark—black blazer with no lining or details, just the dark void of the color complimenting him dangerously well—silver piercings shining under the bright hall light, helix in place, gauges sitting in their right spots, three small studs on his lobes.
And that tongue piercing you know he has is tucked away behind his teeth.
Shoko monotonously stands by his side, expression dull, looking every bit unhappy to be here. Though you know she’s about to hop onto the bar and flip that look right around.
You exhale for the first time in what feels like the five excruciatingly tense minutes beneath Suguru’s piercing quiet gaze.
“Oh, hey, Suguru.”
Suguru.
You’ve been calling him a lot that recently and he’s not liking the sound of it. Where is the nickname you usually use on him?— Sugu?
It’s his name. He knows. But god does he hate to hear it coming from your pretty lips.
The words “What the fuck are you doing wrapped around Satoru?” and “You look gorgeous.” drop straight into his stomach acid as he swallows them and says instead a brief, oddly cold “Hey.” back.
Truth is, you look divine. But the sight of you clinging onto his best friend kicks him in the wrong way even though he knows you’re both just friends and this is just an act.
He’s been let on the plan.
Yet he can’t stand to watch it unfold.
Satoru sweeps you away to network with you on his arm because it gives him a good look. A nice lady on his side and smooth words could get him deals after deals tonight.
You pretend that you’re enjoying yourself when all you can think about is how you felt and feel Suguru eating you up with his eyes.
It feels illegal. The way his eyes are so hungry for you, shooting bullets through your skin from where he is with Shoko at the bar.
From your side, Satoru mutters something you barely catch from having your mind somewhere else, and your arm drops from his forearm suddenly.
You find yourself alone at a small circular table in the gathering, swirling your drink in your cup and patiently waiting for him to come back till a cold, possessive hand settles on the small of your back.
Chills immediately overtake your body.
The air in your lungs gets kicked out once the figure circles you and reveals Toji Zenin. You know him from the bullshit smeared over his name everywhere.
The business industry’s biggest rival. Every season he’s out for some company’s neck again. The Zenin’s have their claws deep in everyone’s business.
He’s weirdly tall, looming over you with his wispy bangs covering the half-lidded eyes he has. Dark like someone else’s, still different.
But the hair on your skin stands up despite the fire in your eyes. His touch feels like poison to you.
“Toji Zenin.” You recognise. He smirks, sending a small nod your way.
“Y/N L/N.”
Huh? How does he know your name?
“I’ve had my eye on you all night.” He casually points out, putting your questions to rest for the moment.
His touch is long gone from your back but it lingers there in an uncomfortable way that still has the hairs on your arms prickling.
He’s every bit intimidating, from his looks to his gaze. The tattoos on his skin that don’t offer a single ounce of comfort to you like Suguru’s does.
Shit, why can’t you ever get him out of your head no matter how many times you throw yourself in-front of other men?
“Yeah? Am I that intriguing?” You ask, a sly smirk mirroring his on your face. Deciding to play into his game, you rest your drink on the table and relax your previously tense stature.
Briefly, he takes a good look at you again before replying confidently. “Very.”
You fake a giggle to keep the chat going.
“Let me buy you a drink?”
The freshly ordered cosmopolitan you were sipping on suddenly seems good enough to abandon, so you nod.
In the blink of an eye, before the man can even open his mouth, you’re yanked away. A strong grip on your wrist and your body getting dragged through the multitude of people in the room by someone you don’t catch sight of until you reach outside of the hall.
"Suguru." He finally stops dead in his tracks at the sound of your sweet and confused voice ringing in his ear.
Body on fire, soul frusturated, he holds it in to not lash out over seeing Toji even think you're on his level.
“Suguru.” You try again to rip him out of his head.
Only when your hands find his bicep does he physically jerk out of his thoughts.
Deep onyx eyes stare back at yours under the dimly lit sidewalk where the only thing wrapping around the both of you is the faint noise coming from behind the closed wooden hall doors and the night’s coldness.
“What’s wrong?” You ask, worry lacing your tone.
“Nothing.” He spits out, too quick to be thought through.
You push back, knowing him. “There is something wrong. Come on, you’ve always been clear with me.”
One of his hands run down his face to try and lessen the growing turmoil inside of him.
Defeated, resolve chipping little by little by your warm concern, he sighs. “No, I haven’t.”
“What?” A shaky breathe escapes you, maybe from the cold or because of the tension.
Unlike himself, he dodges your question. “I didn’t like seeing you with Satoru.”
“Or with Toji.”
Confusion replaces your initial worry. Eyebrows knitting together, your hands twitch by your side.
“What? Toji?”
Suguru doesn’t dare to look into your eyes, glueing his sight to the empty street behind him.
Nevertheless, you continue. “Why did you pull me away from him? I was getting to know him.” Bothered by how he stepped in when he had no right to.
“You could’ve just asked me to come with you like a normal person does. There was no need to cause a scene.”
You catch the way his fists ball into fists by his side, the way his shoulders square up under your words.
“Suguru. Say something.”
“Stop calling me that.” He cuts you through.
Something splits in your chest. “What? Why? It’s your name.”
Without missing a beat, he continues while dodging your face. “You never call me by my name.”
“I do.”
“You didn’t.”
Silence takes the wheel.
And you realise where you both have gotten.
When did it ever turn so cold between the two of you? Was it when it started to hurt too much to keep your feelings in check while he fucked around?
Maybe.
“I don’t get what’s your problem.” You breathe out, shoulders slumping.
He finally turns to you. “You are my problem.”
Another beat passes.
A knife is jabbed between your heartbeats.
“Then leave.”
His eyes thin out, unaffected by you. “I won’t.”
Voice shaky, you pry again. “Then what do you want from me, Suguru?”
What does he want?
What does he not want is the question.
“I want you to see me for once.”
Your heart turns to stone immediately. Every vein in you freezing.
“I want you to look at me and not those other men. Fuck.” He pivots on his heels, slacks clicking against the cement as he turns around and runs his hand through his pulled back hair again. Frustration bleeding from him.
“I’ve been in love with you for seven fucking years, Y/N. What don’t you understand?”
What?
Your eyes burn with tears you’re not sure are supposed to be brimming.
Seven years?
Since the chess matches? The afternoon study sessions? The nights you’d both spend stargazing?
“In middle school you told me to start taking care of myself if I wanted girls to like me so I did. And you thought I did it for them when it was all for you.”
“In high-school I got my first piercing because I overheard you tell Shoko that men who had them were hotter.”
“Then the tattoos too. I’m a pathetic loser who has done everything to try and get you to look at me. Yet you don’t.”
“I went around to try and find you in someone else but I couldn’t. And i’m at my wits end, Y/N. I don’t know what else to do.”
The air is too thick for you to swallow, but its even harder to process his words as they pierce painful holes in your chest.
He did all of that for you?
Every single detail carved into his body is for you?
“God, you’re such an idiot.” You whisper, feeling a warm tear slip past your waterline and fall down your cheek.
“I’ve always loved you, asshole. You never looked at me.”
He swings back to you, to see the streaks falling down your angelical features. And something fractures inside of him too.
Fuck, you’re both such idiots.
His arms wrap around your trembling figure before you can calculate your next sentence. Warmth and his signature smell of faint vanilla and musk cradling you to calmness.
Your head softly hits his chest, listening to his heartbeat for a second before pulling it upwards and searching for his eyes.
He tilts his head down and loses himself in your doe-eyed look. Feeling his rough corners go smooth.
Neither of you need to communicate anything as your souls search for each other, bringing your lips in a deep kiss.
One that took too long to play out.
The kiss lasts an eternity longer than it actually did, but you’re experiencing such euphoria that you don’t pay mind to the way your lungs pray for air.
Eventually, you do break the kiss.
The fragile moment feels like it’s a fragment of your imagination.
It shatters when the front door of the hall opens, a plethora of people spilling out in a hurry.
You freeze in Suguru’s hold. His head is already running though. Once more, this time gently, he gets a hold of your wrist and takes you with him back inside.
You’re confused as you cross the swarm of people inside still working. From the corner of your eye, you see Satoru, and you see Toji following you from the other side of the room too—hand in hand with Suguru—and him with a drink pressed to his lips.
Subconsciously, you swallow the awkwardness before you enter a different room.
Standing before a corridor full of elevators, you turn with the intention to question Suguru—but before you can, a lift’s door opens and he pulls you inside where you land against the mirror.
He locks you there beneath him, palms pressing into the mirror that sees you both. And he catches your gaze so much you don’t even dare to think about looking anywhere else.
Feeling butterflies explode in your stomach, crawling up your throat and spreading through your chest, you can only look up at him with the galaxy in your eyes.
Suguru is breathing heavily, eyes clouded with possession and love while he looms. Chest lifting and falling in the quietness.
The elevator doors close with a ding! and your lips meet once more. Hungrier this time. You feel his desperation clinging onto every surface of you as his hands drop from the mirror and circle your waist.
A small moan escapes you when he parts from the kiss and pecks a sensitive spot beneath your ear. Something needy has overtaken him and you won’t complain at all.
His long fingers press into your ribs, keeping you in place and not enough to harm, but enough to make your panties wetter by the second.
You didn’t even hear the lift stop or the doors opening, fortunately, he did and slowly he guided you out the elevator. Mouth still on your neck, one hand on the small of your back while his other shuffles around for something in his pocket.
You’re pressed against a foreign door that unlocks when he presses a keycard to the lock while still kissing you madly.
Cold, cold kisses your bare shoulders the second you’re gently pushed inside into the darkness of the empty room.
Before you can catch a glimpse of the place, you’re meeting the closing front door again, Suguru’s hands roaming more freely than before.
The cold tips of his fingers meet the exposed skin of your back as his lips press soft kisses to your collarbones. Ghosting around your neck every now and then.
Every coherent thought is fleeing your mind—Is this how it feels like to be touched by your best friend? What have you been missing out almost for a whole decade?
“Y/N.” Barely hearing his muffled call, you try to hum a yes but accidentally let a small whimper escape when he briefly bites your carotid gently.
He kisses the red spot once his teeth detach and you feel his lips in a smirk as they meet your throat.
“Do you really want to do this?” He asks, nipping on your sensitive skin—searching for where you’re most delicate and where you fall apart the easiest.
Teeth grazing a particularly sensitive spot, you shudder and he fights back the urge to chuckle at his effect on you.
“Yes.” You breathe out after getting a grip on your mind again.
He hums against you, the vibration travelling all the way down to your soaked panties begging to be pulled off.
“Really?” He muses, a slender hand tracing the curve of your waist unhurriedly, landing on your hip before giving it a firm squeeze and continuing it’s way down.
Hand on your ass, he starts to knead the plush skin of it over your silky dress once your lips combine again in a sloppy, half-minded kiss.
Fed up and so needy, your hands fist his silk shirt—black like most of his closet which you’ve learned over the years—and bring his lips close enough till they brush yours again.
“I’ve waited enough.”
And he crashes against you, lips colliding, hips closing in on you and making you feel the hard outline of his boner pressing against your stomach.
Moving on your own while your mind is absent, your sly fingers find the hem of his pants and slip past to palm him over the thin material of his boxers.
You almost groan at the feeling of his cock—at the shape of his prominent vein under your touch, and the tiny bit of liquid spilling from his tip.
Not even noticing it, you’re so beyond dripping that when Suguru hooks a leg between yours and presses up into your cunt, you leave a wet patch on the cotton of his pants.
He continues to explore your mouth as you subconsciously grind your hips on his muscular leg, steadily supported with the help of his hands on your waist to the wall.
Under your hand, you feel his length twitching—every time his cock jerks weakly in your hand, struggling to move much by the restriction of being in his boxers and because of its weight—you wonder why he feels so big.
And if he will even… fit.
The thought consumes you quicker than you have the time to stop it. Suguru feels you stopping your dry humping and your hands settle on his chest before pushing him back.
Curiously bites at him but disintegrates when he sees you drop to your knees, pupils blown wide open and your hair falling perfectly on the sides of your face. Framing those perfect features of yours.
Without ever admitting it, Suguru feels himself being able to already cum at the mere sight of you like this—but he holds it in the best he can as he feels your hands crawl up.
Hook around his belt, slowly pull the leather out of the secure, pull it off and throw it somewhere on the side, bundle the fabric at his upper thigh and pull down till the only thing in your sight is his aching cock pulsing against his underwear.
You bring your hands excruciatingly slow like everything else you’ve done in the last few moments to his dick. Seeing the thick ridges of him throw the light gray and practically salivating at the mouth.
The material smoothly glides off his skin once you pull it by the edges and…
Suguru might look like he always messes up somewhere along the way with girls, never able to get an actual girlfriend and settle down—resulting in him looking like he gets no bitches.
But boy, that dick is eleven inches.
Those girls have no idea what they are missing on.
And you’re the lucky winner.
It slaps loudly against his firm abs once it’s set free, tempting you already with its looks.
Pale, dusty pink tipped, veiny all around, girthy and criminally long. For a second, your eyes flicker to Suguru.
And he’s smirking. Looking down at you like you wished for this upon yourself and now there’s nowhere to run to.
Swallowing, you bring saliva onto the floor of your mouth and prepare to take him in. Wrapping your hand around his shaft, you part the connection between his chest and his dick before licking the tiny pearl of pre-cum that was on the top.
Suguru quietly hisses, and that’s all you need to immediately take him in your mouth.
Starting by the tip, you feel your mind already exploding at the salty and tangy feeling of his juices, smearing the sensitive end on your textured tongue while peering up at him.
Desperate to catch every reaction.
His fists ball into tight fists once you wrap your pretty lipstick-smudged lips around him.
Immediately wrapping him in the warmth your mouth it.
Then your tongue comes into action and Suguru starts counting his blessings, praying he has room for one more so he doesn’t immediately lose it already.
Skillfully swirling your tongue around him, you map every surface of his dick and memorise every dip of his veins—every length of them, the ones that go all the way to the base and the ones who only pop up at the very top.
Only being able to take him halfway before choking, you try to stroke the rest with your hand until you feel him place a hand on your head and start to choke you on his dick.
Your eyes shut closed as his tip hits the back of your throat, saliva spilling from the corners of your mouth as he breaches your oesophagus—hauling himself somewhere tighter.
Flattened tongue resting on the bottom of his heavy cock, you fight the urge to gag as he fucks himself harder.
Only when you feel yourself about to collapse from the lack of oxygen do you tap out and he immediately pulls out.
Your throat burns with that delicious ache you’ve just discovered.
Voice hoarse and raspy, you let out a curse under your bed before he’s moving again.
Back meeting the soft mattress of the hotel bed, you let out a breath before seeing that Suguru is already sitting between your legs, spreading them so far that your dress rides up and displays your wet panties clearly for him.
The low chuckle he gives reaches your ear in a soft melody. Long fingers hook around the flimsy material and you’re already jerking at the feeling of his knuckle brushing your clit.
There’s not an ounce of shame in your body when you let out a throaty moan as his fingers dip inside of your hole, mouth latching onto your twitching clit instantly after.
He takes two licks with a flattened tongue and your touch-deprived self already starts to collect tears on your waterline.
The cold metal of his tongue piercing adding more to the blissful sensation.
Mewls start to subconsciously spill out of you.
“Sugu~ Ah!”
You feel him smirk against you as your sensitive bud makes out with his mouth. Quickly, your vision starts to go blotchy when he curves his long fingers inside, finding that spot that makes you gummy in his hands.
You’re so close to the edge, so ready for the orgasm to crash over you when he pulls away in the blink of an eye.
You whimper at the loss of contact, near damn crying at the escape of your climax.
And he smirks, he fucking smirks.
Pulling his shirt over his head and climbing back, saying.
“That’s for leading on Zenin, and for even accepting being Satoru’s for the night.”
Eyebrows knitting and your eye catching the possessive side of him, you circle back to the first name.
“Leading on Zenin?” There’s curiosity in your scratchy voice.
But he doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let you ponder any further while his hands hook around your waist and flip you on your stomach.
“You’re mine.”
And his cock breaches the first muscle of resistance, making you scream out both in pain and pleasure as the first few inches mercilessly dip inside of you.
Feeling like you’re being split in half, your hands start fishing the sheets, anything to lessen the pain.
Suguru presses slow, open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder and back, soothing you through the ache that soon turns delicious.
Once the pain subdues, you feel him move again—only being able to fit half of him inside of you, but he takes it nonetheless.
Pulling your hips upwards and arching your back—Suguru finally starts hitting mean thrusts to your poor overwhelmed pussy.
Not caring at all how the whole building can hear you scream out, moan his name like it’s the only thing you know how to do.
The headrest groans in an uneven rhythm as Suguru plunges deep into your velvety walls, creating a frothy ring at the base where your bodies meet.
“Come on, Y/N, relax so I can fit.”
“N-No—You won’t-haah.” You can barely get your words out, panting and shaking while tears run down your face. “Fit.”
But Suguru is a level of stubborn and hard-headed you’ve known since middle school.
“I’ll make it fit, dear.”
And you’re flipped on your back again, wincing at the loss of him nuzzling his tip into your womb, but getting hauled up before being able to catch your breath.
His back meets the leather of the headrest as his hands guide your shaky legs to each side, your knees digging into the soft cotton sheets, and you pussy hovering right over who she wants inside.
“Take me.”
And you do.
You succumb to his order like a body with no mind. Legs collapsing on you from the lack of strength and lowering your cunt to meet his glistening tip again.
He hungrily watches himself disappear up until where you physically cannot take him anymore—halfway through.
Seeing how your hands tremble on his shoulder, how your breathing is shaky and your body unsteady, he hooks an arm around your back and places a warm hand on your hip.
And pushes down.
Down.
And down.
Till he’s buried to the hilt and you’re groaning so much that they are bouncing off the walls and settling in his bones.
You can’t believe Suguru has been hiding this monster for god knows how long. It almost makes you wish you never had sex with anyone else just to experience this as your one and only.
But some things can’t he changed.
Just like you know that he has been with other girls because you didn’t notice he was in love with you the whole time.
Like you have been.
What a mess.
What a mess it is between your bodies too—sweat clinging to Suguru’s forehead and moistening the front pieces of his silky jet-black hair that cling to his forehead.
The straps of your dress have long fallen and revealed your chest once you sat down on him, giving Suguru the perfect angle to nip and suck on your breasts as you focus on riding him.
He takes control once more when he rams up at you, feeling your walls fluttering around him and spasming closer to the edge you were previously stripped of.
You feel your jaw going slack, the air in the room impossibly hot and the coil in your tummy at its end.
And it takes him a few more thrusts, angry and desperate till you come down crashing on him.
Body violently shaking, high-pitched mewls coming out of you and your weight going dead on him.
At the very last second, he pulls you up, almost cumming inside of you—but his dick slips between your bodies—shooting his seed over your dress and chest.
Ruining your attire, shamelessly so.
And the room goes dead silent save for your heavy breathing and his.
Fingers twitching against your sex-slicked skin, Suguru finally relaxes against the bed. Draping your body over his—the aftermath of him finishing sticky between your bodies but neither of you care.
It’s quiet for a second while the memories and the weight of the moment settle between the both of you.
“We are so stupid.” You whisper after another beat, cuddling your head further into his chest, searching for the steady beat of his heart beneath the muscles and bones.
“Yeah. So stupid.”
Stupid in love.
Not proofread yet, maybe my longest work as of now (def in the smut category.) this is my 1k special as a thank you to all of you for being so kind with me and genuinely making writing so fun <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
— Jean messes up when he tells the world he’s single, so he spends the next month and a half trying to fix his mistake while being a pathetic ex.
Tags: Angst (LOL!) with comfort, kinda fluffy idk I love it. SFW. HOCKEY!JEAN AND ARTSY JEAN oh how I love him. Welcome to the masterlist!!!
“Get off my front door, Kirstein.”
Ouch.
“Don’t be like that, Y/N.”
The 6 foot 3 man standing in front of you, leaning against your wooden doorframe—all dark and polished oak—clad in a white shirt too tight around his arms over his bulging biceps, threatening to snap the seams, does not get the memo.
That you won’t be fucking taking him back.
Not today, and not tomorrow.
You sneer back, feeling the blood circulating through your veins boiling to the point of evaporation.
“Get the fuck out of my face, I don’t feel like repeating myself any more.”
Because you’re fed up with the dusty grey-pink undertoned mulled hair asshole you once dated. Once being up until one week ago.
Why did you break up again?
Oh right.
Because he genuinely thought telling the whole school—the entire world actually—he doesn’t have a girlfriend when interviewed by a sports reporter last week after his big-shot game, was okay.
Like erasing three years of dating just to maintain an image that wasn’t even anything now, was fine.
You were fed up. He didn’t apologise, didn’t even see the bad in it and shrugged you off everytime you tried confronting him about how wrong it is.
And when the girls started sliding into his dms, you lost it.
He was a liar like they all are, and you dumped him before the sun hung in the horizon again, three days after the interview aired.
Packed your shit from his apartment and went back to your dorm, dodging Hitches questions left and right about what you were doing back at your shared apartment when for the last year, you had spent almost every single night at his place.
Because it truly did make no sense. You had a whole wardrobe there, toothbrush that sat next to his in that cheesy couple way, pijama shirts that smelled like him because they were once his, and now all of those belongings were back in your old closet.
The one that starts loudly groaning when you pull the door open, springs worn down by the years.
It’s not like the rest of your apartment is any younger too, the floorboards need a break, there’s a leak every six months.
But it felt so much better than sleeping under the same roof as a no-good liar.
During the last week, you learnt to love your old bed all again—even when at night the springs dig into your back through the mattress.
You also learned to escape about 10 people without even needing to see them with your eyes.
Sasha and Connie tried following you around campus to try and pry answers out of you about what happened because there was just no way the it couple was just over like that.
Truth is, everyone already knew you were with Jean anyway. Everyone on campus was aware that you were both high-school sweethearts since senior year.
Which is why the revelation on national television hurt so much more. Because it was like he was saying you were both done while talking about future plans that same night with him in your arms.
And you felt so stupid.
So you left.
Acted like he never existed. Stopped going anywhere near the hockey rink where he played with literally half of your friend group—Eren, Bertholdt, Marco…Meaning you lost more than just your boyfriend, but your friends too.
Cause you can’t look at them in the face. Can’t look into Mikasa’s eyes and take her seriously as she tries to convince you that he didn’t mean it like that whilr your head rings like tinnitus with the memories of you and the man you thought you were going to marry.
Dodged Historia’s soft voice asking you if everything was fine, avoided even more looking into Ymir’s eyes because you knew she would strip you bare of your walls if you caught a glimpse of those prying irises.
“Sunshine.” He breathes out, chest deflating once he sees he might not be able to change your mind.
Your eyes clamp shut as you internally wince at the nickname he has called you even before dating.
From when you were too young and too naive to even know what love was about. But he taught you, and losing him hurt tenfold because he showed you how love is supposed to feel.
And it stings all the more because he’s your first everything.
You can’t even think of anyone who would hold you through the rough nights when the walls would close in on you like he did.
Of anyone else who would drive seven hours to comfort you when your relative died in Paradis and you had no one to be there for you.
Of a single other soul who could ever touch you like he did—even with beat up hands and scarred knuckles.
Your heart weakly jerks in your chest because it hurts to do so when it’s not for him when all that was in your veins once was the smell of him, his essence.
The tears are quick to brim your waterline, and fuck, you miss him so fucking much it’s excruciating.
Both of your eyes are matching with red rims and glossy coats over blown pupils.
“Don’t call me that.” You croak out, trying your best to hide the cracks in your chest at the mere sight of him.
The nickname stirs up more emotion in your chest than you had braced for, reminding you of every bad and good moment you were forced to put behind you.
Jean can physically feel the level of hurt in your voice gnawing at his bones.
“Go to the hundred fucking girls in your DMs since you’re actually single now.”
Worst part is, everyone knew it was wrong when it came out of his mouth. It felt wrong—head-over-heels Jean saying that when he had always been utterly smitten with you till the day you broke up and even now as you block him out.
“That somehow hurts so much more coming from you.” He breathes out, arms uncrossing and one going to hook behind his neck as he stares at the floor.
“It should.”
“I don’t want to be single, Y/N.”
“You should’ve thought about that before publicly erasing me from your life.” And you slam the door in his face.
Jean is pathetic. So pathetic and ruined without you that he might just listen to what anyone tells him to get you back.
Buy you flowers? He’s already gotten you seven bouquets of flowers he saw you drop off at graveyards instead of throwing them away—made his heart sting, yes, but did it also make him fall in love with you even more after seeing you unable to even throw them out, instead choosing to put them to good use? Also yes.
What about apologising? He has, even blocked. Sent a heartfelt sms to every.single.platform. you have him blocked on just in case you ever unblock him. Sent a letter to your apartment—actually multiple, but Hitch threw them out after you said to.
Came knocking at your door times he knew you were at home 100%, waited hours and eventually went home the days your roommate didn’t force him out.
Tried to get different people to give you the letters, even teachers, till everyone started to avoid him too.
Um…what can he do?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Sulk in his bed, get yelled at by his coach—actually the reason he’s even in his mess after the bald man drilled into his head that it would be a better look for him to be a career-oriented girlfriendless young star in front of the camera—for slacking off, and whine some more.
Well, he sure is girlfriendless now.
And the whole group is suffering from it.
Nothing really feels the same without you there.
Even though “sunshine” was the nickname Jean would call you, they all saw you as their sun and it felt pretty weird being gloomy under the real star on hot days.
“I’d rip Jean’s head clean off if I could right now.” Grumbles Connie, sparking a patato-chip-mouthed Sasha’s attention.
“Why?” She barely manages to say while her mouth is full.
“ ‘cause I could be laughing about Eren’s ugly ass fucking hairstyle right now with Y/N but we literally don’t have her around now, do we?”
The times where Connie is actually serious and pissed off are extremely rare, considering how he’s always fooling around.
Everyone spins their head to dart daggers at the culprit in question.
Jean sits with his back against the thick truck of the tree the group is sitting under with the absence of Reiner, Bertholdt and Annie.
Hair tousled, some pale brown strands bathed in the sun that filters through the leaves, and head dipped low—lost in the sketchbook cradled in his lap.
No one needs to peer inside of the notepad to know he’s probably sketching every soft curve of your face into the paper again.
Matter of fact, they can tell it’s you that’s subject of his pencil by the way his strokes are deliberately slow and the absentminded, solemn smile on his face.
Connie yanks the open book from his hold anyway, angry all over. And yeah.
That’s definitely you.
Between the universe and Jean though, that’s you from one week ago when you slammed the door in his face.
“Don’t you have some fucking practice to be at instead of doing this pathetic shit?”
Jean’s face is perfectly stoic at the jab, but he’s disintegrating inside.
Great, his lifetime-long friends also hate him as if he doesn’t also do that by himself every second of the day.
Mikasa sends him a pitiful look when he gets up, snatches the sketchbook back and heads to the gym with Eren, Marco and Bertholdt following behind.
Jean is so miserable that he wouldn’t even admit to Marco—his own best friend—that he’s taking the breakup so bad he spends hours at your favorite places during the week hoping you pass by. Yet, you never do.
It’s like you’re a ghost.
He starts to rethink how your nickname really suits you. How you’re so bright and yellow like joy, his favorite color.
How you light up the world because as he stargazes alone now—the stars seem dimmer and a lot more far away.
The first time he sees you after you threw him out of your face, is three weeks after that and the breakup is four weeks fresh.
Still gnawing at him like a parasite.
Still being laugh-worthy, sitting at a takeout restaurant you used to religiously hit up, he received a text from Eren at midnight hitting him in all the wrong ways.
I shouldn’t be telling you this, but Y/N is at our bar rn with some people.
Keep quiet about this or—
He’s parking outside of the place before Eren even has the time to convince him to not come, bursting through the front door without thinking it twice.
Jean finds you swiftly amongst the crowd and the sight is worse than he could have ever imagined.
He should have read Eren’s texts, the warnings.
Because there you were for the first time in weeks. Dressed in a skin-tight mid-thigh black dress with spaghetti straps, long knee-length black books to match and… his leather jacket?
You look criminal, illegal.
And Jean is suffering the consequences of his damn actions.
But it hurts more when he sees you laughing at the bar with Colt who is weirdly close and Petra, Reiner’s arm hooked over your shoulder, clearly batshit drunk, which is why you probably even allowed the friendly giant to stay with you as your ex friend group glares daggers at the lucky traitor from across the building.
Eren yanks the awkwardly staring Jean from the front of the place and over to their table where everyone is present minus the blonde haired man with you.
“You have got to be kidding me.” He breathes out, feeling the world collapse on his back.
Sasha rubs a supportive hand on his back, feeling his tense muscles beneath her soft palm.
“Someone go get her, god what the hell.” He’s damn near hyperventilating. After chasing you for weeks, you show up in plain sight, chatting freely with Colt.
“Send Armin.” He croaks out, the seams of his self-control undoing.
Armins lips purse, Annie steps in.
“She almost left when she saw him going her way.”
Fuck, you really want nothing to do with them.
A gloomy shadow settles over the circular table again, letting the bustling sound of the Friday night in the bar and your distant laughter surround them.
Jeans head swivels around to catch the melody better over the sound of “Rein Me In” by Sam Fender and Olivia Dean bleeding through the speakers.
He doesn’t expect to lock eyes with you.
But he does.
The history between the both of you crashes like waves in your head.
The headache that follows is entirely enough for you to slip from under Reiner’s arm, feeling all too aware again that he’s with them. Picking up your bag and muttering a quick “See you home, babe.” To Hitch, you leave.
Zero beers in and zero drinks in, you walk just fine despite the pain in your head on the sidewalk.
Three long steps away from the bar entrance and coated by the moonlight, you hear the doors you’ve just left through shoot open again.
And you say a silent prayer in hopes it isn’t him—
“Y/N!”
But of course it is.
“Hey! Wait! We have to talk, please” You hear him beg as he jogs up to your quick-paced try to escape.
He reaches in no time due to his height and it angers you more. His voice goes soft as he bends down, trying to match your pace and attempting to reach your earshot.
“You already know what I want to talk about so just stop for a second, I really need to speak to you.”
You snap.
“God, leave me alone! You can’t pull me by the reins you cut, Jean! Get that in your head! You did this to us!”
Your head is in shambles, barely thinking of what you’re saying as your legs tirelessly work.
“I know I did, I’m sorry about it everyday. Can’t you just listen to me for once?” He sounds so hurt you just want to turn back and hug him, but you continue.
“It’s over, Jean.”
Just like that, he’s locked out again.
It doesn’t matter, the next week when his friends tell him it’s already been well over a month since the breakup, he shrugs and says no “it hasn’t been a month, It’s only been a few weeks.” But when he counts in his head, it’s already been a month and one week.
He’s back on your doorstep again, pathetically holding a bag of snacks in his lap as he sketches over the bottles in the nylon.
Tracing you from last week, outside of the bar, your side profile—the one he caught while you fled, all while he waits for you to possibly leave your dorm.
He’s stupid, pathetic.
The whole campus knows it.
He does not care.
He saw you replay K. by cigarettes after sex—the one you silently dedicated to him—over a billion times since the breakup and that’s the only spark of hope he’s still clinging onto because you forgot to block him there.
Something stirs behind him—behind the door—and it flings open the second he manages to lock himself upright and not fall behind as Hitch leaves the apartment.
“You again?” She bores, turning to lock the door when Jean gets a great idea.
“Hitch.” He says, dusting himself off after getting up. “How is she?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’ve already tried this with me before, I’m not telling you anything.” But he catches the way her gaze is distant, hesitant.
Seeing that he’s about to question some more, she turns on her heels and heads straight for the elevator.
Bingo.
The door is left unlocked.
This is so morally wrong.
He knows.
But he walks inside of your apartment again, the one where he knows exactly where your cutlery is, where the switches are and where you hide your candy from your roommate.
What he doesn’t expect to hear though, are muffled sniffles coming from your room. The door is slightly ajar, calling his name.
His feet are dragging him past the doorframe before his mind can even catch up, eager to calm you down from whatever.
Even when he is the root of it.
You jump under the covers at the sound of footsteps breaching and knocking against the wooden floor.
Having thought Hitch had left you to your own time, your heart stops when you see Jean frozen at the side of your bed from over your shoulder.
Tear stained eyes look back at him, fragmenting his heart in thousands of pieces.
And you don’t even need to tell him why you’re crying, he knows it’s because of him because you continue sobbing twice as hard when you lock eyes.
His arms are around you in a breath, bringing the warmth and comfort you were met with the last three years but can’t allow yourself to want today.
But it feels so good.
You feel so safe.
So at peace.
“Go away.” You hiccup, hands fisting his shirt, half pulling and half pushing him away. “Please go.” You plead.
He shushes you, gently rubbing your hair, combing through your worries.
It burns.
His touch burns so bad.
You hate him so much.
“I hate you.”
He hates himself too.
But he loves you so much.
“I love you so much.” He whispers back, inhaling your homey scent.
“Tell me,” you croak out, voice raspy, nose clogged.
“Were we ever bad for eachother?”
No.
God, no.
“No.” The answer fights its way out of his lips so quicky.
“Never.”
You don’t miss a beat either.
“Then why? Why would you do that to me?”
It’s a mess.
He doesn’t know what else to say. “I love you.”
“You don’t.”
He does, so much it suffocates him.
He hates being a stranger that knows everything about you.
“Leave.”
The interaction between you and Jean leaves you shaken up, really shaken up—so much that you go home for the weekend to your parents for a breather.
It does no good when they keep asking about him and you have no answers.
Because you’re both done, but you miss and want him so much it eats you alive.
The scene replays in your mind every second, eating at the white material in your brain little by little.
You going home is a blow to Jean and the group too considering how little you go home as you preferred staying with them.
The breakup is more painful than everything you have ever experienced—not to be even dramatic but you struggle with getting up in the morning.
Struggle to get out of bed when there’s not arms wrapped around you like you used to feel everyday for the last year.
It’s the kind of mental struggle not that his hold isn’t there to physically render you unable to attend classes or go to places you had to be at in some time.
Food isn’t all that appealing anymore.
The stars don’t make sense anymore.
You’re cold in an interior way.
Monday you’re back on campus, fighting the urge to fall asleep in professor Erwins class which is usually attention-grabbing.
However, your soul is so tired from fighting your days that you just want to sleep anytime.
Petra and Hitch are both on your left, whispering about something you’re struggling to hear until the words “hockey” and “match” catch onto your ear.
“Huh? What?” You mumble out, head over your crossed arms.
They freeze, hesitantly turning to you.
“TSU has another major game Thursday. Classes are cancelled.” They try to tip toe around the subject carefully, knowing who is brought up inevitably when the spot is talked about.
“Oh.”
“We won’t go if you don’t—“ Petra is about to start rambling but you cut her off, feeling a fuzzy feeling stir in your chest at a thought.
Maybe you can watch him from afar.
He won’t know you’re there if you’re really far right?
It won’t hurt right?
You wear his very first jersey, a faded dark blue now, beneath his leather jacket—the one you couldn’t bring yourself to leave behind—paired with some washed out denims and work-out black converses.
The number 7 with Kirstein embroidered on top is snugly hid beneath the black layer.
That’s your little secret to the universe.
The trumpets roar and the players glide onto the ice seamlessly in messy rows.
Players disperse, your eyes track Jean immediately once they fall on him. Seven on his back too, Kirstein on top.
His eyes roam over the crowd as he circles the rink on the way to his position, you bow your head as he passes your section and crouch behind the person in front of you.
He skates to his spot and you resume your previous sitting.
The game starts, it’s all chaos and cold in the gym. They’re on fire. From Eren and Jean attacking, to Bertholdt and Marco defending, everyone is on their A-game.
The statistics blur into mid-game as your chest feels heavier by second—that empty void in your chest taking control again as you watch him play.
Knowing you used to cheer for him, wait by the bench with water because all he wanted to see during his breaks was you.
Maybe you’re just as pathetic as him.
Unable to move on.
You see the scouts on the side, close to the separation boards. This is another one of those matches, the big ones that decide his career.
If he gets signed by one of these labels, he’s set for life.
And you know that’s what Jean wants. It’s been his dream since he’s been a kid—you remember him telling you.
Maybe that’s why he did it.
In the spur of the moment, his inner child striking and doing anything to achieve his goal.
Yet, it still stings somewhere inside of you.
Being second.
A loud whistling indicates the end of the match, hockey sticks halting, puck freezing after some time.
The blues won.
They won.
TSU won.
You see their figures huddle, the celebration. The reds retreat sourly.
None of it reaches your brain, not like Hitch and Petra are celebrating by you. Or how three rows down, Colt and Floch are jumping in happiness.
Eren flings his helmet off, Bertholdt follows, Marco tackles Jean, his helmet falling soon off too when he tugs it off too.
Reporters, scouts, girls bundle up at the board, banging against the plastic—calling out for him.
“Jean! JEAN! Give us a moment!” He stops Marco in their play-fight, slipping his gloves off and skating to the edge where a reporter hangs over the uncovered part of the rink.
“Anyone you’d like to thank tonight?” The question is simple, yet he’s never been so ready for it.
There are so many people he has to thank for tonight’s victory—his teammates, their coach, his parents…
“I’d like to thank my girlfriend, Y/N.”
The arena goes quiet.
His eyes lock on your across the hall, knowing exactly where you are. Your brain short-circuits.
“Y/N, baby, I know we haven’t been great lately and I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole, scream out to the whole world how much I fucked up everything, I’ll be sorry for it forever. But I couldn’t have made it anywhere without you. You made me who I am today—the hardworking, dedicated man I am by holding me up when I was at the bottom, for soothing every rough edge of mine and I owe this and every single part of me to you with every inch of my soul. I love you so much, sunshine.”
The crowd erupts in cheers, some people turning to even look at you once you’re located. Your friends stay frozen by your side when your legs unlock and you run down.
You run, cling onto the railing as you get down the bleachers as quick as possible. The screaming filters out as you reach him.
He’s on the other side of the rink, on the ice.
But you jump over the fence and wrap your arms around his neck, legs dangling off the floor as your upper body hugs him on the other side.
You’re supported by his strong arms around your waist.
And the world stops right then.
When your eyes are spilling tears with no remorse.
When his cushioned arms are digging into the leather of his own jacket and your waist.
When you finally decide to forgive him.
Because you simply can’t live without Jean Kirstein.
The good thing is, after being smeared over every national newspaper under “A romantical reunion between rising star Jean Kirstein and his girlfriend” , he still got signed and is now playing in the big leagues.
Oh, and he put a rock on it to solidify that he is not single.
And that he never will be ever again.
Spamming because im really productive in clearing my drafts lately and cause im not nonchalant idgaf. Take it or leave it.
Not proofread cause yall know me lol… maybe one day… MASTERLIST, AOT MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
synopsis: a story in which a depressed satoru gets sent to the future and sees just how bright it eventually becomes. meanwhile, you're reminded of how much of a brat your husband used to be when you first started dating.
cw: MDNI, time travel, smut w/ a touch of angst bc we LOVE plot, satoru's actually so mean at first lol, dad!jo (him and reader share a daughter together)
notes: hiiii we got 6.5k words for this one ❤️ comm for the lovely @sadlittlecucumber i hope u like!!!!
song rec: drag path — twenty one pilots
Satoru’s life ended up being a fucking bummer.
His best friend’s a mass murderer. Shoko’s gone off to do her own thing with medicine. Nanami left to go become a banker or whatever. Ijichi’s… Ijichi. Oh, and Haibara’s dead. Everyone who’s alive seems to have moved on— so should Satoru, honestly. But times proved that to be quite difficult.
He’s starting to understand where Suguru was coming from with the whole exorcise-absorb mantra. Except for him, it was exorcise and destroy, leaving every cursed site he’s stepped foot on looking like god himself decided to hit the reset button to obliterate the place.
Nobody says anything about it. He’s probably the closest thing to a god. Despite having tried his hardest all throughout his youth to fit in and act as if he was just like everyone else, people were still terrified to fuck with him.
And despite the chaos he’s constantly surrounded by— mainly from his own doing— the days still find a way to bleed into each other, morphing into a never ending cycle of boredom and violence. It’s quite the combo. The higher ups are lucky he’s too tired to plot anything behind their backs.
He’s exhausted.
The past is too blurry. The future’s too bleak.
Gojo was bound to fuck up sooner or later. The thought of him finally snapping like Suguru did, dangling in the back of his mind, taunting him.
He didn’t snap. It’s so much worse than that. At least in the eyes of the arrogant boy who got bested by, what he assumed to be a grade two curse because of how pudgy and stupid it looked. The thing that caught him lacking looked like a fucking blob fish that struggled with crippling anxiety, how the hell was he supposed to know that it could mess with timeof all things?
One moment he’s laughing at the way it looks, the next he’s in the complete dark.
That was the first time he’s smiled in months, by the way.
“Huh?” Satoru huffs out, trying to look around before eventually realizing that he has a blindfold on, and rips it off in annoyance. “Don’t tell me that thing knocked me out,” he begins to grumble to himself. It’d explain why he had a blindfold on… but then he realized he was in a completely different outfit, one that you didn’t put on someone who was currently in rest and recovery.
He highly doubts Shoko would even change him, anyway, at least not for this.
“Oh hey, you’re home.”
Home?
He looks around, and all he knows is this isn’t the dorm he’s continued to stay in after graduation, purely due to the fact that he was already out on missions for up to 18 hours each day. Not to mention that the penthouse he was currently standing in was too clean to be his. Too warm. Way too comfortable.
You already knew there was something deeply off in those first few seconds of looking into his eyes. This wasn’t your husband— this was the hot mess you met and still fell in love with all those years ago.
You tilt your head to the side, more curious than cautious, “Everything alright?”
“Yeah,” he snorts, literally the worst liar ever. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know,” you hum, holding eye contact long enough to leave him feeling a bit unsettled. “You tell me.”
First of all, who the fuck do you think you are speaking to him like that?
Second, who even are you?
Something big and shiny on your finger catches his attention, then he looks at his own hand that has an equally shiny band around his ring finger.
Fuck.
“Honey–”
Satoru physically cringes at the pet name, giving himself away once again.
“I’m not Satoru,” he blurts out, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “I mean, I am, but I’m not— FUCK– some fuckin’ curse blasted me into the future, and I need to go back.”
Well, that was quick. He’s always quick to fold under pressure when it comes to you— it’s something he’s unaware of though, as he fights back the urge to start pacing back and forth.
There’s a light smack from your mouth when you go to open it, only for the words to never even come, let alone die out. Nothing about this surprises you. This is not the craziest thing that’s happened since you’ve met Satoru.
Your lips thin into a smile as you take a deep breath, knowing you had no choice but to accept your new circumstances.
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He raises a brow at how you just… accepted it.
“Yeah… I believe it.” You respond flatly, then point at him, casually motioning your finger up and down. “Your attitude kinda sucked when we first met.”
He grimaces, taken aback by the statement. “No, it doesn’t–”
“You also liked to argue, too.”
“Okay— whatever,” he waves a dismissive hand, not at all interested in hearing what else you had to say. At this point, it just sounded like you wanted to shit on him, something he actually doesn’t have any fucking time for right now. “You’re a sorcerer… right?”
“No.”
“Christ.” Satoru sighs, turning on his heel. “You’re fuckin’ useless—“
You scoff, more humored than offended. “Where are you going?”
“To figure this shit out!” he snaps, throwing his arms out as he turns around to face you.
“Okay,” you shrug, still way too calm for Satoru’s liking, as it pisses him off even more. “If you don’t get it all figured out tonight, you can always come back. We have a guest room.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He huffs out a bitter laugh, as if that was the dumbest suggestion he’s ever heard. “I appreciate the offer.”
–
“Yaga” Satoru storms into the principal’s office, ignoring all his cursed stuffed animals, but noticing what he’s done with his hair. “What the fuck happened to you?”
The principal's brows pinch together, wishing he had locked the door to his office. Satoru fucked with him enough today by showing up to a meeting 20 minutes late with some sugary frap in his hand, and now he’s storming into his office, insulting him out of nowhere.
“Actually, nevemind.” Satoru waves a hand to stop him from even answering his question, reminding himself not to get sidetracked right now. “Look, I need your help. I got sent into the future by some curse, and I need to get back.”
Yaga inhales sharply. “What are you even talking about?”
“Exactly what I just said! I’m from 2009! Not whatever age I am now—”
“31.”
Satoru throws up a little in his mouth. “Send me back.”
Yaga lets out a long, disappointed sigh. It’s always something with Satoru. Always. Having to deal with the younger version of him was a painful reminder that he’s been dealing with his bullshit for well over a decade now. Nothing surprises him anymore.
“Let me see if some other windows would be willing to help look through the library. I’m sure you’ll be able to find information on what kind of curse you got hit with.”
“Thank you,” Satoru groans, still not very pleased by everyone’s reactions thus far, but grateful that he can at least get somewhere with Yaga… unlike a certain somebody.
Hours later, he finds himself at the school’s dusty, unkept library. It looks worse than it originally looked before he walked in. Books sprawled everywhere. Research papers were scattered all over the tables and floor. Assistants running around in every direction, more than half of them terrified at the total 180 in Satoru’s attitude.
“W-we can’t find anything,” Ijichi says, too old to be acting this scared in Satoru’s opinion.
He hums, elbows still resting on his knees, not bothering to sit up. “Hey, Ijichi?”
Ijichi gulped loudly, managing to annoy the world’s strongest sorcerer even more. “...Yes?”
“How are you even more incompetent now than you were before?”
“I tried my best! I swear!”
“Well, it’s not good enough— I’m still here!” he snaps at the nervous wreck of a man. Thank fucking god Ijichi listened to him and just became a window. He sucks at it too, but at least it’s easier for this dumbass to avoid death. “God— what the fuck am I supposed to do now?!”
“This is just one of the libraries, there’s more! And some in Kyoto too, that we’ll have the Kyoto branch check out.”
“Do whatever you need to do. I’m just letting you know right now that if I'm not back by tomorrow, you better watch the fuck out.”
The threat is followed by complete dead silence, aside from a certain someone's breath catching in horror.
“Me?!” Ijichi squeaks out.
The sorcerer doesn’t bother answering that and instead walks away, grumbling something insulting under his breath, just in complete and utter disbelief over how Ijichi truly hasn’t changed.
—
You figured your husband would eventually come back, so you set some food aside for him, and now you’re sitting at the dinner table, trying not to laugh at the pout on his face as he picks at his dinner with the chopsticks in his hand.
“Is the food good?”
“Sure.”
“I can warm that up for you, if you want?” you ask, barely trying to hide your amusement.
“No thanks,” he curtly responds before shoving another piece of karaage into his mouth. He’s known to have a sweet tooth, but chicken karaage’s probably his favorite food, savory wise. You almost want to tell him that he’s allowed to enjoy food even if his day hasn’t gone the way he had planned. “I’d appreciate it if you stopped staring.”
Your lips twitch, threatening to break out into a fit of laughter. “Right, sorry.”
“Mommy…? Is Daddy home yet?”
Oh great. As if the day couldn’t get any worse— now there’s a child.
“Yeah,” you respond in a tentative tone, shooting Satoru a look that screams ‘behave or else’, and even though you are currently a stranger to him, it intimidates him enough to behave for the time being.
A little girl, no older than 4 years old, walks into the kitchen and Satoru’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head upon seeing his daughter. It’s pretty obvious she’s his with her baby blue eyes and stark white hair. Her facial features are entirely yours, though. It’s strange to see.
“Hey… kiddo—” he awkwardly says, not really sure how to address the little girl. You clear your throat, mouthing ‘princess’ when he looks at you, because your daughter also happens to have her dad’s attitude. “I mean princess.”
It’s hilarious how unnatural it sounds right now when he was the one who started calling her that the moment you two took her home from the hospital.
“You pomis to wead bedtime stowie,” she starts to pout— same exact way he does.
“Did I?” He gives the girl a sympathetic look, albeit fake.
“Yeah,” she frowns as she walks up to you, giving him the world’s nastiest side eye. “Liar.”
Why is that the one word she’s able to enunciate correctly? She didn’t even stutter.
“Yeah— I was a little busy with work today,” he murmurs, as if she knew what that even meant. With the glare she was giving him, he doubted she’d even care if he broke down what work and the importance of it was. “Maybe mommy can read to you tonight?”
Sai wasn’t having that.
Satoru spent the end of his night reading her favorite book to her. Multiple times. He almost asked if it was some form of punishment for not upholding a promise he didn’t technically make himself, but decided against it in fear that she’d make him read it one more time. Sai fell asleep… eventually. Despite there being no way to prove it, he knows that the little girl forced herself to stay up out of pure spite.
But still, he finds himself smiling as he thinks about his nightmare of a future, not wiping it off quickly enough when you lightly knock on the guest bedroom door.
“Here’s some jammys for the night.” You smile back as you walk up and hand him a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt, both neatly folded up. “Figured you wouldn’t want to sleep in your work clothes.”
“Oh uh— thanks.” He clears his throat and forces out a laugh, pushing through the embarrassment of getting caught smiling to himself.
You’re giving him that look again. The one that’s mixed with amusement and a bit of fondness, where you look like you’re about to start making fun of him, but never do. Satoru would rather die than admit it makes him nervous.
“What?”
There’s a small pause as your smile grows. “Do you like your kid?”
“She’s weird.”
“Yeah, no— you wouldn’t believe who she got that from.”
“Fuck off.” A laugh easily slips through his lips this time, unable to stay serious at the thought of her inheriting even just a quarter of the traits he had as a child. Then it grows quiet again as he realizes she probably has the freedom to be a kid.
He wants to ask, but you beat him to it with a statement that answered the question he had in mind.
“Your duties as her father don’t end just because you managed to time travel by the way,” you say playfully, though he knows you’re being dead serious.
He can only guess what other horrors that little girl will subject him to for the rest of his time here. To put it simply, she’s not afraid of Dad.
For once, somebody doesn’t look at him as a god to fear.
—
It’s been over a month.
Ijichi and the rest of the windows are just as useless as they were when they first started trying to find answers. All that’s changed is that Nanami knows, and doesn’t seem to be too thrilled about the fact that he is now involved.
But still, the search for the fix to his predicament continues, turning every library and warehouse upside down. That’s all they could really do— aside from asking the elders for assistance of some sort.
Over his dead body.
Knowing they’d most likely do more harm than good, everyone’s agreed to keep this all a little secret from them.
So all that’s left to do, or rather forced to do, is to be patient. It’s hard. Satoru doesn’t do patient— he’s the type to snap his fingers and have a solution magically appear right before his eyes. You can only imagine how difficult it’s been for him to accept that he can’t immediately get what he wants right now.
Not to mention the fact that he had to continue working throughout all of this, but that wasn’t very surprising.
Now, what was surprising was learning that he has his weekends completely to himself. If anything, he assumed he’d just work more as time went on, but no. Turns out he threatened to kill the higher-ups if they didn’t let him have that when you two got married.
Satoru looks over your body once.
Twice.
He totally understands his future self.
He looks again for a third time, and you just so conveniently turn around, showing off your cute, frilly little apron covered in flour streaks.
It’s Sunday— you’ve been baking sweet treats all morning, and he wishes he had been a little nicer to you. Especially a couple of days ago when he snapped at you.
You had found him sitting alone on the balcony, head in his hands from yet another day of failure.
“Hey… any good news?”
“No,” he said impatiently. “If there was, I wouldn’t fucking be here right now.”
“Fair enough.” Your voice took a dip as you looked at the ground, allowing yourself to feel a little hurt for a moment before trying to lift the mood again. “Well… me and Sai stopped by your favorite bakery and got you the cookies you like if you wanted some—“
“No— no,” Satoru cut you off. “I don’t want your fucking cookies. I don’t want to do a family movie night where all we watch is Ms. Rachel. I don’t want to read some book about a mouse trying to become a fucking painter over and over again. I don’t want ANY of it. I want to fucking go home— what part about that do you not get?”
You tried to stand as straight as possible despite your shoulders growing heavier, pushing against the small frown threatening to carve itself across your face. You forgot how mean he used to be, at least during that first year of dating him. It only stings more because the man you married would never raise his voice like that, and you remind yourself that this isn’t him.
After a long pause, he looked up at you and immediately felt guilt wash over him.
“I didn’t mean that,” he tried to meet your eyes as he began to backtrack. “I’m sorry, I just— fuck. I didn’t mean any of that—”
“It’s fine.” You forced yourself to look at him again and smile. “I’ll uh… give you some space.”
The one thing about Satoru is that he doesn’t apologize. Like ever. So, one could only imagine how painfully awkward it was later that night when he knocked on your bedroom door to say he was sorry. It didn’t help that you were in a paper-thin silk slip, skin glistening from the lotion you rubbed all over it— he spent half his time trying not to stare at your tits. Had you been anyone else, it wouldn’t have felt as genuine.
But thank fuck he apologized, you probably would’ve spent all day ignoring him.
You raise a brow, and his cheeks start to pink. “What are you staring at?”
“Nothing, you just–” he awkwardly gestures at your entire body, “there’s flour all over you.”
It almost sounds like he’s offended by it. He kind of is. You keep your foot on his fucking neck— he doesn’t even know why he came out here.
“Oh, right— 'cause messes have always bothered you,” you lean over the island ever so slightly. The pink on his cheeks darkens as you do, unable to control his eyes from drifting down to your cleavage. And while he’s not exactly ashamed of looking— you are his wife after all— he can’t help but be a little flustered.
He’s always had a thing for milfs.
Especially when said milf is talking about messes— he knows a couple of places he could make a mess on right now.
“Nah,” he rests his elbows on the marble counter as a playful grin stretches across his face. “This is nothing compared to how I like it.”
You tilt your head, a small laugh escaping you as you rest your chin over your palm, curious to see where this conversation will get you.
“How do you like it?” you ask, as if you didn’t already know how filthy and depraved he could get when he’s alone in a room with you.
And you fucking miss that.
He opens his mouth to respond.
Then you hear your daughter whimpering about waking up alone. It’s nothing new, and you revert back to mom mode as you watch her turn the corner and waddle towards you.
Satoru, on the other hand, is not used to this. The slightly bruised laugh he lets out just barely masks his desire to fucking scream. What a fucking cockblock— no wonder you only have one kid.
His kid completely ignores his existence as she wraps herself around your leg, continuing to whimper despite no actual tears streaming down her cheeks. “I had a nightmawh.”
Meanwhile, there’s Satoru, who has yet to wake up from his very own nightmare. He internally sighs, then attempts to grab her attention because it doesn’t feel very good watching her give it all to you. “You wanna share a muffin with daddy?”
It’s starting to sound more natural.
“Y-yeah,” she sniffles.
Minutes later, she’s sitting on his lap, absolutely demolishing the blueberry muffin they ended up splitting— a complete 180. He couldn’t be mad, even if he tried.
His little girl was a dream.
—
Month two. Ijichi is still as useless as ever. He stopped complaining to you about him, though. You noticed he doesn’t talk about going back to his original timeline all that much anymore.
It’s not like Satoru’s given up hope, he’s just more present, as if he finally realized that wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to send him back any faster. He’s unknowingly more like his future self— laid back, not a care in the world.
He’s even sleeping in for once. It’s not that hard though when Sai’s gone for the day. She seemed to care more about getting the hell out of the house with her grandparents than greeting her father a good morning. You didn’t push her to, either— figuring Satoru needed the sleep. He always does.
It’s too bad that his phone started blowing up at around 10:00 am. Unfortunately for you, he left his phone in the living room, leaving you to get up and grab it since the master bedroom was the closest room to it. With how thick the walls are, you doubt he’d even hear it.
With a long sigh, you rise from bed, rubbing the sleep off your eyes as you snatch the stupid phone off the coffee table.
The snores coming from Satoru reach your ears before you even open the door. You have to hold back a laugh as you walk in and take a look at him. Face down, his long limbs sprawled over the bed, messy white hair sticking out in all directions.
You reach out and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surprised infinity is off.
“Toru?” He stirs a bit, and you cautiously attempt to wake him up again. “Toru— someone’s been trying to call you for the past 10 minutes now.”
He lifts his head, eyes still sealed shut as he murmurs, “Who?”
“Uhh,” you look at the screen, unsure of who it might be. “Your contact name for them is nerd.”
You know it’s not Ijichi because his contact name is “courage 🐶” in his phone. Someone else must've annoyed Satoru for him to change yet another contact.
Satoru shoves his head back into the pillow and groans before taking the phone off your hands.
It’s Nanami. He, of all people, should know now is not the time to be blowing up his phone right now because he is fucking sleeping. It’s a Saturday for fucks sake.
Satoru sighs and accepts the call, grumbling into the phone. “What?”
Nanami cuts straight to the chase, as he would rather be doing anything else right now.
“How long are you planning on hiding your secret from the higher-ups?” he asks in a clipped tone.
Satoru rubs his eyes, too tired to return the same sense of urgency his friend seems to have at the moment. “Forever.”
“Don’t give me that.” A vein pops up on the side of the usually stoic man’s forehead. “They asked me about you this morning. They know something’s up. I can’t keep covering for you if it means my own safety’s on the line.”
“You really haven’t changed, have you?” It’s more of a statement than a question.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean—“
“You’ll be fine,” Satoru cuts him off. “They’re always up my ass anyway. I doubt they’re even suspicious. They just don’t know how to mind their own fuckin’ business. Seriously. You’re worrying over nothing right now.”
“I swear to god Gojo, if you—“
“Kay’ good night.”
Click.
Nanami’s probably fuming right now, but he’ll get over it. Satoru wanted to enjoy this. Lying in a comfy bed, surrounded by nothing but peace and quiet. He closes his eyes and stretches a bit, then rests his hands behind his head.
He would’ve forgotten that you were still sitting at the edge of the bed had you not lightly cleared your throat. One eye opens to look at you, then closes. The last thing he wants to do is share the reason why Nanami had been blowing up his phone all morning.
“Just because you can’t see me doesn’t mean I’m not here.” You cross your arms. “What was that all about?”
“Nothin’,” he easily says. “Just Nanami being Nanami— the guy’s a fuckin’ stickler for no reason.”
“That’s a little rude, no?” you chastise him.
“So is waking me up.”
“Sai wakes you up all the time, though.”
“Sai’s a ball of sunshine,” he says, quickly coming to her defense. “Not a grown man with depression— where is she by the way?”
“She’s spending the afternoon with my parents.”
Both eyes open this time, and stay open. “Why didn’t you go with them?”
“No way,” you wave a hand. “I need a break, too.”
“Yeah, no— I’m sure,” he agrees, feeling flustered all the sudden.
And Satoru being Satoru, he doesn’t do a very good job of hiding it, once again forgetting that you can read him better than anyone else can.
You smile, scooching closer, “You good there?”
“Yeah, m’fine,” he murmurs, trying not to shift around too much.
“I can take care of that, you know.”
“What?”
“That.” You look down at the boner he’s been trying to hide since finding out it’s just you two here.
“That’s not—“ His brain straight up short-circuits. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“No.” You continue to inch forward, getting closer to him. “Do you think it’s weird?”
“No— never,” he shakes his head, answering a little too fast. “Fuck— won’t future me get mad?”
“Not at all. The most he’d probably do is make me show him what we did.”
“Make you show him?” he repeats after you in disbelief.
“Is that a problem?”
“No, that’s— that’s fuckin’ hot.”
Minutes later, you’re leaning forward with your hand wrapped around his base, and his breath catches as you start to slowly pump his cock.
“Feel good?”
His lids lower as he hums, “yeah— keep going.”
You lean forward, letting a string of spit fall from your lips to the tip of his cock, letting it mix with the precum that was already beading down from it. The wet sounds of you stroking him begin to grow, making the heat in between your legs start to pool.
“Can I sit on it?” You look up at him, batting your lashes as you innocently ask.
“Please,” he blurts out, just about ready to start begging you to.
You’d be lying if you said you weren’t just as eager as him after all the weeks spent pretending like you don’t notice the way he stares at you. Lustfully. The slip you’re wearing happens to be extra short today, so you forego stripping down and practically pounce on him. Your soaked panties grazing over his rock-hard length as you straddle him, letting yourself get comfortable while Satoru grows impatient.
His hands find themselves planted on your hips and pull you down. A low groan escapes him as he grinds you against him. “God— fuck me. Please.”
“Well, since you’re being so sweet—”
You reach down, hooking a finger into the fabric of your panties, pulling them to the side. He’s already lining himself up with your entrance, teasing your hole as he runs his tip through your folds, collecting all the slick. His lips part as he watches in awe at how damn wet you are.
His head tips back as you lower yourself, groaning and rambling to himself as if you weren’t there to hear it all.
"Fuck. You’re so hot.” His words come out strained as he watches you start to take him inch by inch, slowly working yourself open. “So fuckin’ tight, too.”
“Mmm— forgot how big you are.” Your voice is all soft and breathy from the fullness, nails slowly digging into his abs as you bottom out.
It takes a minute to adjust— it has been 3 months after all. But then you finally roll your hips, and Satoru almost starts singing praises at how good you are at that— lifting your hips all the way up and throwing them back, taking all of him.
"Fuck yeah– just like that," he breathes, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips. "Feels so fucking good."
You murmur back a measly, “kay,” already dizzy from the stretch. You’re able to keep up the pace on your own for a bit, until you feel his grip on you tighten and the sounds of skin slapping against his start to grow as he starts to help you out.
You wouldn’t exactly call it help though, not when he ended up doing all the work— holding you steady while he practically bounces you on his cock, pulling more and more moans out of you as the head of his cock repeatedly kissed your sweet spot with almost no effort.
"You take it so good," he groans, pupils blown wide as he starts to feel himself lose control, snapping his hips up a little harder than the last. He wants more, he always wants more— so he pulls you forward and pulls your straps down far enough for your tits to spill out. "Perfect fuckin’ tits. Been thinking about these for weeks."
You let out a surprised gasp as he pops a nipple in his mouth with no warning. You fully believe him with the way he starts sucking and swirling and flicking his tongue over your sensitive bud, all while snapping his hips up harder.
He pulls back with a pop, looking up at you for approval. “Was that good?”
“Mhm.” There’s a fucked out expression on your face as you weakly nod. “Harder.”
“You want me to fuck you harder?”
“Yeah.”
Something in him snaps. Eager to please you, he flips you over and folds you underneath him— grabbing the back of your knees and pinning them to your chest so he can drive his cock into you deeper.
“Better?”
He drives his hips forward again, knocking the air out of your lungs. “God— yes.”
“I can’t— fuck— can’t believe you’re all mine, can’t believe I get to have you,” he starts to ramble as the sounds of him absolutely pounding into you fill the room. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect— all of you.”
He crashes his lips into yours— the kiss is messy, powered by hunger. Satoru’s always been overwhelming, but it’s been years since it’s been this emotionally intense. He fucks you like he needs you, like he’s been waiting for you all his life.
Your walls begin to squeeze and flutter around his cock, pulling another groan out of him. “You close?”
“Yeah,” you whine, feeling the pressure begin to coil. “Keep going.”
He’s close too, you can tell by how sloppy his thrusts have grown, no longer trying to control himself as he starts chasing after both of your releases. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you faster, harder— balls slapping against your ass with each lewd wet squelch.
Your orgasm hits you hard after one particularly rough thrust. Scratching at his back as a cry tears through you, and it only goes straight to his dick, not even realizing just how overstimulated you are from the way he drills into you.
“Fuck.” It’s just one word that comes out of his mouth after realizing how hard he’s about to fucking cum. He bites into your shoulder as his balls start to tighten, squeezing his eyes shut as he braces himself.
When it happens, it’s a lot. He shoves himself deep inside of you, unaware of all the weight he puts on you as hot spurts of cum begin to flood your walls. Slowly grinding against you, letting your tight pussy milk the rest of him.
You’re wrecked by the end of it. You both are— lids tired and heavy, bodies sore and out of breath.
And in the end, you just let yourself fall asleep, unaware of the soft kiss pressed against your temple as he watched you.
—
It’s month three, and Satoru doesn’t want to go back.
What was the point? It’s not like he had anyone or anything to go back to. Jujutsu Society never crumbled from him getting shot into the future. Would it really be that bad if he just never went back and continued on with his life from here?
He hasn’t uttered a word about it out loud, but the way he completely stopped asking Yaga and Ijichi for updates was telling of where he was at mentally.
Acceptance.
He likes his life here.
You’ve come to your own conclusion after these last three months.
No wonder why he was so hot and cold when you were trying to get to know him. Satoru got a little taste of genuine comfort, only for it to be ripped away from him sometime before you two actually met. It explains all the times you wondered why he even tried with you, despite being too emotionally inept to even be in a relationship. He probably went through the beginning of your relationship thinking you could disappear at any second.
With that being said, he can’t stay here. As much as you’d love to continue being the source of comfort for this version of Satoru, he needs to experience the last year he spent alone before meeting you. He needs to feel cautious around you. He needs to try and fail at opening up a handful of times before getting comfortable with the idea of truly being vulnerable with a person. Getting over that element of fear he had towards getting close to others is what made him a husband and father— he couldn’t just skip that part of his life.
You have no idea how you’re going to tell him that, though. You’re not one to kick a sick puppy, especially one as cute as him. He’s so happy here with you and Sai that the thought of doing so makes your chest ache.
He’s having a tea party with Sai right now, limbs way too long to sit in the little stool she pulled up for him to sit in. He drinks imaginary tea from the plastic pink cup she hands him, and your chest aches some more. You force yourself to look away before the tears start.
You’d do the next 11 years all over again if you could.
“Hey, Honey?” Satoru calls out to you.
There’s a pause before you whip your head around— it’s been months since he’s called you that. There’s nothing but warmth and fondness in his eyes as his gaze meets yours. “Why is Nanami’s number saved under ‘nerd’ in my phone?”
He’s back.
“I don’t know,” you laugh, despite the tear falling down your cheek. “You tell me.”
—
Satoru didn’t want to believe it when everything around him went dark once again. It’s not until his feet touch the ground with a soft thud and he finds himself back in his messy, cold dorm when reality slapped him across the face.
Something between a sob and a gut-wrenching scream rips from his throat. Grabbing the round shades he had hoped he’d never have to fucking wear again, he rips them off his face and sends it crashing into the wall, breaking into a hundred little pieces. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t give himself a chance to even breathe or think before raising his hand and releasing a purple orb with just a flick of his fingers.
Impulsive. Reckless. Deadly.
Satoru was fucking devastated.
Nobody knew what triggered him that night. All they knew was that the east wing of the school looked like it had been hit by an asteroid by the time he calmed down. He didn’t speak to anyone for a good two weeks following the incident. Everyone wants to think he was lucky the explosion didn’t have any casualties, but then they remembered who he was: Satoru fucking Gojo.
God’s don’t get punished, nor do natural disasters— it’s hard to tell which one he was at this point.
One Year Later
“If it’s that small of a curse, why are you sending me there?” Satoru continues to argue with one of the new managers over the phone.
It wasn’t that small of a curse. It was a grade one. But still, given the sorcerer’s title as a special grade, he was overqualified for the job.
“I’m sorry, we just don’t have anyone available to take on the case at the moment.” The young woman continues to apologize over the phone. “I think we might have a grade 3 available for the job. I- I can check—”
“Save it.” Satoru cuts her off. He wasn’t that heartless to push the case off to some 15 year old. That’s exactly how Haibara died. “Send me the address.”
The mission was nothing short of an inconvenience for him. He liked a challenge when exorcising curses, and the damn thing didn’t even put up a fucking fight. He traveled 2 hours to get here just for that? Unbelievable.
He wasn’t ready to leave and sit on a train for another 2 hours just yet, so he decided to walk around the town for a bit.
It was a cute place, a little quiet. Kinda boring. That’s never a bad thing, though. Lots of mom and pop shops, a few coffee shops scattered around, one of which he decided to try. A little sugar’s always good, at least to him.
The smell of vanilla and roasted coffee beans hit him as he walked into the place. There was a decent amount of customers inside. Not too much to feel crowded, but enough to stay busy. He keeps his eyes on the menu the entire time. The line moves fast, and he figures out what he wants just in time.
“And what can I get started for you today?”
His eyes are still on the screen, reading the item off the menu.
“Can I get a white chocolate mocha frappuccino, with an extra pump of…” his words die out, and his eyes widen as he finally looks at the girl taking his order. “Hey.”
“Hi.” You laugh at the way this stranger loses his train of thought. “Extra pump of white chocolate syrup?”
“Yeah.” He exhales, unable to rip his eye off you as you write the words down on the plastic cup with a sharpie.
“Name for the order?”
“Go– Satoru,” he corrects himself. “It’s Satoru.”
He’s a little awkward, but you still find him quite charming and smile. “Alright, Satoru. Your order should be ready in about 10 minutes.”
“Awesome. Thanks,” he nods rather pathetically, then goes to sit in an empty corner of the shop with only one thought in mind:
He has 10 minutes to come up with what to say to get your number.
feat quarterback!toji x camgirl chem partner!reader
summary: Toji Fushiguro considers himself a very generous man, especially after using part of his D1 quarterback paycheck towards his favorite camgirl. If anything, he's a patron of the arts: dedicated, curious, and always ready for the next big thing. So when he finds out his quiet little chem partner has the same bedroom as his idol? Well... color him intrigued.
content: MDNI 18+ ONLY, fem!reader, camgirl!reader, chem partner!reader, quarterback!toji, fratboy!toji fanboy!toji, jjk college au, no use of “y/n”, prn with a ridiculous amount of plot, oral (m!receiving, f!receiving), piv, squírtíng, dumbification, toji has a biiiiig d, dáddy k!nk, size k!nk, brééding, etc.
word count: 10.1k (i don't play abt this man)
author's note: all credits of the above pictures go to their creators. The left-most picture is from thatsallitchief on X or tiktok. If anyone knows the artist of the right-most picture let me know so I can tag them!
toji's pre-game playlist: gemstone - don toliver, homecoming - lil uzi vert, don't kill the party - ty dolla $ign, love me - lil wayne, you - don toliver, nightcrawler - travis scott
These were intense times.
The Michigan Wolverines were right in the midst of the NCAA College Football Playoffs, and it has been weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps for the team of 100-odd men–all in preparation for a chance at being the nation’s top seed.
There was much on the line, especially seeing that Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, was aiming to secure his spot in the upcoming NFL draft.
As such, his pre-game ritual (one that he has refined and perfected over the course of four years) was a strict routine backed by, and rooted down in, evidence-based science and partially unbiased statistical analyses.
It all starts with his protein shake: two whole bananas, one cup of oats, a shit ton of peanut butter, one spoon of raw honey, four scoops of protein powder, and full-fat milk.
Next, his attire. He needed his signature gray game-day sweats (unwashed for the past 10-games in a row), a muscle tank he’s owned and stretched out since high school, and his most industrial-grade, noise-cancelling headphones.
As for schedule? He needed thirty minutes of privacy, unrestricted and uninterrupted access to high speed internet, and most importantly of all: he needed to watch at least two of “stargiirl_xx”’s videos prior to heading out onto the turf.
Give him that, and he was bound to have a fuckin’ phenomenal performance on the field.
His meaty hand was already squeezing his growing erection through his sweats, the thick outline of his cock visible against the backlight from stargiirl’s newest video loading up on his laptop screen, and his protein shake already half finished by his bedside table.
He wasn’t just a fan. He was her #1 biggest financer.
Though she never showed her face, he had come to memorize the curve of stargiirl’s thighs and the moles on her hips over the course of the years. He knew her room layout by heart, and diligently watched the animes that she kept posters of on her walls.
She was the best of the best. Not showy, not performative, just purely indulging herself.
And sure, if keeping her active meant donating a sizable portion of his D1 stipend to fund her… pursuits, well, then call him a patron of the arts.
His dick shamelessly pulsed in his pants as the page finally stopped buffering and the title of the video loaded.
“Lessons in Vibrations Pt I”.
Part one?!
He knew almost immediately that tonight’s game would be a fantastic one.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The Wolverines won their first round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 41-20.
And Toji Fushiguro? Well, he was the star of the show, of course. He completed more than 85% of his passes (with six of them leading to touchdowns) and led an 80-yard rush all in a single game. He was on fire: skin buzzing with adrenaline, cool sweat dripping down his face, and his large canines glinting under the fierce stadium lights as the deafening crowds roared his name.
“To-ji! To-ji! To-ji!”
He felt indomitable, floating on a high all the way from the stadium, to the bus, to the afterparty.
But in the lecture hall? Well…
His grades were barely passing for the majority of his classes, and in fact they were quite below when it came to Applied Chemical Kinetics II.
He was truly a lost cause.
He had missed countless of Yaga’s lectures throughout the course of the semester, promising himself that he would catch up on the review notes (he didn’t) and trying to watch the recorded lectures on the bus rides to any of the away games (he never).
So really, it came as no surprise to anyone when he absolutely tanked his midterms those six long weeks ago.
At the time, he was desperate. Failing class meant getting booted off the team. He needed someone who could easily cover his sorry ass for the rest of the semester, and fast.
Therefore, the obvious choices for a final project partner were between Ijichi and, well, you.
And, seeing as Toji Fushiguro had a pair of functioning fuckin’ eyes and a brain that lived partly in his pants, he chose the latter.
It wasn’t easy persuading you to take him on for the project, which was something he honestly didn’t quite expect (nor was he used to). You were stoic to his ill-attempted flattery and unaffected by his usual charm. Every smile he flashed at you seemed to wither upon arrival, and every playful remark was met with nothing more than an empty stare.
In the end, desperation drove him somewhere pride never would’ve allowed before: straight into his football stipend.
“Listen. I’ll give you $300 if you can help me pass this class.”
It was the Wednesday before the Thanksgiving break, and he remembered how his words rang loud and heavy in the dusty air of the old lecture hall. Everyone had left at this point, the class long-since over.
You had stood before him unmoved, your books hugged to your chest and your normally impassive gaze slowly piquing in interest.
He remembered how you looked up at him through your lashes, and the way you tilted your head almost cutely. “Make it $400,” you said it softly, yet with little hesitation.
He remembered how he felt himself gulp, not from the number, but at the way your eyes were scanning his face like it was the first time you even noticed him.
His hand had gripped the strap of his backpack just a little tighter.
Though, you didn’t seem to notice as you continued. “I’ll meet you on Mondays and Thursdays only, I work every other day. And I want half as security in advance.”
You pulled out your phone, swiftly punching in your password before holding it out to him, the contacts app already open on the screen.
For the first time in all of his college experience, he was genuinely caught off guard.
What the fuck?
He took your phone.
“$400?” he repeated, huffing faintly under his breath (was he amused? Annoyed? Aroused? He couldn’t tell at the time, nor does he know now) as he typed in his number. His large hands looked almost comical holding your small device. “You rob everybody like this, or am I just that special?”
He handed your phone back, his calloused fingers gently grazing your warm ones.
“You’re failing chem,” you replied flatly. “You are not special.”
He hated how his dick twitched at your words.
But most of all, he hated how he didn’t know what to say in response.
He was the star quarterback, captain of the football team, most popular guy on campus and an undeniable chick-magnet, for god’s sake!
His silence surprised the both of you, and you took it as your queue to leave. “See you later,” you glanced down at your phone, looking at his contact. “Fushiguro.”
You didn’t even know his fuckin’ name?!
And with that, you gently breezed past him, only offering him a small nod as you walked out of the room. The scent of your shampoo faintly caught in his nose as he tried to will his boner to stop growing in his sweats.
After that, the break passed uneventfully, and by the time campus filled back up again and the chill of early winter settled in, your project was impossible to ignore.
He kept to his word of paying you the $200 in advance.
You kept to yours by meeting him that following Monday.
The two of you developed a routine during the second half of the semester, meeting in libraries and cafes to review material and project timelines for the final submission.
And during those couple of hours on the Mondays and Thursdays that he had you, he came to the haunting realization that you were so… chill.
He was blunt, but you were blunt back. You flicked him when his head got too large, and he flicked you whenever you were too stuck in yours. He shoved you out of your shell at times, while you pulled him back down to Earth. It was rare, and so fuckin’ odd, this kind of dynamic between the two of you, the kind that goes unnoticed until suddenly you realize it’s there.
Soon, he would find himself calling your name from across the quad, and you would nod with what looked like a smile at him when you passed his row in lecture. He gave you tickets to his games (which you would resell for 200% of its value), and put your name on the list for the Kappa parties despite you never showing up. You sent him stupid instagram posts, and brought him homemade coffees whenever the two of you met post-game days.
And thankfully for Toji, today was one of those days.
“How’d it go?” Your voice was like honey and wine, low and smooth, as you looked up at him from behind your computer. The light from your screen illuminated halos in your eyes, and the steam from his opened thermos curled languidly in the air between you both.
You sat across from him in a quiet, off-campus cafe.
He grinned, smug and wolfish and borderline sleazy, as if he’d been just waiting for you to ask. He leaned back in his chair and stretched his overwhelmingly large, muscular arms over his head. He made a point to subtly flex his biceps while under your scrutiny. His shirt lifted slightly above his abdomen, and you blinked your eyes to focus on the scar on his tanned face, rather than the dark happy trail that ran down, down, down to his…
“Perfect game. You’d know if you actually came ‘round ‘n watched.” He playfully winked, his deep chuckle echoing as you gave him a deadpan stare.
“I’m quite alright, Fushiguro.” He pouted in mock defeat as you looked back down at your screen. The battery symbol on your laptop flashed red in warning: low power.
You’d only been there for thirty minutes and you could’ve sworn you charged the damn thing last night. Sure, your outlets were kind of fucked, and sure this was a twelve year old laptop with a battery life the size of a peanut, but surely it wouldn’t give out on you this early in the day?!
You exhaled a long breath. The thought of putting money down for a new computer made your heart physically ache.
The two of you (mainly you) had just started to make headway with the report (“flow state”, as Toji would call it), and you knew you wouldn’t have a chance to work on the project again until after your Wednesday shift. “You got a charger on you?”
He scoffed, almost offendedly. “Wanna try askin’ that again sweetheart?” He tsked you lightly.
You rolled your eyes, a heavy sigh tumbling out of your soft lips.
“Forget it. I know you don’t,” there was something prickly beneath your uncaring tone, and he curiously paused to examine you.
He could see the faint circles under your eyes that you tried to cover with concealer, the way your shoulders sagged slightly from the weight of your backpack as you lifted it from the seat beside you, and the brief glimpse of all the mini bookmarks sticking out of your planner as you dropped it inside the bag.
“I guess we’ll have to call it here then. I’d need to go back to my apartment and grab my charger to do anything else.”
And, perhaps it was because the two of you had formed this unexpected bond over the past several weeks, something deep and quiet and far more important than Toji would ever willingly name, that the weight of being the weakest link finally made Toji Fushiguro feel the heavy hammer of guilt bury deep within his hardened chest.
A moment passed before he cleared his throat, holding up his hand.
“Or…” the words were slow to move out of his mouth, embarrassment thickening in his throat. “Why don’t we work there?” You stared at him, almost startled, as if he’d grown another head. His ears warmed under the intensity of your gaze as he continued. “I still got power, I can keep goin’ if you’re down.”
His triceps flexed as he scratched the back of his neck, tan skin pulling taut as he looked away.
“It’s a small place,” you warned.
He shrugged, his voice catching in his throat at the way you were holding his gaze. “I don’t mind. I’d go any place you choose.”
He paused, his eyes widening slightly at the words that tumbled out of his mouth, as if he didn’t realize what he said until after he said them.
You breathed, and a beat passed before a small, pretty smile pulled across your features – the first he’s ever gotten from you like this. And this time, your tired eyes warmed into something soft, something akin to appreciation, something new.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, then I’d like that.” You tilted your head slightly, and his heart thumped oddly loud in his muscular chest. “Thank you, Toji.”
For just the briefest of moments, you looked at him as if he had just offered the world.
All he could do was swallow and nod.
He didn’t even realize you called him by his first name until you were both out the door.
The walk to your apartment was comfortably silent. Despite Toji’s taller stature and athletic build, he wordlessly matched your slower pace, walking between you and the road.
Your apartment was situated right on the outskirts of campus; too close to drive, but too cumbersome to walk. He quietly marveled at your resolution to go in person to class every day, especially when he had difficulty hauling his ass to the lecture hall that was just a block over from frat row.
The taller man was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize how close he was standing to you as you both paused at your front doorstep. His towering frame loomed over you, and he could feel the heat of your body as you dug through your bag, and he could see the goosebumps that rose on your neck when your arm accidentally grazed against his abdomen.
Your keys softly clinked! together as you unlocked the front door.
And, there was something faintly intimate about being led up the creaky wooden steps to your 3rd floor apartment, your hips gently swaying in his face with each ascent up, and your soft hands lightly tracing the railing in your wake.
He intrusively thought about reaching out to touch your fingers, to run his hand along the curve of your waist–
He coughed lightly.
What was he thinking?
As you opened your apartment’s door, he was immediately hit with the light smell of lemon and jasmine.
Your place was small but tidy; a one-bedroom attic apartment where the kitchen and living area blurred together, soaking in the same sunlit space. Despite its size, it carried your mark: two types of server aprons hung on the coat rack, a soft crocheted throw blanket you made draped over the worn couch, and a set of reading glasses laying beside a hand-painted mug on your round window table.
It was cute; homely. A small glimpse into your life outside of class.
“You can start getting set up in here, I’ll just grab my charger from my room.” You spoke quietly as you led him to the table.
You silently turned before he could respond, padding across the old wooden floors to the door that was directly across from where he had set his bag down.
He had only just started typing his password into his computer when he lazily looked up, his dark eyes catching the movement from your room.
And, holy shit.
No.
There was genuinely no way in hell.
He was scrambling up out of your wobbly kitchen chair before his mind could even register it.
His body felt as if it were moving through water, and his brain felt like jam. Was that his own blood roaring past his ears or his soul escaping his body?
Cool beads of sweat began to form on his neck, tickling at the ends of his dark, grungy hair. He had crossed the width of your apartment in three long strides, until suddenly he was at your doorframe, his large body leaning against it like it was a lifeline, and his scarred mouth parted into the dumbest looking “o”.
His wild eyes scanned your room fervently. The walls, the Cowboy Bebop poster by your bedframe, the pale linen sheets, the empty vase on your bedside table and the stack of yellowing paper backs in the corner of it.
Everything looked familiar.
Scratch that. Everything looked the same. The same as–
“Can I help you?”
You were on all fours. All fuckin’ fours.
You tilted your head up to face him, taking a pause from wiggling the stubborn plug out of the ancient socket underneath your desk.
And… could you? Can you? He was at a genuine loss for words.
All he could do was stare dumbly, his large fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, and his body emanating a heat that he prayed to god wasn’t visible from where you were.
“Uh. Y-you got a bathroom up here??”
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
He scoured through every single video and rewatched every single clip that night.
The furniture, the decor, the walls, the window placement: everything was the same.
And so, the verdict was in: you–his quiet, guarded, asocial, and steely chem partner–were none other than stargiirl herself.
What. The. Fuck.
It was confusing to wrap his head around, this whole stargiirl-chemgirl business. But would he go as far to say that it wasn’t attractive? That he didn’t pop a boner every time he thought about it?
No. He couldn’t. He’d never.
Was this divine intervention or his own personal hell?
He couldn’t tell.
What does this mean? How should he act? What does he fucking do with this information now?
He rubbed his temples before running a tense hand through his hair. At the same time, a notification popped up on his computer.
“Check out a new post from stargiirl_xx !”
He could feel the blood in his veins thumping against his skin.
“Don’t do it. Please don’t fucking do it-” he mumbled.
He tapped into the link despite himself.
“Lessons In Vibration Pt II”
He wordlessly clicked the play button on the video.
For a moment, he thought his screen was buffering. The camera was set up to look out onto your bed, though you were not in frame yet, presumably twiddling with the settings of your camera.
But when you finally did walk into view, his heart nearly imploded.
The frame only showed you from the mouth down, your identity mainly concealed. You were bottomless, bare legs walking across the floor as you situated yourself on your bed. The only piece of clothing you did have on was an overlarge sweatshirt, his sweatshirt, one that he, in his panicked daze to get out of your apartment earlier, forgot he had left behind.
He didn’t dare breathe, nor could he move. His head was craned so close to his computer, as if he wanted to go through the screen itself just to get a better look.
He noted how his hoodie fell past your ass, large and consuming and honestly? So fuckin’ perfect on you.
You were nearing the end of your normal introduction, and he realized you spoke differently on video, low and confident and sensual and hypnotic.
“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about my content throughout the years,” your hands started to draaag the bottom of his hoodie up, letting it bunch just slightly above the dip of your waist, enunciating your curves. “-And I’ve realized I’ve never had a partner during any of them.”
The comments on the side bar started to flood through, hundreds of viewers already volunteering themselves to be your +1.
His jaw ticked, hard.
“I think,” you leaned forward like you were sharing a secret. Toji gripped onto his computer until a faint pop! could be heard of one of the inner screws coming loose. “I think I would like to change that in the future,” and then you smiled, really smiled, a full, playful grin wiping across your features in a way he had never been able to see in person before.
His dick bobbed in his pants.
This could not be happening to him right now.
You continued, “but for now, welcome back to my Lessons in Vibrations series.”
He watched as you started introducing the toys you would be using today, before you slowly began to touch yourself, teasingly showing glimpses of the purple lace panties you had on underneath his hoodie.
And he couldn’t help it, really.
Because when you started rubbing your vibrator against your clit, your deft fingers plunging skillfully into your cunt, soft whimpers escaping your lips as your pussy started squelching out a fucking melody – all while wearing his fuckin’ sweatshirt – what the fuck else was he supposed to do?
His sweats were already halfway down his thighs, and his meaty hand greedily pumping his own cock in sync to you fucking yourself on your fingers.
He watched hungrily as you pushed his sweatshirt up further along your body, exposing your stomach, teasing the view of your bare tits. He bit back a groan at the thought of your scent lingering in the fabric, and prayed to whatever deity above that you wouldn’t wash it out before he got it back.
Below, your fingers languidly teased the head of your vibrator against your entrance. It was the insertable kind, with a slender tip and curved body, the type that had your hole trying to suck up the device with every rub against your dripping slit.
He could feel the veins in his cock pulsing hotly in anticipation, pushing up thick pearls of precum out onto his flared tip.
He wondered what it would be like to slip his shaft against your drenched pussy lips, to massage the underside of his cockhead against the tight ring of your entrance, to feel you squeezing around him, and to hear the sounds you would make just for him.
He gulped, cool sweat starting to form on his brow. You were beginning to fuck the device into you, pumping the vibrator in and out and in and out. He could see your legs trembling, your juices starting to uncontrollably splash outside of you, and your pussylips fluttering with every bzzz bzz bzzzzzt of the vibrator fucking and swirling and massaging into your g-spot.
He was matching your pace, furiously pumping his dick, thinking about how you looked on all fours earlier, thinking about how you smiled when you called him his name, thinking about how you look when you concentrate and the mole above your brow, thinking about the coffee you made for him and the weird shitposts you sent and the way you could look at him like he was nothing, and everything, all at the same time.
And suddenly, he wasn’t climaxing to the stargiirl he had always seen on screen.
It was his tough, quiet, calm chem partner.
And as he shot hot spurts of thick, ropey cum all the way from his dick to his chin (the most he’s ever released before), he realized only one thing.
He just finished to the thought of you.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Toji Fushiguro had a problem.
No, scratch that.
He had a fucking crisis.
It was drill day, and his head was absolutely nowhere near the turf. He fumbled balls, missed targets, and was a full thirty-seconds under his usual sprint times.
And that was only how one of his practices went this week.
It had been five whole days since he last saw you.
Five days of being dogshit at his sport.
Five days of holing up in his frat, avoiding campus, avoiding class, avoiding your texts, avoiding you.
It’s not like he wanted to do this, but he didn’t know what to do, how to act, or what to even say.
How could he talk to you casually while knowing he’s given probably a third of his checks to you? How could he be normal in your presence knowing that he’s watched every single one of your streams, and in turn has finished an embarrassing amount of times to each of them?
How could he trust himself when the thought of you alone had his heart pounding so hard his ears hurt? Or how his chest squeezed so tight he almost went to urgent care, just because you texted asking where he’s been and if he was okay?
How could he face you, knowing that he somehow developed the largest, fattest, most egregious fuckin’ crush on you?!
And, for the record, Toji Fushiguro did not do crushes. He hadn’t necessarily “ran through” the entire roster of available chicks on campus, but he did have an occasional fling, nothing serious, nothing long, nothing that would distract him from football and his dreams.
He was known as the campus heartthrob and heartbreaker. He was Mr. Non-Chalant, Mr. Everybody-Wants-A-Piece-of-Him, and Mr. I-Don’t-Get-Attached all wrapped up in one 6’4, 230 lbs body.
A crush? That was new, unexplored territory for him.
He stared down at your last texts to him.
⭐️ (Thursday, 12:03pm): i got us a nice spot!! im sitting on 2nd floor @ clark ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
Ba-dump!
⭐️ (Thursday, 12:18pm): knock knock, is mr. toji theree
Ba-dump! Ba-dump!
⭐️ (Thursday, 12:56pm): hey, is everythin ok? r we still on for today?
Ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
⭐️ (Saturday, 10:01am): r u alive
It physically sickened him that he couldn’t get his cowardly fingers to just fucking write back. But every time he opened up your text chain, all he could do was stare.
Which is exactly why he couldn’t see you yet.
He needed time.
He needed space.
He needed to get this shit under control.
Fortunately (or unfortunately) for him, the Kappa Epsilon fraternity was throwing a rager tonight. With the group of men only one week out from the next bracket of playoffs, this would be the last night the football frat would get to drink together for a while if they were to make it to the finals.
It would be the perfect distraction.
About an hour or so into the party and he was buzzed. He absolutely demolished that shithead Ryomen in beer pong, crushed a pack of PBRs, and now was cooling off in the kitchen, his body feeling swimmy and light.
He reached for his phone. Maybe, just maybe, if he looked at your messages again for the umpteenth time today, maybe he would know what to say, maybe he–
“Ah, so you can come out and party but ignore all of my texts?”
His heart did that stupid thing where it pounded so hard against his chest he wondered if his ribs bruised.
Despite the booming of the bass coming from the room over, and the idle chatter of randoms idling in the kitchen, he could hear the dry, unimpressed, and entirely too familiar voice coming directly from behind him.
He turned, his eyes lowering to find you, as if it was muscle memory, as if it was his second nature.
You never showed up to these parties (and trust, he has invited you to them all). Yet here you were, your body leaned up against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over your chest, and your hair falling around your frame.
He grinned, the buzz in his head making it easy for a stupidly cheeky and wide and boyish smile to plaster onto his face. (a/n: toji has a hung smile. Okay? Okay.).
“Hey, party animal,” he said, almost dreamily.
The top you wore clung to you like a second skin, accentuating the swells of your breasts and the dip of your waist: features that you usually hid underneath your normal, bulkier campus-attire.
He was indecisive, his eyes bouncing between the unreadable look on your face to the sliver of exposed skin right above your miniskirt.
You looked good, really fuckin’ good.
Your eyes widened, before your cheeks blushed the prettiest shade of red, your manicured fingers tightening around the plastic solo cup you were holding
Did he say that outloud?!
You straightened, steeling yourself, willing the warmth in your cheeks to go away. “You’ve ignored me for five days, Fushiguro-” your voice was firm and cool, cutting sharply through the noise of the party.
Back to the last name basis.
You looked away, before adding, “-and you ditched me on Thursday.” You spoke that last part softly, deliberately, a look of sadness flashing briefly in your pretty, doe-like eyes.
A dull pang rippled through his chest.
He knew the implications of your words – the two of you never missed a meetup since this whole “deal” started.
And, like those days in the libraries or cafes where he found himself sitting before you, following your every word and direction, he now found himself moving towards you, a small pout forming on his scarred lips, as his strong arms caged you in until you were wedged between himself and the counter.
And, you knew he was huge before.
But now, up close, you realized just how large he was - his broad shoulders obscuring your view, his muscular chest rippling under the tight black shirt he wore, and his huge hands riddled with veins that climbed up, up, up his forearms.
He was overwhelming and all-consuming, surrounding your senses with the kind of intensity only he alone could pull off. You breathed in, your chest rising, fighting against the cotton of your ill-fitting top. He smelled of fresh pine and warm leather, clean and raw and manly.
You came here pissed, but now found your resolve completely fogged and muddled.
He leaned forward, dipping his head low, until his shaggy fringe tickled softly against the shell of your ear.
You knew he had been drinking, but the question was, did he know what he was doing right now? Was this purposeful? Was this real? You couldn’t quite tell, but the way his breath stuttered as his nose traced light patterns into your neck, the way he was breathing you in, and the way his hands periodically clenched onto the countertop as if to restrain himself, told you he was at least semi aware of what he was doing.
Your heart was hammering in your chest. The two of you never stood this close before, let alone touched each other.
You turned your head slightly, trying to put at least some ounce of space between your face and his.
But for him? That just would not do.
He slowly pulled away from your neck, his nose lightly mapping a path from the base of your neck, across the soft expanse of your cheek, to the tip of your own. Noses brushing, breaths mingling, chests heaving, and hearts pounding as his scarred lips hovered your glossed ones.
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
The air between you was warm and thick, charged with something tender and so deeply intimate.
“Because you scare me,” he mumbled.
“Oh, really?” Your mouth twitched.
“Mm.” He nodded once, nose rubbing softly against yours in an eskimo kiss. You could see how his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips dangerously close to pressing against yours.
“‘Think ya cursed me.” His neck flushed red, his low voice was barely above a whisper.
“I can go-”
“Don’t.”
And then his large hands were latching onto your waist, the heat of his skin searing through the thin material of your skirt.
“Don’t. Don’tDon’tDon’t.” His brows scrunched together, his face becoming serious. “Don’t go. Don’t leave. Not when you’re here, with me, pretty girl.”
You breathed, taking your time to steady your voice after hearing the pet name roll off his tongue. “Then what should I do?”
“Stay.”
It was as simple as that, really.
And then his lips were on yours, warm and soft and commanding. He kissed you like you were sin, drinking you in, savoring you on his tongue, before inevitably, always inevitably, going back for more. He didn’t let you breathe; he wouldn’t. He was greedy and wrong and possessive, claiming your mouth like it was his alone to conquer. Your knees weakened as his tongue massaged against yours addictively, molding against you like you were made for him; like he was made for you.
Your hands moved before you could think, before you could decide if you were angry with him or if you hungered for him. You found purchase on his broad shoulders, before making your way up, up, up to his neck, one hand running through his dark hair while the other held onto the underside of his strong jaw, thumb gently caressing the scar on the side of his mouth, pulling him in.
He pressed into you further, your ass hitting the lower counter. His body was flush against yours, his chest purposefully rubbing against your tits.
He could feel your nipples hardening through the flimsy cotton of your top, and he couldn’t stop the sleazy grin that was forming on his face.
Below, his grip on you was gentle but firm, bringing your body to press and grind against his in an unhurried, languid way, like he had all the time in the world, like all of this was fated from the start.
And his fingers, oh his fingers, which spanned across your hip, slowly found their way to your ass, gripping and cupping and kneading into the soft, jiggly flesh.
You could feel something move against your thigh, something sturdy and heavy and completely fucking monstruous.
“Haah-” you shakily sighed out, breathy and dazed as you looked down to the outline of his bulge. Your eyes widened.
“I like when you use that smart mouth, y’know,” he was talking against your lips, not able to find it in himself to pull away. His hand slid up the side of your waist, until he stopped right underneath your breast, his thumb rubbing against the underside of where it started to swell.
His voice dropped an octave lower, whispering to you like it was a secret. “Talk to me. Break this curse. Tell me it’s not just me that feels like this.”
Please.
His heart was racing. He was stone cold sober. This was it. This was his admission.
ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump–
You breathed.
The party raged on in the background, muddled and distant, like his ears were submerged under water–
“It’s not just you, Toji.”
Your voice was quiet, your cheeks tinted rouge, your pretty eyes looking up at him in earnest.
And that was all he needed.
He picked you up like you were nothing (his bench was 350 lbs, squat 600 lbs, and his hip thrusts? don’t even worry ‘bout it), a smug, victorious grin tugging at his scarred lips.
He carried you out of the kitchen, and a steady stream of wolf whistles and howls erupted from his frat brothers and party goers as the two of you made your way across the foyer, up the stairs, and towards a bedroom. His bedroom.
He carried you inside, keeping the lights off, letting the warm glow of the streetlamp beside his window spill softly across the room. Without a word, he set you down on his large king-sized bed.
The air in his room was tender and still. You could hear the faint bass of the stereo downstairs, vibrating against his wooden floors like a heartbeat. The distant cheers of the crowd down below faded to quiet as he pressed his mouth to your own.
He leisurely climbed over you, never breaking the kiss, his muscular arms holding his body above your own.
It didn’t take long for the makeout to turn heated again, teeth clashing against teeth, bodies pressed against each other, rubbing and teasing in a way that had your head spinning.
You put your hands against his chest.
“Toji-”
“Stay,” he breathed, whispering the words against your lips, like he could read your mind. “-Stay with me tonight,” he pressed his body closer into you, rutting his hips, “and lemme show you the things I’ve been wantin’ to say to you all week.”
You could feel his cock twitch ominously against your bare thigh as you swallowed.
His lips were swollen and glistening from your mixed salivas, his eyes glazed over, jade irises almost completely black. His grip on your lower body was unrelenting, holding you in place.
You lightly pushed your hand against his chest, a hesitant look crossing your features.
A beat passed. For a second, he didn’t even realize he stopped breathing.
“You’ve been drinking,” You paused, your voice coming out small. “What if.. what if you don’t mean this in the morning?”
And for all your expertise and genius, oh, how completely wrong you could be.
He let out a humorless chuckle, his sharp canines peaking through his lips in the process.
“Did it sound like I was jokin’, sweetheart?” He shakily exhaled through his nose as he pressed his erection against your clothed cunt, holding himself there, letting you feel the pressure and full weight of what he was packing. “Does it feel like I’m jokin’ ‘bout this?”
You bit your lip, pussy throbbing, a warm slickness starting to soak through your panties, before messily spreading between your clenched thighs.
You shook your head.
“What’d I say about usin’ your words?”
He pulsed his dick, the sensation making your pussy clench.
Fuckin’ tease.
“Nngh- no. No it doesn’t feel like you’re joking,” you almost gasp out.
A satisfied smirk plastered onto his tanned face.
“Good girl.”
And then he’s moving down the bed, his calloused hands spreading your legs as he pressed wet kisses against the hot skin of your thighs. He was methodical and slow, making his way up your inner thigh, savoring the small sounds that you tried to suppress as he reached the bottom hem of your skirt, his face mere inches away from your sopping pussy, and his breath puffing warm air against your dampened panties .
“Ohhh jus’ look at ya,” you could tell he had the most shit-eating grin on his face right now, pride swelling in his voice as he carefully dipped a large, rough finger between the seam of the thin purple fabric you adorned. “This all f’me?”
And - Holy shit.
The videos of you didn’t even do this justice.
Because low and behold, here you were, under his body, and you were so fuckin’ wet. His finger slid against your folds with little resistance, putting just enough pressure that you couldn’t help but moan his name as he rubbed circles against your clit.
And, Toji Fushiguro never claimed to be a patient man. So, it should’ve came as no surprise when he grabbed your hips and used his hulking strength to push your clothed pussy to his scarred lips, his face nuzzled to your cunt, nose pressed firmly to your clit, and his greedy tongue lapping you up through the soiled fabric.
It was obscene and perverse and dirty and wrong.
But oh, how he loved it. Loved the heady taste you left on your panties, and the sweet scent of your gushing pussy, and the excess slick on your thighs that made its way onto his rough cheeks.
He groaned, a low, guttural sound against your skin that made your tummy squeeze into knots.
“T-Toji, please,” you whined, pressing your greedy cunt into his face, “need your tongue. Need you. Need more.” You could hardly string a true sentence together, and he hadn’t even fucked you proper yet.
His heart was thunderous against his chest.
And his dick?
Hardest it’s ever fuckin’ been in his fuckin’ life.
He was grinding his erection against the mattress as he obliged your wishes.
After all, how could he say no to you?
He pushed your panties to the side.
And oh.
His balls tightened below him, the urge to cum almost threateningly near as he stared at your bare, swollen pussy.
Holy. Shit.
Everything was soaked and glistening.
He rubbed one thumb across your puffy skin, his coarse finger getting soaked in the process.
He leaned in, gingerly licking fat stripes along your folds, lapping you up, drinking you in. He worked thoroughly, gathering you onto his tongue, until the lower part of his face was a mixture of your juices and his drool.
It was only after he was satisfied with his work did he make his way to your clit, humming and sucking, the wet sounds of his mouth making out with your cunt filling the air of his room.
The warm pleasure of it all was beginning to pool in your belly, your toes beginning to curl, legs beginning to shake – but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
“Toji, I might-”
He plunged a rough, thick finger inside you, spearing your tight velvet walls apart, all the way up to his knuckle.
You saw fuckin’ stars.
The sound you made was so erotic, so loud and depraved and raw, that his dick lurched in his pants, warm gooey pre-cum beginning to leak out from his throbbing tip and into his briefs.
He wanted to hear you again, and again and again and again.
He wanted videos, home movies, and spotify playlists of the way your pussy was talking to him.
Emboldened, his tongue was unrelenting on your clit, as one finger became two, and then two became three.
You mewled as he crooked them up, massaging against that soft, spongey bundle of nerves that had you panting his name out like it was prayer.
Your ears were ringing, your eyes beginning to get wet with tears.
Soon, he was fucking you on his fingers proper, setting a debilitating pace as he plunged his digits in and out and in and out. Filling you up, stretching you out, hitting your most sensitive areas. Again, and again, and again.
The pressure in your core was reaching its limits now, and the pleasure from the sheer fullness of your pussy and the sinful patterns of his tongue were beginning to send violent tremors down your legs.
You were orgasming before you even realized it.
And yet, he was didn’t stop – didn’t even give you time to breathe as he’s diving into your pussy, slurping you up, his large nose rubbing against your over-sensitive clit as he’s fucking his thick tongue and his fingers past the tight ring of your entrance, fucking you, warm and wet, through each of your peaks.
Your hands held onto his hair like a lifeline, your fleshy thighs locked around his head as if to keep him in place.
“You taste so good, sweetheart,” he moaned, his eyes glazed over, completely and utterly pussy drunk, as you looked down at him, his mouth still latched onto your cunt.
You could see your slick dripping down his face, mixing with the light trails of perspiration that sprouted from his temples.
Your heart squeezed in your chest.
It was only after the last few waves of your orgasm subsided when you could finally respond.
“I think,” you gently reached down to run your shaky hand through his scalp, tenderly pushing away the sweaty fringe by his eyes. “I think I can think of something that might taste better.”
And then you’re pushing him until he’s moving to the top of the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he pulls his black shirt up and over his head, triceps flexing, exposing his muscular pecs, washboard abs, and the light tufts of hair that sprouted on his chest, and got increasingly darker the further down his abs it went.
You could feel your pussy walls clamp down, warmth pooling in your core again as you reached out instinctively to run your hands along the length of his torso.
You never thought, in all of your wildest dreams, that this would be happening. Nor could your dreams do justice to the perfect build of the man before you.
“Well look at you, Mr. Fushiguro.” Your soft hands slowly sliding up, up, up against his skin, all the way from where the dark tufts of thick hair started to disappear under his pants, and towards his pecs, feeling the way his traitorous heart stuttered as you called his name. “Aren’t you quite the heartbreaker.”
You held his gaze, the air around you charged with anticipation.
Who would move first?
His breathing was shallow as he stared at you, your cheeks flushed and eyes glazed. Your top was rumpled to hell, exposing the line of your cleavage in a way that had his pants tenting painfully, and your mini skirt was so far scrunched that it looked like a belt around your waist.
“For others, sure…” He grabbed your hands, pressing them deeper into his skin as he slid them up to cup his face. “But for you?” he was whispering now, his ears growing steadily pinker by the second, “I’m afraid you have me beat.”
Oh.
And then you’re leaning in, tenderly pressing your lips to his own, mumbling his name over and over again to stop you from saying those other three little words, before sealing it with your tongue.
And then he’s pulling you into his lap.
You could taste yourself in his mouth and on his lips, your nipples tightening as his large hands grabbed handfuls of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart before making them clap together again.
A muffled groan escaped from the depths of his chest, vibrating against your mouth, as he felt new gushes of your slick begin to dampen the front of his pants.
“Mmmnh- get comfortable, pretty girl.” He slurred out as he pulled at the waistband of your skirt, before letting go, allowing the material to slap against your skin with a light sting.
“Hmm… only if daddy gets comfortable too.” your eyes were big as you stared at him through your lashes.
And oh fuck.
Toji had to lean his head back, his skull hitting against the wall with a dull thud!
The way the words left your mouth had him breathless, brain short-circuiting, and dick throbbing. He needed to recuperate. Calm down.
Breathe in. Exhale. Repeat.
You smiled slyly, completely aware of how your words affected him, as you pulled your flimsy top off, followed by your bottomwear. Your tits were heavy and full as they were released from the cotton, nipples peaked and stiff.
You were bare before him, your arms on either side of his hips, squeezing your tits together lightly as you bent low to whisper against his ear.
“You like when I call you that?” Your voice was sweet as honey as your hands traced the large outline of his dick through his pants, gripping his shaft through the tight material, and feeling the monstrous size of his girth.
“Careful, sweetheart,” his voice was a mixture of restraint and warning, “don’t start callin’ me that unless y’er tryna see it through.” His neck was visibly tense, and his hands clutched on to the meat of your hips as he stared at you.
Pretty girl.
He squeezed tighter.
His pretty girl.
A moment of silence passed as you considered his words. “And what if I do wanna see it through…?” Your head tilted cutely while your mean hands found their way to his happy trail, running your nails down through the thick tufts of dark hair, dipping juuust below the waistband of his pants, before retreating back up again in slow, agonizing loops. “Show me your worst, daddy.”
And who was he to deny you?
Before you knew it, he had his pants and briefs shoved down his legs, his massive cock heavily thudding against his washboard abs
Your mouth gaped open.
And ohhh how he relished the dumb look on your lil’ cute face.
You didn’t even think anyone could be this large.
Yet here he was, with a dick that looked like it belonged in a porno, pulsing fat and heavy and huge as he leaked pre-cum all over the angry mushroomed head.
He smirked, cocky as ever, as you subconsciously licked your lips, eyes glazed over, cock drunk just off the look alone.
Your pussy gushed warm, new slick between your legs as you carefully leant down, your hands grabbing around his base, slowly bringing his dick closer to your face.
He could feel the warm puffs of air coming from ur plush lips, his dick twitching like crazy at how close you were to finally, finally getting your mouth on him.
You pressed a gentle kiss to his leaking slit, before running your lips over the excess pre-cum, painting your lips with the milky substance.
He swallowed hard. His eyes were wild and his breathing ragged.
He groped your tits, rolling your stiff nipples in his calloused fingers, eliciting the sweetest moan from you that reverberated around his dick.
You gave him small kitten licks at first, teasing the idea, before gradually licking thick fat stripes up and down the length of his huge dick. You traced the pulsing veins that climbed up his hot shaft and licked around the sensitive underside of his throbbing cockhead.
And it was only when his chest was heaving, his impatient hands gripping onto your skull, did you finally, finally begin to throat fuck the shit outta him.
None of the videos he had watched of you before even came close to the sensation of seeing the bulge forming in your throat from where his cock was buried inside of you, or the way your nose tickled against the tufts of dark hair at the base of his cock.
You moaned dreamily around him at the feeling of his heavy dick pounding against the back of your throat, filling your mouth and overwhelming your senses. You couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes as you bobbed him in your mouth, hands jerking off what you couldn’t reach, and your thighs rubbing together greedily, craving any ounce of friction against your throbbing pussy.
But before you knew it, he was lifting you off, a light string of saliva following en suit, connecting the two of you together.
“What’s wrong?” You had a devilish grin on your pretty face. “Scared you're gonna cum too quick?”
A low, humorless chuckle rumbled through his body as one of his hands wrapped around your throat, while the other smacked your ass.
“Nah,” his canines glinted in the lowlight, a predatorial grin etching into his features. “Just tryna make sure nothin’ gets wasted.” And then he's shifting you up, rubbing his thick cock against your gooey cunt, mixing his thick pre with your juices.
Your heart fluttered.
His dick was so warm against your skin – so, so much better (and bigger) than the toys you regularly used to get yourself off.
You’ve had enough. You’ve done your waiting. You needed him inside you.
You lifted yourself up, your hands bracing themselves on either side of Toji’s broad shoulders. Your pussy was dripping down onto his angry dick as you slowly lowered yourself, hips circling, letting his throbbing head trace your sopping lips.
He could have almost passed out from the sight alone.
Instead, he panted out a deep breath, his chest tightening as he tried to restrain himself from bucking up into your cunt.
You paused your hips, lowering yourself again ever so slightly so that his leaking head was now smooching against your gummy entrance, the heat of his cock stirring something warm and familiar in your belly.
Please, please, please, ple–
And then your pussy is swallowing his head whole.
“Oh, fuuuck you’re tight mama,” his eyes squeezed shut, fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead as Toji gasped out at the sensation of his thiiick cockhead squeezing past the tight ring of muscles at your entrance.
Your gummy walls sucked against him from all angles, squishing into his hardness and rubbing deliciously against the sensitive underside of his mushroomed tip.
And this was just the tip.
He didn’t know if he would make it out of here alive. At least, without getting you pregnant.
You whimpered, actually fuckin’ whimpered his name as you reached down, touching where he was spearing you apart, your lips drawn thin and tight to accommodate for the sheer size of him.
“You’re so big Toji,” a tear rolled down your flushed cheek. “Look at how much more I gotta take.” And he did, he really did look. Because you began to let your finger slowly slide from where the two of you were connected, down, down, down to the tufts of hair at the base of his cock.
“Haah- Ya’ think it’ll fit, sweetheart?” He grunted, his lips involuntarily bucking as you pouted cutely at him.
Something impassable flashed across your feature. “I’ll make it fuckin’ fit.”
And then you’re slamming down onto his dick, and it feels like the literal wind gets knocked out of both of your chests.
He has never felt something so deliciously tight before.
You have never felt so goddamn filled up before.
You’re clenching around him, velvet walls fluttering and smooching around his raw cock as it pulses heavy and thick with animalistic need.
It took you several moments to orient yourself, to gather your scrambled senses back together to remember what you were doing, what your goal was, why you were here.
“I have a secret to tell you.” You stared down at him, an unreadable look passing over your features.
“O-oh really?” you squeezed your walls around him, catching him off guard.
“I know you watch me touch myself,” you whispered it like it was a secret, sly and just a touch proud.
And of all the things you could’ve said, nothing would have prepared him for that.
His dick bobbed from inside of you.
“Fushi-daddy420 isn’t the most subtlest of names, no?” you grinned meanly as you watched his jade eyes turn impossibly black as you began to slowly, teasingly, mercifully bounce on his cock. Up and down and up and down.
“But-?”
He thought you would hate him if you knew.
He agonized for days for this reaction?!!
“And after you ran out on me after seeing my place?” you were panting, riding him as you talked. “Yea, that kinda solidified it.”
And just when he thinks you’ve found your rhythm and set your pace, you slowly begin to circle your hips, hitting new angles deep inside your guts that have his throbbing tip pressing into the spongy part of your pussy.
“You don’t -fuhh- don’t hate me?” his mind was swirling, how could he focus when you felt this good?
“Never.” Your hips rolled, and you pressed your tits together, giving him a show.
And you were doing so well, and felt so good. He pressed a fat thumb against your clit, spelling out his name, as if to claim you, mark you, over and over and over again.
T-O-J-I !
He throws his head back as he feels you creaming around his cock, while your eyes are rolling into the backs of your head as you feel his thick goopy pre frothing at your entrance, dripping down onto his balls. The pace is getting faster, the air getting hot, and thick beads of sweat are rolling down your back. The obscene sounds of sweaty skin slapping against skin filled the hot, sex-scented air.
You lean down to kiss him, tongues messily entangling, drool spilling from the sides of your lips as you ride his cock like a fuckin’ animal, ass jiggling from the force of his hips rocking up to meet you, his heavy balls smacking against your pussy like a promise.
In one swift motion, he’s flipping the two of you over, your back to the bed, his dick never leaving your pussy, as he continues to fuck into you. He has your legs spread wide, your knees to his sides as he buries himself deep within your warmth, the new angle allowing you to feel his fat tip smooching against your cervix.
He’s panting, breath shaky as he slows down, rutting shallowly, not allowing himself to be too far from your gummy insides. “T-tell me where you want it,” his voice came out strained, and you could see where his veins were protruding on his neck.
Oh. His cum.
His balls were pressed against you, tightening with every passing second. You could feel his dick bobbing against your walls as he was direly trying to stop himself from cumming.
You smiled, soft and sweet, as you pressed a hand against your lower tummy, feeling the bulge of where he was nestled inside you.
“Oh, you already know,” and you were batting your pretty lashes up at him, making his heart stutter. “Isn’t that right, daddy?”
And oh, how his broken mind snapped.
The next thing you knew, he’s pressing your knees so far up they’re knocking against your tits, his hulking body leaning over and pressing down into you, chest against chest, until you could feel his warm lips sucking bruises by your ear.
And then he’s draaagging his thick cock through your pussy until only the tip is inside you, before snapping his hips forward, forcing his cock the deepest it could go back inside you, spearing you apart, and setting an absolutely cruel, delicious, depraved pace that has his balls bruising your ass and his cock breeching your womb.
It goes for what feels like seconds, minutes, hours.
Your legs began to shake at all the sensations, your pussy walls convulsing around him and your ears ringing as you started to see white.
And he truly couldn’t keep it in any longer.
Not when you sounded so hot, with your face scrunched up in the prettiest ‘o’ and your nails digging crescents into his back as you called his name, begging for his seed.
And so he bucked up, his hips flush against yours, locking you into the meanest of mating presses, as his dick lurched, balls scrunching, as he pumped copious amounts of his thick, sticky cum straight into your womb.
And he’s still bucking his hips, through each of your peaks, fucking his cum deep inside you, until your belly was bloated and full of him.
“Thattaa girl,” he pressed a warm kiss to your mouth as he fucked you through the last few peaks of your orgasms, gingerly swiping his thumb across your cheek as if you were something precious. “My girl.”
And later on, as you softly drifted to sleep, with a belly full of his cum and his softening dick still inside you, you could feel his scarred lips pressing light kisses across your face, and the mumblings of something that sounded vaguely too close to “iloveyou” whispered into your warm skin.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
Five weeks passed, and the Michigan Wolverines were in the midst of the NCAA College Football Championships.
After weeks of non-stop practice, conditioning, strength training, and late-night film recaps, the team of 100-odd men were finally going up against their biggest competitor in the nation.
There was much on the line, but thankfully, Senior Quarterback and Captain, Toji Fushiguro, had quite the good luck charm on his side.
Not only did he pass Kinetics (albeit by the skin of his teeth, thanks to you), but he now had a new, fool-proof pre-game regimen (with an even better success rate!).
He still kept his same protein shake recipe.
He still kept his same choice of attire.
But this time around, he needed at least one hour of your undivided attention, with the provision that his cock be buried so deep and raw inside your trembling cunt that you could feel him in your womb.
And it was only after intense, depraved, animalistic fucking, with your pussy stuffed full of his gooey cum, and hickies in the shape of a ‘T’ on your neck, could the 6’4 230 lbs man say with absolute certainty, that this championship was in the god damn bag.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.
The Wolverines won their final round of the playoffs in a sweeping victory: 52-38.
And the star quarterback of the show could not wait to celebrate with you, his pretty lil’ girlfriend.
Synopsis. Every specimen: the hot nerd that tutors you, his punk best friend, the pink-haired frat president, the sensible history professor, the emo boy with 11 inches, the buff campus security! They have only one thing in common—bréeding you.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader, Geto Suguru x Reader, Ryomen Sukuna x Reader, Nanami Kento x Reader, Choso Kamo x Reader, Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!reader, college AU, nerd!Gojo, punk!Geto, frat boy!Sukuna, professor!Nanami, emo boy!Choso, security guard!Toji, ALL of the JJK men (at once), f/m/m/m/m/m/m, ovuIation, BRÉEDING, mentions of having kids, oraI (fem + maIe rec.) handj’s, fíngering, manhandIing, HEADLOCKS, biiig stretches, spítting, chokíng, p talking, rough s, restraints, they’re FÉRAL, Geto with piercings, Choso with piercings, making Gojo whímper, first times (Gojo), everyone penetrates at some point, D descriptions, big D’s. dírty taIk, voyéurism, running from it, bickering during it, EiffeI tower, DP, DÚMBlFICATlON, MAJOR overstím, anaI pIay, matíng presses, fuIl neIsons, cervíx kíssing, lessons, waIked in on, SLOPPY s, slight exhíbitíonism, creampíes (like a lot), cúmpIay, cúmfIation, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 20.4k
A/N. Happy new year!!
“—thus, during this stage of ovulation it is natural to experience a surge in the luteinizing hormone (LH), which heightens the desire to…” Gojo trails off.
You’re looking up from your notes, just in time to catch him pushing his glasses up his ruddied face. Hands shaking. Breaths heavy. You tilt your head in confusion, “Which heightens the desire to what, Satoru?”
“You know…”
You’re shaking your head with a laugh, “Isn’t that why I begged you to become my tutor?”
“It increases the desire for ah…an interplay of intimacy from which…blossoms the natural by-product of a…um—” His voice cracks. And seeing your look of concern, Gojo lets out a stabilizing breath and tries again, “The…the birds and the bees?”
“Ah!” Stifling a giggle, “You mean it heightens the desire to get pregnant.”
And you take your sweet, sweet time jotting it down in your notes - long enough that Gojo Satoru hopefully calms down-
“…Do you feel it?”
“What?”
“Do you feel the desire to get pregnant?”
The pen clatters out of your hand.
“W-wait, I’ll get it!” Gojo stammers out, disappearing beneath the long library table before you can say anything. His head of angelic white hair contrasts against the sleek mahogany, so at odds with the devilish question that’d just left his mouth - so perhaps it was only so fitting that when Gojo sunk in to get your pen…you could feel his soft hair graaaaaze against your thigh-
You shiver- sweeping a look around at the bored university students to make sure that nobody saw. Or overheard.
And in the next second, he’s coming back up.
“I believe this is yours.” Gojo’s lips tremble in shyness, flushed as if you’d just thrown him into a furnace. He holds the pen out gingerly towards you, which you take - along with a moment to inspect him. Admire him, more like.
Gojo Satoru.
Human Calculator.
A++ being the lowest grade he’d ever gotten.
Pigs would fly before he didn’t take the #1 spot on the Dean’s List.
It didn’t need to be said that Gojo Satoru was one of the sharpest minds on campus - yes, perhaps even amongst the professors. For you’d seen Yaga hold him back after class on more than one occasion to become marvelled by his physics thesis.
But that wasn’t where the problem lay.
The problem lay in the fact that not only was Gojo one of the smartest men you’ve ever met - but he was one of the cutest, too. That snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes made it impossible not to spot him amongst a crowd - always a few heads taller than everyone else, always crushing some textbook to his chest.
Thick glasses. Fast steps.
He nervously avoided eye contact in the hallways, and it’d taken you multiple tries to successfully tap at his shoulder and get his attention. Earlier in the semester, you’d pleaded your case to Gojo about how you’d been getting absolutely abysmal grades in Yaga’s class lately. After that it’d only taken you a little poking and prodding (‘do it for the love of science!’) to successfully convince the nerdy boy to tutor you once a week.
Though he was blushing and fidgeting throughout the entire interaction…
The tutoring became a routine. The routine became a rhythm. The rhythm became a relationship that you’d honestly consider to be good friends.
Through these sessions you discovered that Gojo became rather talkative when he wanted to be, rather sweet, rather funny. And you weren’t blind to his good looks either, of course…In less than a semester’s time, you reached one of the top five spots in Yaga’s class. Despite that, the two of you continued your little tutoring sessions in your back corner of the library every week like normal.
Well, normal except for right now-
“Thank you.” You’re belatedly saying, gesturing at the pen.
To which Gojo scratches behind his neck sheepishly, “It’s no problem, of course!” He flushes even deeper the moment you turn your eyes towards him, looking as though he wished to sink into the light blue ocean of his sweater. “And about what I said earlier-” His pale brows scrunch together in a way that made him look adorably pleading. “-forget about it. Forget I ever asked something so-”
“I do.”
He snaps his azure eyes towards you at your interruption, twinkling behind his glasses. “P-pardon?”
“What you asked me.” You’re leaning over the table, the neckline of your shirt dipping juuust a tad—and you watch as Gojo gulps when his eyes flicker down. Unable to help himself. “I do feel the desire to get fucked pregnant sometimes.”
Gojo flinches at the way you’d worded it, prominent Adam’s apple bobbing. “Sometimes?”
“Sometimes when I ovulate. Sometimes just in general on those late nights, I guess.” Your eyes hone in on the squirming man, “Though that depends on who I’m thinking of at the time.”
“Thinking of who’d be the-”
“The father, yes.”
Pushing his glasses up with jittery hands. “And have you ever thought of…” His question trails off, voice sounding as parched as if he’d just run several marathons in the scorching heat. And he was burning up just as much.
You cock your head to the side, “You?” He jolts at the mere word.
Only nodding.
“Would you be upset if I said yes?”
Only shaking his head.
And then Gojo mutters something underneath this breath that you don’t quite pick up on.
“What was that, Satoru?”
When Gojo looks at you once more, you notice that his eyes are blown wide. Dazed. Daydreaming. Beads of perspiration form on his upper lip as he stutters, voice oddly high. “I said- you’re set to ovulate in about t-two to three days from now.” Your mouth drops a little—didn’t that lil’ app on your phone say the same thing just yesterday? How did he know? Under the table, Gojo’s knuckles were pure white and gripping his knees. “I ah- one time you were late to a session because of your cramps. And ever since then I always sort of…kept track, you see.”
Your eyes widen- so that was how Gojo always somehow knew to sneak your favorite sugary treats into the library on the days of your period. You did begin to wonder…
“I…I see.”
“You see.”
You cock your head at him, “And do men feel the same desire?”
He whispers, “Depending on the person…”
“Do you?”
“Yes.” Like the most sinful confession.
Without a word you’re reaching out and tugging his notebook towards you. His breath hitches as he watches you flip between pages of neat handwriting - lessons curated just for you - before pausing at the very end of it.
You’re biting back a smile at the way he’d scribbled your name over and over on the last page, hearts doodled around each one. You write—-The pregnancy list.
1. Gojo Satoru.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Every good experiment has an apparatus list.” You’re looking up at Gojo with a sly smile, “You taught me that.”
Certainly not like this. “I did, but-” He looks around as though someone in the library would walk by and see what you’re writing.
“And every good experiment has material considerations, too, right?”
“W-well, yes, but…”
You continue to write.
1. Gojo Satoru.
Super cute
Probably a big D
Secret freak (tracked ovulation!??)
However has no experience (not quite a con?) and no place to fuck in (single bed + has a roommate, Geto)
“Hmm, how do you feel about being the independent variable?” You tap your pen on your chin.
Gojo whips his confused blue eyes towards you, a tiny furrow between his white brows. “What do you…”
“The independent variable.” Just in time, you’re looking up to catch the sight of a certain black-haired man entering the library. And you know who it is instantly - there was no man quite as pretty as him on campus. Handsome, sure. But this pretty? It was your best friend, someone you’d met in your first year and knew even before you knew Gojo. “Just like you’re tutoring me now, Satoru, haven’t you ever thought of someone-” His silver piercings glinting in the daylight. His stylishly tattered Sex Pistols t-shirt showing off toned skin. His lips stretching into a feline grin as he spots the two of you. “-tutoring you?”
Something electric runs down Gojo’s body, and he’s just about to turn and look behind when-
Geto Suguru throws an arm over his best friend’s shoulders and tackles him into a headlock, winking at you. “Hard at work, gorgeous?”
You nod, because the one thing about lists was that when you started one—you just wanted to keep on adding to it.
2. Geto Suguru.
Fucking PRETTY
Rings
In a band
Already super close friends. Two in one go??
.
.
.
SUGONDEEZNUTS created a groupchat.
SUGONDEEZNUTS added Gojo Satoru.
SUGONDEEZNUTS added you.
SUGONDEEZNUTS named the groupchat ‘Juno, y’know?’
SUGONDEEZNUTS: Yo, sorted a place big enough for us~
SUGONDEEZNUTS: 8PM.
SUGONDEEZNUTS added RyomenTheK!ng.
.
.
.
“C-could you keep your panties on, sweetheart?” Gojo blushes as he stutters out the words. He’s looking down between your legs and slidin’ a thumb between your pussylips, collecting the slick syrup gathered on top of your light blue underwear.
You raise a brow, “I didn’t think you’d be the type to have a panty fetish, Satoru.” Maybe you were right about him secretly being a freak…
“It’s just- they’re the same color as my eyes.” Those very same blue irises peak out at you above the rim of his glasses, partially fogged with condensation. “M-makes me think that we’re having…a boy in nine months or something like that. Maybe twins. A boy and a girl?”
Your jaw drops, “Oh-”
And it’s the only noise you’re managing to get out before Gojo slots his pretty pink cockhead between your legs. Just letting the thick curvature of it press aside your pussy’s folds before he’s rutting—like an animal.
Gojo was just painfully hard already, swollen with need, bursting out in bouts of precum that left your thighs all wet. He was just so excited—he’d damn near cried once he managed to get you sprawled out on a bed that wasn’t yours. One of his doughy pink thumbs swipin’ your underwear to the side and getting a goooood long look at that pussy of yours-
“N-ngh—” His eyes fall shut, entire body shuddering at the sensation of your pussy throb-throb-throbbing away beneath him. Erection sliding down your front. Sandwiched by your cunt. Gojo Satoru - always so eloquent, always so intelligent with his words - can only heave his body forward and whimper- “S-scientifically, the presence of your panties won’t be a haaah- limitation in me breeding your pussy, right?”
“What are you even asking…” You’re blinking up at him, “Satoru, you’re not seriously that pussydrunk, are y-”
“Oh look…” Gojo’s eyes widen as he watches a webbed line of his own precum slide down your slit, and that only leaves his sharp mind racing. “Scientifically, can your pussy talk, sweetheart? Because your unica mucosa vaginae is sounding like she wants me already.”
And then follows the utterly sloppiest squelch as Gojo pushes his thickened tip at your sensitive hole and starts to puuuush—
Your cute tutor had been the first one to take off his boxers - and it really was true what they say about nerdy boys being…bigger.
He was about nine entire inches, and the most adorable rosy pink at his tip - one that matched the blush on his face. Only growing more and more, thicker and thicker, every time he was swipin’ his velvety shaft between your folds and trying to fit inside.
Pushing and pushing.
Stretching out your quivering orifice.
Gojo was just so sensitive—you’d asked him earlier whether this was his first time, and the nerdy boy had only blushed and mumbled something incoherent. Though his cap of precum that just kept on pouring out told you everything you needed to know - even now he was squeezing just the barest inch of his tip into your hole and groaning. Twitching.
“O-oh—” His pre-glossed tip slips out of your hole and slides-slides down the middle of your pussylips, “Fuck- I need at least the urethral meatus inside to successfully breed you, sweetheart. N-need to be inside your pussy…”
“You really wanna knock me up, huh?” You’re whining out.
“So badly.” Almost shyly. Gojo can only let a dopey smile stretch across his lips at the notion, sounding out-of-breath already. He’s keeping his thumb hooked on your panties, urging his hips closer with the most sinful sounds. “S-soooo fucking badly.”
Just draaaaawling out his agonizing groan as he shovels his thickened shaft between your pussylips. Without warning, he’s then pressing both hands upon either side of your legs, pushing them even wider open.
You yelp, “Satoru-”
And then with you pinned down to the mattress, Gojo reels his slender hips back to thrust and thrust his raging hot cock into your pussy. “Gonna fuck you now…” The globular red edge of his shaft kisses your entrance and starts stretching the first resistance of your hole. Starts bending his curvaceous inches inside you. “Gonna fill the introitus- fill her up with my cock.” Starts making your walls immediately clench at the sudden intrusion.
His jaw falls slightly apart at the feeling of being sucked inside by you, your slick orifice plugged up with his length. “Gonna fill her up with my kid—” Just letting his furious cock get one taste.
One of his inches pushed inside your cunt.
Just one.
Before Gojo’s throwing his head back with a cracked wh-whimper.
Before his entire body shudders.
Before his entire cock seems to zap with a carnal electricity.
And you’re feeling the hot sensation of something slatherin’ at your pussylips, raising onto your elbows to look between your legs. And the sight you’re seeing- fuck, it’s a pure white mess at your core and puddling onto the expensive silk sheets below.
He was cumming.
Just from that.
Your eyes widen, “Satoru, you’re already-”
“Fuck.” Gojo breathes out, head now pushing into the crook of your neck. Something warm and wet falls on top of your skin- and only then do you realize that Gojo Satoru was sobbing at the mere feeling of your pussy surrounding his cock. “F-fuck, I can’t believe…”
His creamy cum was spilling out in surges, drawing vertical lines between the crevice of your pussy in some lecherous pattern. Incessantly. Hotly. He’s webbing up your puffy folds and thumpin’ his rotund tip between your cunt to smear them. Lines upon lines. Layers upon layers.
Like he couldn’t stop himself no matter how urgently he’s reaching a hand up to squeeze at his thickened base. “Sh-shit, s’not stopping.” The nerdy man babbles away, white-knuckling at his swollen cock in order to try and plug himself up - but it doesn’t work. He’s even pulling back a bit to move his thumb on top of his leaky divot. And he’s still not stopping. “Shit, I can’t control myself. Your tunica mucosa- your pussy just feels too good.”
“You’re s-still cumming…” You whine.
“Too good.”
He’s just dribbling out hot cum, creating an ivory gloss over your folds that drips around your thighs.
Gojo feels the wetness of it seep into his abs and pulls away from your neck, looking up at you with his teary gaze. He snaps his eyes down to the white sap that smears out of you and moans. Voice cracking at the back of his throat any time he’s shoving his honed hips between yours. “C-can I go again to your womb this time, my girl?”
You’re just about to open your mouth to answer when-
“Now now, Satoru…”
“Yer fucked if you think you’re getting her all night.” A familiar, gruff tone spits. “Especially after that embarrassment of a performance.”
You’re turning your head to the side of the bed - to the two men that watched from chairs facing the bed.
Geto Suguru.
Ryomen Sukuna.
3. Ryomen Sukuna.
Frat boy™ (leader of Curses Epsilon)
Probably REALLY good in bed
On his way to become a pro wrestler (headlocks omg??)
Might be rough…
Ryomen Sukuna had just gotten off from practice when Geto had called him.
And he can’t lie - he hadn’t exactly felt like answering the phone then. The two weren’t exactly what you’d consider friends, but neither were they not friends. Sukuna kept his circle close, you see—only his brother, his nephew.
Though recently there had been the development of a certain little someone. Sukuna had noticed you at one of his wrestling matches by chance, and ever since then it seems that he couldn’t stop noticing you. At his parties. At their fundraisers. At lecture halls that Sukuna purposefully took the long route to pass by - just to get a glimpse of you.
And he’d been considering asking you to be Curses Epsilon’s sweetheart, but that was neither here nor there!
Geto Suguru wasn’t someone that Sukuna would dub himself acquainted with to even that extent. His rock band sometimes performed at the infamous parties Sukuna threw, and it wasn’t really usual for him to call Sukuna outside of this.
But fuck was he glad he’d picked up the phone that day.
Because that was what got him here with you.
Snuck into his frat house. Laid out on his king-sized bed.
Your eyes locked with his—
Sukuna’s cock throbs between his legs at the ruined expression on your face, and he’s immediately feeling a rush of jealousy at the white-haired man. Snapping his narrowed gaze to the other, “Such a pretty gal begging for you ta breed her and you embarrass yerself like this?”
“Sh-she just feels too good.” Gojo lovingly gazes at your overspilling cunt. Before looking at the frat president again, “You wouldn’t understand.”
Sukuna hates this man even more.
“O—okay, how about we don’t look like we’re gonna beat each other up, hm?” Geto’s silky tone breaks through the saturated air, and you’re squirming at the way his rings glint in the dim lighting.
He’s noticing the slight movement instantly, gaze flicking between you and his fingers. Realization splashes across his face, and the next time he speaks it’s with his voice dipped just a bit. “Oh, you’re a naughty girl, aren’t you? But you want that pussy to be treated like a princess?”
Gojo gapes as you nod, “M-maybe…”
“No need to be shy, gorgeous.” Geto hums, drawing even closer to you. “We’re all friends here.”
The mattress dips just a little bit as he sits down on the edge of the bed, his ringed fingers reaching out and dragging across the sheen of white covering your calves by now.
Geto lets the slick coating form on his fingers, smearing it on the tips of his digits. “Mmm, what a waste. Don’t you know that a princess is supposed to orgasm before she’s pumped full of cum, Satoru?” Tutting.
Somehow, you always did think that your closest friend would be the type to drag sex out for hours. To drive you numb with pleasure, to be so sweet—at least, his words were.
And even Gojo seemed to be quietening down his grumbling to listen, the only other sounds in the air being the plapping! of him still trying to rover his blushin’ cocktip even deeper. “W-well…”
“And don’t you know that a princess is supposed to be teased before she’s fucked?” His amethyst eyes seem to glow with amusement, and something else. Something…darker. “You’ve gotta make her cry first.”
Oh.
A primal shudder rips right through you.
Not sweet. Definitely not sweet.
You’re whining after his elongated syllables, “Please-” Tears spurting up to your eyes when Geto forcefully grabs ahold of Gojo’s slender hips and bodily pulls him backwards. Both hands positioned on the other man’s hips, keeping his throbbing cock warming inside your walls for a few seconds before puuuuuushing inside you again. He manages to fill you up in a way like you’ve never been before, his smooth shaft filling your every orifice. “P-please, Satoru-”
“Like that.” Geto hums, “Hard. Long.”
And Gojo gapes at the way you seem absolutely ruined beneath him, “I didn’t even realize…”
“Mhmm, at this rate we’re never getting her pregnant.” Geto rolls his murky eyes, nails digging into Gojo’s hips once more. “Now more.”
“What?”
“Move.”
Your lashes flutter open at the way the long-haired man commands the other.
Geto’s tone was just so steely, and all it takes is a single word to make Gojo Satoru pull out of you. His long cock bobbing between his meaty thighs, tuggin’ out with the most lecherous squelch!
A wadded up web of cum follows him as he does so, connecting his irritated tip to your cunt still. Just red-hot and drippin’ with your slick syrup. At the sight of it, Gojo looks as if he already regrets his decision - but moves over to let Geto take his place anyway.
And both roughened hands - much, much rougher than Gojo’s, with so many years of training those fingers in his punk-rock band - press-press-preeeeeess your jittery thighs open. Firm. Unyielding, even as you whine at the stretch. Geto’s throwing his silky hair over his shoulder, sinking onto the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed.
His knees hit it with two loud thuds!
“And what’d you think you’re doing up there, hm?” In an almost bored tone, Geto raises a brow at his best friend seated still on the bed. In a split-second, he’s grabbing onto the back of Gojo’s flushed neck and dragging him down onto the floor as well.
Side by side.
Gojo yelps as he’s brought ever-closer to your open legs. “What do you think you’re-”
“Teaching you how to eat a pussy properly, duh.” As if it should be obvious, Geto rolls his eyes. “This pretty princess deserves better than your sloppy self.”
With your elbows resting on the springy mattress, you peer over at the two men who nudged their faces closer to your drippin’ wet pussy. Both their eyes gleaming in excitement the nearer they were- it’s almost as if they were fighting for purchase between there.
Each one lightly shoving the other-
“Spit on her pussy, Satoru.” Geto’s sing-song voice was dark.
Gojo’s eyes widen, “Wh-what do you-”
“Spit. On. Her. Pussy.” Geto throws his long locks over his shoulder and smiles, “Right into her pretty hole- but if you make a mess that’s even better.”
“Why would I wanna make a mess?” Gojo huffs, nose crinkling cutely.
“Virgin.” Geto titters.
The blue-eyed man looks up to meet your eyes- and flushes. Puckering his lips up nervously, they tremble just a little as he somehow drips out a line of slick on top of your cunt.
And Geto only looks down to appraise the mess he’s made, his chunkily ringed fingers swirlin’ the glaze with the front of his thumb. “Mm, I could’ve done better.”
They were both so fucking hard.
Geto turns back to you now, eagerly waiting. “See this tongue, gorgeous?” Unhinging his jaw, he lets his loooong and lavish tastebuds stick out for you to see. Slicked with watery saliva. Studded with a silver tongue piercing in the middle of it. “See it? S’what I’m gonna ruin you with- watch and learn, Satoru. Watch and learn…”
And you’re hearing it before you’re feeling it. Seeing it.
The slurp of Geto’s slick tongue shoving between your sultry folds - just lengthy lines licked back and forth on your slit. He doesn’t speed up. He doesn’t act ravenous. Lingering his orbed piercing against every spot he can reach inside of you- no matter how much you’re restlessly squirming above him, he doesn’t go harder. Just light and fleeting.
Rubbing his ridged tastebuds against every orifice, sucking up Gojo’s ivory sap, letting his tongue juuuuust fill up your tight hole before fishing out-
Making the other man balk, “H-hey!” His best friend was just making a mess of you, with his tongue lappin’ over the coats of cum that he’d poured out on your cunt. “That’s not fair- the seminal fluid is supposed to go inside the vaginal canal in order for internal fertilization to-”
Geto lazily cracks open an eye at him.
Before grabbing Gojo by the back of his throat and shoving him nose-deep into your cunt as well.
“Then do something about it.” He smiles.
Both of them had their greedy mouths open against your pussy.
Tongues flopping out and thrashin’ maddeningly against your cunt - Gojo’s a little longer than Geto’s, but Geto’s with his frigid piercing in the middle that scraped into your every orifice. It’s as if you were suddenly surrounded by the ridged texture of their tastebuds, until you couldn’t tell which one was which. Every sweet spot. Every fold. Dual tips aching to claim every inch of you.
And while Geto slipped against your clit, Gojo was just craving to stuff his tongue inside your hole-
“Ngh—” His nose crinkles cutely a little as he whimpers, “D-don’t take up too much space now, Suguru.”
“You’re in my space, Satoru.” As if to prove his point, he presses the cold knob of his piercing right against your clit. “Don’t forget who knew her first. Now stop moving those lips and focus on- hers.”
Gojo glares but doesn’t say anything more, only nudging the other man by his shoulder for more space. There’s a slight battle in the space between your legs- only drawing both men closer n’ closer to your cunt.
Gojo had his mouth plastered to your sopping cunt, lavishly licking into every orifice. And Geto- oh, Geto was doing the exact opposite.
Because while the nerdy boy was giving you everything that you wanted, Geto was pinching meanly at your clit and draaaaagging your cute nub until you felt like crying. Neglecting your clit when it felt like you were enjoying it too much.
They were sliding over each other and making out messily with your pussy—and each other.
“Tch- gay as hell.” Sukuna’s grumbling tone echoes, closer than you remember it. The sudden volume of it makes you look up with a jolt- only to realize that he was looming at the head of the bed. Looming right where you were.
Gojo spits out into your pussy, “Erm- bi, actually.”
“Does it look like I give a fuck?”
Ryomen Sukuna has had enough.
He takes in the way that Geto and Gojo were shoved between your legs rabidly. Barely even paying attention to him. Barely even breathing- and he admits his mouth waters just a little imagining just how sweet your cunt tasted…
But he’s instead focusing his attention on another pair of lips.
“I didn’t come here ta get fuckin’ cucked.” Sukuna rumbles, his meaty thighs resting on the space of mattress beside your head. The sole reason that Geto and Gojo had chosen Sukuna’s room in the first place was because of his king-sized bed. And you were damn lucky that it could fit all four of you. “So…”
You flinch.
“No need to be scared, mama, s’just me.” He’s patting his overlarge palm on top of your head, smoothing down your sweaty scalp. “And my ah- ‘friends’ here told me that a pretty gal like you wanted to be bred, hm? S’that true?”
You’re nodding through your tears, body twitching any time Gojo’s tongue curved just right. “Mhm- yes, fuck yes.”
“Bred by me you mean.” Gojo sputters out, drunken eyes turning up at Sukuna.
“Fuckin’ loser.” Sukuna sniffs, his prominent nose crinkling in distaste at the white-haired man.
But he’s setting his crimson sights back on you, smirk only seeming to grow at the awe on your face - ogling just how large the other man was. He was on a scholarship for wrestling, or so you’d heard…“So s’true, huh? Ya came here to be bred? What a filthy fuckin’ giiiiirl—”
Squirming restlessly, Geto was now starting to circle the nub of your clit with his ringed fingers and it was leaving your body in a tizzy. Every wadded ounce of cum that Geto was licking out of you, Gojo was shoving back in with his flexible tip. Refusing to let any of his seed go to waste- they were just so sloppy. Kissin’ you open-mouthed. Again and again. Both nose tips bustling against your puffy clit, their tongues slickly sliding against each other and shoving in alternating paces. Gojo’s hard and fast. Geto’s agonizingly thorough.
You whine, “Was just- hck! needy-”
“Oh I know all about how needy you are, woman.” Sukuna’s hands drop to the drawstrings of his sweatpants. “But do you even know my name?”
“Of course I do.” Your brows furrow, “You’re Ryomen Sukun—mmpf.”
Before Sukuna’s tugging down on the cottony hem of his pants and letting his raging erection smack! against his firm abs. Thick length. Drivelling tip. If you thought that Gojo was big, then Sukuna was just as big if not bigger…
An even more sultry number of veins that were overtaking the sides of his shaft - and now your mouth. He fits inside. He was so fucking hard that you could count each ravenous ba-dump! of his pulsations, shovelling and shoveling away-
“M-mmmpf—” You’re letting out muffled moans at the rough use of your mouth. Sukuna’s length seemed like it was never-ending. The tannish crown of his shaft finds the cute orifice of your mouth and opens away at your lips, wider and wider with every inch. Hips moving in solid, mean thrusts-
He snickers,“No, my name is Ryomen Sukuna. You don’t even know that, mama?”
“Mmm—” Letting out sinful noises at the feeling of his fat ball sack smacking against the side of your face with each of his movements, just so full with need for you. “Please-” You sob out - the only thing you can seem to sob out. “P-please-”
“Nuh uh, not that either.” He was having way too much fun with this. Plunging his thickened erection out and using the length to spank each side of your face. “Try again.”
“Ryo- oh.” But just as you’re trying to speak, Sukuna’s flooding your hot cavern with his salty tip once more. Almost as if he was chasing the vibrations of your voice, almost as if he was waiting for you to speak just so he can watch your pretty sentences break on his cock.
He grins from above, head cocking to the side to take in the lovely sight. “Tryyyy again—”
“Ryo- mmpf.” You’re gulping down his swollen inches - fuck, Sukuna was even thicker than he looked. Somehow filling up every orifice inside your mouth, it felt as if he was reaching for the dangly lil’ thing in the back of your throat and then even further.
Just slurp after slurp of his vicious hips movin’ back and forth.
He’s tightening his grip on the back of your head and humming. “Breathe with your nose, mama. Breathe with your nose.” The audacity to even act like he cares when he swabs the very back of your neck aggressively, “Relax that pretty throat f’me. Heh.” Just waiting until your airway was fully free, just waiting until you’d somewhat calmed down- before he’s arching his hips and slamming his puckered red tip inside. “Now that your voicebox knows me- try to say my name? Do you know my name?”
“R-Ryooo—” You’re gurgling through your spit and tears, “Ryo- ngh- men. Sukuna.”
“Atta girl.”
“Sukuna?” Gojo flinches as if he’d just been struck by lightning.
“Hm?” Geto peeks his eyes open as well, only to find that the pink-haired man had very much made himself at home pumpin’ away into your mouth. His velvety length stuffing your small cavern open. “It seems, Satoru, that we have some competition.”
Gojo growls, nipping at your folds meanly in his possessiveness. “Oi…who the fuck do you think you are blocking her cute air tract with your nasty fucking-”
But Geto only smiles with your slick glistening on his lips, “May the best man get to breed her cunt first.”
And you’re confused for only a split-second before there’s a sudden spike of pressure - from both ends.
From Gojo and Geto who were thrusting their tongues inside your cunt, from Sukuna who was never one to back down from a challenge. And he’s looking over at the two men who were bickering but suddenly united, and plastering both paws on top of your scalp to thrust inwards.
Letting his slick, drivellin’ tip hit the roof of your mouth and make you moan—
“Suguru-” Gojo hisses.
But Geto was already on it- Geto was already fiddling with his chunky metal rings to transfer them all onto his right hand. “Mmm, don’t you worry now, Satoru. I’ll teach you.” With his goal finally accomplished, he’s hooking his fingers against your folds and pryin’ them apart. “First, you’ve gotta tease the princess.”
He’s spitting inside your hole and thrusting his middle finger inwards.
Swirlin’ around your velvety channel for a few seconds before pulling back out when you start clenching- “S-Suguru…” Your voice echoes from above, and both men look towards you with primal eyes.
Geto cocks his head at Gojo, “See?”
“I-I see.” The other man looks as if he was on the verge of writing this all down.
“Then you’ve gotta- hah, take your time. Like this.”
“Like—oh.” You’re cut off by him sticking his finger back in. Letting his wet muscle expand and circle around your walls, his rings pokin’ away, a few times before edging back out.
“See?” Geto rasps, one of his thumbs pushin’ aside your folds to show your entrance off to the other man. “Look how she’s- hah, clenching like she wants to suck me back. You’ve gotta make her want it badly- s’fun to tease a pussy.”
Gojo nods eagerly.
“And for my last trick-” Oh, by the way he says it you already know that it doesn’t bode well for your sanity. The thickness of two fingers were now stretching your hole out wiiiiidely before running back out, thrusting in and out. In and out. In and out.
Probin’ with his silver rings near sweet spots that you didn’t even realize you had before.
At the same time, Geto runs his straight nose bridge down the line of your slit and ends up pressing on your clit. Just not enough pressure to satiate you, just enough pressure to make you sob out—“Fuck, stop teasing, Suguru.”
“And that’s how you treat a princess.”
Meanly.
“Let me.” Gojo gulps. His mouth waters at the milky display of your slick and his cum around Geto’s mouth, he shoves Geto aside with a muscular shoulder. “Let me.”
And it’s the last thing you’re seeing - that look of utter greed on Gojo’s face - before the white-haired man leans himself in reaaaaal close to your pussy. He’s nudging his straight nose bridge between your plump folds and ending up pressing down on your clit, letting his watery tastebuds swing out and-
And then Gojo Satoru was eating you out like a madman.
Geto had scooped out the wads of his best friend’s cum, and Gojo’s moaning at the mess that gushes around his mouth and onto his pinkish tastebuds. Blue irises sprinting to the back of his skull, raw lips falling agape. Geto’s breath hitches as he notices the change immediately- “Wait, Satoru, you’re going to-”
“M’going to breed her again.” Gojo spits out, “S’gonna be me not him-”
He was going to say that Gojo was going to forget how to breathe if he went on like this - but he gets the feeling that his best friend doesn’t even want to breathe right now…
Doesn’t want to do anything but grab onto either side of your thighs and shove himself even deeper. His fat tongue slipping out and smacking! against your pussy, his tastebuds searching any and every corner for a taste of you, his pussy-muddled brain not even knowing what he’s doing as he’s thrusting and thrusting.
Face pushing until the rim of his glasses pressed up against your pussy and he didn’t even see to realize—
“O-oh, fuck.” You’re gurgling out in a shrill tone, and Geto looks on at your pretty expressions in interest. “S’going in so deep. Satoru, you’re just so needy-”
Sukuna raises a brow, “Heeeeh?”
“Yeah, so fuckin’ needy, Satoru.” Geto repeats in his smoky tone, eyeing both of your feverish motions with interest. Gojo was face-down in your pussy and lapping at your cunt with a primal wildness, pinning down your squirming hips. Any time that your restless body tries to move away, he’s draaaagging you down to drag across his pretty face, he sticks his tongue so rapidly in and out of you that his tongue is nothing but a pinkish blur.
Completely the opposite of Geto’s mean, torturous methods.
And, well, he can’t fall behind now, can he?
Without warning, the dark-haired man reaches his hand to shove not one- not two- but three of his ringed fingers down your tight channel.
Gojo startles at the intrusion and moves-
“Ah ah.” Geto murmurs, grabbing him by the back of the neck and shoving him into your wet cunt once more. “Stay.”
His nose glidin’ down your slit, furiously rubbing and rubbing his textured tastebuds against it until you’re opening up more for Geto. Inside it. Anywhere and everywhere.
Geto was absolutely pummelling your cunt with his fingers now, while Gojo moved onto sucking your clit as if it was his favorite candy. “Mmm—-Sug…Satoru.” Moans meshing into one, as if you didn’t even know what to utter. “It feels so- oh.”
“So what?” Sukuna scoffs, reaching down to smack your right tit. “Don’t test me now, mama. Don’t make me- hngh, shut you up proper with my cock.”
He’s grabbing one of your hardened nipples and pinching at the peak in a way that makes you whine- “Kuna- Kuna- Kuna-”
“Yeahhh, that’s more like it. Keep saying my name- until you memorize it. Until you memorize my fuckin’ cock.”
“Suguru, do something.” Poor, inexperienced Gojo can merely watch as his pretty girl’s taken over by the pink-haired man once more. He’s flicking furiously at your bundle of nerves- and yet you couldn’t do anything but out muffled whimpers with Sukuna’s hot cock shoved into your mouth. “My girl’s been- ngh, won over-”
“Your girl?” Geto raises one brow, but looks up at you anyways.
Fuck, this angle between your legs was just perfect - he could see the way that your throat expanded and outlined the sheer thickness of Sukuna’s girth. Just so massive that every thrust had his cylindrical intrusion bulging against your neck. Again and again.
And he can’t help but catch Sukuna’s red eyes, cocking his head over. He gestures—straddle her.
A signal that the other men understands instantly.
A sinful smile spreads across Sukuna’s lips, “I like the way you think, punk-rock.”
And Gojo can only watch, slack-jawed, as the wrestler pulls his fat cock out of your mouth and tap-tap-taps the tip on your tongue a few times. Letting your pretty lips water just a bit - just enough to wet your tastebuds enough - before he’s moving over your head in one fluid motion until. Before he’s behind your head completely.
Before his rude hips plummet his inches between your lips.
You’re moaning so loud-
The vibrations zipping up from his honed cockhead and up his spine. “Fuck- didn’t know such a sweet mouth could even make a sound like that.” Sukuna’s grumbling underneath his breath, fucking gnawing down on his bottom lip to keep from making too many noises himself. “Now I get why those two bastards are obsessed with you, ma.”
Thrusting away wildly, Gojo pulls away with a gasp. “Suguru, you traitor-”
“Easy there, easy there.” The other man breezes, giggling at the cutesy way your body lurches back and forth with Sukuna’s jackhammers.
You flinch as you feel something metallic and cold plunge into your deepest, deepest depths—hitting almost near your g-spot. Geto hums, “And that goes for you, too, gorgeous.” He gives you a vulgar few strokes of his fingertips, reaching for your sweet spot every time. And yet- still not reaching it, he was teasing you until you wanted to sob. “Did you know that I play bass?”
“I did know- I do.” You cry out.
“Then, you probably know…” A final thrust - all the way from the curvaceous edge of his middle, his index, his ring finger and doooown to each ringed base - that sets your teeth on edge. “-that I’m real good with the g-spot. Whoops, I mean-”
Somehow between Sukuna’s vicious thrusts you manage out, “S-Suguru—” Because just then, he’s shoving your velvety walls apart to push against your softest spot in an instant.
“-yeah no. I meant g-spot.”
“Heeeeeh…” Sukuna whistles, “You’re good.” Watching as the dark-haired man then utterly ruins you with a mere few movements of his fingers, they’re finding each tender spot inside you perfectly. Rings being used to mark exactly where and when Geto was thrusting away - but no matter what, he always ended with his frigid rings pushed against your g-spot. Purposefully glidin’ those geometrical edges of his rings against your sensitive nerves- “But I’m better.”
“Kuna, oh my god—” You babble out as he uses both hands to grab onto your tits now, his long fingers pinching your nipples and rolling them between each padded digit.
It was just insanity.
Geto with his globular fingertips finding your g-spot again and again, Sukuna with his hot cock filling you up again and again- and Gojo. Oh…Gojo was just gluing his pouty lips against your entrance.
Geto’s tongue meeting his in an open-mouthed kiss, the white-haired man pulls away- only to latch onto that pretty perky clit above your hole. “S-say my name, too, sweetheart.” You can just barely hear Gojo’s plead over the cacophony of other sultry noises filling up the room, “Say my name-”
You can just barely feel the sharp spark of pleasure coming from Gojo finding your clit and sucking. Like his life depended on it. “Say my name while you cum.” His pale brows furrow, and every luxurious lick at your cunt was all that he ever needed in life, all that made him glide his glasses down your front pussy. All that it took to make you mooooan straight into Sukuna’s cock. “Say m-my name while you cum, please?” At least he had manners still.
Before your entire body erupts in a high so sudden and strong that you don’t even realize it’s taken over until after Gojo himself comments on it- “She’s cumming.” He breathes out, almost in disbelief. Gojo feels his cock twitch at the way you’re cumming on his tongue- and reaches his free hand down to fist it angrily. “She’s cumming she’s—mmpf.”
“If she’s cumming then fuck her through her orgasm instead of running yer big mouth.” Geto grabs the back of his best friend’s neck and shoves him in again - which Gojo was glad to indulge in. Glad to gnaw on the knob of your little clit, until his lips felt so raw that they might as well fall off.
And while Gojo made out with your pussy, Geto was fingering you crazily. His honed fingertips plucked at your bliss, hitting your g-spot precisely at every peak. Again and again.
“L-like this, Suguru?” Gojo gurgles out.
“Mhm, faster.”
They’re speeding up- Gojo letting go of his cock just to delve in even deeper, and Geto has to be the one to pump his best friend’s length.
You sob, “Satoru—mmmpf.”
“Shit, maybe you two bastards aren’t half-bad.” Sukuna muses, a pinkish brow raising at just how much you moaned and thrashed underneath the two men. His hips only grew faster.
All three men were absolutely ravishing you through your high, those little sparks of pleasure going up from your pummeled cunt to your pummeled throat. “Mmm—” Just about the only thing that you’re ever going to be able to get out at this rate, “Feels- good- ngh- good-”
“Yeah, but which one’s yer favorite, mama?” Sukuna spits. Nestling his heavy balls against your face while he shoves his cockhead lung-deep-
“At least let her finish her orgasm first.” Gojo seethes, his glasses completely fogged by now.
“Yer too fucking nice.” Sukuna bites back, “She likes being all roughed up, doesn’t she?”
“No, she likes indulgent-”
And they’re both speeding up their ministrations, Gojo going craaaaazy with the heart patterns he was drawing on your clit while Sukuna twisted his fingers even harder over your nipples. You’re practically held hostage by the pleasure.
And the only thing you can do is ride out wave after wave of your bliss, still being absolutely demolished from all angles by the three men when it’s finally starting to peter out.
You twitch, “S-Suguru—”
Because you knew that the pierced man would be the only one much too happy to stop you from getting what you need - but you’re surprised to find…that Geto merely shrugs you off with a grin. The one overstimulating you with his fingers until you’re crying-
“Keh…” Sukuna eyes the sobs you’re heaving out, though he doesn’t stop himself. He’s pumping out a few wads of creamy white, before pressing a thumb on top of his shaft to stop himself from releasing too much before he actually got to breed you. “Don’t make her tap out just yet.”
“Suguru…”
But he doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t even slow down until you’re being probed by his sultry fingertips all the way until a second orgasm. It flashes through you like a sudden fever, your entire body breaking out in a cold sweat.
Jaw dropping.
Back arching off of the mattress.
You’re so sensitive by this point that even the lightest graze of Gojo’s canines against your clit makes you whimper n’ whine. Great heaving tears making their way down your cheeks, you’re nothing against the three sets of strong arms that hold you down so they could properly eloooongate your zapping pleasure.
And Geto Suguru doesn’t stop until he’s well and thoroughly fucked you through each mountain of your electrified high, and perhaps even all the way into a third-
“Aaaaand that’s enough outta you.”
“Yeah-” Gojo huffs, his pout pretty on his lips. “-you don’t get to hog her orgasms all for yourself, Suguru.”
Geto gives a final long liiiiiick with his pierced tongue.
Your brain is all muddled and stupid by the time that Geto with his love for overstimulating you is pulled off. You’re pushed further up the sweat-dampened mattress, sandwiched between Gojo and Sukuna from either side.
“So…” Sukuna asks, “Who won?”
“Me- she moaned my name-” Gojo grumbles up at the man. You whine at the way both their toned cores surround you, it’s as if you were a ragdoll they wanted to play around with.
“Yeah right, you had first dibs.” Sukuna scowls, eyes narrowing into slits. “And ya ruined it. Now I get to fuck her pretty pussy-”
“How about me, gorgeous?” Geto wasn’t waiting around to argue with his friends - he was cupping your dazed face and asking you directly. But you were so damn far gone that you couldn’t even begin to formulate a coherent response before-
“No, Suguru.”
“Fuck no.”
.
.
.
You were right about Ryomen Sukuna being rough.
Because he was fucking you rough. And hard. And fast.
And ruthless.
It seems that the winner of last round’s ‘challenge’ had been none other than Gojo Satoru - based on the fact that his name had been the first one you’d moaned during your first orgasm. Perhaps his accolades as president of the debate club wasn’t just in name…
They’d unanimously decided that Geto Suguru, the traitor, wasn’t deserving of fucking you after that little stunt he’d pulled earlier. Overstimulating you until tears—how could he! Without both of them, of course…
And so Gojo had left you in your stupidly fucked state.
Merely hovering over you- the tips of his ears red, the head of his cock dripping wet already. He’d pressed just about half of his swollen shaft between your pussylips before - expectedly - cumming again in less than two strokes.
He just couldn’t handle the feeling of your hot cunt. Just the sensation of you throbbin’ away around him like that was too much for the bespectacled nerd to handle, his entire body shaking as he spurted his white seed all over your pussylips. Hot and syrupy, it dripped all over you and down onto the sheets below. Pink lips jutted out when he felt himself reach his high again, “I…I did it again, sweetheart.” He’d told you, shamefully.
And you’d barely gotten two comforting words out- “It’s alright, Toru—”
Before Sukuna had shoved him over.
“My fuckin’ turn.”
And now you were laid out against Sukuna’s chiselled back, feeling each ripped muscle move n’ flex against your own. Vicious. Vulgar. He was heaving after each thrust, he was hitting the very spongy end of your cervix, he was bending your back against his front—a hand scouring down your front to feel his cylindrical length impale you-
A full fucking nelson.
By none other than the wrestling star himself.
“A star player—fuck.” Sukuna’s raspy voice whispers into your ear, hooking his pointed chin at your shoulder and preventing you from moving a single inch away from him. Thud-thud-thud, his rotund tip could be felt all the way against your scratchy throat. And you swear you could taste the salty flavor of his gooey liquids. “M’gonna fuck a s-star athlete into you, woman- the best junior wrestling champion this world has ever seen.”
Gojo surges up from his chair in the corner - the one Geto and Sukuna had been sitting in earlier in the night. “She hasn’t even taken yet-”
“Ah ah- what’s that?” Sukuna interrupts between thrust after thrust. He looks around as if he’d just heard an indistinguishable noise from somewhere in the room, “What- oh.”
And you’re watching speechlessly when Sukuna’s honed fingertips slither down your front to squeeze your clit.
“It’s this pussy begging me to get her pregnant-” His pinkish brow raises, “Oh- the best Olympic wrestler this world has ever seen? How ambitious, mama.”
Gojo spits, “Fucker-”
“You hear something?” And Sukuna was taunting him - Sukuna was playing right in Gojo’s face. His big beefy arms looping underneath your thighs and giving them a forceful tug- he’s spreading your limbs out as far as they’d go.
Making your soppin’ wet pussylips smeaaaar wide open and making the other two men throw envious looks your way. “Sounds like a little bitc-”
“Oh, please—” You’re bucking through your sobs. A particularly aggressive stroke has you damn near jumping out of his arms- but Sukuna’s only tightening his grip and bringing you riiiight back down to feel his cock.
You weren’t escaping any time soon.
“C’mere, woman.” His tone was almost a warning, speaking down to you as if you were dumbified on his cock already—and you were close. Oh, were you close. The wrestler’s cock was just so thiiiick that his veins massage your tiniest orifices without even trying. Long glides. Hard throbs. “How m’I going to- heh, fuck you pregnant if you keep trying to run?”
“Well…”
He continues, “In the first place, you don’t think you can run from a wrestler, can you?”
Blinking your wide teary eyes up at him, “I can’t…?”
And it was almost too cute how stupid you were on his pistoning hips already, mouth splashing out saliva every time he was hittin’ a gooood spot inside you. Sukuna chuckles, “No, you can’t.” As if to prove his point, he holds you down to his glissading abs and swabs your wettened cervix. “But ya sure can fuckin’ try- ya won’t make two steps before I have you on my cock again.”
“Well that’s just n-not fair—” You’re trilling out at the way he bends you just a liiiiittle further against him. Both hands gripped primally onto your hips and not letting you get too far.
Not letting you get far at all, actually. You can barely even breathe without Sukuna bouncing your body right back and knockin’ the wind out of your lungs with his puckered tip. “Ya can’t handle it if I bend you a little like thiiiiiis—”
“F-fuck!” Sobbing at the way he further spreads your legs, bringing them up until the caps of your knees were striking your tits.
“And then just a little like thiiiiiis—” Sukuna arches his hips lightly off the dampened sheets to rover his cocktip inside. Arching you against him.
Ryomen Sukuna loved manhandling you.
“Oh my g-god-” It’s just about the only thing you can blubber out, your sentences hitching in your throat. “Shit, I didn’t even know I could bend like this…”
“Why’re you crying, mama?” Sukuna coos, though there was something decidedly dangerous in his tone. Almost as if in alarm, your pussy starts throbbing harder and he snickers as he feels it- one of his roughened thumbs come to wipe away at your tears.
“It’s j-just-”
“It’s j-j-just the entire future of wrestling that depends on this pussy right here.” He’s mocking you. He’s teasing you. Not in the same way that Geto would - Sukuna had you immobile and was bullying you with both his mouth and his rugged, roverin’ tip.
His plump cockhead gapes out your cute hole, ending up in your deepest depths. He manages to leave you jolting after the pressure of each one. And after that bulbous intrusion then his inches just seem to go on and on and on—“S’a biiiig deal, mama. So you understand why I hafta fuck you a little ngh- rough, riiiight? So you understand why I hafta wrestle you a little, riiiight?”
Until you can feel Sukuna bash away even at your throat-
So hard that your eardrums almost pop- “It just feels so-”
Only to get overshadowed by the slurping squelches of your own cunt. Which only makes the pink-haired man grin, “There. It’s been decided then.”
“What are you…” Your dazed eyes widen, looking up into his rouge ones for an answer.
But the only answer he’s listening to? The background music of your pussy.
Sukuna’s nodding in agreement with the slick wet sounds that escape you, even more of it increasing in volume once he lets his precum fill you up to the very brim. Dripping past your pussylips, “Now now-” For only a few split-seconds before one set of Sukuna’s rugged fingertips swipe the syrup back in. “-none of that. That’s at least a couple million yen you’re losing there, girl. If m’fuckin’ it inside ya then keep it inside ya.”
You quiver, zaps of electricity floating through you when he reaches down and pinches your throbbing clit. “And i-if I can’t…?”
“As my son’s manager, I can’t have that.”
He was picking and choosing management opportunities already?!
You see, the King of the Ring was hellbent on fucking you right - on getting his seed to be the one that took inside your sopping wet walls.
He was fucking you like he meant it - he was going to complete that mission one way or the other. He was drilling into you with a primal cadence, bulbous tip press-press-pressing inside to swab away at your every single orifice—
You’re jerking on top of him at the pleasure, and Sukuna’s immediately putting you in a headlock.
Gojo surges up to his feet in outrage.
But the fraternity president wasn’t paying the other men a single ounce of attention- merely tightening his bulging biceps around your neck. Leaving you nothing but a limp ragdoll for him to pump his inches into, thick and hot at the thought of impregnating you. “And as his father-” Sukuna shoots you a cocky smirk that the other two can see, “-m’not letting you walk out of this bedroom without carrying my child.”
He throbs inside you and you whimper.
“Suguru, I can’t stand this-” Gojo’s taking a step closer, chair damn near clattering to the ground.
He was donning his boxers for now, though his best friend was naked and proudly pumping his cock at the sight of Sukuna fucking you like a crazed man. Hard and fast. Hard and fast.
Soft pants leave the bassist’s mouth, throwing his head back with a grown as he watches Sukuna reach down and pinch your clit. He’s peeking ahead at the sight with a partially-cracked lid, “Satoru, give me my phone.”
Gojo’s brows raise, “What?”
“Give me my phone.”
It’s in quick, jerky movements that the white-haired man does. He tries not to stare too long at the moving couple in the bed but…fuck, he, too, was so damn hard at this point that he was dripping precum through his boxers.
Gojo practically shoves the phone into Geto’s arms.
He unlocks it with a chuckle and heads straight to the-
“You’re recording-”
“Shhhh…” Geto chortles, raising his camera up. “We’ve talked about it before, she’s said it’s alright. Now shut up, it’s getting to the best part.”
It really was. The video captures the scene perfectly: you’re still being manhandled in this full nelson. Draaaagged back and forth every time that Sukuna’s cock glides inside you, hitting a spot particularly delicate.
He was just so muscular, with his cock plumpened up so much that Gojo almost wondered how you were taking all of him. Your cervix must be completely bruised by him now, and the camera manages to record how the skin ‘round his pelvis was burning red.
Again and again and again.
The two of them were practically hypnotized by the rough way you were being fucked. Pounded, more like. The musician zooms in on the vision of your puckered lips, swollen with prolonged contact with Sukuna’s massive balls. Gooey puddles of Gojo’s cum from earlier dripping all around them. Smack-smack-smack!
It takes just a few more of those and a final pinch on your clit to make you shatter- your orgasm taking over you like a tidal wave.
White flashing behind your eyelids.
Spine arching into the perfect curvature on top of him.
Sukuna’s muscular front provides the best cushy surface for you to get lost in your high, one that leaves you limp and boneless on top of him. “P-please, Kuna…” Geto damn hopes that the audio managed to pick up your ravaged whines. “Cumming—”
“You don’t think that I don’t know that?” He hums, and you notice that his voice sounds so much more ragged than before. “Yer feeling like fuckin’ waterpark down there, woman.”
“O-oh…” Your maw drops, as if you just now realize how wet with arousal you were. Leaking all over his scruffy pink happy trail-
“Orgasm left you stupid already, huh?”
You can only mindlessly nod.
All three men find their achin’ erections throbbing - the pink-haired man most of all with his swirlin’ tip tortured by the clenches of your orgasm. It almost pained him to pull out, even if it was to savagely thrust back in again.
And again. And again and again and again-
Geto whistles as the last few seconds of the recording capture the way that a sudden ring of white froths at your entrance. Sukuna pumping in his cum with a drawn-out groan—
The sharp tone of the video ending echoes out in the bedroom. Though you certainly couldn’t hear with the way your eardrums were popped with the pressure of his thrusts.
And Geto? Geto worked silently, as Gojo gawked behind him.
“S-send me that recording…”
“Mhm.”
SUGONDEEZNUTS sent an attachment to ‘Juno, y’know?’
SUGONDEEZNUTS added Prof. Nanami Kento.
He clicks off the phone and enjoys the show.
“A star wrestler-” Sukuna’s spitting between his gritted canines, the edges of his lips squirking up into a vicious grin. He flattens one of his hands down on top of your core - right above where his thickened tip was plummeting into your womb.
Pushing down and you could already feel the glutinous layers of his cum start to slide around you, sploshin’ out of your hole. It leaks out of you and he wonders just how much that much was able to fit inside because fuck—he’s cumming more than he ever has in his entire life. “Look at thaaaaat- we’re gonna have a star wrestler, mama. Better get ready, girlie, because m’gonna fuck an entire team of Olympians into you.”
“Please-” You yelp as his headlock on you tightens.
Flexing his incredible muscles against your neck, “And are you gonna run away?” It blocks every ounce of air from escaping.
“N-no…”
“Are you gonna tap out?”
“No-”
“Mmm—then how about we start thinking of the baby names-”
“Let’s not get too ahead of ourselves, shall we?” Geto’s breezy voice soothes out into the saturated air. It’s not too long before you’re hearing footsteps headed to where you lay utterly muddled. “After all, there’s more of us waiting.”
You shiver.
.
.
.
Nanami Kento wasn’t having a particularly good day, no.
For starters, he’d just been informed by one of his freshman students that half the campus thought he was in his thirties already—he was a damn TA in the first place! He wasn’t even an official professor (though he did plan to be one, so perhaps they were right on that note…)
And then his morning class slept through a particularly riveting presentation on the Kamakura period, then his (totally not favorite…alright perhaps favorite) student didn’t show up for your allotted office time with him, and now he was stuck grading papers of students who couldn’t care less about shogunate lifestyles.
Or at least he was.
He was grading papers of students who couldn’t care less about shogunate lifestyles.
That’s until he got the text.
With none other than said favorite student, you, featured front and center in its contents.
Now he was walking as fast as his long legs could take him to the most infamous fraternity house on all of campus: Curses Epsilon.
And let it be known that Professor Nanami Kento has never clocked out of the history department earlier in his entire life-
“Oh, fuh-fuck—” You’re blabbering out stupidly, tears cascading your eyes at incredible volumes. The three men inside this room just had you ruined on their cocks - Gojo hadn’t been given a chance again after his last two mishaps, Sukuna had just finished rubbin’ your pussy walls raw, and now it was Geto’s chance. Finally.
You were on all fours - bawling face pushed into Sukuna’s pillows, your ass raised high in the air.
The bassist had his index and middle fingers pulled into two honed tips, pressin’ away at your g-spot like it was a treasure trove he was uncovering. Push-push-pushing, Geto managed to force your tired body into one more orgasm, two more orgasms, three more org-
And that was when Professor Nanami Kento had arrived.
First, he’d knocked. Sharp and sensible - the frat house door had been unlocked, you see.
And it’d been none other than Geto himself who pulled his fingers cleanly out of your cunt and walked to the door. Slurping away at the treacly mess you’d left on his fingers- “You’re late, Kento.”
With a gasp, you’re pulling the sheets up to your chest- but Gojo had stopped you in your tracks—“But I wanna stare at your pretty cunt while she leaks, sweetheart…”
“Fuckin’ needy.” Geto had thrown his silky locks over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at his best friend’s antics. Then he turns back to the blond man who was trying hard not to stare at you on the bed—but he couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed. Fuck, he was only a man after all. “You know we almost thought you weren’t coming.”
Nanami gulps at the way Geto very obviously suckles the candied glaze of your juices from his fingers. One by one.
You whimper at the display.
“Clearly.” Nanami’s eyes then shift slowly from the man before him to you on the bed, your eyes dazed with your high, your legs clenched together. But not even that can stop the constant overflow of creamy white leaking from between them. Overspilling. “Is that why none of you have fucked her properly yet?”
Geto’s dark brows raise in amusement, “Excuse me?”
“If you’re going to get her pregnant, then do it properly.”
Everyone’s jaws drop a little at the statement the professor is giving, and Nanami only soundlessly steps inside. Letting the door close behind him.
He has only one target and one target only - you.
The blond-haired man steps towards you with purpose, starting to shrug off that formal jacket that fit him so well—
“Hello, my darling.” Nanami sighs, “On your back now.”
4. Nanami Kento.
The HOTTEST prof/ TA this campus has ever seen
Such a gentleman (opens doors, eye contact even when wearing skimpy tops, reads feminist books omg)
Mature
Some think he’d be dry in bed tho…
Nanami Kento was not dry in bed. Nanami Kento was not dry in bed.
Oh, how many times have you dreamed of this day? Wearing your shortest skirts to Professor Nanami’s lectures, daydreaming away just how it might feel to have him bend you over his sleek mahogany desk.
Though in no time what he was bending were really your legs.
Right over his broad shoulders, they were folding just so pliably—he’s patting upon each side of your wobbly limbs with a hum. “Not too hard for you now, is it, my love?” You’re shaking your head, growing wetter at the nickname- and Gojo groans as he watches you.
Nanami smiles, “Mmmm, good.” Then he’s reaching an arm out towards the headboard and grabbing one of Sukuna’s pillows.
“Wha’s that for, Nanami?” You’re blurting out stupidly.
“This?” He’s cooing down at you in a soft tone, one that’s so sweet that it makes your entire body heat up. Especially your cunt. Deciding that it would be much easier for your muddled mind to be shown instead- Nanami slides the puffy pillow underneath your hips to raise them a little. “This is for helpin’ that cute cunt of yours actually keep all the cum she’s been given. Does that make sense?”
You nod. He was just so gentle-
“You’re going to address me as ‘sir’, alright?” Fuck—you were mistaken. How did you not notice the steely look in Nanami’s eyes? How did you forget that he was known not only as the most handsome professor on campus - but also the most strict. “Now, does that make sense?”
Just barely managing to breathe, “Y-yes, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Shit, it makes your orifice geyser out in more impossible wads of slick. And your back’s arching instantly the moment he tugs down his pants, and you feel Nanami’s large reddish tip enter between your legs. “Fuck, that feels so good, Ken—sir.”
“Good girl- good girl.” He’s hushing out your tiny cries, placing a soothing hand on top of your sweaty scalp. Which you thought was nice, which you thought was sweet- but you’re realizing that that gesture was actually to push down on your body and keep you from jerking away every time he was lightly plunging his cock in. Nanami presses down on your head, “We have a lot to learn now, don’t we?”
“Y-yess—oh.” Your voice cracks embarrassingly at the thick shaft that Nanami was sinking in.
You didn’t get quite as good of a look at him, but you could tell that his entire length was just a little bigger than Geto’s. Not quite as long as Gojo, but with even more veins and the prettiest tuft of golden hair on his base.
Somehow, what was special about Nanami was just how perfectly he was curved.
Just a few sultry degrees to the side. He’s managing to drag-drag-draaaaag the puckered end of his cock down your walls. Pinkish and puckered, kissin’ all at the ridges down your sides- headed straaaaaight towards your sweet spots as if he already knew where they were. “Have you done your homework, my darling?”
“H-homework?” You cry out.
“Mhm—” Nanami was easing inside your pussy with languid thrusts - and though he seemed to calm and collected on the surface, you could spot the furrow between his brows. The line of perspiration that ran down his forehead. The way his heavy balls seemed to tighten the more he slipped inside- “Have you researched the conditions best for- hah, pregnancy?”
“I…well…” You’re shyly looking away - you admit that you had done some, you hadn’t gone into this entire thing unaware. But having your history professor look at you like this just left you speechless, as though he was looking straight through you.
He’s smiling down fondly at you, “If only you spent a little longer studying instead of- mmm—” Pounding out a particularly hard thrust that leaves you seeing stars, “-instead of daydreaming about fucking me, hm?”
You gasp, “How did you-”
“Why, you’ve been dressing like a slut in my class for the entire semester, my love- how could I not know?”
And the only thing you can do is moan out like the slut he believes you were - your legs spread high on his shoulders, your pussy letting out the most filthy slurps and squelches as he’s easing inside.
Hard and thorough, Nanami’s fucking himself inside you in slashes- just grazing his honed tip against your sweetest spots. Before pulling away when you start to twitch for more, more more—
“So close-” You blubber out, “S-so close, Nana-”
“Excuse me?”
“Sir.” Correcting yourself in a single second.
It’s then that Nanami’s leaning in reeeeal close, and you’re looking up at the handsome man through your lashes. “Good girl.” What you’re presented with is a splat! of his saliva being spat down, Nanami holding open your jaw to let it slide all the way towards the back of your throat. “Now that’s to fix that dirty mouth of yours- better not make that mistake again, alright?”
Nodding, “Y-yes sir…”
“Good. Now let’s see if you did your research- let’s see if you can answer my questions, and we’ll see if you deserve to have a baby fucked into you, alright?”
“Yes, s—oh.” You’re barely even given the time to compute his sentence before your sinful examination starts. And Nanami folds you deeper in on yourself, easily rubbin’ his scorching hot tip against the very back of your cervix-
You start to shake at the feeling of his primal stretch and whine—“Now now, quiet during an examination. Or are you fucked too stupid to not even remember that, hm?” It just made you so dizzy how Nanami Kento was so stoic, sensible, sweet - and yet he had these moments where something predatory slipped beneath the cracks and left you speechless. “First question, who was it that fucked you first?”
Your head slips to the side of your pillow, locking eyes with a certain white-haired man that’d slipped his hand beneath his boxers. Lightly pumping- almost reluctantly but he just couldn’t help himself. “Satoru…”
“Hm…” Nanami inclines his head at the man, blond locks plastering on his head. “And who was it that fucked you the hardest?”
“Sukuna—” Teary eyes blinking at the fraternity president, the way his crimson eyes narrowed at the sight. “K-Kuna did.”
“And I assume that Geto Suguru was the one who was the fuckin’ filthiest?” As the other man speaks, Geto’s giggle echoes out over the question. “True or false?”
“T-True—”
“Three correct in a row, that’s a hatrick.” His rugged thumb reaches down and glides between your pussylips, collecting the dewdrops of syrup drivelling out of you. “Well done- you deserve a little- hah, reward for that, don’t you agree?” The professor doesn’t even wait for your response before that very same digit of his presses down on your clit like a button. “Does that feel good, my love?”
And you’re so sensitive by the constant sultry assaults on your cunt, “Y-yes, so good—”
Only for Nanami’s tantalizing rolls over your clit to turn into a pinch—
“Wrong answer, darling.”
You scream out at the maddening answer, “Wh-what do you-” Head snapping up in surprise, before it’s suddenly falling back into the pillows at the surge of pleasure. You saw the look in his eyes. “I mean sir—yes, sir.”
“I fear your time is up, my love.”
“What- oh.”
And it’s the last thing you’re able to get out before-
Before Nanami shoves both your thighs up until they’re ruthlessly hitting your tits. Before Nanami’s bending you into such a pliable shape beneath him. Before Nanami plummets straight to the deepest end of your channel to strike your cervix.
Fucking you firm. Hard. He’s mapped out every inch of you with only a few animalistic swabs, “Three out of four, that’s 75%—you did better than I could’ve hah-hoped, darling.” Blond brows raising, “Though you did make a careless mistake-”
“I’m sorry—” You’re botching out through the husky cries in your throat, “I’m sorry, sir-”
“So your final grade should come down to…” The professor trails off, his vulgar strokes thumpin’ away at your womb. Nanami shows no mercy for the bruises of his circumference he’s sure to be forming there, Nanami shows no signs of stopping- “-a fail.”
Your eyes snap wide open—“N-no please, isn’t there something else I can do to make up for it-” Fluttering your lashes in just the way you knew he liked - the same one you used all those times when you stayed behind his classes for something stupid. “-sir?”
Nanami’s biting down on his stern lower lip with a shiver, “You’re lucky you’re my favorite.”
And then with no trouble, he’s placing a direct thump to the sweetest spot on the side of your channel that makes you scream. Just the sweetest speck that he’s pushing in on.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
The blond-haired man leans down till the strands of his slicked hair tickle your forehead, panting into your open mouth. “Then how about another assignment, hm? Extra credit?”
You nod fervently, sure that some rational part of you knew that this won’t actually affect your semester’s grades. And yet there was some other part of you that just wanted to please him, to jerk your hips up into his with the cutest whimpers. “Please- please, I’d be so grateful, sir.”
“I need you…” You’re awaiting the rest of his sentence eagerly—but Nanami Kento takes his looooong lecherous time pumping his cock into you in the meantime. Push after push. Breath after breath against the shell of your ear, “-to get pregnant by me.”
That was your assignment?
That was your assignment?
It sends your mind into a tizzy, and you’re just about opening your mouth to answer-
When the bed dips beside you.
You’re looking up into the murky peripherals of Geto Suguru, his smile almost feline on his beautiful face. He looks between your shocked expression and Nanami’s furrowed brows, throwing his locks over his shoulder. “What? I thought class was in session?”
Nanami grumbles, “Don’t push it…”
“You don’t expect more than one student at a time?” He’s humming, milky thighs now splayed out on the mattress. You’re gulping as you watch him cup his thickened base with one hand, giving his red-hot length a few pumps. “It’s alright, I’ll just sit alllll the way at the very back-”
And you gasp at the feeling of him pressing his veiny shaft into your open palm. Curling his ringed fingers around your smaller ones to give his erection a drag—
“-you won’t even- hck! know m’here.”
“Tch-” Nanami clicks his tongue, channeling the tension at having the other man use your pretty self- into none other than your cunt. Into none other than thwacking! his heavy shaft deeper, harder, into you.
You’re starting to get pushed up to the headboard, doing your very best to keep a constant rhythm on Geto’s handjob. “Please- ngh, please m’not gonna last long-”
“I can’t bear it either.” Gojo’s shaky tone rings out.
He’s taking just one step before Nanami sternly barks- “Another step and I bribe all your professors into failing you this semester.”
The blue-eyed man slouches in and grumbles.
All as the other two ruin you-
“Then here’s a mini-quiz for you, gorgeous.” Geto hums, and Nanami glares at the other man. He continues as if he doesn’t see, “Who’s going to cum first- A). You…” And it sure was heading in that direction, if the way that Nanami was hitting your g-spot dead-on was anything to go by - you didn’t even know how he managed to spot it so precisely. The ratios of it being molded into your very cunt by his cock- “B). Professor Nanami Kento, here.”
His ruby tip twitches deep against the gummy depths of your walls, spurting out a wad of promising white pre.
“Or C). Me.”
And despite being you who was asked the question, it’s Nanami who’s speaking up. “I don’t care what it is.” He runs a free hand down the front of your stomach, “As long as my daughter’s healthy.”
When he’d first walked through those fraternity doors, you’d expected Nanami to have been the restrained one. Perhaps the one that was more put-together than the other, perhaps the one that wouldn’t have been as affected by the little ongoing challenge to get you pregnant.
And yet, you’re realizing that perhaps your professor was a family man after all.
In no time he’s dragging his cock out with a groan, letting the golden curls down his front scrape your skin carnally. Before with a final thrust- you’re cumming. Again.
“Shit-” Head growing airy at the feeling of him bruisin’ your bundle of nerves again and again and again. “How are you s-so good at hitting- that- spot-”
“Fuck, look at the way she’s dripping.” Gojo’s awed tone breaks across your synchronized moans.
At the same time, both men on top of you were burstin’ out into their own white-hot high. And from the edge of the room, the other two could see the coating of pure white around Nanami’s lengthy cock as he fucks his miry ribbons inside.
Spraying your insides like a flood. Hot and wet.
It’s a constant wave of creamy white overtaking the spots inside your walls, thoroughly glazing you from the inside. Gluing your thighs together. Feeling the salty aftertaste at your throat. “Sh-shit, oh my god.” And not a single drop was wasted because of the pillow he’d smartly kept underneath you- “I feel so full, sir.”
“Sir? How kinky.” Geto’s panting out, thighs falling open. It only takes you a few slippery pumps to realize that he was pourin’ out his orgasm as well. Down your wrist. Splattering onto your face.
Gliding uuuuup and down, uuuuup and down in an unsteady rhythm- shit, he has to admit that even those little jerks you give when Nanami smacks his hips onto yours felt good. Geto starts rutting up into you, his fuzzy black happy trail scratching your skin.
Soaking with his cum.
Nanami’s nose crinkles when Geto dips a hand down to swipe at his treacly syrup and smear it all over your lips. “You, Suguru…” As if to say that your lips belonged to him, as if daring the other man to kiss you this way.
“What about me?”
“If you thought that would stop me…”
Your professor’s placing his lips onto yours instantly, murmuring-
“How could I not kiss the future mother of my kids? Congratulations on completing my assignment, darling.” He reaches a hand down to thumb inside your hole, just a few slick remnants that he had to take care of. “And congratulations on my daughter-”
“Th-thank you, sir.”
You could barely even breathe- just so much of Nanami’s and the others’ stuffing you from the inside.
“It seems the answer was D)...” Geto rasps out, voice unsteady with the waves of bliss he was still riding out on your pretty palm. “All of the above.”
“That’s it- get off, my turn.” Gojo’s familiar tone bites out from nearby - though you were much too exhausted by this point to actually turn your head and look.
Sukuna hums too, “I’ve never been more excited to do an assignment in my- heh, entire fuckin’ life.”
Nanami sighs, as if the other men were wearing on him already. He doesn’t look at them as he sticks his hand out, “My tie.”
They pause, for just a little- before Gojo’s the one to actually spot the professor’s usual tie. Handing it to him with a confused look…a confused look that slowly melts into sensual agony once the blond-haired man ties the slip of fabric around your wrists.
Tight.
Restraining you to him—he’s using his makeshift handcuffs to draaaag you to him like a ragdoll. “Now, you better behave while we breed you, my love.”
“Yes, sir.”
.
.
.
It’s one more round with Nanami and a sloppy makeout with Geto later that you find yourself being pummeled by Sukuna…and Gojo?
They’d shifted you to lay on top of the wrestler’s toned body, your maw droolin’ a wet sheen down his prominent pecs. He provided the perfect cushioning for you while drilling into you like a madman—again and again reclaiming the depths of your cunt as his.
While Gojo was pistoning his cock hurriedly into you from behind.
Of course, he’d reached his high with a groan the moment he’d slid his furious cockhead into your second entrance. Furiously pushin’ his sappy wads inside-
“Sh-shit…” The nerdy man shivers as he feels you clench your velvety insides, glasses slippin’ down his nosebridge. He could feel the outline of Sukuna’s thick cock sliiiiiiding against his- and he has to bite back a shudder at the fact. “Your dick’s so small, it’s depressing to feel it through my girl’s pretty anorectal junction-”
“You think I like feeling yours, two-pump chump?” Sukuna bites back. “M’trying to breed my woman here, how am I supposed to that when-”
“Wait wait wait- your woman?”
“Your girl?”
“Can you guys just sh-shut up and—fuck me—?” You’re trilling out stupidly, having had enough of the two men bickering above you.
They more they argued, the harder they were fucking your two holes - each vein, ridge, and dimple plastering against your walls. It was just an incredible sensation, mind growing blanker by the thrust. By the ruuuuuub of their matching paces furiously filling in, splurging out pre, smearin’ the slick mess. Not a single spot was left unturned as you were being stretched out on both ends, having both cylindrical intrusions claim you-
“As you wish, sweetheart.”
“You said it, mama.”
Neither of them would admit that having the other felt good for them, too…
It’s then that there’s—no, there’s no knock on the door.
Because you have to understand that most fraternity brothers have seen all there is to see, which meant that basic manners were rather…forgotten whenever they were inside the house. Not that it ever revealed anything jaw-dropping during times like this, and most would just assume that a brother would lock the door if they’re ever having…time to themselves.
And you also have to understand that Ryomen Sukuna hated locking the door.
So it opens just a crack with a foreboding creeeeeeak—! and in walks the emo sex dream on campus.
5. Choso Kamo.
In Geto’s band.
Wears eyeliner on a daily basis.
Always quiet and walking around campus with nothing but his headphones and sketchbook (artsy ooo~)
Wanna make him whimper!!
The very same man who, last semester, had shyly asked to draw you for his art exhibition - and ended up creating the most beautiful portrait humanly possible. It was one you couldn’t believe was of a person of this realm, let alone you. And when you’d told half-joking told Choso that, he’d replied—
“But of course it’s of someone from this realm.” His sweet doey eyes had scrunched in a way that was so genuinely confused, “It’s of you. Do you not see yourself like I see you?”
You had to admit that you’d carried a little hallway crush on him since then.
And there he was—not a step made inside Sukuna’s room before you’d dragged him to the bed yourself.
In almost no time, you’d made Choso sit in the middle of the dampened bed- your legs somehow straddling his waist, your back arching, your moans filtering into the sticky air as you rode his cock with such hunger.
“I-I just came to deliver Sukuna his baggie-”
Sukuna grunts, “Oh yeah, thanks.”
“-and y-you’re saying that—ngh.” You never imagined that Choso Kamo would be the type that couldn’t control his mewls, but right now every time your walls squeezed him just a tad too tight he was makin’ the cutest noises. “You’re saying that the goal is to- hck! g-get you pregnant, baby?”
“Yes, so good, Cho.” You’re blabbering out, your eyes practically turned into hearts.
Somehow…Choso was the largest size of them all- perhaps not the thickest, but his length was just increeeeeedible. Long and lucious, with the prettiest blushing tip. He was long enough that he was bashin’ at your gooey cervix without even being all the way inside, he was long enough that he pumped all the way deeply against your womb and you got the distinct feeling that he’d go even deeper if he could-
“Eleven inches.” Gojo’s awestruck whisper breaks through your frenzied mind, “I swear that guy’s eleven inches-”
And the worst (or perhaps best) part was the silver Prince Albert’s piercing that he proudly donned on his mushroomy tip. Cold metal contrasting with the feverish heat of his cock—making your irises swirl in the white of your eyes.
Geto whistles, “See the amount of cum pourin’ out of her? He might as well have undid all our hard work-”
“Why that emo little-”
“That only means we get to go again.” Sukuna hums with a smirk. Not waiting for the others’ reactions before he’s siddling up behind you, kissing aaaaaall the way down the line of your spine before reachin’ a hand between your legs.
And you jolt as you feel the sudden spikes of pleasure taking over your cunt, Sukuna’s thick fingertips pryin’ aside your pussylips to latch onto your clit. He’s toyin’ with your clit while you ride Choso, “F—fuck, keep going like that, it feels too good-”
“And so you mean to say- we can g-get you pregnant…?” Though Choso’s mind remained fixated on only one thing, and his voice quivered in disbelief. “We can really get you pregnant? Really, really get you preg-”
“For fucks’ sake-”
“You can, baby.” You’re cutting off Sukuna’s rumble- making the other man huff and continue to roll his thumb against your knobbly clit. His erection rutting into you ravenously from behind, “You can cum inside me-”
Choso’s beautiful brown eyes widen, “Cum inside-” He bucks at just the words leaving your mouth.
“And fuck it inside all you want.” You don’t think you’ve felt this much power since you made Gojo cum just with a single touch of your pussy. And Choso was easily the same type to get utterly pussydrunk after only a few glides of his veiny cock.
Just babbling and babbling away with the clenches of your cunt whenever you felt his pierced tip. He’s striking his painfully hard tip on top of your g-spot and letting the tears flow until you wondered who was feeling the sensation-
“Are you alright, baby?” You’re pushing back his sweaty bangs, staring into those eyes of his that were smudged with eyeliner.
Sukuna leans over, “Yer never that nice to me, woman-”
“Shush before I ban you from the bed.” You huff.
“My own bed?”
But the King of the Ring quietens down anyways, watching down as the man being ridden manages to string together a few coherent words - he couldn’t blame his frat brother. After all, he’d already felt the filthy heaven that was your pussy, and it almost made him lose his mind as well…And by now Choso was far beyond ruined—“So let me get this…get this straight-”
“Go on, baby.” You’re noticing that the man below you was so shattered that his mere body was jolting at the mention of anything to do with a baby.
Even that cutesy nickname for him made him spurt out in a steam of miry pre, clinging onto your insides. He gasps, “You’re saying that you want to- to have…my baby?”
Gojo pipes up from somewhere across the edge of the room, “And mine!”
“Mine first~” Geto follows.
A heated huff behind you. “Heh, good fuckin’ luck because it’s gonna be mine.”
“That is unless it’s not mine.” Nanami pushes up his glasses, “Which will be impossible.”
Choso’s growing more and more dazed the more and more they speak—or perhaps he was just reacting to the speeding up of your hips. The way you’re leaning in so close with a sultry smile and saying, “It can be yours, too, Cho—”
And that’s all that it takes to make the poor man cum.
He didn’t expect it- he didn’t even think that it was on its way judging by the sudden jolt that wracks through him. Choso throws his head into the crook of your shoulder, jaw dropping open with little sobs as he furiously fucks himself through his high.
Again and again.
Wave after wave.
You think that Sukuna’s ministrations might have you hitting one of yours, as well - but by now, you were far too gone to actually feel anything but tender zaps of pleasure.
Too caught up in the way that the brown-haired man was poooouring out as many droplets of cum as his balls could hold. Every single one. “You’re saying- you’re saying that m’gonna be the one to breed you—?” He’s rasping out against the side of your neck, and Sukuna claims your other side with a possessive growl. “You’re saying that I’m gonna fuck you all f-full and glowing?”
Arching into the two toned men that sandwiched your, “Yes, please-”
“I’m gonna feed this cunt with all the- ngh, cum she wants.” All the wants and more—it was drippin’ out of you, a milky sheen that coats all three sets of your thighs, Choso’s own, and Sukuna’s. “And then she’s gonna turn it into a baby that’s mine?”
Gojo scoffs, “Erm, actually-”
“And she’s gonna be as beautiful as you-” Choso doesn’t even seem to notice the interruption, doesn’t even seem to notice that he wasn’t breathing. Wasn’t doing anything but moving his plump tip inside of you and bashing every orifice with his puckered, pierced tip- “And she’s gonna have your smile, my eyes, your laugh, my hair—fuck, she’s gonna be just as beautiful as you.”
It seems that he’s tapered out the miry white cum that’d been seeping into you, and the man finds himself reclining back on Sukuna’s bed.
Holding onto either side of your hips now, you’re shocked at the sudden claim that overcomes him once Choso bucks his hips of the bedsprings and starts rutting inside you- “Gonna be so fucking beautiful- gonna be so fucking mine.” Tip bulging. Piercing slick.
“P-pleeeease, Cho—” Your head throws back, body starting to lean against Sukuna’s for support.
When the other man swats away Sukuna’s hand with no fear and starts toyin’ hearts on top of your clit himself. The chipped black of his nail polish marking out exactly where his fingers were moving in a frenzy.
The wrestler raises a brow, “Oi…”
But Choso’s paying no heed, “Gonna fuck- fuck my baby into ya, baby.” His dark lashes quiver with tears, just so big and pretty and sensitive. “Gonna have everyone look at you and see what I did-” Gojo gets up with a growl, and Choso only spreads apart your pussylips with his fingers so that he can see better. The way you were dripping in his cum.
“Gonna have everyone see you walking down the street and know that I got you pregnant.” It was just so surprising the sheer intensity he was fucking you with—you’re crash-landing into yet another high of the night. And the emo boy was fucking you perfectly through it, letting his bulbous piercing scraaape your dewy insides. “Gonna have everyone see you buying baby clothes and let them know that’s for my baby.” Balls tightening, “Gonna have these fuckers see her in nine months and see me, me, me—”
Choso’s fucked himself into oblivion against your cunt, inside your sopping wet walls - until he’s pushing into his second high of the night.
And the more he’s pushing those clingy white wads inside, the more pussydrunk he seems to be getting. “Gonna—-pregnant.” Only broken fragments of his thoughts and words echoing out, Choso was rubbin’ his reddened tip raw on your pussy. “Get you—ngh, mine—baby…”
Again and again, he was emptying his aching balls inside of you. Twitching after each white-hot pour of his syrup that left you flooded.
And it’s only after he’s done with his wave of euphoria that your jaw drops at his state. Utterly ruined.
“Are you o-okay, Cho?” Genuinely asking.
But the pierced man only looks up at you with tears in his eyes, “Baby, am- am I pregnant?”
Your jaw drops—fuck. Fuck, he was that pussydrunk.
But Sukuna only cackles from behind you, “The fuck did you ask?” He looks over his shoulder at the three other men who were just hypnotized by the sight, “Oi! D’you fuckers hear that?”
“It’s certainly an interesting idea.” Geto hums, drawing nearer.
“And yet, mostly implausible.” Nanami replies.
“If there’s anyone here that she’s going to get pregnant first- then it’s going to be me.” Gojo stabs a thumb at himself, and you all turn to look at him. Slightly abashed at the sudden attention, he pushes his glasses up his nose with a blush. “B-but of course, I know that’s impossible with the considerations of a lack of seminiferous tubules and even if there was a vans deferens the considerations of a male womb…” Trailing off.
You’re so fucked that you almost don’t realize that all five men were on the bed in mere moments.
Surrounding you.
Gojo and Nanami’s cocks being guided to your sweaty hands, they themselves starting to move your palms down their needy lengths. Choso perking his hips up still as if unstoppable, as if it doesn’t even matter how sensitive he was if he could just fill you up once more—
“H-hold on-” You’re gasping down at the brown-haired man, “Hold on, Cho, are you sure you can-”
“Hold on?” Choso chokes out, “Hold on.”
Before tunneling straight into your womb with no apology-
“M’trying to f-fuck you till you’re pregnant and dripping with my seed and you want me to hold on- never say that again, baby.” He leans in closer and whispers, “Never.”
Before your mouth’s plugged up with Sukuna’s cock.
.
.
.
Where the others were possessive, Geto was just downright filthy.
You hadn’t even allowed your brain to register the feeling of Choso’s plummy, split-ended tip pulling out of you with a plop! Just the sheer length of it singed into your walls- “Sh-shit.” You’re shivering sensitively, “What now—oh.”
And you don’t have to ask before you’re feeling it again.
Him.
Geto Suguru with his muscular front against your back, taking Sukuna’s position behind you on the mattress. “A full nelson, huh, Ryomen?” His breathy voice echoes out behind you. “You know, that might just work- c’mere, Satoru.”
Gojo perks up where he’d been sulking in his chair, “Me?”
“You.” All laid behind Geto now, you were just so far gone that you barely even feel it once he spreads apart your jittery legs. With a single swipe of his ringed fingers, he’s baring your cream-covered cunt for everyone to see. All gooey and wet with the wads of cum trickling out of you. “C’mere and eat her out while I fuck her.”
“I thought you were going to let me fuck her- out of the kindness of your heart.” Gojo huffs, but gets down before you two anyways.
“What heart?”
And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before Geto’s incredibly hardcockhead is mazing between your walls. He’d waited all this time since the beginning of the night, through the new additions to the bedroom, and now was his time. Now he was not waiting a single second for you to get used to his primal size. Not waiting a single second even feeling apologetic-
“S’because I have no heart that m’reaching for hers~”
Gojo might have been the longer out of the two, but Geto was most certainly the thickest. An incredible girth that might just be one of the thickest you’ve encountered this entire night, his entire tannish tip covered in a few squiggly veins that perfectly outlined your cunt.
And the thing was—
Geto lived up to be just as good as his mouth was - he lived up to all the talk. He was leaving you stupid with only a few swabs of his puckered red tip, dribblin’ out gooey pre ‘round your entrance and then pushing then pushing each ounce iiiiiiinwards.
Again and again.
2. Geto Suguru.
Fucking PRETTY
Rings
In a band
Already super close friends. Two in one go??
You met him at one of his gigs on campus, and you admit you’d been struck by the music- but also the singer himself. Rather accosting him after the show, it was a fast track to becoming friends.
And Geto Suguru was…Geto Suguru.
Anyone else might have gone a little slower in the beginning, anyone else might have let you at least get used to his incredible length before utterly ruining you - but Geto Suguru had your pussylips split upon his cock and was reaching in ravenously. Hard. Quick strikes. Not waiting a single second before plapping! at the very back of your spongy cervix and glidin’ back down, not waiting a single second after he’s making everyone’s cum pour out of you-
And Geto doesn’t even speak to you from behind until he’s sure he’s made your pretty pussy surge into your orgasm at least twice like his.
Carefully movin’ about the rude red tip of his shaft, he spanks a bruise onto your g-spot a few times and watches as you shatter as if made of porcelain-
“So how about it, gorgeous?” Geto’s gasping voice from behind you, the curtain of his long inky hair tickling your sensitive skin. He had you pinned against his back with a single pale arm, “Decided on which one of us you want to make your- hngh, baby daddy yet?”
“F-fuck, I’m not quite…” Your sentence trails off with pleasure.
“Yeah? Not quite yet?” He continues from behind you, acting for all the world as if he wasn’t just singlehandedly ruining you on his velvety shaft. And you could practically hear the pout in his purring voice, “Well, you’re going to have to- mmm, decide soon if you really wanna baby, y’know?”
Back arching, “Yes—yes-”
“Oh, who am I kidding?” And the waves of your bliss were roaring in your ears, leaving your friend’s sing-song voice sound as if almost from a distance.
He doesn’t say anything before reaching his roughened-up hands down between your tits, sloooowly - almost as if he was attempting not to scare off his prey. “There’s someone- heh, better I can ask about that…”
“What are you…” You’re choking on so many of your whines as he reaches down and presses the slender tips of his fingers on top of your stomach, slightly bloated with sopping cum. And it just makes you guuuuush- “Shit shit sh-shit, Suguru, what are you—oh.”
“Whoops, was that me?” Geto’s purring out from behind you, ignoring the protests that erupt from every corner of the room. “Silly me~ I didn’t realize she was leaking this fucking much- we might just hafta fuck her like this all over again boys.”
“I mean, I would gladly.” Sukuna rumbles.
“Shit, same.” The white-haired man gulps from below, it was here that he could get the perfect vision of the ivory sap flowing out of you. Hotly melting between your pussylips and reachin’ the curled tip of his tongue, “Shit, what are you even doing to her, Suguru-”
“Hmmmm—?” Because none of them had ever fucked you like this.
While the other men had their goals of breeding you until you were all roooound and glowing, Geto had a slightly altered goal of doing that in the way that would most leave your pussy crying. Leave you crying.
They could see it right now, the way that the bassist would speed his slender hips until they were almost nothing but a blur between your legs. Roughly mazin’ the crown edge of his shaft until it felt like you were twitching from pleasure- until it felt like you were just a liiiiittle too close to reaching your high. And the only thing that Geto Suguru could do then is slow down.
Achingly so, until you’re left sobbing for more—
“Too fucking filthy.” Sukuna’s whistling, bulging biceps crossed. He cocks his head at the nerdy man, “So are ya gonna eat her out or just stare- because I could do a right job of it-”
“Shut up.”
And Gojo Satoru was never one to not catch up.
He lets his slick tongue flop out, gulping at the ivory sap flowing out of you. It’s like a hot melt between your swollen pussylips- “Mmm—” So fucking filthy. Too fucking filthy. And yet, he didn’t know if he was the filthier one for then reaching out and letting his tongue across your folds, dipping just a little lower…“Mmmpf- Suguru, did she say which one of us she wanted as the- hngh, baby’s father yet?”
“Tha’s exactly what I’m asking her, Satoru.” Geto responds.
And in no time you’re feeling his fingertips push down on your womb once again, making it hard for you not to shatter into yet another one of your highs - but you were so overstimulated by this point that even that felt like a mere few tingles. “Let’s seeeee—” His breathy tone was in your ear, lookin’ down at the other man between your legs. “I think m’hearing ‘Suguru’, gorgeous…”
“Where the fuck are you-” Gojo himself is interrupted by a particularly loud splosh of sap trickling out from between your pussylips. And he can’t lie, he’s listening to the noise himself as if it was human words. “She did not fucking say that, don’t put words in my girl’s mouth- pussy.”
Geto arches a brow, “Then what did she say?”
“She said ‘Satoru’.” Stubbornly replying from below.
Geto’s snapping his hips up viciously at the feeling of his best friend’s tongue licking at your hole, parts of his textured tongue gliding down his own shaft. “Mmm, you fucking wish- just listen to her.” Making the echoing slurps grow louder and louder.
“Nuh-uh, fucking listen to this-” With the other man’s tongue slippin’ between your folds and dragging out just as many noises.
“Heh, yeah right—”
You didn’t even know which one of them was being louder at this point, because whenever you thought that it might be Geto then Gojo was tuggin’ on your clit with his teeth and making you moan- and whenever you thought that it might be Gojo then Geto was planting his hand down on your tummy and making you leak out. Making you formulate a puddle of slick that both men were just addicted to—
“P-please…” As if this was nothing but your little mantra, and it kept echoing out of you like a broken record player. You didn’t know what exactly you were begging for - for more, for mercy, for your life-
“I know.” Geto hisses from behind you, his sharp canines starting to dig into the side of your neck. “How about we ask her, Satoru?”
Gojo’s eyes snap above his foggy glasses, “Good idea- sweetheart, isn’t it me that your womb’s begging for?”
“Isn’t it me you’ve been dreaming of getting pregnant by?” Geto speaks out as well.
And you’re following the two men like a tennis match, with your stupidly dazed eyes bouncing between the rude pumps that Geto was placing on your cunt, the way that Gojo’s tongue somehow forked into all the right places.
Driving you wild.
“I-is it me, sweetheart-”
“It’s me, isn’t it, gorgeous-”
And when it seemed as though you were far too stupid on their movements to answer, Geto was reaching his hand down and pinching your clit—the very same that Gojo was surging up to and suckling. Both of them are fighting for purchase on you. Both of them ending up only making your pleasure ebb even deeper- and your nth high of the night crashing through your body.
“B-both—!” You’re calling out, getting the lewd attention of everyone watching. You buck and thrash on top of him, “Want both, Suguru- Satoru- fuck, I want both of you-”
“Then it’s settled.”
The bulbous end of his cock pulses away inside you, dragging back and forth along your walls in a way that was frenzied. He smears aside your legs even further and furrows his brows, “Then it’s settled-” Geto’s pants making the skin on the side of your neck perspire, his slender hips arching up into you in a way that you weren’t even sure was possible. Just the best angles hittin’ each throbbing spot inside you until you gasp, ”-that our baby’s gonna have two daddies, huh?”
And it’s almost as if that was enough to make Geto Suguru crash into his own high, like he couldn’t control himself at the image - he couldn’t stop himself at the thought of you being fucked by him and his best friend. In no time, his high was shooting straight through him and ending up smeared against the wetness of your cervix.
Right at the very back, it’s splattering out in a distinct warmth that you note. He doesn’t move a single inch as he pumps you through the shivers of his high. Pump after pump. Push after push that leaves you primally speechless. “Oh my god—” Your mouth waters as you’re filled up with wad after wad of gooey white-
“Suguru’s just fine, gorgeous.” He hums from beneath you, thrusts loooooong and thorough pushing in every single ribbony white excess. “Or maybe even- the future father of your kids.”
“I-I’d like that…” Twitching through the way he was fucking you like an animal. And just below, Gojo was much the same- just lickin’ and lickin’ away between your legs while Geto fucked you stupid. You’re filled up to the brim, until it was almost too much to keep inside—
And Gojo thinks he might just cream himself just from the very vision- “Don’t tell me you’re gonna cum already, Satoru?”
“Fuck off, Suguru.”
.
.
Toji Fushiguro doesn’t get fucking paid enough.
Being the security guard on a college campus isn’t exactly the most lucrative job in the first place, but it was made worse by the fact that he had to deal with that—college kids. Toji himself was about ten years past his own college day, though that was not to say that his experience as a security guard didn’t hone him to handle all clientele. He could handle awkward high schoolers. He didn’t care about screaming middle schoolers.
Hell- even the pre-schoolers seemed to have just a bit more sense than some twenty-somethings with too much alcohol and too little self-preservation on their hands.
Which is why he was answering a call at 3AM.
Perfect, those never bode well.
The complaint had come from the resident of some nearby dorm who’d happened to pass by the Curses Epsilon frat house (god, Toji fucking hated frats) and heard some…strange noises. It was far too loud and far too many voices for them to discern, apparently. And though they’d rung the bell, it seems that no one had been home.
Except for the strange noises, that is!
Looking up at the sprawling mansion from here, Toji could see just one light in the entire building turned on. It seems there was someone home - though likely only the resident of this particular room.
And Toji didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out that this was likely some frat dudebro (god, Toji fucking hated dudebros) who had a bad trip or far too much to drink. This fraternity in particular was always infamous for their ragers, ones that Toji himself has had to shut down many times.
So he’s announcing his presence before trying the door hand and—ah, and it opens. Just as he expected (god, did he say he fucking hated frats?)
Entering through the dimly-lit living space, the noises only got louder the closer he got to a certain resident’s room.
The closer he got to—
“What the-” Toji’s flinging open the door to Ryomen Sukuna’s room, breath catching at the sight (cock twitching). “-fuck.”
You.
You, you, you, you.
Toji Fushiguro has wanted to fuck you since the moment he saw you.
Ever since last semester when you’d bribed him - oh, the sweet audacity - into letting you and your friends throw a party by bringing him a bottle of fine whiskey. He’d laughed in your face, of course, before ultimately taking the spoils and grumbling that you could (‘but only until 1AM’ he’d said).
That night he sipped on his whiskey, wondering if the pretty pussy underneath that thin skirt of yours was just as sweet. Just as addictive.
And here you were now—laid across Ryomen Sukuna’s bed and being filled by five men in all of your holes.
And, well, did Toji mention that he didn’t get paid enough?
6. Toji Fushiguro.
That HOT campus security omg (someone should put his face on the campus magazine and the applications would fill in)
BUFFFFFFFFFFFFF X5
Gruff but lowkey has a soft spot
Rumor says he’s a DILF (hmmm?)
He’s starting to tug off his uniform immediately, “Don’tcha worry, doll-” Toji snickers at the shocked look on your face, looming closer to you. To where you were sprawled on the bed and getting pinned by one set of Sukuna’s hands. “-I don’t snitch.”
And the long-haired one in a band - Geto, he believes his name was - grins. “Welcome to the club.”
The rickety bedsprings creak as he joins you all on the bed. “This bed’s gonna fuckin’ break.” Sukuna rolls his eyes.
“Shut up, brat.” And only the older man was the only one here who would possibly talk to Ryomen Sukuna that way. Toji shoos away the other men to meet you in the middle of his dampened sheets, brows raising at the sheer amount of white sap pourin’ out of you. He’d overheard some of the things that’d been said before he came but…fuck. “Damn, they really did a number on you, hm?”
You can only nod, “Mhm—”
“And you don’t regret a single thing.”
“W-well…” You look away, unsure what to say.
“No no, s’good.” Toji coos—almost. His tone was far too mean for that, “A girl like you should enjoy yourself during your college years.”
You’re jolting at the inkling of something dangerous in his tone- as do some of the others. But you don’t get to think too long about it before Toji has one roughened hand flipping you over. The other shoving your head down into the pillows- “But let me show you how a real man breeds ya now.”
You can only nod.
He tugs down - merely tugs down - his pants until the thick reddened tip of his cock hits your pussylips. Smearin’ down the crevice of your cunt, watching as you drivel a wet glaze down Toji’s length—he wastes no fucking time before edging his hips upwards and shoving—“Y’know, I’ve always wondered whether these college boys were fuckin’ you right.”
“N-ngh, fuck—” Your eyes roll to the back of your skull. Toji was just so thick - thicker than anyone here, with more veins than your feverish mind could even count by now.
“Yeah? I’ve always wondered whether they could- ngh, satiate this pretty pussy like she deserves-” Toji snickers, watching as you shake beneath him. “-the way I could do it.”
“H-hey! I think we did a good job-” Toji sends Gojo one look his way and he shuts up.
The older man glides his calloused fingertips down your spine, drawing sensual hearts that make you shiver. “Because unlike these damn college boys, y’know it takes a reeeeal hard earner ta know the feeling of wantin’ to provide.” He’s gruffing out, hips hitting yours in half-ruts. “A real family man.”
“Oh fuck off, old man.” Sukuna rolls his eyes, “You’re looking at the future of wrestling right here-”
“And a future Nobel Prize winner!” Gojo pipes up, but hides behind the pink-haired man anyway.
Nanami chimes in as well, “I fear I simply do not see the point you are trying to make, Mr. Fushiguro.”
They were in an uproar.
But to everyone’s surprise…Toji Fushiguro isn’t getting angry. Toji Fushiguro is smiling- “Hehhhh, fear you don’t see the point m’trying to make, huh? Let’s just put it this way then…” Almost muttering to himself, before he’s grabbing onto either side of your waist and funneling your womb with all his girthy seven inches. “-we’re about to make my son a big brother tonight.”
Their jaws drop.
Oh.
Oh.
They were well-aware that the security guard was single, all by his lonesome, according to gossiping admirers who had the courage to ask - but no one could have ever guessed that the man had a son.
And right now he was fucking you like he wanted to make a second-
“I’ve always wanted to show her- fuck, to show this pussy that even older men can fuck you gooooood, honey.” Just as he promises, he’s reaching for your g-spot faster than anyone else before him. Harder. Scourin’ your honeyed walls and making sure that Toji’s cock was thoroughly etched against your pussy, “So how about it? Got a thing for DILFs?”
“Yes—” Your velvety walls are squeezing his length and Toji holds onto you so tight that his nail marks take home on your skin. “Yes fuck, how did you know-”
“Because everyone’s gotta thing for DILFs.” He’s snickering from above you, abs glissading faster down your back. Your mouth drops ajar at the way that Toji reaches down and squeezes your clit with no hesitation. “But whaddaya feel about becoming a MILF?”
“Sh-she was mine first.” Gojo growls out from your side, holding onto your arm as if to tug you away.
But Toji only glances over like he just realized the other man was there, lazily looking him up and down. “Natural selection, kid. I’m gonna be the one to make her a momma.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Keeeep talking.”
Toji Fushiguro’s fucking you like an animal - short, rapid bucks and ruts of his hips just to fit inside. Just to manage to stretch out your walls to his girth, and then draaaaag all the way back out again to repeat. “Heh, s’a big stretch- I know.” Almost as if he was out of control. And with his meanness, he didn’t mind being so sloppy with it that after a few thrusts his cockhead would slip out of your hole. Ending up slidin’ between your lips and grazing his flared slit along your most sensitive spots. Toji holds onto the base of his cock and shovels in even more ruthlessly than before.
Just to make you whine a bit more—
“Handle it.” He gruffs out from behind you, shaggy black bangs tickling the back of your neck. And Toji’s pistoning into you at a pace that leaves you dizzy, “I said fucking- hah, handle it. Yer gonna have an even bigger of a stretch down there in nine months- heh.”
“You’re just so mean.” You huff.
“Me?” Toji coos in amusement, “Aw, doll, you haven’t seen mean yet.”
You’re holding onto his pale pillows for dear life as he fills you up once more, “Ohhh, feels so good, Toji-” Again. And again.
“Oh yeah? Oh yeah?” And he sounds fucking ecstatic at the fact. He grips onto the back of your throat with one hand, “You see- when ya get to my age you just don’t have time for the- hah, nonsense.” Fucking you hard and fast.
And purposeful.
It felt like Toji’s rounded tip was hitting every spot he wanted it to, and even the slightest rub of his zig-zagging veins left you speechless. You weren’t even sure whether you were shaking because of the sheer stimulation or because he was just that good- “Just needa find a niiiice girl ta settle down with.” His rumbling tone continues, “Treat her all nice, get her everything she wants- heh, then pump her full with a kid or two—get all of them everything they want.”
“Shit-” You gasp out, trying to buck against the creaky mattress. “Fuck, m’just so sensitive-”
“And what is it that you want, momma?”
The only thing that you can cry out now, “T-to cum—”
His fingers twist on your clit even harder, “Anything for the mother of my kid.” He speeds up, heavy balls hitting you in light spanks. “Anything-” He snarls, your cunt was just dangerously fluttering around him. “Goooood, right? Goooood?”
“Good-” You hiccup- “So good-”
“Nuh uh, doll- s’it so goooood?”
Toji might have been teasing you, but you still manage to find yourself repeating. “S-so gooooood-”
“Soooo good?”
Completely dumbified by now that you weren’t even sure what you were saying, the tell-tale twitches at the base of your stomach tells you that you’re close. “So, sooooo good.”
“Heh, how cute. So dumb on my cock.” He hums, “And can ya say Mrs. Toji Fushiguro?”
“Mrs. Toji—oh.”
And the next thing you’re actually seeing with your own two eyes…the bulging erection of Gojo Satoru. His pale thighs spread wide open in front of you, his puckered red tip being tapped on your lips. He wasn’t going to let you finish that particular sentence any time soon - or ever, really. “Open wide f’me, sweetheart? Let me see that cavum oris…”
“S-Satoru—” You whine, letting your jaw unfasten for him.
And it’s as if the moment they’re seeing their inexperienced friend take initiative, the rest of them were just rushing at you. Because Gojo’s slickly smooth tip thrusts between your lips- and then you have Geto and Sukuna’s hands dragging both of yours to their cocks.
Nanami’s even snaking his hands underneath to massage your sore tits.
Toji’s hands the only thing keeping your body held up- “Fuckin’ animals.” He’s hissing between gritted teeth, nose crinkling in a look of primal need. “Go easy on ‘er- she’s the momma of my future kid.”
“No, mine.” Nanami’s the first to speak.
“Mine.”
“Mine~”
Choso blinks, “M-mine?”
“N-no, mmm—” Gojo’s head falls back at the slide of your textured tongue underneath the line of his mushroom tip, “-mine.”
And when Toji finally cums it’s with all five other men still with their hands on you.
Pumping his seed in primal, rapid half-thrusts in and out.
Massaging your elastic hole. Caressing your deepest insides with all his puffy veins.
Your face is being pushed up against Gojo’s toned v-line and there’s nothing you can do about it, your nose scratching on his sultry ivory hairs. Toji’s length just felt so perfect - you could feel the curve of his cockhead piston gluey webs against your very throat with how hard he was pumping himself into you.
In and out, in and out, in and out until he could feel that sweet, sweet resistance of your hole and he’s forced to ease back out. He was reluctant to pull out even when he could feel the recoil of your cervix begging him to move- to fuck his ivory syrup deep inside.
So much of it—
All of it mixing into one making you feel so full-
“Ay ay- stop fucking into her mouth so hard, how m’I supposed to breed her like this?” Toji tuts at Gojo.
“Can you blame me?” He, too, was milking his length on your heavenly body. Overflowing with a line of cum that streams out from his pretty strawberry divot and down to your throat- Gojo watches it all disappear between your lips and shivers.
Until Toji roughens out an incredibly hard jackhammer that has you spilling a few strings out of your mouth. “Heh, whoops-”
“Fuck you-”
“Fuck you-”
“I thought we were fucking her.” Geto’s humming through the argument, tilting his head down at you. “How about me next, gorgeous?” And you wished you had the rationality at this point to let him know that you were just barely getting through your nth high of the night-
Waves of tender bliss flowing through you.
You think you might pass out.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Gojo hisses, and you’re just letting of Toji’s cock with a pop! and a few more sultry sounds of cum gushing out of you. Before he’s crushing you to his front, staring them all down. “It’s my turn again.”
“You fuckin’ wish-”
“Satoru-”
“How crude-”
“Well…”
“She’s mine.”
1. Gojo Satoru.
Super cute
Probably a big D
Secret freak (tracked ovulation!??)
However has no experience (not quite a con?) and no place to fuck in (single bed + has a roommate, Geto)
2. Geto Suguru.
Fucking PRETTY
Rings
In a band
Already super close friends. Two in one go??
3. Ryomen Sukuna.
Frat boy™ (leader of Curses Epsilon)
Probably REALLY good in bed
On his way to become a pro wrestler (headlocks omg??)
Might be rough…
4. Nanami Kento.
The HOTTEST prof/ TA this campus has ever seen
Such a gentleman (opens doors, eye contact even when wearing skimpy tops, reads feminist books omg)
Mature
Some think he’d be dry in bed tho…
5. Choso Kamo.
In Geto’s band.
Wears eyeliner on a daily basis.
Always quiet and walking around campus with nothing but his headphones and sketchbook (artsy ooo~)
Wanna make him whimper!!
6. Toji Fushiguro.
That HOT campus security omg (someone should put his face on the campus magazine and the applications would fill in)
BUFFFFFFFFFFFFF X5
Gruff but lowkey has a soft spot
Rumor says he’s a DILF (hmmm?)
“Seems we have quite the conundrum on our hands.” Geto’s the one to hum above the squabbling, and as he turns to you, so does everyone else - all six of them.
Looking at you.
“So?” Gojo urges. “Which one of us will it be?”
A/N. The way I didn’t even KNOW how to tag this after I was done erm-
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
𖦹 jean, sasha, and connie star in " lps family trip "
you and your bestest of friends go to a meadow to heal your inner children when disaster strikes.
note : need friends like this THANK YOU FOR REQUESTINGGG i haven't had fun like this in a while oh my god. the picture is LITERALLY them by the way. see the end of the post for an extra pic <33
navigation.
you set up the pink digital camera against the grass, giggling profusely. sasha dumps out all of the accessories from her purse onto a flat rock that you'd found earlier. she sits on the back of her legs and begins to sort them out into character specific piles, grass sticks onto her skin.
on the other side of you, connie talks with jean about what voice he's going to give his pet. jean gives pointers and shares what he's planning on doing too.
"alright guys!! the camera is all set up," you announce and everyone gathers close by.
jean groans, "are we actually posting this?"
"yes, i have a youtube channel and everything," sasha sticks her tongue out.
𖦹 aux : boom clap by charli xcx
"we're gonna be famous," connie cheers. jean simply rolls his eyes, but he doesn't complain further.
jean shrugs, "what are we even doing?"
"okay, so basically," sasha starts, "we're a family going on vacation, yeah? then like something bad happens, just improv it, okay??"
"this is a disaster."
"it's going to be fun," you retort.
he gestures widely towards the setup, "don't these things have a script? there's no way they're all improving."
"omg so you are watching the videos i send you?" you giggle.
"quit it," he grumbles in return.
you wave your hand dismissively, "we will be fine. i'll edit it and make sure it's not shattering anyone's egos."
"yeah jean," sasha teases, "can't shatter your fragile ego."
he gives a playful glare towards sasha, "thanks, [name]."
"okay let's freaking start already," connie protests with a whine.
sasha giggles and presses the red film button on the camera. it beeps once, you pick up your butterfly dachshund and place her next to the small toy car, your sparkly pink nail with pressing up against the pets forehead. it beeps twice, sasha squeals anxiously when the bow falls off of her pet. it beeps a third time, connie reaches his arm across the lense to pick it up, sticking it back on the dogs ear.
"okay just... edit that out," sasha sighs. the cameras red dot indicating it's already filming.
connie clears his throat, "so where are we going?"
"camping," you raise the pitch of your voice slightly, "the car is all packed already, you can thank us for that."
you raise up the brown dachshund slightly and move over to jeans greyhound, bumping faces with his affectionately. you slide closer to jean on the grass, thighs almost touching.
"thanks mom and dad!" connie says so genuinely that it almost makes you slip out of character. he bumps sasha's arm when she doesn't say anything.
she attempts to cease her laughing, "right, right. thanks you two!!"
"don't mention it," jean replies sarcastically.
you roll your eyes, "okay! everybody get in the car."
the small toy in your hands waddles over to the car door, you reach your hand into the frame to help open it. you squish her into the passenger seat and click the tiny seatbelt onto her. jean follows close behind, opening the doors to the backseat as well as the drivers.
you glance over to his face, his brows are furrowed in concentration. in all the years you've known him, you've never seen him this focused before. you almost can't help the laugh that threatens to emerge.
sasha and connie practically toss their lps into the back seat, sasha accidentally hits connie's dog ear with her paw.
"mom, she hit me!!" connie yells.
this time you can't hold in your laugh. sasha leans over the set, her hair dangling into the frame, cackling uncontrollably. it even gets a chuckle out of jean.
"oh so you all find this funny, this is sibling abuse," connie crosses his arms dramatically.
that only makes it worse for sasha, she hits her thigh as she wheezes out laughs. you press your lips together as you try to hold in your amusement but it bubbles up uncontrollably. connie narrows his eyes at you dramatically and crosses his arms.
"you guys aren't taking this as seriously as you should be," he rolls his eyes.
you finally cease your laughter, clearing your throat, "you're right connie, i'm sorry."
jean pushes the car from the back bumper, inching it along the grass slowly. you gently pick up sasha's camera and move it across as smoothly as you possibly can. connie and sasha crawl along the grass behind, hissing out insults at each other like siblings.
"if you guys play nice we'll get ice cream on the way home," jean glares up from his focus.
the two of them immediately pipe down, only hushed giggles remain. jean stops moving the car a few feet away from where it started. everyone takes their pet from the car, sasha yawns and pretends to stretch.
"finally!" she exclaims, "i thought we'd be in that car forever."
𖦹 aux : last friday night by katy perry
jean eyes her, "you two just got to sit in the back of the car relaxing. me and your mother did all the work!"
you cover your mouth to hide your smile, he's taking it so seriously. after taking a deep breath, you nod, "exactly, you should be more grateful. look where we are."
sasha slowly moves the camera towards the beautiful view. mountainous scapes, endless clouds, a beautiful blue sky, and a big of jeans shoulder fall into the frame. you pull him closer to you slightly as you watch the cameras flip screen. he's out of the shot now.
connie gasps softly, "i actually hadn't looked at it, woah."
you look at it too, adverting your eyes from the screen and towards the real view. it's absolutely breathtaking. you stretch your legs out and find yourself captured by nature. you can only assume the same has happened to the others considering their silence. it doesn't bother you that the camera is still rolling, you don't even care that much anymore.
the warm sun on your face feels more noticable now, the fresh breeze with a slight chill finds its way through the fabric of your sweater. everything
you let out a refreshing breath and finally turn back to the scene, "wasn't that worth the trip?"
sasha nods, "absolutely. it was worth connie's incessant, annoying voice."
"that's it!" connie yells, using his dog to tackle sasha's.
you roll your eyes, "good grief, you two."
"brats," jean sighs.
you laugh and pull out your stern voice, "quit it!"
they both pause and you hear connie swallow hard. all of their reactions they put into the pets, it's absolutely adorable and even though you're supposed to be the upset parent, it makes you want to laugh.
you ponder in your mind how to lecture them in a funny way when you notice slight movement in the distance. you instinctively peer up at it and your blood runs cold.
"oh my god, is that a bear??" you squeal, your grip against the pet loosening.
sasha leans closer, "[name], i didn't bring a bear lps..."
"no," you shake your head, "sasha there's an actual fucking bear right there."
her head spins on a swivel, eyes locking onto the fluffy creature standing at the edge of the woods.
"oh, it's just a brown bear," connie reassures, "they're the nice ones."
sasha squeaks, "no it's the other way you idiot! oh my god, we're gonna die filming a lps video!!"
"shh!" jean hisses, "just don't move. i don't think it sees us."
for the first time all day, everyone goes absolutely silent. all you hear is the hitched breathing of sasha beside you. she bites her lip hard, keeping an relentless glare on the animal.
jean is right though, it doesn't seem to notice you. it just stares off at the mountains. you wonder if maybe it's just enjoying the view like you are. after a few moments, it just turns back around into the woods.
you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. you hadn't realized you had a hand firmly planted on sasha's thigh, your nails were probably stressfully digging into her jeans. you pull away as your heartbeat slows down a bit.
connie starts to laugh. you raise your eyebrows and stare at him, but you can't help the giggle that escapes you too. before you know it, all of you are laughing at the insanity that just happened. you run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the grass.
"i can't believe that just happened," you huff out.
sasha snorts, "it probably smelled connie's b.o. and ran off."
"you mean my aura??" connie scoffs.
she slaps his leg playfully and all of a sudden it was like you were kids again. when you turn to look at sasha, for a flash it's 12 year old sash with her pigtails and braces, covered in grass in the meadow. connie hits her back in the shoulder, his wrist in a cast like it somehow always was when you were kids. even jeans laugh sounds like it did back then.
your mind locks into that nostalgia and you let out a soft sigh, smiling at everyone. for a while, it's just that.
then, sasha's laughter wavers, "but we should definately leave in case it decides to come back..."
FUCK YOU to everyone who's posted memes under the harry potter x reader tag. all there is in the top section of the tag are memes. bitch fuck outta my face i wanna read fanfic not your horrible attempt at being funny
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] — it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students — with very high libidos, and didn’t want any random stds — that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ frat!kuna fwb series ]
[ TAGS ] — MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. toxic frat culture. hazing. fraternity/sororities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. ráw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. sukuna is a footballer (soccer) too. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.
✮ ch 1 || how it all started ✮ ch 2 || miss me already?
✮ ch 3 || call me ✮ ch 4 || two worlds
✮ ch 5 || conditions ✮ ch 6 || cracks
✮ ch 7 || summer break ✮ ch 8 || oasis
✮ ch 9 || tbd ✮ ch 10 || tbd
✮ ch 11 || tbd ✮ ch 12 || tbd
✮ ch 13 || tbd ✮ ch 14 || tbd ✮ ch 15 || tbd
✮ pt 1 — sukuna is starting to toe the line
✮ pt 2 — you’re desperate to prove this is just sex
✮ pt 3 — cockwarming him for the first time
✮ pt 4 — sukuna’s brothers visit unexpectedly
✮ pt 5 — pregnancy scare with sukuna
✮ pt 6 — sukuna has a stash of naked polaroids of you
✮ pt 7 — halloween special: scare actor!sukuna
✮ pt 8 — sukuna’s noticeable bulge at the gym
✮ pt 9 — high stakes no nut november edition
✮ pt 10 — holiday special: grinch!kuna naughty or nice
✮ pt 11 — sukuna leaves his door open when you’re over
✮ pinterest board ✮ ask tag ✮ main masterlist ✮ ao3 ✮
[ INFO ] : the chapters are the actual series. it begins mid-spring semester JUNIOR year. the parts exist in the same story, but as stand alone canon oneshots and will not be mentioned in the chapters (like filler eps). they take place between sept-nov fall semester of their SENIOR year [parts and chps can be read separately]
THERE IS NO SERIES TAGLIST ✦ age should be visible on your blog tho (art: @/xhealer_ tt, dividers: @/lariesographic)
synopsis. the frat president is so much sweeter than you expected
contents. sfw! fluff + a smidge of angst. frat!jo x fem! reader. college au. satoru is sickeningly sweet. a little ooc maybe. cw. mentions of drinking + cheating ⇢ reader is freshly broken up with an unnamed ex. art creds: shesofyee on x ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
frat parties have never been your thing. you hate the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol that clings to the air, to your clothes, to your skin. you hate the way the music makes your ears ring. you hate the way you have to shout to be heard. you only came to this party because your now-ex-boyfriend had asked you to, promising it would be different this time. it wasn’t.
the fight was a blur of muffled words in the middle of the sea of people dancing and laughing, completely oblivious to the world crashing down around you.
he didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when you’d confronted him about his infidelity, he’d muttered something about it ‘not being a big deal’ and claimed you were overreacting — a casual dismissal of the time and effort you’d poured into him.
the cruelty of it all sent you stumbling through indifferent bodies until you found sanctuary in the quiet of the upstairs bathroom.
you’ve been crying for ten minutes straight. your makeup is a smudged, runny mess, and your face feels puffy and raw. you’re huddled on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn to your chest, head buried in your hands, when the doorknob rattles violently.
“go away,” you mumble to the door, the words muffled by your palms as you press your knuckles to your swollen eyes.
“c’mon dude, i gotta piss!” a voice slurs as the doorknob continues to shake, “you’ve been in there for-fucking-ever.”
“chill, there’s another one downstairs,” another voice cuts in, this one you recognize. it’s the frat president satoru gojo. you’ve seen him around campus, you’ve heard all the rumors. he’s exactly the kind of guy you avoid.
his words are followed by a disgruntled sigh and the sound of retreating footsteps.
you think you’re alone. you try to take a deep breath, a shuddering inhale that does little to calm the beating of your heart. you need to compose yourself enough to leave this disgusting bathroom and figure out how you’re getting back to your dorm. your ex is definitely not your ride anymore. your phone is dead, so no uber. and the thought of walking the mile and a half back to your dorm alone, in the dark, is terrifying.
your head snaps up as the lock clicks and the door swings open.
satoru is standing there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. he’s not wearing the obnoxious sunglasses you usually see perched on his nose, and his ridiculously blue eyes, the color of summer skies , are full of concern that seems so out of place on him.
“shit, sorry,” he says, his voice much softer than it was a second ago. “the lock on this door is whack. if you twist it enough it clicks open. i just wanted to uhh. . . you okay?”
you just stare at him, tears still trickling down your face. “i’m fine,” you lie
he doesn’t buy it for a second. he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, effectively blocking out the worst of the noise from the party below. he leans against the counter, giving you space.
“that was your boyfriend, right?” he asks, nodding vaguely toward the door. “. . . the guy you were yelling at earlier.”
“ex-boyfriend,” you correct, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin coming away wet and smudged with black.
“ahh shit," he says sympathetically. “that sucks.”
“yeah,” you sigh, another sob wracking your body, “it really, really sucks.”
“don’t waste your tears on him,” he frowns, brows furrowing. “he’s not worth a single one, ‘kay?”
you look down at your hands, twisting a loose thread on your jeans until it threatens to snap. the small, repetitive motion is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart again. “i don’t know what to do,” you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, “we came together and my phone’s dead and i just. . . i can’t be here anymore.”
he’s silent for a moment and you brace yourself for the ‘sounds like a you problem’, the kind of dismissal you’d expect from someone like him. instead, he shifts, pushing off the counter to stand before you.
“fair enough,” he says. “first, we’re getting you out of this gross bathroom. then we’re getting you home.”
your head snaps up. “but—”
“no cuts, no buts, no coconuts,” he cuts in, and despite everything, a watery snicker escapes you. “i’ve got you. i’m not letting you walk home alone this late. i’ve been drinking, so i can’t drive, but i can walk with you. it’s not a problem.”
satoru gojo — the guy who’s rumored to have a different girl in his bed every weekend — is the last person you’d expect to show you even a hint of kindness. you’re not even sure if he knows your name.
“are you serious?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper
“dead serious,” he holds out a hand. for a beat, you just stare at his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, then up at his face. he waits patiently until you finally place your hand in his.
he pulls you to your feet effortlessly. you sway a little, unsteady from the crying and the stuffy air of the bathroom, and his other hand comes up to steady you, hovering just above your elbow before dropping away,
a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you as you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror over the sink. it’s worse than you thought. your face is blotchy and swollen, your eyes are rimmed red, and your mascara has created smudgy, black circles under your eyes that make you look like a raccoon. you groan, turning away from your reflection and pressing your face into your hands.
“i look awful,” you murmur into your palms, the words muffled. “i can’t have anyone see me like this.”
“‘s nothing a little damage control can’t fix,” satoru says, turning toward the sink and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. he runs them under the faucet until they’re a damp clump. “it’s not the fancy skincare stuff you girls usually use,” he admits, holding up the damp wad of paper, “but it should work.”
he turns back to you, the wad of toilet paper balanced between his fingers. he takes a step closer, and you instinctively stiffen, your body tensing.
he moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. you don’t. his fingers gently cup your jaw to hold your head still. his touch is feather-light, his thumb rests softly on the curve of your cheekbone and it’s oddly comforting. your eyes flutter shut as he gently dabs at the mascara smudges under your eyes. he manages to wipe away the worst of the mess without being too rough
“there,” he hums softly, dropping the damp paper into the trash and letting his hand fall away. you immediately miss the warmth of it. “better?”
you open your eyes and risk a glance in the mirror. you still look like you’ve been crying, but you no longer look like a character from a tim burton movie.
“yeah,” you sigh, your voice barely audible. “better.”
“good,” a small, genuine smile finally graces his lips
“why are you being so nice to me?” you turn away from the mirror to look at him directly.
“i don’t like seeing pretty girls cry,”
the words hang in the air between you, “oh,” you murmur, because you can’t think of anything tangible to say.
he clears his throat, his easygoing smile sliding back into place. “c’mon, let’s get you out of here.” he holds out his hand again, and this time you don’t hesitate.
satoru keeps a firm hold on your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party. he uses his broad shoulders to part the crowd, people seem to naturally move aside for him. you keep your head down, focusing on the scuffed linoleum floor
just as you’re nearing the hallway that leads to the front door, a figure detaches itself from a group lounging on a nearby couch and blocks your path. it’s suguru geto, satoru’s other half, the vice president to his president. equally as infamous around campus.
“there you are, satoru,” suguru says, his eyes flicking from satoru to you, and then down to your intertwined hands. “toji and sukuna are talking mad shit again. come play beer pong with us.”
satoru doesn't even break stride, he keeps pulling you gently along. “maybe when i get back.”
“get back from where exactly?” suguru raises a brow, he glances at you again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his features as he tries to place you, and comes up empty.
satoru finally stops, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. he tilts his head in your direction. “walking her home.”
the shift in suguru’s expression is immediate. his lips part slightly, his eyes widening as the pieces fall into place. he opens his mouth to say something teasing that would make your face burn with embarrassment. but before he can get a single word out, satoru is already shaking his head. ‘don't.’
suguru’s mouth snaps shut. he narrows his amber eyes, looking between your tear-streaked face, your clasped hands, and the uncharacteristically serious look on his best friend’s face. a knowing grin spreads across his lips.
“right, right,” he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with a sweep of his arm. “you two have fun.”
as satoru pulls you past him, you catch suguru muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the loud music “about damn time, you idiot.”
you don’t understand the full weight of his words
you don’t know that satoru has pointed you out to suguru countless times before, wayyy back during orientation week when you were all freshmen trying to figure out where your classes were.
you don’t know that he calls you ‘the pretty girl with the sketchbook’ . you have no idea that for the past two years, satoru gojo has been nursing an unrequited crush on you — the girl who always seems to be in her own world, a world he desperately wants to be a part of.
all you know is that the campus player is currently leading you out into the cool night air, his hand warm and steady in yours. and for some reason, it feels right
you catch a glimpse of your ex laughing with his friends by the beer pong table, completely oblivious. he doesn’t even notice satoru pulling you through the doorway. it stings, but it’s duller now
cars are lined up haphazardly along the street outside the frat house. people are sitting on the hoods, vaping, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their geek bars. a few call out to satoru as you pass, but he barely acknowledges them. one of his ex-flings is glaring at you from the porch, whispering to her friends as she stares at your interlocked hands.
“which way?” he asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. he seems to realize he’s still holding your hand and lets go of it suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. you rub your arm nervously
you point to the left side of the street. “that way. it’s like, a twenty-minute walk on a good day.”
“cool,” he says, falling into step beside you. you walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant thump of the party fading behind you and the scuff of your shoes on the pavement. his eyes are fixed on you while yours are locked on the cracks in the sidewalk,
“so, what did he do?” he pipes up, then immediately seems to regret it. “actually nevermind i probably shouldn’t be asking that right now—”
“he’s been cheating on me,” you sigh, “he gave me his phone so i could text my roommate and i had a gut feeling so i went through it and—” your breath hitches
“oh fuck don’t cry again,” satoru frowns
“sorry it’s just . . . ”
“don’t apologize either,” he says, “none of this is your fault.”
“we were together for eight months,” you sigh, the admission feeling heavy in the cool night air. “i thought. . . i don’t know. i thought everything was good. i thought he loved me.”
“he’s an idiot,” satoru says, so matter-of-factly that it makes you believe him. “anyone who would cheat on you is either blind or just plain fucking stupid.”
“you’re just saying that to make me feel better.”
“nah i’m saying it ‘cause i mean it,” he shakes his head.
you don’t know what to say to that, so you just smile at him with your watery eyes and he swears he feels his knees buckle. even with puffy eyes and a quivering lip you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
he musters up a smile and looks away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. you keep walking. the cool early spring air caresses your cheeks, carrying the smell of petrichor from a recent rain shower. you don’t notice him staring at you, or the way his gaze softens as he watches the streetlights cast your face in a fluorescent hue
you frown down at your phone. it’s completely dead and he wishes he’d offered to charge it for you in his room at the frat house so he could’ve spent more time with you. he wants to spend more time with you. he knows he may never get the opportunity again.
he’s grinning like the cheshire cat when your stomach lets out a loud growl and you look positively mortified.
“you hungry?” he asks, as if the answer isn’t obvious.
“a little,” you nod meekly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. the crying and the vodka have made you feel hollow.
“me too,” he says. “there’s a konbini a couple minutes away, we can grab something to eat if you want.”
you end up stopping at the konbini. the store is a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the streets. you wander the aisles, your eyes landing on a shelf of instant ramen cups. nothing sounds better than a salty, savory meal
“ramen?” you ask, holding one up, “i get this brand a lot”
“you’ve got good taste” he says, grabbing one for himself. “i like this brand too”
you end up with a cup of spicy ramen, a strawberry milk, and a box of cookies n cream pocky. he grabs a bottle of water and pays for everything before you can even pull out your card, waving away your protests. he uses the hot water dispenser by the door to prepare your ramen, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush against yours.
you eat sitting on the curb outside the store, the steam warming your face. it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted.
“i feel bad for dragging you away from the party,” you say between slurps. “i’m sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.”
“nah, i don’t have one,” he shakes his head, taking a sip of his water. “not really my thing.” he regrets the words the second they fall from his lips.
“not your thing?” you raise a brow. “you’re notorious for having girlfriends.”
his eyes crinkle as he laughs, a genuine, bright sound. “i’ve never had one.”
you don’t seem convinced.
“i’ve had girl friends,” he says, “i don’t really do labels.”
stop. fucking. talking. he groans internally.
“someone’s got commitment issues.” you hum
for most people? yeah. the thought of a relationship with the girls he fools around with makes him break out in hives. but you? he would commit to you in a heartbeat. he’d do everything under the sun and then some if you asked him to.
a cold breeze picks up, rustling the plastic bag from the konbini, and you shiver.
“cold?” he asks, already shrugging out of his jacket before you can answer.
“no, i’m fine,” you lie, your teeth chattering slightly, betraying you.
he drapes his jacket—a black and crimson varsity jacket with the frat’s letters stitched on the chest—over your shoulders. it’s heavy and warm, and it smells like him, a clean, sharp mix of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla
“i don’t need it,” you protest, even as you snuggle deeper into it
“you do,” he says, his voice soft. “it’s cold out.”
you accept defeat, finishing your ramen with his crossing jacket around you.
the rest of the walk passes in comfortable silence. you don’t feel the need to fill it with small talk, and he doesn’t seem to either. it’s just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the hum of the city. his jacket is a heavy around your shoulders and you find yourself unconsciously pulling it tighter.
before you know it, you’re turning the corner onto your street. your dorm building is a few paces down, tired-looking brick walls and a flickering porch light that casts long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.
“i didn’t know you lived in the dorms,” he says, looking up at the building. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his thin t-shirt clinging to his frame in the cool air.
“mm my family lives a couple hours away, it’s convenient,” you mumble, suddenly feeling shy.
you trudge up the concrete steps together, the silence stretching between you. you fish around in your pocket for your keys, your fingers fumbling with the cold metal. you finally manage to get the key in the lock and push the heavy door open.
“well,” you start, shrugging out of his jacket. “thanks. for everything. really.” you hold it out to him. “i appreciate you walking me home. and paying for my ramen and stuff”
he looks at the jacket in your outstretched hand, then back at you. he doesn’t take it.
“keep it,” he says. what he doesn’t say is that it looks better on you than it ever will on him, the way the crimson fabric brings out your eyes, the way you seem to swim in it, small and delicate.
“what? no, i can’t. it’s your crossing jacket.” you feel heat rise to your cheeks. “isn’t this like, a huge deal for you frat boys?”
“yeah well. . .” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “i need a reason to see you again,” he says, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
you blink at him, completely taken aback. “oh. . right”
“yeah,” he says, rocking back on his heels. “get some sleep.” he gives you one last smile before turning and walking away. you watch him until he turns the corner, his silhouette disappearing into the night.
you stand there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on your arms, before you finally turn and head inside. you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, letting out a long, slow breath.
you shrug the jacket off your shoulders, intending to just drop it on a chair, but as you do, something slips from the inner pocket and flutters to the floor. it’s a small, crumpled piece of paper.
you bend down to pick it up, it’s the receipt from the konbini. you’re about to crumple it up and toss it towards the trash can, but you see the faint blue lines of ink on the back. in messy, scrawling handwriting is a phone number. and underneath it, a short message:
keep the jacket!!! text me if you wanna hang out some time - satoru :p
you stare at the note, a soft smile spreading across your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. satoru gojo is so , so much sweeter than you expected.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
꩜ – SATORU GOJO :: fratjo and his curated instagram profile!
part two! :: (18+) :: content – frat!gojo x fem!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, p in v, missionary, kind of exhibitionism (?), taking pictures
part one!
“why don’t you like posting me?”
you only asked this because you’ve noticed something about your now-boyfriend, frat!gojo’s, instagram profile.
he posts parties. posts him at the gym with his friends. fuck, he even posts himself at the library sometimes. but satoru just won’t post you.
you understood at first, sure; after the first night at his place, when you’d ended up dating, you’d quickly learned how prized of a possession that instagram account was to him. he loved making everything scenic, talked about story highlights and grid covers like they were meticulous, and would never post anything remotely uncharacteristic — not even for you.
it’s easy to understand when all you two do for the first few months is watch movies in his apartment (and have sex) and study together, because there’s hardly anything scenic about textbooks and spilled popcorn.
but then satoru starts going harder — he takes you out to fancy dinners, the kind with candlelight and dishes you can’t pronounce, takes you to the amusement park, takes you out to markets with cute little analog photobooth studios.
they’re the kind of dates that irritating couples would plaster all over their stories, rubbing it in the faces of anyone who’d care to click. in fact, they’re the kind of people you’d make fun of — that is, before you found yourself longing to be immortalized in satoru’s infamously curated instagram profile.
seriously.
all those dates, all that money your boyfriend spends on you, and you don’t even get a candid shot on his stories? preposterous.
“do I ruin your aesthetic?” you scoff at him one day while you two are attempting to have lunch together in his apartment, dropping your chopsticks onto the bowl dramatically. “are you ashamed of me?”
satoru’s eyes widen comically, pausing in between bites of noodles, before shaking his head profusely. “well, of course not? you’re gorgeous.”
“not gorgeous enough for your main account.”
“don’t be like that,” the white-haired man groans, pushing his glasses up into his hair with one hand while the other attempts to hold yours under the table, as if reminding you how sweet and perfect he is otherwise would get him out of this mess. and satoru just frowns as you tug your hand away, shaking his head and trying to meet your defiant gaze. “it’s not that i don’t want to. i mean, i kind of don’t want to, but it’s not what you’re thinking—”
you gasp. it’s an outrage. “you don’t want to?”
he clicks his tongue. “baby, that’s not what i—”
“you take so many photos of me,” the inside of your cheek catches between your teeth, head turning up like a child refusing to eat their vegetables. “i know you do. on my phone, too. and you have so many good ones to choose from, so i wonder why the furthest I’ll ever make it is the dump account—”
“i don’t post you there either.” satoru mumbles under his breath.
“— see what i mean?” a huff escapes your lips. your eyes narrow, head finally snapping back to your sorry-ass boyfriend, who’s taken to tilting his head at you, eyeing you with some amalgamation of frustration and glimmering amusement. you ignore it for the greater good. “do you want more pictures? is that what you want?”
“i just don’t—”
you click your tongue, raising a finger as if you already knew what he was going to say (and what you think he’s going to say is actually the farthest from it, but whatever). “save it. i’m not holding a conversation with you until you post me.”
satoru tilts his head.
blinks once. and has the audacity to blink twice before realizing that once you’ve turned your nose up at him, it was going to be absolutely impossible to get you to change your mind. he sees that — and doesn’t believe it.
“just eat your noodles,” the white-haired man shakes his lead, a tiny laugh falling from his lips.
“you’d miss me too much.”
clearly, satoru’s severely underestimated your willpower. clearly, he doesn’t believe in your ability to extend the silent treatment. because two weeks into this stupid argument (if you could even call it that), satoru’s exhausted every trick in the book, all for your conversations to still look like this from the past few days:
satoru: babe
babyyy
satoru: i bought sushi
salmon nigiri and the entire set
the entire menu actually
ifff someone wants to come over ;)
satoru: HELP BABY im drowning
tjeres no lifeguard need u to saveme
HRLPPP IM GOIGNUNDERR
satoru: nvm im safe dw :(
satoru: if i call will u pick up
satoru: [1 missed video call]
you: [5 attachments]
first two for story, last three for post
satoru: COME ON
for you, it’s absolute war — you haven’t been over to satoru’s frat house nor any of his apartments in weeks, and despite the loss of free meals and good sex, you still feel like you have something to prove. for god’s sake, you’ve sent him nearly a hundred bombshell photos of yourself to your own boyfriend in the past two weeks, and he still hasn’t worshipped you on his precious fucking main account?
does he really want to do this or not?
however, satoru’s fed up and most definitely not backing down; he fucking misses you. misses how his laundry would go missing because you liked his so-called nerd hoodies better than he did. his closet is just too full and too organized. his bedsheets are way too made. he’ll go days without having anyone push his glasses up for him and be brought close to tears.
besides, satoru’s come to get you pretty well, and between you and your feud with his instagram profile, there’s a chance he might get you to relent if he cuts you a good enough deal.
so, surely enough, all it really takes?
satoru: photoshoot. come over now
best 3 pics get storied
you’re at your boyfriend’s door within minutes.
and you’ve come with what you think is an aura of menace: you’ve worn something hot, something blue, something aesthetically pleasing that would shine like diamonds on a social media feed, makeup done to the actual gods. it’s so overdone that there was no way you wouldn’t be in control here.
until satoru leads you to his bedroom and locks the door. until he eyes you once — twice — and sweetly asks you to get on the bed.
⭑.ᐟ
for a while, you think you’ve been duped.
it’s only a matter of minutes until the frat boy has your back pressed up against his pillows, tangled up in his bedsheets with your legs wrapped around his waist as he eases his huge cock into you. your eyes screw shut, lips parting open, all swollen and split-slicked, the perfect picture to encapsulate the sinful sounds radiating throughout his bedroom.
and satoru drinks in your expression with a low groan, teeth scraping at your jawline as he presses himself down into your chest, letting your entrance adjust to that big stretch.
“that’s it — hah, fuck, so tight — baby,” satoru gasps out into your skin. “keep making those pretty little faces for me, okay?”
your voice is a whimper, eyes all hazy as he rolls his hips into you as if claiming your insides. “ngh, satoru,”
“shit.” he laughs hoarsely, eyes darting from your bruised and bitten lips, the red and purple blooming across your neck, the way your mouth parted all glossy with both of your saliva — how you scrunched your gorgeous little nose up with every brush of his leaking tip against your cervix. “god, you’re gorgeous. wanna show off — fuck — for everyone, huh?”
it goes in one ear and out the other, your mind instead choosing to focus on digging your nails into his back tighter, hips chasing his fat cock, lifting off of the bed as if chasing the friction of him dragging against your sensitive inner walls.
satoru just chuckles, no stranger to the way you clench deliciously around him, making sure you’re soaking his dick and absolutely drunk on it.
“that’s okay, gorgeous,” the frat boy whispers, letting out a rough exhale as he uses one hand to pin your arm to the pillows and steady his thrusts. “just be nice and pretty for me.”
and then satoru pulls out, so cruelly that it has you whining, as if he’s savoring the way his tip teases every single nerve ending inside you. you’re pawing at his back as if it’ll bring him back.
“mnh,” you hum, dazed as you attempt to glare at him — although it doesn’t really do much when satoru just laughs, a little further away for a second before his weight rests back on top of you.
“yes?”
“satoru— ngh!”
you see stars when your boyfriend just coos, right before pounding back into you so deep that your thighs shake, eyes rolling back in your head, jaw falling slack. drool pools at the corner of your kiss-bitten lips, your hand gripping his skin so tight it may scar. and you’re so fucking cockdrunk that you don’t see it coming when he just—
click!
his phone camera.
“wha— hah— huh?”
you’re caught between a cry and a confused little hum, and you have half a mind to chew your pretty (stupid) boyfriend out for clicking his tongue, ignoring your confusion to snap his hips into you harder, as if bruising your cervix and making you scream would do anything. then he’s cupping your face, squishing your cheeks, and posing you for another picture.
click!
“hah,” he grits out, eyes darker now as he fucks back into you faster, just to watch your lips go wet. “my little model. wanted — shit! — this so bad, didn’t you? want me to show everyone how perfect you are?”
“satoru—”
“you even sound pretty,” you don’t even realize how reverent his voice sounds, hips erratic as satoru sinks into you with something reckless, as if trying to claim something without even realizing it. and all you can do is keen, head nestled against the pillows, hands just as claiming on his skin as he lets you scratch him up. he chuckles into your ear, making you shiver. “should i take a video too? voice note?”
“satoru,” you blink up at him almost tearily and feel the way his hips jerk. “fuck — just— just keep going, please,”
god, you look pretty, you sound pretty, you beg pretty.
you’re telling him to keep going as if he would ever stop.
click!
“so sweet,” satoru mumbles, phone pressing against your neck as he stumbles forward and shoves his tongue past your lips to taste that voice of yours in your filthy throat. “can’t let anyone else see this — hah. too good for my stories.”
you barely hear it, but that lovesick tone has you gushing around his cock. the filthy slap of skin has your entire body hot, flames in your fingertips as they leave his back and find his chest.
“yeah?” is all you manage to gasp out in response before he groans and plants those glossed lips back onto yours.
“yeah.” he mumbles hotly into your mouth. “your pictures are — ngh — all fucking mine, baby.”
satoru’s thrusts turn almost desperate, thick cock twitching inside you erratically with each delectable thrust, with each kiss of his fat tip deep inside of you. and when he prods at your g-spot, your body lights on fire, back arching into his chest, lodging his tongue deeper into your throat and making you scream.
“fuck!” you cry out, drool all messy against his lips as he laughs against you. “satoru, shit, right there—”
he clicks his tongue, the next thrust so close, but just not deep enough. “right where?”
you’re on the edge. your stomach is tight, skin hot, eyes almost bleary enough that you get desperate enough to beg. to babble out his name. you’re half-dumb on satoru’s giant cock, and he’s still deciding to be an asshole.
you suck up your pride and exhale, that breath so sweet it makes something hitch in satoru’s throat.
“more, please,” you whisper against his lips. “need it. need you.”
he just grins, just as drunk on you as you are on him. “say that again?”
“please.” you cry out this time, fingers skimming his neck, trailing across, worshipping his skin, mapping out where you’d press your lips and leave marks on him. blinking up at satoru, your thighs shake around where he’s gone slower, shallowly pushing into you, leaving your aching pussy half-clenching around nothing and waiting for him. “please, i need more, just fuck me properly, satoru—”
click!
“that one’s just for me.” satoru murmurs. “just like seeing you beg.”
at this rate, they’re all just for him.
but he’s picking up the pace now, punching the air out of you as he suddenly slams himself all the way in, prodding at your g-spot so perfectly at every single thrust. satoru sucks on your bottom lip, pulling at it with his teeth just to hear you whine for him, his own breaths turning ragged with the way your cunt wraps around him like a vice.
deftly, his fingertips trail low, pace never faltering, before those same fingertips tease at your nipple, pressing a thumb against your tit, making your skin prick and your stomach tighten.
you’re overwhelmed with the pleasure coming from all ends, your moans almost symphonic, little broken off breaths of satoru’s name. “ah— hah, satoru, so—”
“so fucking perfect,” satoru rasps against your neck, mouth latching onto your jawline. “no one else gets this.”
“mmh!” your voice is a filthy gasp as he pinches your nipple.
“no one gets — fuck, too tight — to see you like this,” the white-haired man worships against your jawline, mouthing little bruises into your skin. “no one else gets to see you cum.”
his thrusts are erratic now, frantically chasing the high both of you were inching towards. “satoru, please, so close — ngh—”
“yeah?” he pants out, pressing the cold metal of the phone tighter against your neck as he slams his hips into you over and over again, determined to make you cream on his cock. “go on, pretty girl. use me.”
“shit, baby — please, it’s so—” you’re nearly crying now, and satoru lifts his thumb to smear the drool across the corners of your lips before slamming his mouth down onto yours. and he’s hungry, gasping and groaning into your throat, letting you swallow him whole. and your boyfriend’s ripping at the seams, desperate to fill you up, to feel you cum, to fuck you dumb until you’re all his.
satoru whines now as you clench tighter around his dick with every rapid thrust. “fuck. love you so much, you’re so pretty, shit—”
the words have you crying out, stars behind your eyes as you gush on his cock, soaking him all the way. and at the same time, he buries himself deep into your messy cunt and cums, white-hot seed spilling against your cervix, filling every inch of you, leaking out of your sensitive hole. it’s smearing all across your pussy lips, marking you and leaving you glistening with him.
it’s filthy, the mess of hot gasps and saliva between your lips and the lingering smell of sex in the air as satoru’s head falls forward against your shoulder for a moment.
you’re basking in the bliss, hair splayed out across a sea of silk pillowcase, eyes half-lidded and cloudy with the haze of your orgasm, lips parted and inhaling slowly, attempting to catch your breath. there’s a slight sheen of sweat beading across your skin, casting something almost ethereal across your face.
it’s tranquil, for something after sex. quiet. and almost—
click!
perfect.
your eyes narrow, blinking away the fog as you glance up at your boyfriend, whose gaze is trained on the mess of slick where his dick is buried inside you as if mesmerized, and who’s just snapped a picture of you in your post-fuck reverie.
“you’re —” a small exhale passes your lips. “are you actually posting those?”
a pause.
satoru’s lips slowly upturn into a lazy grin.
he ends up posting nearly ten stories for his newest highlight that day — nine are public, just old photos from old dates, which you’d picked out yourself. he’d taken you on a picnic and snapped a candid of you while you were unpacking the food, a few photobooth strips of you two, a few selfies of his lips pressed to your cheek.
no one bats an eye.
the last one – his favorite – is on satoru’s close friends.
because it's just for him, really. zoomed in, parted lips, bleary eyes, a flash of bare skin, and the sound of you cumming that only he will ever hear when he sees it.
♡ Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesn’t even know it.
♡ tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mama’s boy, reader works at a flower shop
➢ synopsis: when your daughter starts kindergarten at the quirky all-girls school across town, you form an alliance with the only other solo parent in her class: hot single dad miya osamu. what ensues is a year's worth of chaos — and a love you didn't think you deserved.
➢ what to expect: friends-to-lovers, slice of life, found family, tooth-rotting fluff, occasional angst, mentions of absent parents, any 18+ nsfw content will be tagged!
➢ how to read: each installment stands on its own, but there's an ongoing story that unfolds if you read it chronologically!
➢ listen while you read: ufo, better than, worth it
➢ status: in progress!
1. lunch boxes
➢ when you get a call from your daughter's teacher that a classmate ate her lunch, you're determined to give the parents a piece of your mind — only to meet hot single dad miya osamu instead.
2. bake sale
➢ at your first pta meeting of the school year, osamu ropes you into running the fall bake sale with him.
3. on the house
➢ osamu treats you to lunch at onigiri miya — and grows determined to change your half-hearted relationship with food.
4. bug fair
➢ osamu finds out about his daughter's school project the night before it's due. in a rare moment of panic, he calls you for backup.
5. pick-up lines
➢ you meet osamu's twin in the pick-up line of your daughter's school.
6. stage fright
➢ osamu comforts your daughter before her first music recital of the school year.
7. the fiancé
➢ your ex-fiancé comes into town with a favor to ask. meanwhile, osamu struggles to keep his own feelings in check.
8. field trip
➢ osamu notices you're having an off day and wants nothing more than to comfort you. the only problem? you're both chaperoning the kindergarten field trip.
9. tooth fairy
➢ when osamu tells his five-year-old daughter that the tooth fairy isn't real, he, you, and atsumu team up to do damage control.
...stay tuned for more!
please note: there is no taglist for this series! i wish i had time to maintain one, but alas, adulting is hard. feel free to turn on post notifications for my blog instead!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚ a pledge to keep series masterlist ˚ ༘ 🍼𖦹⋆｡˚
summary: getting knocked up by your older brother’s fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.
pairing: frat!kuna x reader
content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more
dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by @xxlorinmower
chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!
chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks
chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents
series oneshots/drabbles:
1. stinky feet bandit ❀ 2. late night feeds ❀ 3. daddy's little poop monster ❀ 4. baby carrier experiment ❀ 5. yuji loves his baby cousin
In which you’re Sukuna’s neighbor who has been watching over Yuji for him when he’s busy, but he still is rude !
You’ve been living in that old shitty building for a while now, it was nothing fancy really, just a big building, 12 floors, four apartments each floor in the middle of town,
You’ve been living here over two years now, balancing between your personal life and your job at the pharmacy cross the street, those walls saw you crying, laughing, in love, heartbroken…
You didn’t really have time to get to know your other neighbors, and it wasn’t like you’ll find anyone your age in that building, it was full of families and old folks.
But there was that neighbor next door, he lived with his nephew, it was them against the world.
You didn’t know why the little boy lived with his uncle instead of his parents, nor what was his uncle’s job
You just sometimes watched over the little boy, Yuji while his uncle wasn’t there
And that sometimes after his day at school he’d come to your pharmacy stay with you until Sukuna came to pick him up.
You didn’t mind, the kid was an angel, but his uncle wasn’t really civil.
