Daydreamer

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“Fuck-” Geto sighs between his clenched teeth, one hand gripping onto his scribbled sheets. The other runs through his hair until it’s all unruly. A few bystanders swoon- it almost makes him feel better. 

He’s pacing through the corridors of campus, solely because his bandmates had banned him from pacing inside the practice room. Long legs taking about five normal steps a stride, he absentmindedly nods at all the starstruck passerbys, the fans. 

Being in the midst of writing a new song usually does get him this way - for about a day. Two days. Maximum. 

But it’s been weeks and he hasn’t been able to jot even a single verse down, hasn’t scrambled together anything for the upcoming gig. Gojo said it was alright - that they could scrounge up something off the old EP - but Geto knew it rested on him, as lead guitarist, and vocalist. 

Imagine, an opening act with no fresh songs. 

If only he could just write—but what about? Heartbreak? Love? He’d rather write about Yaga.

“Fuck!” He spits again- just in time with your very own startled profanity. A pretty voice. 

A cute bump! before the two of you stumble backwards, colliding into each other. A plumage of papers burst into the air, and start showering the smooth tile below. Geto’s down at the mess and internally groaning; all those half-written, mostly-crossed songs mixed in with what looked like your lecture notes. Perfect.

Without looking up, he’s bending down to rifle through them, when-

“Oh, you’re in a band?”

“Yes?” Geto snaps his head up, somewhat shocked that you’re speaking to him, even though he knows he shouldn’t be. And then Geto Suguru - campus heartthrob, gets a laundry list of numbers after every concert, the untouchable - catches a glimpse of you and just…stares.

With his raven brows slightly raised, and the shapely curve of his mouth parting. Ever-so-slightly. 

“Hi.”

You have to fight back a smile, “Hi.” Was that seriously the red tint of a blush crawling across his handsome cheekbones?

Oh, he can’t stop staring.

It’s long enough that you’re clearing your throat, dropping your gaze as you pick up your own papers. “I should have probably started off with that. Sorry I uh- I just see you’ve been writing songs.”

“Trying to,” he huffs. Half-joking. 

And then the intricate metal of his ring brushes your own fingertips as you hand him one of his sheets; less song lyrics and more ugly caricatures of Nanami. He lingers the touch. It’s electric. 

It makes the forefront of his fingers twitch. Almost jolt. And they itch towards you as if trying to prolong the skin-to-skin contact, as if trying to hold onto a pen. 

It suddenly hits Geto - he needs to write. 

“Hey uh- do you have a- thank you.” His voice trails off as you catch his drift and quickly hand him a pen, Geto then rapidfire scrawls down a few words. Phrases. Not even entire sentences, just an explosion of feelings that pulsed like the thumping of his own heart. 

And then someone calls out his name - perhaps in greeting, perhaps in a yell to move off of the middle of the hallway - and his hand stops writing. Fuck- what was that? He looks at you again, and hands you back the pen, “I promise I’m not usually this unsmooth.” Holding out his hand for a handshake, your palm fits in his and he hears nothing but melodies in his head. “The name’s Geto, Geto Suguru. But you can call me Suguru, all my friends do. I’m in the band ‘Sorcerers.’”

You’re introducing yourself with your own name and he almost has the urge to write that down, too. Humming, “It’s alright, band stuff, I assume?”

“Band stuff.” You were walking with him now, side-by-side.

“Keyboard?”

“Guitar.” It made sense - the tattoos that crept all over his strong, beefy arms, those twinkling piercings. What didn’t make sense was just why he felt the need to show it all off for you; like the minutes before a big concert, his fingers trembled. But he grins, and it’s something devilish. “And vocals.”

Walking backwards now so that your gorgeous, gorgeous face can face him. You slow down your walk and he’s realizing that you’ve arrived at your class. 

He’s realizing that he just might not see you again.

And he wanted to see more of you.

A lot more of you. 

A few of your classmates throw the two of you looks as they pass, walking inside the class. Geto was a bit of a campus legend; and for as popular as he was, seeing him talk to someone outside of his band - especially during his song-writing blues - was rare. Exceptionally rare. 

So he bites the inside of his cheek, “Actually…you think you’d wanna see it in person sometime? Like—tonight?”

“Oh?”

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“Man, a grown-ass man should not be giggling like that.”

“I would hate to remind you that you do nothing but giggle.”

“I’m just special like that, Nanamin~” Gojo winks at the blond-haired drummer, who makes to throw down his drumsticks before paying attention to the concert setlist instead. Anything but him.

Unfortunately, Gojo does not have that willpower and was entirely too invested in whatever had his best friend acting like a middle-schooler with a crush. Bright-eyed. Flush-faced. Glued to his phone since before rehearsal started. Skipping around the corners of the practise room—skipping, he swears.

He throws a wadded up ball of paper - yet another one of Geto’s failed lyrical attempts - at the back of his head. It hits. And he doesn’t even notice. 

Shoko herself looks up from her phone, “But in all honesty, what is up with you today?” 

“Did a new type of guitar drop or—” Gojo grumbles from his other guitar station, looking above the metal rim of his glasses. Yes, the ones he wore indoors. 

Geto pulls himself away from his glaring screen with a low, mindless, “Huh?”

“For fuck’s sake what’s got you so-”

“Hi, sorry- I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Just then, you walk in. Door opening; there’s no way you could’ve gotten in without invitation. And there’s no way you weren’t invited by Geto.

Because, immediately, your eyes meet his deep, amethyst ones. Like two ships at sail, you’re beaming a smile at all of them - but the brightest one for him. Going to stand at his side as he plunges his phone back in his trousers. And then he gets it.

Oh, they get it.

Nanami blinks.

Haibara waves.

Shoko takes a picture (with flash, of course.)

Gojo whistles.

And then Gojo promptly gets smacked upside the head - by two different hands, two different people. Geto makes a note of wiping off his palm before introducing the rotation of amateur musicians and visitors to each other. 

“Now what she’s really here for isn’t your dumbasses.” He’s rolling his eyes, pulling on the lightning purple guitar of his. “It’s for the music-” He tilts his head with a smile, “-and me.”

You were here for a few demonstrations, after bumping into Geto and exchanging numbers - to which they gladly pump out the best of their best for a pretty girl. Hell, Geto thinks he even sees Nanami and Shoko putting in a lil’ extra effort, and can’t help but strum even louder. 

Letting the electric twang of his guitar take over.

It still rings in the air after they finish a runthrough of their first three songs. And you’re clapping fervently by the end of it. 

“That was amazing.”

“Why thank you, sweetheart-”

“Why thank you, gorgeous.” Geto quickly takes over, silently glaring at Gojo to leave. He gets the message - albeit reluctantly, and soon enough is being dragged by Nanami, Haibara, and Shoko out for some fresh air and a brief break outside the room.

Leaving the two of you alone.

“So…”

“So.” Geto’s scratching behind his neck, where there was a massive inky tattoo of a dragon. Snaking. Fuck- when has he ever had this much trouble talking to…well, anyone, really?

And he’s clearing his throat, not letting the silence drag out for much longer before the thick fabric of his guitar strap loops over your own neck. Safely swaddled. You’re looking up at him with such adorable confusion as he snickers, “Wanna learn how to play?”

“Hell yeah.” And before long your fingers are twisting over a few chords - tangling. He’s attempting to teach you about the G chord and the E major, and you’re attempting not to fall to your knees. 

After a few unsuccessful tries, he’s catching onto your desperation and gesturing for you to sit on the carpeted floor. Perhaps to teach you hands-on, perhaps to make you relax- but whatever it was, you certainly didn’t expect him to sidle up behind you.

For his toned pecs to press up against your shoulders, you could hear Geto’s gravelly breath graze the shell of your ear. He leans over, his lengthy hair tickling your neck. “Like…” Much larger hands covering yours, “-this.”

And then he’s just so gentle.

You’re not sure what exactly you expected, but he holds your hands in his like glass. Oh-so-softly helping your fingerpads prick at the strings of his guitar, “S’easier this way.”

“Yeah–” you’re breathing out, practically in his lap with the way that his long legs were curling underneath yours, nowhere to go. And his tone core presses against your back, weight leaning slightly on you so that he can see what you do. 

You don’t know what you’re doing.

You grin once your hapless chords actually start to formulate into something that sounds like it’s part of a song. Something slow. Almost sensual. “It’s beautiful- what song is this, I don’t think it’s one you played?”

“Because it’s not.” He’s purring from behind, piercing catching the light as he grins. “You really like it~?”

Something was dripping darkness in his voice, and your breath catches. “Y-yes.” He was taking over completely. Guiding your hands with his experienced ones, they slide looooong and slow down the neck of the guitar. 

From the back of Geto’s throat, he’s murmuring a barely-audible few words. “Come and get it now. Come and get it now.” Lowered eyes gliding in a feline manner to you, “Baby show me what you’re doing- hm.”

You snap out of your little bubble as he stops abruptly.

Looking somewhat sheepish, “It’s a work in progress.”

“I think it might be my favorite already.” You admit. And you don’t know whether it’s your imagination - you don’t know whether you’re projecting - but you could’ve sworn that his heat does a thunderous ba-dump–! from where his chest was plastered to your body from behind. 

You’re yelping, jostled as he pulls you in even closer. “That so? Maybe you can help me write it then?”

“Me?” You balk, “How-”

The plump end of his lips curl, sinfully. It was almost unfair how he could look so attractive without even trying- “Just by sitting there. Just by being here. It helps.”

“By being here with you?”

“Being here with me.” Confirming. And by the way he was gazing upon you through his peripheral vision, fingerpads still tracing your digits, your knuckles, even though you weren’t playing anything. “S’that a problem?”

You find it hard to swallow. “Not at all.”

Close.

You two were too close.

And that wouldn’t have been a problem if you were moving away—but the fact of the matter is that you were moving closer. Your lashes flutter, and his own dilated pupils alternate in a triangle between your right eye, your left eye, your mouth.

Closer.

Until-

“I’m coming in and you two better not be fucking in there- ouch! What was that for Nanamin?”

“You’re a bad wingman, Gojo-senpai.”

“Sorry, Haibara.”

Before the Sorcerers can bustle their way through those soundproof walls once more, you’re hastily scrambling off of Geto’s lap. For now.

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“I heard you’ve tamed the cult leader of Tokyo Tech-”

“The who?” You squint at Utahime, trying to figure out whether she was simply trying to raise your blood pressure so early in the morning. No. She was dead serious.

“No need to hide it, Shoko already told me everything. So- about the cult leader of Tokyo Tech?” she repeats, as if that was enough. And when you look dangerously close to an aneurysm, she’s sighing. “Geto Suguru? Tall, tattoos, piercings, dark hair, devastatingly hot- you know who I’m talking about, I can see you fantasizing about him already.”

“I’m not fantasizing.” You’re insisting, though it sounds as if you’ve been caught. Any louder and Yaga would give up on glaring at the two of you, and instead send you out of the lecture completely. Only just started, but already the gossip was hot in class. 

You just couldn’t believe it was about you and him.

With your pitch slightly back to normal, you try to sound as civilized as possible as you say, “I am not fantasizing. Nor will I ever.”

Utahime puts her face in her open hand and shakes her head, “Right. Nor will you ever. So that means you completely, totally wouldn’t fantasize about him walking into this class right now and sweeping you off of your feet?”

Well, you had to admit that class was getting a bit droning…but you had to stick to your claim. It was the principle of it. “Correct.”

“And so that means you completely, totally wouldn’t care about the fact that he just did walk into this class?”

“Corre- what?” Your desk rattles, just a little bit, as you turn your body around to face the entrance. And you find that Utahime hadn’t been lying: not the part about him coming to class, or the part about him being ‘devastatingly hot’ from prior.

He saunters in with such confidence, Yaga himself doesn’t point out that he’s just about fifteen minutes late. And he stands at the foot of the lecture hall, eyes scanning the seat and- you don’t think you’ve moved faster in your life than at that very moment. You’re throwing both yours and Utahime’s bags onto the floor from where they’d been placed on the empty seat beside you.

Ignoring her half-hearted ‘hey!’ you let Geto spot you. Like his eyes were drawn to you. 

It’s then that you’re noticing he’s wearing glasses. You think he should wear them more often.

And he’s gladly taking the seat, his dark, skin-tight arm-cut pressing against your side. “Thanks, gorgeous.” Noticing all the stares, perhaps even a few whispers that erupt. He leans in real close to mutter in your ear, “They’re just jealous.”

Somewhere in the distance, you think you hear your friend gag. After some brief introductions, you ponder, “I didn’t know you were in this class.”

“Never attended.” He slumps in his chair, making himself look almost too lanky for it, almost too big. In front of you, you think you see Yaga’s bushy brows raise at the interaction - and the fact that Geto Suguru was actually here. “Yaga doesn’t count it. Only reason I’m topping the class—” He smiles, showing off his lip piercing. And if you didn’t know any better, you swear you could see that he had a tongue piercing, as well. “-second place.”

“Braggart.”

“Sore loser.”

“Nerd.”

“That I am,” he chuckles. Geto shuffles through his backpack, patch-worked with various pins and decorations of bands—you think you can make out Green Day, Nirvana, The Garden, and a few more that he’s more than happy to show off. 

What he pulls out isn’t his laptop, or a textbook of any kind - it’s his lyrics notebook. And he spreads it open between the two of you, to a page with a few half-written verses. 

Met each other just the other day.

But you got me feeling some type of way.

And then past an empty space where you assume he wanted to add in some more:

I wanna hear you…

I wanna see you…

With your own pencil, you’re making a few tweaks. You finish off that second-last sentence that he seemed to be stuck on—I wanna hear you confess. 

Geto’s pearly white teeth sink into his bottom lip, and he toys with the chunky rings on his fingers for a few seconds. You’re unsure if that meant he was hesitating. If that meant he was thinking. Considering.

Before he leans over and finishes the other line—I wanna see you undress now.

Something zips down your spine, your thighs clench- and you find that he follows them with his own. Bumping his knee against yours. And you push right back against his, following the quiet scritch-scratch of his graphite starting to jot down a few more lyrics.

You got me down on my knees.

It’s getting harder to breathe out.

You always did seem to pull that out of him.

Utahime pinches you as the two of you continue, whispering in your ear so that only you could hear. “What was that about not fantasizing?”

“Shut up.”

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A party.

An open bar. 

And the thrumming music.

But you and Geto weren’t anywhere near the dance floor, or the lengthy drinks table, or where the couples sneak off to make out- actually, scratch that. Because you two might just be occupying a lil’ alcove in Gojo and Geto’s penthouse apartment.

With the heady college party raging around you two - one that the band had been the one to invite you to - somehow, you’d found yourself with him. Shoulders against shoulders. Skin against skin. Your hands brushing against his when you pick up the pen from his hands–

“Oh, I like this one better than the last-” You circle the lyric that he’d just jotted down, with a few notes of your own that he always loved to read. Something about ‘churning his gears’, whatever that meant. He was almost done with the song now, it seemed. 

“Mmm, that’s what I was thinking.” He hums, thoughtfully, dark bangs falling across his face. It was no wonder that half the party was split between waltzing past the alcove merely to get a glimpse of him.

And the other half was on the other side of the penthouse, out of pure shyness. 

The thick pads of his fingers scratch out some more writing on his notepad, messy and masculine. His rings glint as he’s scrawling, “If I can figure…it out. I’d take you…back to my house and—” He halts, unsure how the rest of that sentence would go. With his tongue still rolling on those words, he’s glancing at you sidelong.

As you tilt your head in confusion, he’s smirking. “No, s’just funny. You’re already in my house.”

“Mhm, and what are you suggesting?” You raise a brow.

“Ohhh, nothing. Just the song.” And he raises one right back, teasingly. His cherry-vodka laced breath wafting across your features, “And what are you suggesting, gorgeous?”

“Nothing, just the song.”

“Are you sure?” He’s tilting his head down at you, even in the cramped space he somehow seemed to tower over you with his hulking frame. Sheer size. And his deltoid pushes against the side of your body, “You’re awfully close, y’know?” The way that he was leaning even closer. 

And you can only sputter at his audacity- “Are you sure?”

“Oi! You two—” Gojo Satoru always did seem to have a penchant for interruptions. You don’t know if you’re maddened by it or grateful- the air was thick, and you couldn’t seem to breathe as well as you might have. 

Directly in front of you, from the other side of the room right opposite, Gojo’s waving his hand frantically. His booming voice echoing all across the house, “Stop flirtin’ in there and take a shot!”

Oh, you could imagine the rumors that were taking root already.

Geto flips him off. With a deadpan expression that told his best friend that he’d be staying here with his work (and you, mostly just for you), thank you very much.

Gojo trills, “We’re doing body shots~”

“Let’s go, gorgeous.” Instantly, he looks at you.

“Wha- huh?” You don’t know whether you’ve sustained whiplash by how fast he’s changed his mind, or by how fast he’s moving. With his fingers smoothly replacing the pen in your hands with his own set of digits—big n’ warm.

Geto holds both his lyrical notebook and you as close as possible as he’s meandering through the party. Through the slightly taken-aback gasps, the flirtatious waves, and the grinding bodies. 

Gojo looks smugly accomplished by the time you’re making it through the whirlwind party in the middle to reach their table of alcohol. There’s a small group forming now already, cheering on the reunion of the main duo. 

Geto looks at him, and there’s a small flicker of understanding that passes. Invisible but existing.

“You two go first-” The white-haired man then thrusts one full shot glass of tequila into Geto’s hands- then immediately grabs ahold of you and cricks your head side to tap out a line of salt down the column of your throat. A wedge of lime between your teeth, pulp side out. Without any adhesive surface, it was messy, scattering nearly up to your jawline. It tingles on your skin once you realize just what was about to happen.

As Geto’s mouth tightens at Gojo’s rough handling of you, the other finishes off. “-I’ve gotta find Nanamin first so he can do one with me.”

Shoko groans. “You’re a lightweight.”

“Exactly.”

“Kento ran out of the building I believe, senpai.” Haibara beams.

And as Gojo whines his protests, Geto can only shake his head- partially because of his band’s antics, partially to clear his fuzzy brain because of you.

You. You. You.

Oh, what gave you the right to present that sensual neck up at him like that? Your teeth worrying your lower lip as if you were nervous. He catches the way your gaze slightly tracks towards the cat-calling crowd, and one roughened hand of his cups your cheek.

Tilting your face ever-so-carefully to look at him instead of the audience.

His pinkish tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he leans in close- as if he was going to whisper something. As if he was going to kiss you.

Before Geto immediately downs the acrid liquid in the glass, barely even reacting. Barely even finishing his swallow before his long, flexible tongue glides up the salt lining your throat. And then where he didn’t hesitate before, didn’t even slow down: he takes a look at the sour lime between your lips and grins.

Slowly, agonizingly.

He’s moving his greedy maw forwards, the plump edges of his mouth hovering above your own. You feel the pressure on the lime as he lightly sucks—and as your knees weaken, he’s easily taking it into his own mouth.

With just the lightest graze of his lips on your lips.

An indirect kiss? A direct kiss? You didn’t even know at this point.

Geto stares at you through his wispy bangs, dead-straight in your widened eyes when he sucks on the lime. Easily ridding it of all juice, he takes it out. 

Then, like a gentleman, the fat crown of his thumb wipes away the stray salt that dusts your jawline. Somewhere near the edge of your lips that you’re sure wasn’t coated in salt at all. But you weren’t complaining.

Your ears were ringing, and only too late do you realize that the half-drunk students around you were in uproar. Gasping. Fanning. Staring. 

Gojo himself gapes slightly speechless. 

“Meddle about.”

“What?” You startle, it had been thick silence in your little bubble until now–like an extension of the alcove. But Geto was the first to break it.

He’s smiling down at you like he knew something you didn’t, then taps the song notebook in your hands- when did it even get in your hands? “If I could figure it out-” Smoky breaths, like he’d just run a marathon. Pants. Heaves. His eyes draaaag down your body, that special outfit you’d put on just for the party. “-I’d take you back to my house, so we can meddle about.”

Oh.

Oh.

It takes you far too long to recognize he’s talking about the song. The song.

Even if he’s looking at you in a way that shows otherwise.

“Just get a room- honestly-” Gojo whines, but then promptly turns to Shoko. “Tell me you got that on camera- please tell me you got that on camera.”

“I did.”

It was palpable. To just about everyone in the room—including a gruff Nanami Kento who walks back in after a few urgent calls from Haibara, then immediately blanches as he looks around the room. At the two of you.

He turns to run.

And as the three others turn to run as well (towards Nanami, in order to catch him), you turn to Geto- only to find that he’s already looking at you. He takes a long lick of his lower lip, lapping up the remnants of liquor. Something glinting in his dark eyes, as if he was trying to figure something out.

Something.

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“Hey, let me try something.”

It was the day of their concert, just before. And you’re looking on in slight confusion as Geto taps away the last few notes of his rehearsal, in the green room. The other quartet had slipped out for last-minute drinks beforehand, it was a somewhat dingy hole-in-the-wall bar, but Geto had told you that the music here was legendary.

You trusted him. So you don’t question it either when he’s dragging you by the hand to sit upon one of the big, boxy speakers they kept in the corner of the room.

Making sure the cable connection with his electric guitar was alright- before he strums.

You gasp—the vibrations were tingling all the way at the tip of your feet, and up to the very crown of your scalp. And everywhere in-between. Especially between your legs.

You gape, and Geto snickers like he knew exactly what you were thinking. He hums, low in the aftermath of the guitar screech. “Pretty nice, huh? D’you wanna sit on one of those while we play up there?”

“A-are you sure?” Could you even handle that?

“Mhm. And I think it’ll help to have you so close, too- when we play our new song.” He’s helping you hop off the speaker and stand on your slightly wobbly legs. Arm still helping support you as you teeter your way towards the green room sofa. 

It was covered in a blanket of parchment. Sheet music, papers, lyrics.

As you silently look through all the different versions of that song he’d been writing, Geto sits beside you. Arms against arms. Thighs against thighs. Bodies against bodies. Shuffling through all these papers, it almost reminds you of the day you met.

“So many rewrites,” you giggle. Looking through all the infinite crosses and scratches on the papers as he wrote, and rewrote, and rewrote. All day and all night, it seemed. And yet he’s found that everything, words especially, just seem to flow easier around you.

“I wrote it for you.” His dark lashes lower, confessing. “They’re all for you.”

Your heart races- a part of you expected it. A part of you still can’t believe it. “You did?”

“Yeah.” He turns to face you, properly, now. With his predatory gaze making a beeline for your mouth, “S’that a problem?”

“Yeah.” You swallow, “And I like it.”

And then your back’s splayed out across the couch, draped all over Geto’s toned front. He’s got one of his knees wedged between your thighs, and you’re yelping at the sudden movement.

You were just so cute- he’d barely even done anything, and yet you were starting to drench those poor panties of yours already. If he grinded his knee any harder, then he’s sure he’d have a splotchy dark spot that all the audiences would see once he’s up on that stage.

But right now, he didn’t care.

Not at all.

One tattooed hand of his pins down two of yours somewhere by the armrest of the couch.

And your cunt twitches when his face starts looming closer. The shimmering tip of his tongue toying with his lip piercing for a few seconds. Eyes partly-closed to watch you through his lashes, and his mouth greedy to taste yours. He throatily whispers, “I think I just finished the entire song right now, gorgeous.”

Like this, you’re raising your head to meet Geto halfway with a whine. Fluttering your gaze shut as you ready yourself to kiss him—

“Hey, d’you wanna shot before we head ou- ohohoh?!”

“Oh.”

“Congratulations, Geto senpai!”

Nanami leaves, the only one out of the four that seemed to have some inkling of respect for your privacy. Though, to be fair, this was the common green room. And as you try your very best to block out Gojo’s screeches, and Shoko’s constantly shuttering camera, Geto dips down. 

Not to kiss you - not right now - but rather, to whisper in your ear. “After the show, m’gonna take you back to my house so we could meddle about.”

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After that, it wasn’t just meddling about. 

Hell, after that, the two of you didn’t even make it to his damn penthouse. 

The minute the concert was over to roaring cheers and quite a few bras thrown on-stage- Geto’s meaningful eyes had locked straight with yours. Seated upon the speaker, and dripping wet from what he could tell from your face. 

He doesn’t think he even debriefed with the band or said his goodbyes. 

Just a hand on your wrist, the other on your waist. Attached meanly so that he can give the side of your ass a good smack- Geto’s pushing you into the back of his 2018 jet-black Dodge Demon, parked outside the dingy bar. Thank fuck he didn’t decide to take the bike today.

Slamming you into the leather backseats, pinning your hips down.

You’re fucking them back into him already, just as he cups your drivelling pussy through your panties. Whining, “P-please, Suguru. Don’t tease.”

“Fuck-” He’s hissing, taking his hand off of your cute cunt as if it burned. And it did - not to have you in his mouth and around his fingers, that is. First, he’s letting his dark leather jacket drop to the floor, right along with his undershirt. 

And you take the time to admire how sexy he was.

From the detailed tattoos that trickled down his neck, to the dragon on his back, to the side of his hip that was decorated with one of a sting-ray. Right on his v-line. 

Then he’s moving to take off his fat, silver rings—but you stop him right there. And the look on your face must say enough for you, because just then you’re seeing his features split with such a brilliant smile. Oh, he knew what you wanted. Geto huskily spits, “Alright then, naughty girl. So take it.”

You’re letting off a sudden yelp once he plunges his cold, ringed fingers between your spit-slicked lips. 

He’s swabbin’ them all around like an animal, letting your maw suck on him like your favorite lolly. And, fuck, he can’t lie- watching you drool and whine around him like this might just be the hottest thing he’s ever seen. 

With two glittering rivers of spit dripping down either side of your mouth, you’re moaning once you catch sight of his hand snaking down to his pants. “Mmm, gorgeous, I wanna make you sing.” With only one hand, he’s undoing his chunky belt and the rest of his buttons. 

He looks you right in the eyes - not even the slightest bit shy - as he pushes down his dark pants so that you can see the bulging outline of Geto’s erection through his boxers. Rock-hard. 

And just as you gasp—his fingers reel back from your slobbery mouth, and slightly teases down your slit. You gush with the drag of his thick thumb, all around him till his wrist was all wet with sweet syrup. 

You hold onto his flexing shoulders, “O-oh.” Your hips rutting directly into his hands. 

“Oh- oh, gorgeous.” Geto doesn’t even want to speak too loud, not when your pussy was echoing out the most lewd squelches. “She’s reeeeeally happy to see me, huh? Haven’t had a warm welcome this nice since- ever.” His fingers swirl ‘round your tight hole and watches as you just keep on pushing out wave upon wave of your juices. Swirl upon swirl.

Until his digits were just so glazed in all your cream that he couldn’t help but carnally yearn for a little taste. Just a little - you can’t blame him.

Glistening rivulets of slick travel down his pale forearm as he lifts his hand up- you were just that wet for him. And then Geto sucks—then his eyes widen. Then he pants. Then he almost flinches at just how cloyingly good you tasted on his savoring tongue.

Looking you right in your eyes, Geto licks up every last drop from his fingers. And he gusts out the most primal slurps as he does so. 

“Oh, gorgeous,” he’s repeating, like before. But there was something different this time. Something faintly…wrecked. As the last few dollops of slick disappear down his throat, he groans. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, “Oh, fuck- that’s not enough.”

It all happens at once. All of a sudden, he’s on his knees on the floor of the backseat. Knees digging into the carpet below, your upper half being more or less propped up on the cushion. 

It’s giving you whiplash how fast it happens, and you’re staring at Geto in slight shock at his strength. To which he catches your cute, bulged gaze and answers, “M’not playing around anymore, gorgeous.”

Skirt, panties—everything is torn off of you with only one of his hands. That lacy lil’ underwear of yours in particular catching his interest. He makes sure to put it in his back pocket - then turns on the backseat light. Uncaring, because his windows were tinted pitch black.

Right now he just smears apart your pussylips with his two thumbs. He’s never seen a prettier fuckin’ sight; how glittering and wet you were, with your folds so swollen that it looked like you were pouting up at him.

Geto plants one sweet lil’ peck right in the middle of your cunt and lingers, just smelling the sugary whiff of your body wash. And that primal scent of your pussy—

“Mmm, y’know what they say about guitarists?” He’s murmuring wetly, right against your sex so that you’ll squirm all cutely. 

“Wh-what?” You puff out, a heady breath.

He doesn’t answer- that’s because your wettened pussy is answering for you. With a great, upheaving squeeeeelch he’s sinking inside his lengthy tongue. Past your folds n’ all the way to spearhead into your gooey insides. Muffled, “That.”

It’s barely even registering in your mind, because then Geto’s thrusting his ridged tastebuds in n’ out like he’s gone insane.

In and out, in and out.

With such vulgarity, he’s pressing himself nose-deep against your cunt and breathing you in. Letting the sharp edge of his nose just press on your clit, Geto’s jaw works overtime to prod his bludgeoning tongue. 

Slapping against the roof of your pussy, he’s prolonging his muscle into spots you didn’t even know you had. “Oh my n-ngh, fuck!” And so thick, just stretching out your damp hole until you see white.

You gurgle on your own spittle at the sloppy drags of his tastebuds, and pathetically attempt to push back on his clammy scalp. “W-wait, I can feel a- ngh, don’t tell me you really have a…”

“Have a what, gorgeous?” Just to tease you, Geto jerks his head back- letting his tongue flop out of your pussy for just a second. And you’re missing his size inside you, but most of all you’re awestruck by the cold metal piercing right in the middle of his pink tongue.

And he was proudly stuffing it straightly back into your entrance, this time spitting. He smears the line of saliva that glues to your sultry folds, “A piercing- yeah. S’that a problem?”

“N-no…” Your head starts to drop backwards at the sudden usage of his piercing now. You could feel that circular orb poke into your soft innards, like a cold finger almost. You’ve never felt anything like this. “I like it- oh! I like it, I really do—”

“Mhm, glad we cleared that up, baby.” Geto purrs, and he lightly smacks the front of your pussy in adoration. Watching as specks of pearly slick spurt all over his hand, “Now, how about this?”

Before you know it, he’s squeezing in the crowned tip of his finger past your hole - two of them, in fact. And your elastic entrance stretches with the most rawly wet noises, ones that he leans his ear closer to hear even better. Even louder.

Geto snickers meanly once one of his rings catch on your snug hole, and you flinch. “There we go-” He eases them in with repeated pumps, “Theeere we go. Hah, told you I wanted to make this pretty lady sing.”

“Fuh-fuuuuck, I can’t help it, ngh.” Your entire body breaks out in trembles, and the bottom one of your lips starts wobbling.

Oh, he could write songs- fuck that, he could write an entire album about you at this very moment.

But right now, he had more important things to do. Namely: you. And Geto plucks apart your sticky folds to take a good, long look at your cunt swallowin’ in his fingers. Push after push. Probe after probe.

The knobbly, scouring ends of his fingers delve in deep and send you spiralling. “You don’t need to mmm, help it, gorgeous.” He’s continuing where your conversation had trailed off. “You just need to…”

And he’s gulping wet wads of saliva that just slide down his throat. 

His thick Adam’s apple bobbing, Geto’s flaring his nostrils- making sure to focus his entire aim on exactly hitting that one spot he knew you’d love. That one spot he’s thrusting in with a rough jackhammer and pushing—“-to project.”

And you were projecting that pretty voice alright.

You’re screaming almost feverishly at the sensation of him scraping your inner lining, your walls cling onto him maddeningly. Gobbling him up as he hits your g-spot at a frenzied pace - once, twice, thrice. 

“Please-” Babbling out stupidly, tears cascade down your cheeks when he manages to shove your wet orifice apart. You’re drip-drip-driiiiping gummy wetness once he pushes in a second fat fingertip, the globular edge of his swipin’ each nook n’ cranny of your cunt. “Please please please- I need ngh-”

“Yeahhh, who do you need, gorgeous?”

“Y-you…”

Geto cups his ear with a mocking smile, and he’s crushing your throbbing clit between his front teeth. Just gnawing. “Mhmmm—?”

“You-” You’re sobbing out - squealing. Your back hits the seat of the cushion as you slump over, and he’s forced to push down on your stomach with one hand just to stop you from rovering about. Pinning you down.

“Babyyyy, you know I love to hear your- hah, voice.” He’s drawling out, and his words were just as sloppy as his mouth. Just salivating all over. “I have a feeling you can be louder though.”

“Sugu-”

“Louder~”

Putting all the pressure on your lower body when he sliiiiides every inch of his long, knobbly fingertips inside. The doughy pads of them push into your g-spot just right, until you felt all battered n’ bruised by him. “Please- you- ngh, you, Suguru.”

“There- what did I tell you. Fuck, I wish I could h-have this on speaker.” Groaning. Panting. “Yeahhhh, you like that, huh? Want my tongue, t-too? Oh.”

But then you’re clasping his sweaty forehead and shoving him down between your legs. Where his curving tongue was sloppily zig-zagging all over, and you’re trilling. “K-keep going, mmm.” Cock twitching. Rutting so hard that his damned muscle car jostles.

He couldn’t even catch his breath - and he didn’t want to. “Well, I hafta make it up to my muse in some way, yeah?”

His tongue is so expert, too. You’re easily getting louder - even more than you first thought possible. Partly because of the way his pierced tongue was resting on your overstimulated nub. Flicking your ruddied clit until it felt all raw, again n’ again—you were so far gone by this point that Geto can feel each pulse of your hot core on his mouth.

And he counts it - one, two, three, four. Like the beat of his favorite melody- fuuuuck, he was so pussydrunk right now that he might just memorize it and write it as the next beat of his song. 

“Y-you’d- hck! what?” You’re hiccuping in pure disbelief, unsure if those words had actually (accidentally) fallen from Geto’s mouth, or if he was makin’ out with your cunt so good that you were hearing things. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“Exactly what I jus’ said.”

And Geto isn’t, either. 

Of course, he was bound to be fucking stupid on the sultry taste of your pussy. Especially when you were streaming out wet ribbons of slick with each rovering push of his fingers. 

He vulgarly wets his lips a lil’ in the liquid leaking out, and then promptly plops his open mouth over your sopping hole. Geto had lapped up all the slick stuck to your folds, your thighs, your clit - now the one place left was inside. 

And he was still hungry.

His pierced lip draaaaagging over your quivering orifice, Geto starts to push his tongue in eagerly. Uncaring for the way he was already barreling his fingers inside. Uncaring of the absolutely incredible stretch that was making your back arch. 

N’ he’s so dexterous. Alternating between wet whacks! at the front channel of your walls, and then licking over your clit. He was plastered to your pussy in a way that felt maddening- “Sh-shit, I don’t think m’gonna last, Sugu—”

“Sugu, huh?” He raises a neat brow at the nickname, “I like that.”

And if it was possible, his narrowed strikes are accelerating. More honed, more precise to your g-spot, it’s like a cute lil’ bullseye that he can’t stop hitting. All because it makes you shake and whine like that. 

“Mmm, yeah, just like that. C’mon, gorgeous girl- come and get it-” Geto gruffs now, the back of his throat all hoarse. His baritone voice was on the verge of breaking at this point. “Ride my mouth, would you?”

You’re whimpering, because Geto’s then opening his pretty mouth even wider for you to ride him - but you’re so weak. 

Your limp knees struggling to keep on rutting- only for Geto to then shift a free hand underneath you. 

Feeling all his firm biceps n’ muscles bulge as he keeps you up, just so strong- fuck, was it all those guitar sessions? He gurgles out, “Upsy daisy. Lemme help you cum, baby.” Dragging; he’s just moving you like a ragdoll, push and pull of his slippery tongue. 

Just babbling nonsensical syllables. 

And he’s gluing his upper lip to your clit, to your folds, to your weepy hole. Everywhere and anywhere that you’ll be feeling the most pleasure, then he’s twirlin’ the pointed tip of his tongue inside like he’s reaching for your g-spot with that.

Like he’s fucking you with his cock. Craving to. 

Again and again, it makes you squirm.

Your syrupy goodness starts to drip down his forearm at the sheer pressure, showing him that you’re close. And with each bash of his three fingertip circumferences, Geto grunts. “Lemme help you- let me- ngh, you have to cum, okay? Cum alllll over my tongue.”

“Yes-” Being moved. And soon enough, with a few more vicious thwacks! your mouth hangs open in a silent scream. “S-Sugu, I’m…”

It’s the only thing you’re able to intone at the moment. The only thing that you can even think of - your heavy orgasm. You’re being manhandled, with your hips gyrated onto his face through every burst of pleasure. 

Somehow, you start to wonder whether he doesn’t need to breathe.

And he’s the one who doesn’t care about it. Doesn’t even care if he suffocates just as long as his mouth can remain plastered onto your pussy. Eating you out till he’s feeling dizzy.

And you? You’re seeing white, before it’s a kaleidoscope of color because of the tears.

You hiccup, your chin dropping down to your chest to stare at him through comically swirling pupils. Practically heart-eyes at this point. “Ngh, it feels so g-good, Sugu-” Your thighs start to twitch, feeling his orbed piercing spank down on your clit. Your very own tastebuds water at the stinging euphoria, the way he was scraping your innards. “M’so sensitive.”

“Mhm, and you’re not tapping out now,” he’s challenging. Looking up at you through shaggy bangs, Geto grins around your thoroughly puffy folds. “Because my throat is parched after the concert.”

You squeeze, so hard that he can feel his rings pushin’ against your sultry walls. Oh, he won’t be giving up so easily.

And by the time that Geto’s popping himself off of your treacly cunt - with a wet noise, with a few more kisses to your silvery slope, with a final bite on your clit - you’re run rightly ragged. You can barely even speak, occasionally tremoring at the shockwaves still bubbling through your veins. 

“P-please—” You’re running your fingers tenderly through his dark locks, pushing them away from his face. And luckily for you, what a sight it was. 

Because Geto’s high cheekbones were just cherry red in color from all the blushing and lack of air. From the way he was so pussydrunk on your cunt that it was starting to make him look oh-so-ruined. Eyelids heavy. Lips swollen. 

He had a sheen of your slick splashed from his pointed chin, all the way up his cheeks. His jawline. And his lengthy tongue pops out once more to stretch n’ lick up those clingy wads. Making sure you see.

Bit by bit, your mouth grows more agape. “Please, I wan’ your cock now, Sugu…” And you wanted it badly - that glimpse from before was enough to get you all antsy on his seat.

Slowly, sensually, Geto reaches out his fat thumb - the one from his left hand, that wasn’t covered in your shiny juices - and wipes off the slobber trickling from one end of your mouth. Putting it in his own maw, he sucks it up like he sucks up the slick all over his other set of digits. 

“Anything you say, my muse.”

He sounded husky, even more so than after the concert.

And you barely even have the time to touch whatever was left of the rest of your clothes - before Geto gently repositions your hands away and onto hold his slim waist. He undresses you himself, as if he was opening up a cute lil’ present.

Then he’s patting a thumb down onto the hem of his boxers, where black curls of his happy trail rested. Teasing. 

“Don’t tease.” You have half the mind to take them off yourself. Before Geto finally puts you out of your needy misery, and rids himself of those boxers.

And you were right - his bulging dick-print was huge, but the real thing was even more massive. 

And hard. Rock-fucking-hard. Geto’s plump, puckered cockhead was a bright red that looked angry, and he was flushed all the way down to his heavy balls. All twitchin’ and tight at the thought of being inside you. 

Hell, you swear you could even count the mere throbs of his veins, so far-gone that they seemed to make his decorated cock twitch in midair. But what you were gazing at the most wasn’t all of that - even though it did catch your eye - it was the small, circular piercing that rested underneath the slit of his tip. A Prince Albert’s piercing. 

Geto’s feeling the intensity of your stare and and leaks out a wad of buttery precum, a few droplets of it making it down his shaft. He wipes away the rest of it with the front pad of his thumb, and then pushes it between your gawking lips. “Shut that hah, pretty mouth, gorgeous, don’t wanna catch flies.”

You moan at the slightly salty taste, and it only makes your cunt grow even wetter. Only made you lean in even closer without even realizing - and Geto lets it happen.

He lets your pouty mouth slip all the way across his furiously weeping tip, pressing just one wet kiss in hello before a hand at your throat wrenches you away. “Don’t even worry about it, baby—” He uses his chokehold on you to lift you up.

To flip you around and then smack the side of your asscheeks. You were on all fours now, with him pressing his muscular weight into your arched spine.

Geto gutturally groans out in your ear, “Tonight’s—” And you feel something poke at your entrance. You feel something hard. “-allll about you.”

He rests a hand on the side of your hips, attaching, and then uses the force to drag you back into him. All filling up your gooey orifices with his erection, he’s squeezing himself inside like he’s gone feral. 

Oh, he’s squeezing himself inside like he’s trying to make you feral.

That flared, mushroomy tip of his pryin’ apart your sticky walls, Geto uses his honed shaft to push n’ push n’ push. Too big to completely bottom out for now, but still making your mind spin with rapid, hard half-thrusts. You whine, “Oh- oh!” Voice reaching a fever point. “Please, a-all the way in, Sugu.”

“Mmm, want it all the way ngh, in, huh?” Doing the exact opposite, Geto then slows. He then stops. His cute, orbed piercing rubbin’ the roof of your cunt frigidly back and forth. Ever-so-slightly. Teasingly. 

It’s only once you start huffing and puffing in disappointment that he’s chuckling, thinking that delirious expression was just too adorable on you. And in a low bass, Geto purrs out. “Come and get it now.”

“You’re not seriously–”

“I am, show me how you do it-” His hand on your throat twists your face backwards - all tear-stained and fighting the urge to let your eyes roll to the back of your scalp. The moment he catches sight of your face properly, you feel his blistering hot cock twitch inside you. “-fuck, turn around.”

And he was urging you to fuck your hips back into his. Goading you into it, practically.

Firstly, you start off with a few tentative bounces. Just gyrating your hips, almost shy of his size. “L-like this?”

“Nuh uh, baby.” He’s tutting from behind, other hand scraping down your tummy. He wants to feel himself as he sinks in. “You n’ I both know that you can do muuuch better than that.” And even though he wasn’t moving, his cock seemed to be growing even bigger. Swelling. Elongating.

One of his curly veins rub up near your g-spot and you trill, “But you’re just so…”

“So?”

The most shallow, wet grinds. Not enough to take him entirely, not enough to satiate you. “Big.” 

And then you’re blessed - well, more like punished - with a semi-rut, swabbin’ his thickened tip even deeper. You can’t help but squeeze your plush walls around him, expecting more. “Wan’ it that bad?” Swatting your ass, the force is enough that your flesh jiggles and he grins. “Take it, then. M’all yours.”

So you’re raising your ass up even higher, arms wobbling limply in front of you. You use up all the energy left in your shattered body to perk your waist up just a bit, then slam down the rest of Geto’s length. Hitting his hard v-lines. Bottoming-out. 

Taking him all the way from the fat, split-ended tip- down, down, dooooown till his hairs tickle your slope.

Geto raises a brow at the way you’re mewling uncontrollably by taking all of him, then his right hand starts to push n’ pull you with the restraint at your neck. “S’it that big? Hah- ya like it thaaaat much, gorgeous?”

“Yes- oh, f-feels so good having you like this.” You moan, every time he was elongating his words, Geto made sure to glide the cold metal of his piercing down your spongy cervix. “Fuck, can barely even ngh! take it.”

And you have the feeling that if he could reach even further than that, then he would in a heartbeat.

“But you are.”

Before you know it, a wet splat! of something strikes your cunt folds. You’re turning your head over your shoulder to find out that it was Geto spitting on your already-dripping pussy, an invisible string of it still connecting his mouth to your entrance. 

“Because m’proud of you, my muse.” He drawls out, and he sounds drunk. Geto swerves around the tip of his thumb all over your pussylips, just like he was stirrin’ around his cock by now. 

Circle after circle. Prodding into hidden spots you didn’t even realize were there- he then catches the slightly pouty curve of your mouth and coos. “Awww, what’s the matter, baby- fuck.” In response you only clamp down on him, the textured ridges of his shaft so sensational that it leaves your mouth ajar. His lip curls, “Oh, I get it.”

“H-huh?”

Just then he leans over, and it leaves his curvaceous tip poking in even deeper. Melting his sweaty abs on top to the back of your spine, Geto purses his lips and spits. Straight into your mouth, then he smiles all handsomely like he’d just done you a favor.

You look at him with bulging eyes. He’d read your mind. 

“Fuck, you’re getting even w-wetter.” He’s sputtering out- fucking up into you. Chasing your pussy. Every hard thrust of his left you shoved forwards a few inches, and Geto’s reeling you back in just so he won’t lose you.

Just so the feeling of your pulsing, velvety walls won’t be lost- soon enough, he’s wrapping his beefy left hand over your neck to hold you in a headlock. “Gonna hafta give me a show- we can do that, ngh, can’t we, gorgeous? Gonna drive me wiiiild w-with that pussy, huh?”

“O-oh my god-” you’re blabbering out. A sparkly sheen of saliva forming down his forearm, trickling from the front of your mouth. “I think you’re doing the- driving wild- oh.”

You could barely even string together the sentences.

Your entire body twitches at the sudden change in angle; with him bent over and leaning his weight into you like this, you felt like you were being crushed in the best ways. Geto’s constant pummeling reaches deep into the back spots of your cervix, leaving a cute lil’ bruise of his circumference. 

He kisses the side of your head sloppily- and you’re realizing that Geto had forgotten to take off one of his silver chains. Or maybe he didn’t want to. Because there was just the rhythmic, cold bang-bang-bang of his jewellery that was greeting the back of your neck in time with his furious ruts. 

All the way from his hard, globular tip n’ dooooown to where his shaft was the thickest. His drilling pace left your plush insides being all straightened out on his length. His girth. 

Just fucking you like an animal.

You can feel your head start to slowly tip forwards, too heavy and filled with cotton. But Geto would never let you get off that easy, “Hey, hey—look at me.” Pulling you back in with his headlock.

Geto’s tone was firm, he meant it. 

You struggle to blink your lids open properly, all sticky with the residue of your tears. Yet once you look at him, you can still make out the sultry twinkle in his eyes. 

He lifts his right hand up to your bleary line of vision, “You see this?” And you have to take a few seconds to note that he’s talking about that tattoo that slithers across his entire arm - a snake. With its fanged maw wide open where his thumb separated from the rest of his fingers, “Mmm, nice, huh?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod.

That’s when you register what’s happening - the snake. With its mouth wiiiide open, creeps down to your pussy, and he’s cupping your delicate folds. Almost as if to swallow. As if to strike. 

Geto’s pounding you into the expensive backseat of his car like he’s devouring you. Pinpointing each n’ every leaking crevice with his buttery precum, letting the mound of his palm slide back and forth down your slit. 

You gush out a wet splatter! of syrup straight into his palm and he grins, “Really- oh, ya really are drivin’ me wild, baby. Look into my eyes now.”

He wanted to stare away into your beautiful, stupidly dilated eyes as he mazes his entire length inside you. The forefront of his piercing acting like a searchlight, you can feel the exact moment that Geto smears apart your walls n’ precisely bashes your g-spot.

“S-so unfair that you have a- hck!” You can’t even finish your sentence. You’re choking on so many whines n’ copious amounts of drool that wash down the front of your chin like a fountain. 

Geto himself finds it adorable how you’re cockdrunk already. And it almost feels like that night at the party when he leans in, parched tongue licking up your web of drool - why waste it? “I don’t hear her complaining.”

“M-maybe she is-” You insist back stubbornly, just for something to say.

And at that very moment, one of Geto’s long fingers extends so that he can drag them down the dribbling crevice of your pussy. The edge of his middle finger slide-slide-slides between your slit with the loudest, most primal slurp. “Mmm, I don’t think she is. Not when she’s- ngh, singing f’me.”

His words are enough to make your eardrums pop at the filth - but then again, so is the way he was driving his hips into you. Repeatedly, like a train. And so was the way the crowned tip of his ringed fingers start rolling over your clit.

You prattle out, just when he uses his large index to draw a heart on the very tip-top button of your nub. Just the pressure felt too good. “S-sooooo cocky–”

“Damn right n’ you’re full of it- literally.” 

Perhaps it was the way he said it - reminding you of the thick, solid inches that were filling you up - or perhaps it was his newly-drawn patterns on your clit, but you’re growing even wetter. Dripping in thick, glittering wads of slick that trickle down Geto’s own legs.

Feeling the sloppy wetness, he’s looking down- and then immediately grinning to himself. He whispers, “Wonder if I can…”

“What are you-”

“Shhh, told you tonight was all about- hah, fuuuuck- you, my muse.”

Oh, you don’t know how well that boded for your poor pussy. Or your walking abilities for at least the next week. 

In a mere few nanoseconds, Geto has his hips churning out an interesting angular cadence. Not only was he pumping his red, swollen cock into you- he was also shiftin’ his hips in grinding movements so that the edge of his Prince Albert’s piercing would swab its way ‘round and round.

Sticking his glazed tip into each spot, the icy circle of his piercing was just driving you wild. Making your toes curl and your feet anchor- almost in an effort to run–

“Ah ah-” Only for him to pull you back in with his constraining headlock, flexing so that his sexy biceps are squeezing your neck even tighter. “We’re getting- ngh, doooown and dirty, girl. Don’t run.” Then he’s repeating the scrape-scrape of his decorated crown down your walls, red n’ rude. 

“F-fuck, could you feel that, gorgeous?” Geto’s voice breaks at some point, after a particularly drawn-out drag of his rovering tip. And he has the audacity to giggle, “That one was a heart.”

Your eyes snap open, mouth plummeting out a low- “Oh, fuck.”

Because Geto wasn’t just fucking you with his pierced cockhead anymore; he was using that orb at the beginning of his slit to draw on you. Right at the very end of your sponged cervix, in ravenous strokes, he was buttering you up. Painting you.

Next, he glissades a swooping motion that makes his veins push up against your roof. Uttering a low hiss, “Mmm- my- hah, my name’s a bit harder…”

“L-let me help.”

And that makes Geto’s heart skip a beat.

He slides his hand up n’ down your slit, prodding at your clit lovingly. “O-of course, my muse.” Letting you push backwards in a figure-eight, until his dark happy trail was rubbing your ass cheeks raw. “Harder-” A vulgar spank to your ass. “Harder. Show me how you can d-do it.”

“M’going- ngh, fuck. Wan’ more, Suguru.”

Anything you say. Anything you do- fuck, he almost thinks he could cum right here, right now. That’s why he’s instead focusing his attention on manhandling your body back in ruts, to hit his massive girth with such rough recoil.

Again. And again. And again and again—

Until you’re feeling his pulsing mushroom tip glue up against your womb, carving along a whalloping bruise. And you swear - with whatever frenzied brain cells were left within your skull - it formulates the zig-zagging motion of an ‘S’

“And thaaaaat was my n-name.”

Maybe he got lucky. Maybe he was just that good.

Sobbing, “F-fuck!” You don’t get to find out whether he’s able to finish off the rest of his name - whether that was even possible - because immediately you’re bucking back n’ forth. “Oh my god- i-it’s almost- ngh, too much.” That lecherous action sending sparks of pleasure to your brain. Having him try n’ claim the very back spots of your pussy. Those hidden crevices. 

“Easy, eeeeasy there, baby. What did I say—don’t run.” Pulling you back with his headlock, “Don’t make me- ngh, choke you like that- gorgeous-” Even though he already was.

You’re getting easily dumbified as he repeats those movements a few more times. Needily moving faster to chase those sparks he’d erupted before, “Please- please want it- ngh, close-”

“Nice try.” Body so weak that he was the one predominantly in control now. He’s matching your pace- surpassing it, all with a thumb that tweaks your clit until you see white. That snake. Maw ajar. “But you’re the one that’s gonna, mmm, cum first.”

You whine. Geto was just so mean- was he always this mean? Because he surely was fucking you like it; now three different points of pleasure. From your throbbing clit, to your g-spot being massaged by his decorative veins, then that lewd lil’ pattern he drew at the back of your cervix. So much. Too much. 

You’re so close that you’re slobbering out in waves at this point, and he has his mouth slipped to the side to lick up any n’ every sap you were leaking. 

Pierced tongue slimily slithering allll the way down the side of your lips, you mewl. So filthy. “Fuck- y-you’re right-” His blushing red tip twitches at those words. “M’gonna- gonna…”

You can’t even finish your sentence. 

With a few more sinful strokes, you’re falling apart on his creamy cock. Letting the heatwave of your high take over you- you throw your head back, resting upon Geto’s collarbone, toes curled, mouth shrilling out his name. 

After each and every sloppy drag of his vein-covered cock, he was fucking you through your high so perfectly. The frigid tip of his piercing pushin’ into your g-spot, that makes you last even longer.

Even more. 

And Geto himself was just as drunk on your pussy- “F-fuck, m’gonna cum.” He moans, tonality hollow in a way that made him sound so wrecked. Just then, you’re feeling something warm and gooey fill up the nooks and crannies of your cunt.

Webbing you up from the inside. It sticks to you like a second skin and he’s overfilling you to the point where you can feel a sheen of white drip down the insides of your thighs. Gluing them together. “Shit- don’t even have enough, ngh, space.”

“Oh, you will.” Through labored pants, Geto looks down where you were taking him - and he doesn’t think he’s seen a more heavenly sight. With your damp folds glazed in ivory, glistening after each pump of his hips. It’s forming a ring around his bulky base, soaking his happy trail.

He smears the droplets of cum that are part of the spillage, layering them onto the padded top of his thumb. Then, immediately, you gasp as you feel the stretch of him pushing those knots back inside. “Listen to that-” The loudest wet noises. “Wonder if I’ll be able to hah- sing as good as that at my next concert, hm?”

“Shut up.”

Geto doesn’t stop just yet. 

Not until his ravaged, red cock feels raw—oversensitive. Not until he’s properly fucked you through the hazy peaks of your high and you’re left merely trembling. Not until he’s squirted every ounce of pure white cum inside you, n’ you can’t do anything but perk your hips up from the seat and take it. Take it. 

He has tears in his eyes by now. The rockstar pulls back his hand from your clit after you start wriggling with overstimulation. 

And then makes sure you watch - make sure you can see his looooong, pink tongue slither out to suck up every sullied dewdrop of slick and cum from his digits. From his rings. Lastly, he slaps his cleaned, moisturized fingers against your ass. Groping. 

“I could write albums about that, gorgeous.” You still haven’t gained the ability to speak since being completely dumbified. 

And Geto sets you free from that headlock, finally. You’re dropping to the plushness of his car seat like you’re boneless, barely even able to look up as he seethes. Through labored pants, he smiles, “So…still wanna go back to my house so we can meddle about?”

Not even pulling out of you yet.

He throbs from the inside. Plump n’ probing. Awaiting your answer- you start to wonder whether he’ll be able to write out the entirety of his name on your cervix.

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

It was no surprise that Meddle About topped the charts. All of them.

Someone had recorded it back at its debut concert, to which it had gone viral overnight. Then came the record deals, the studio sessions, and the official album launch (of which Geto claimed that all those love songs were about you.)

And it was also no surprise that that was what launched the Sorcerers from being a regionally famous band, frequenting the local bars and gigs, to being internationally-known. To touring all ‘round the world. 

But what did come as a slight surprise - a pleasant one - was when he’d asked you to join him.

Somehow, some part of you had imagined that once Geto got a taste of the high life, the fame, the music, the travel; that meant he’d simply indulge in it. Without you. Without even a thought of you - little did you know that you were all Geto Suguru could think about.

Seriously. It did endearingly irritate his bandmates. 

So when Geto asked you to join him, after some arrangements with your life back at home, you’d said yes. Of course.

And then there was another surprise. At the very first concert that you’d attended with him- and then for each one thereafter (it grew to be a little tradition, you see) there was this…

“And tonight- I have someone very special in the crowd for me- yes, Satoru, she’s here for me, not for you.” The crowd buzzes, peering over each other’s heads for a glimpse of another collaboration act, perhaps. Some even waited for one of the band members to stage dive. 

But what happens is that Geto Suguru - rockstar, worldwide heartthrob, lead guitarist of the Sorcerers - smiles. A slow, soft smile that they don’t think they’ve ever seen on him before, not this sort. 

And he’s pointing somewhere to the VIP seats, the closest ones at the very front row. Where there was you; you could feel the stares now. The whispers. The phones recording. Surely, this was about to end up on just about ten different social medias- just when you had gotten used to the campus teasing. This was about tens of thousands of more eyes. Honestly, having a rockstar boyfriend was not for the weak.

But he did make it so easy. So, so easy.

Geto continues on, a gentle chuckle leaving his mouth at the way you squirm under the spotlight. He says your name, “My muse, my lover. I love you. This one’s for you, just as they all are.” 

There’s a tumultuous wave of ‘aww’s’ that ring out, and screams, perhaps a few faints.

“Let’s meddle about, shall we?”

A/N. FHSJHKS I NEED HIM SOO BAD NGH-

Yes, already.

Because Toji Fushiguro never held back - he never ever hid that his exact goal in these lecherous sheets was to fuck you until you saw stars. 

Always ruthless whenever he’s kissing your spongy cervix with such copious French kisses of his fat, rotund head. Always swollen so thick, with probing little veins sprinting against every one of your tender spots. 

The stretch so maddening that it left a translucent trail of dribble spilling from the corners of your mouth. Puddling out with every pressurized pound to swirl wet splotches all over that magical spot until you were sure it was bruised and battered.  

Until you were sure you couldn’t even formulate the thought process let alone the words to vocalize that he’d utterly fucked you stupid in all but three minutes. 

“Heh- shiiiit-” You’re blinking away the glazed film of lust that’d taken over your eyes, just in time to catch the way that Toji peeks his willowy eyes down below. Letting out the sexiest low whistle at the mess he’s making, “Think s’ a new record. Now, where’d my ngh- mouthy girl go, huh?”

Roughened circles of his digits dig into your legs, tightening and tightening when - with a ragged grunt - Toji bends. He hunches his bulky body until you’re compressed in half, washboard abs melting into your front, your heels imprinting into his back - into the dirtiest mating press. Gruffing, “Have ya seen her?”

And you swear you catch the way that Toji’s fattened tip only stretched tautly wider, swabbing around your sloppy hole in a teasing circle. He’s buttering you up with numerous lecherous slurps until you were dripping. 

But he was so slow - so taunting. Sharp malachite eyes dazzling with sheer amusement when you’re raking frustrated red, red lines down his muscular back. Mumbling tearily, I-If you’re not gonna hngh- fuck me properly already then–”

“Mhm- ya really are fucked dumb already.”

Hah, as if he already needed to confirm.

Because of course he was waiting for just this exact moment. 

Flooding your honeyed lips with the prettiest broken whines when he’s plugging you mind-splittingly full. Rasping out a low fuck! at the gummy resistance, Toji’s vice-like restraint on your legs grow even sounder as he all but hauls you down every snug inch of his cock. 

So solidly and completely spearheading his upright curve into your molten walls, it’s like you were scorching all around him. Sucking him up for more more more-

“Heh, do ya even r-realize how much you’re ngh- milkin’ me?” He’s cooing, pumping you with grinding ram after ram that has your clit massaging against Toji’s tufted black happy trail. Scratching. Filthily. 

“T-Toji—” And it’s the only thing you can say - the only thing replaying in your mind again and again and- Your maw slacks so scandalously open when his gluttonous fat head sugarcoats your g-spot in a melty mess of precum. Sloshing and sheathing your rummaged insides in a sticky second layer. “There- more- more please- m-more-”

You didn’t even have to ask.

Because Toji’s second-ever weakness was having you completely cockdrunk and stupid on his swollen length - his first being, well, you in all your entirety - and his third? Making you even stupider. 

Breath hitching, he’s angling his toned hips just right to brush up recoiling pecks on your precious spots exactly the way you like it. Making the splintering bedframe creak and whine almost as much as you. 

Eyes lounging lazily to the back of your head, your tongue lolls out with every dredge of creamy pre making it’s home near your g-spot. “Ngh- yeah- m-m…” Couldn’t even speak.

With a hoarse belt of chuckles, Toji’s free hand pokes your fuzzily cotton-filled head. “Oiiii- d’ya even hngh- have anythin’ else in yer cockdrunk mind? Ya always get so ah- greedy when yer like this, hm?” Those very same fingerpads hovering over your buttony clit, he’s giving you a sudden pinch. “Especially…her.”

Oh, that did it - just as Toji knew it would. 

Because you’re giving such a gluey squeeze of your adhesive-like walls around Toji’s throbbing shaft - making his chest stutter with a condensed heave, mouth lathering in a fresh batch of saliva that coats his sinful scar, and his brain short-circuiting just enough to feel the way you cum.

And not just any old orgasm - Toji’s spitting out a sharp few slews of profanity when he feels his hefty base soak in shiny, vicious waves of your slick. Blinking his dazed eyes down at his glistening abs - his pecs - to titter at how drenched he was. 

How you’d squirted until his weepy cock was dripping with every ounce of sopping wet juices. That blankly loving filter in your stare that made him wonder if you even realized how hard you’d squirted - or whether you realized that you did at all. 

You looked so tempting that he really, really can’t help but drag a thick thumb around your saturated pussy lips, drawing little hearts round and round where you were still bulging with all his bloated inches. 

“Awwww– already?” Toji’s hips were still so mean, panted out through each scouring jackhammer of his cock. He’s drenching little puddles on his digit, slipping it into his mouth with a greedy pop! And- shit, maybe he’s the one fucked stupid now. “How sweet. S-sooo generous this pretty pussy is.”

Because in a split-second he’s coiled two big, beefy arms around your waist. Biceps digging into your mounds of flesh, silky sheets hot against his back as he manhandles you to pliantly flip over however he wanted. 

Ruddied cock still buried deep into your goopy depths. So easy. So filthy. “Don’t think we’re gonna be hah- done for a long, long time, doll.”

♡ NANAMI KENTO - 7 min. 4 secs

“My love.” Nanami’s engulfing hand oh-so-sweetly cradles one side of your pretty face as you ride him senseless. Running his fat thumb down the tear-slicked rim of your lips. He’s warm, soft - the complete opposite of that chilling wedding band of his against your scorching flesh. “My love- a-are you alright?”

“Mhm— M’doin’ juuuust fine.” you’re barely able to mumble out, head lolling behind you as he thwacks his plump tip once more against your gummy cervix. Twice more. Thrice. “Ngh- easy, baby, the k-kids are sleeping.”

But your dear husband can sense that something is off. Something is…different. 

Maybe in the way that you’re looking up at him with bigger and bigger heart eyes after every rolling jackhammer, maybe in the way you’re practically plastered against his hulking body. Soft tits glissading up and down up and down the sweat-slicked plane of his wide, cushiony pecs. So drunken. So pliant. And he can’t help but plant a soppy smack! against the hooded of your puffy clit with one free hand. 

“Oh!” Your back curls into such a slutty arch - such a heavenly sight that makes him wish he had a photographic memory - squirmy hips bucking down harder and- “H-harder- Kentooo- wan’ some more–”

Oh?

And Nanami’s feeling his thickened head splurge your gooey insides with creamy wads upon wads of glossy pre at the mere thought - just the simple idea of you fucking yourself dumb while riding him. 

He could probably cum just from watching you like this.

Breath hitching choppily, he’s grabbing your throat - dragging you like some ragdoll until you were only mere condensed inches away from him. You couldn’t be…could you?

“Ken—” Your spit-slicked bottom lip juts out, weighty shuffling forward to press a pretty peck against that shallow dimple on the corner of his lip. Oh, you’d meant for it to land on his lips…but. “Awww, I missed.”

Oh.

But of course he can’t leave his dear wife hanging - especially not when you’re all fucking yourself stupid on him like this. 

He’s gifting you with an utterly dizzying kiss - making your tummy so melty with butterflies even after all these years. And you can’t help but keen-

“D-darlin’-” Nanami almost feels like he’s the utterly speechless one now, curling a singular hand around your waist to help your stumbling hips use his cock steadier. Deepening the angle to pound battered hit after hit against your tenderized favorite spots. Those manicured nails of his leave pretty crescent marks all over your fleshy skin when his uprightly curved cock thwacks! upwards. Feral. “Do you- ngh- know how b-beautiful you look right now?”

“Huh?” It’s so adorable how you’re stealing a few sloppy gyrations first before even registering what he’s asking. Cockdrunk and wordless that he’s coaxing out your answer with a sodden thumb smearing your waterfalling drool. “N-no?”

And without a second’s warning - without even a single speck of hesitation - the hand around your tender throat turns vice-like. Shackling. Cutting off both your airway and your heavenly view of a sexily prespired, half-lidded Nanami - turning that bleary gaze of yours towards the specially-installed mirror by your bed. 

Head craning to the side to catch how fucking ruined you looked right now, hips moving out of control. Cunt just bawling with a syrupy slick mess pooling underneath you two with every shuddering spearhead of his cock. 

“See? Just see h-how ngh- pretty my wife is.” Nanami’s rasping out, utterly wrecking your insides despite his sweet, sweet words. Branding circular divots of his head right into the very resiny bottom of your cervix. His lightning bolted veins just thump cheekily against your g-spot. “Always so pretty- could cum j-jus’ from seeing your ah- gorgeous face ‘nyways b-but…” Fuck- if you were in any better state of mind you’d have caught the way his stoic ears burn red. “...especially when you’re dumb like this.”

“Kento-” You’re crying out, mussing a hand through his dampened strands of blond. Tugging. Pulling to make him hiss. “C-cum inside me. Please. Wan’ it all i-inside- want you to make me pregn-”

“A-another?”

“Another.”

Fuck.

You were making him lose it. 

So rudely swatting your hands away to pin them behind your back with only one of his - metallic wristwatch cold against your heated skin. He’s curling your back into a simpering inflection before hammering you with the almost-inhuman thick curvature of his cock, splotching out a wet few wisps of creamy white- 

“Not yet- not yet-” Nanami’s muttering, and in your stupidly fucked state you’re not sure if he’s talking to you or himself. “Can’t- can’t ngh- yet-”

Rapturing it like a mantra over and over while blotting your g-spot with sloppy, dirty remnants of precum. Sloshing and glazing his bulky base and all the way down to his tight, thwacking balls. Making such a mess that only leaves you whining incoherently, jolting as if spiked by a sudden million volts of bliss when Nanami’s scooping up the sugary gloss and smearing it back into your gaping entrance. 

Until you’re curling your toes taut enough that you can barely move, fingers digging into the pale skin of his back, your vision tinging with a sudden flurry of stars as you cum.

“Tha’s it- that’s right–” he’s breathing out, labored and throaty. So fucking grateful for those sound-proofed walls he installed when you had your first. Voice dipping into almost whiny territory as your husband’s babbling everything that your dumbfounded maw can’t, “Ride me- f-fuck- ride me until ya cum. Ruin me until I can…”

And with a sopping pivot of his fat shaft to hit right against the edges of your womb, he’s flooding your melty cunt with copious ribbons upon ribbons of thick seed. Milky. Heavy. Icing your weepy insides in his favorite white. 

“M’gonna take c-care of it- take care of ya-” Nanami’s whispering in a hot pant against your ear, breath so strained and heated that it’s sending shivers down your spine. “Got a place hah- alllll safe n’ sound right- here-” 

Nanami can only grin at that inflationary little nudge of where he’s feeling his spattering cum seep press gluey little kisses into your glutinous walls. Because yes, you were gorgeous when you’re fucked dumb like this…but you were even more gorgeous when you’re all round and glowing for him. Patting your pretty tummy, just so impatient for his newborn daughter - yes, daughter - already. 

He’s batting his loving eyes down at your fatigued figure with so much adoration that it’s practically palpable. Sensitive tip twitching a perking jerk dangerously…Nanami licks his lips. When you look like this, he wants m-

“Kento—” 

Your needy whine snaps him out of his pussydrunken hypnosis, smacking a few innocent smooches against the side of your forehead. “Yes, my love?”

“More.”

♡ GETO SUGURU - 4 min. 27 secs

Shit- shit.

You were so fucking cute - so dangerously ruined on Geto’s cock after only a few sloppy slathers of his thickened shaft down your spongy cervix that it was almost dangerous. That the ever-teasing Geto Suguru is finding his smirking mouth fill up with a few sing-songy coos. 

“Awwww, always so ngh- mouthy. What happened- you doin’ alright, gorgeous?” he’s breathing out in a hot baritone up against your ear, opaline white canines sinking into your lobe eagerly. “Though- guess she’s hah- talkin’ in yer place now, hm?”

She being your goopy cunt, the way it was resonating out the most sinfully saturated squelches! with every sheathing lamination of Geto’s cock inside your gummy walls. Practically talking - begging for more with every probing jackhammer of his angry, ample tip.

And with your teary gaze tiredly panned over your shoulder, you can make out the way that Geto was nodding. Dewy eyes scrunched shut like he was in deep thought, pretty lips moving to speak absolute filth. “Mhm– you’re heh- right. That would feel b-better, huh?”

Conversing - but not to you. 

And within one frowzy bat of your lashes, Geto drags up one of his thick, muscular legs. Years upon years of flexibility in battle being taken advantage of when he’s planting a foot down on your dizzy head and pinning you there. 

“Ngh! Sugu—” you can only whine, struggling and soaking yourself with the deepening change in angle. 

He’s only tutting at your sappy cunt, “I know- such a nasty girl, huh? So fuckin’- loud- too.”

Loud. So loud - and you weren’t even trying to be. Streamy rivulets of your glossed slick slurp out with every thudding thwack! of Geto’s sweltering hot tip drilling its way inside your elastic depths. He was so burning hot - feverish. 

Shoulders slumping, head bowing at just how lecherously you were sucking up every. Single. Blow he gave. And he can already feel the languid trickle of drool spattering at at the corners of his lips, “So cute- sooo cute- but the- ngh- the whole fuckin’ association’s gonna hear ya, y’know~” 

Before you know it you’re being engulfed with one of Geto’s massive palms - cold, slender, reaching over to muffle the utterly scandalous noises spilling uncontrollably from your sagging mouth.

“Not you, though-” he’s tittering, eyes locked down on the way all those weighty inches of his were disappearing and dabbing its way into your needy cunt. “You—” Leaving a particularly wet drag down your mushy insides, “Can ngh- talk allll you like- hah, because you didn’t get fucked stupid after only f-four minutes.”

“Ugh! So mean S-Sugu—” you’re sobbing out when his puffy head sponges against your poor g-spot for the nth time this night. Throbbing veins massaging your walls until you were sure your own heartbeat was syncing up with that staggering cadence. Nails raking down his strong forearm, “M-more–”

“What was that—?” He’s leering his head as close as possible, making your mouth lacquer with a greedy volume of saliva at the way his shoulders flex. Overflowing down his palm. “Heh- making such a m-mess, filthy girl. If ya want something, say it l-louder.”

Oh, by now you’re not just dumbstruck by his relentless pace - but also by how pretty Geto looks. With his long, inky hair freefalling in a soft curtain that tickles your curvaceous spine, half-lidded eyes unfocused and mean, cheeks flushed an innocent pink that matches his weepy tip.

And it’s just about all your melty mind can manage to hiccup out, “More.”

“Awww how cute- s’that all you can s-say?” He’s chuckling in a delirious little tone from above you, free hand nuzzling against your pulsing clit softly. Teasingly. Fully enjoying how you’re struggling against his hold to let out just a few more pretty noises. “Tell me.”

You’re nodding - nodding and nodding so hard that Geto snickers. 

But, well, who ever said that Geto Suguru was a merciless man?

“Fine- I’ll let ya have yer little fun.” He’s rasping out with a hoarse sort of shudder at the very thought that makes him whimper. But- shit, was he glad that you’re too stupidly ruined on his achy cock to notice. Too drunkenly ecstatic when he’s suddenly setting free your wobbly mouth, “If you can first hah- speak a proper s-sentence while takin’ my fuckin’ cock- how about it?”

“I-I- ngh!” 

But, shit, Geto wasn’t making it easy for you - the weight of his herculean body being pressurized into his foot even harder. He’s driving his hips into you so rocky that you’re sure you spot a few purplish bruises on his sultry hip bones. 

“Heheh-” Ah, he’s having so much fun leaving you stupidly speechless like this. You’re only whining when he toys a thick thumb around your clit, before pressing down on that buttony hood. Hard. “Biiiig stretch makin’ you stupid, gorgeous?”

It was. Oh, it really, really was - and right now you’re so far gone that the only thing you can do is take it. 

And Geto’s so perfectly practised in ruining you this way, too. Planting dense drivels of his fleshy tip against your sweetened spots, dragging the tubby divot in wet little smears in expert time with every squeeze of your clit. 

“Yes-” you’re mewling out a belated response to his question. “Yes yes yes-”

Only to be cut off with Geto’s palms smearing back onto your dozy mouth, blocking out the slews of addicted whines that just won’t stop. 

And, honestly, that heartbrokenly teary look in your eyes is so adorable that Geto’s throat clogs up with his own little whine. 

God, you were breathtakingly contagious. 

Voice strained - halfway through breaking - dipping a few octaves higher than usual when he’s hushing out, “Shh shhh- no needa force that ah- pretty lil’ head to overwork-” Leveraging the hold around your mouth to drag you backwards into his cadence. Filthier. More. “-you jus’ focus on t-taking my cock like a ngh- good girl and I-” Oh, he’s almost collapsing onto you - already in for a long, long night waking up the association. “-will focus on fillin’ this talkative cunt up.”

♡ CHOSO KAMO - 6 min. 18 secs

“Ch-Choso–”

And, to Choso, it was like the pearly gates of heaven had already opened their way up - and sat right front and center waiting on the other side for him was you. 

With your trembly legs splayed out on either side of his vicious hips, hands sticking oh-so-desperately to the leather seat of his sleek black Hellcat. You’re lathering his swollen cock with thick, lustrous coatings of his cum from just before - when he’d crashed into his orgasm simply from putting it in. Drowning out your thoughts with the most saccharine sweet slurps from down below-

“Cho, baby–” Tapping his lovingly blushed cheeks a few times to knock your dear best friend back to at least an ounce of his senses. You brush away a few chestnut strands sticking to his prespired forehead, “D-dunno how m’gonna face your f-family after- ngh- this!” 

And it takes him a few sloppy seconds - it takes him everything to even think of a jumble of words that might count as a reply. 

Clammy hands latching on greedily to your vigorous hips, Choso has to force your cadence to slow down until he can string together a few syllables with his slack mouth. “Wh-why? I already hngh- parked a few blocks away from dad’s, s-so they won’t catch-” 

“I know but—” your whining comes out so treacly condensed in the heady air of his car. Making him mindlessly ram another syrupy snog into your cervix. “But- you’re just fucking me so- so stupid.”

Oh. 

That’s enough for Choso’s head to fall attractively backwards until his full weighty body was being supported solely by the cushiony seat. Pretty twinkling tears of sensitivity clinging onto his batting lashes, he’s whimpering, “M-me? I’m fuckin’ you hngh- stupid, baby?”

“Mhm—” 

Nodding your head, your thighs just burn after every shuddering dab of Choso’s thickened length probing inside your gooey insides. Mushing up a spot modeled after him, an angry circumference of his fat tip indented into your poor g-spot. You’re feeling rivulets of his veins reaching each and every sensitive spot you never could. 

He was drilling into you so filthily. So dirtily that your head was spinning with each sloshing wad of his seed swirling your insides. 

And Choso - fuck, Choso looked like he was on the very urge of sobbing. Or, perhaps he was, you were much too cross-eyed at this point after every ram to confirm.

“I’m fuckin’ you s-stupid- Me.” he’s breathing out with such an air of worship. Blindly clasping one of your hands smeared against the foggy window to guide up to his lips and kiss. “S-say it again, my pretty baby. Heh…”

And right now, you don’t think you would’ve wanted to even if you could. 

Jostling your hips with fresh pound after pound that leaves your soppy mounds of flesh stinging at the impact, every doughy thwack! of Choso’s plump, cum-filled balls against your ass has you gasping. “F-feel so- hngh- dumbstruck right now, Cho–”

“Because of m-my cock?” He’s giggling - giggling, a sleazy grin splitting that handsome face of his. Choso’s steering your needy hips to bounce down his copious inches faster. And faster. “Heh- is takin’ my cock like a hah- good girl m-makin’ you feel good?” 

Fuck- and you can only nod. 

“After o-only a few minutes?”

Punching your fists against his broad chest, but to Choso it only feels like a few kittenish bumps. “Cho! M’gonna g-get off if you t-”

“No! No no no no—” His knees thwack! against the car interior when he’s manspreading even wider. Legs jerking tightly up and down to collide your tender insides with plumpish mushroomy cockhead, “Stay- stay. Hngh! Hafta fuck you s-soooo much stupider.”

Fully as stupidly speechless as Choso was right about now, you didn’t know who was faring worse. 

His muscular thighs slipping and sliding against yours with a glazed coating of cum and your honeyed slick. A low ah! ah! ah! slipping out every few seconds from those rosy pink lips of his with every drooling blow into your slobbery pussy. 

“R-ride me until ya can’t even think, baby-” He’s pleading - begging. Viscous ropes of spit spattering out between his slack maw, he was drooling. Lips trembling, “Ride me- hngh- ride me a-and…choke me.” 

Oh, the very second those pretty fingers of yours take Choso’s favorite position around his neck, his proudly globular head racks up a few gauzy wisps of pre. Dangerously creamy. Icing down your walls and making his overstimulated self keen. 

Unable to even your sentence, your face hides in the very crook of his neck. Nuzzling against his sweat-simmered skin with how positively heavy your entire body felt. “G-god- feels s-so…”

“Nuh uh.” Choso lets his words drag out into a cute whine, chest hitching purely parched when your digits block off his airway even more snugly. “N-need to see your ngh- pretty face, baby- please- I need you to- need-” Sheer yearning flashes in his eyes when you’re tilting your head towards his fucked-out features once more, “-need you to kiss me.”

You’re giggling out, words airy. “S-so bossy, Cho–”

“Jus’ can’t get ‘nough of you.” He’s mumbling - hot and and heavy against your rawly kissed lips. 

And it was a wonder that Choso could manage to strangle it out from his heaving chest, that he could even manage to breathe. Because with one last shuddering smooch of his rotund crown into your g-spot, you’re both tumbling headfirst into your high - Choso’s second orgasm of tonight.

And with every toe-curling flash of white, he’s smearing such streamlined splatters of seed into your melty insides. Hot. Sploshing down your walls and milking velvety rings upon rings around Choso’s hefty base - so viscous that you could almost taste it. 

He’s making such a mess, too, giggling at how utterly speechless you were. Shrilling out nothing but mewling calls of his name.

Shit, music to his ears that Choso finds himself hypnotized to. Barely even registering when he’s patting the nudge of his puffy tip against your womb, pushing - just slightly - enough for tumbling dredges of cum to spill down your seeping slit and luster him until he was drenched. 

“G-gonna hafta clean the c-car before we get back and ah- announce…” He’s looking up at you with stars in his eyes, so adoring that you could almost cum again from just this. “-our engagement.”

Your words choke up into a rolling ball of lead - an engagement? To your best friend? All the way before dating? And, yet, maybe it’s because your mind is still left in completely stupid shambles from before that you find your lips curling-

THUD! THUD! THUD!

A knock, and Sukuna’s voice through the black-tinted windows.

“OI! Jin is searching for you brats all over the place- SO YOU BETTER BE IN HERE-”

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA - 2 min. 8 secs

“Fuck- fuuuuck would ya look at that cute lil’ bulge.” Sukuna’s chest heaves with rumbling little chuckles that echo against your back, two out of his four beefy arms pinning you so helplessly into his cushiony chest. “Well…heh, not little.”

The notorious king of curses was standing so tall - towering - and his dually rock-hard cocks were just the same. Swabbing open your slickly flooded insides in such a lecherous full nelson, he’s splitting open your glutinous walls with branding, thorough thrusts. 

Knocking up against each and every bullseye of magical spots that he’d already memorized. You’re being shovelled with a girthy indent of his upper tip against your mushy cervix, managing out a broken K-Kuna—

“Tch, I know I know-” he’s rolling his eyes, leveraging the sinful uses of gravity below to watch you slip and slide your snug channel languidly down his left-curved shafts. “Ya want more- ‘sn’t that right, spoiled brat?”

But the only thing that thunders in Sukuna’s ears are the melodies of your sweetly singing cunt, slushy squelches of your puffed-up pussy lips slurping up every one of his numerous inches. 

And, now, don’t get Sukuna wrong - it’s one of his favorite songs, one of his few weaknesses - but where was your honeyed voice?

“Oi- silly girl- forgot how ta ngh- speak?” You’re hearing from above you, all monstrous seven feet of Sukuna’s figure hunching over just enough for him to snarl hotly against your ear. “How else is the ngh- entire palace gonna know that m’makin’ my wife feel good?”

Punishing your plump clit with a lingering swat! of his thick fingertips, “Not answerin’ your king, huh? Guess I’ll jus’ hafta-”

“Ngh- m-more-”

Oh? That tone sounded familiar. 

And now usually Sukuna would growl at you for speaking out of turn, usually he’ll plant a few sodden thwacks against your battered cervix to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with. But right now, he’s only scoffing, “The hell was that? Speak up.” 

“More, Kuna—” Fuck, the utterly primal neediness in your voice has even Sukuna stuttering his vicious hips - much to your disappointment. And you’re wrangling in his vice-like grasp to gulp down a few more clingy gyrations of his cocks inside your gluey depths. “More- I n-need more- harder.”

“More?” he’s whispering. Seething. Shaking with a humorless little grin that oh couldn’t have been directed by anyone but you. “More. Heh fuckin’ slut. M-my little human wants more- oh, new record.”

Ah, new record indeed. 

It’s been only what? A minute? Two? And here was his beautiful queen, all fucked dumb on his cocks again. So ruined that you could barely even speak, a smooth staccato of only wanting more replaying in your mind when your husband plunges in a capsizing few jackhammers. 

You barely even register it when one of his hands tighten on your scalp, overgrown fingernails craning your head uncomfortably up, up, up for him to splatter your tongue dripping wet with a sleazy wad of his saliva. “Yer fuckin’ gone arentcha?”

And he might just be, too, with how pliantly you’re letting that thickened mass slide all the way down your tastebuds. Huffing, “F-fuck- more.”

“Greedy lil’ thing.” He’s puckering up your sodden folds with a slow circles of his fingers, before clashing another good smack! Dragging out velvety ribbons of your honeyed slick that cling to his digits, “Such a filthy pussy, even after- hah- after I can see my bulge in that ah- puny human cunt o’ yours, woman. Ya still want more?”

“B-bulge?” Your head lolls over to rest against one of the curvaceous cushions of Sukuna’s muscular deltoids, glazed eyes drifting all the way down-

Oh.

Fuck- the sight as complete heaven.

Your lips were parting way for Sukuna like butter, slobbering down your sweet sap of juices to him like you were glossing every inch of him. Bludgeoning in his rotund mushroom tip until your ass was bruising against the unruly trail of drenched pink that led to his swollen hilts. And the bulge- shit.

The bulge was rummaging itself to all the way up about halfway down your tummy - edging at your fucking lungs it felt like - was such a perfectly cylindrical outline of Sukuna’s matching cocks. Smearing open your gluttonous walls so widely agape, he’s crashing his smooching tips against your g-spot, your cervix. Both at the same time. Everywhere and anywhere that you could see now. 

“Oh-oh-” you’re whining out, lower lip trembling every more frenzied with every glissading dab against those spots. The way that Sukuna had your clingy walls milking him so tight. “S-s’so big, Kuna–”

“Oh? So ya can speak other words.” He’s chuckling, fat fingers pressing a curving little pattern down on your sensitive nub. Pinching. Tugging. So harshly that you can’t help but flail in his hold mid-air. “Easy, easy there, brat. Jus’ thought ya f-forgot how to, heh.”

Oh, he was such a tease. 

Such feral darkness oozing into his words when a third of his hands guide your own to caress that lecherous bulge. “Here- don’ be shy- wanna touch it, ngh- dontcha?” And of course, you do. Rubbing over the creamed divots of his outlined tips. In awe. “-yeah like- fuuuck like that- heh…such a cutie when you’re all f-fucked dumb.”

Shit- so utterly adorable that he can’t help but leave another sopping wet smack! on your clit. Another. And another. And another and another until the heat curls up scorchingly in your stomach, and Sukuna’s taking your star-struck moment to snicker, “Mhm– m’feelin’ a little bad for this ngh- p-poor cunt though. Maybe  I should take out one cock…” 

“No!” You’re crying out, hips trying so ravenously to scoop up every sloshing glob of pre that butters up your insides. And you’re sucking in every inch that you get, every merciless ram. All while boring your eyes into Sukuna’s tearfully, “N-nooo I wan’ it- wan’ them both s-so badly.”

Fuck, you were dangerous.

And the most powerful can’t do a single thing. Because, really, who was he against you?

Can’t do anything but lacquer your drooly tastebuds with another syrupy ball of spit - enough to make you cum. 

Sparks of your high sprinting throughout your body, sheening an almost-sparkling wet slobber around Sukuna’s bucking cocks - all the way down to his flexing thighs. It’s thwacking and skidding your jiggling ass against his mounds of muscles even harder, riding out your orgasm on the way that Sukuna’s gifting sopping smacks! on that poor hooded peak of your clit. 

Blinking back overstimulated tears, “Kuna–”

“Ah ah- ignorin’ the king when he’s t-talking to ya, cutting me off, cumming with no warning…” he spits hotly against your ear. “I should make ya pay for treason, woman.”

“H-how?” Still so cockdrunken. Still uselessly struggling against his twitchy gyrations, zig-zagging little wet paintings down your inner walls. 

Sukuna pretends to think, a sleazy grin plastered permanently on his face. “Hmmm, how about…ya ah- squirt f’me.” All the while boring his devilishly red eyes into your heart-eyed ones. How cute. “If that pretty lil’ empty head remembers how that is, h-heh.”

♡ INO TAKUMA - 11 min. 6 secs

“C-can I cum inside? Again? P-please?” Ino’s hissing - more to himself than anything. Words bubbling out after each and every lazy swat! of his fat, ruddied tip down the very bottom of your pappy wet cervix. He wants more. He need more. “Shhh sh sh- jus’ a lil’ more- please. Just some- ah-”

Shit- it’s been what feels like hours now. 

Your beloved boyfriend stuffing you full of ropy smears of cum over and over. Until your slick-filled cunt was flooded with an excess of his seed, until you couldn’t even think over the deafeningly saturated slurps of thick wads oozing out from you down below. 

Until you were fucked stupid after only a few greedy hits of Ino’s fattened tip into your melty core - until he was utterly spellbound, too, after about solely ten minutes into this new round. 

“T-Taku…” You yelp, throat scratchy with how strained your poor whines have become. Your legs dangle helplessly off his strong shoulders, such a sloppy mating press by now that it would be embarrassed to even be called one. “Baby- harder. Wan’ more…wan’ you to f-fill me up.”

Fuck.

Now, Ino knew that you were thoroughly drowned and cockdrunk - but he didn’t know you were this ruined. And fuck- fuck, he’s giving the side of his fatigued thigh a harsh pinch. Once. Twice.

Trying oh-so-hard to blink back some semblance of thought into his dizzy mind. He feels like he’s nodding drunkenly, planting a damp trail of pecks down your cheek because shit, he missed your mouth. “Oh. Wh-what was that? Ngh- say it again f’me, pretty? P-please–”

“Taku—” you’re whining impatiently. Cloying wet grinds of your hips swirling his thickened length around you so blissfully, sugarcoating thick rings of pre around your insides. “J-jus’ cum inside me again.”

“Sh-shit-” Ino’s pretty features scrunch up in such bliss, plumped-up balls squeezing to dredge out another wispy chain of cum. “Ohh ya have n-no idea what ya do to me.” Decorating your familiarly bruised cervix with a freshly lathered glaze, he’s whimpering. “C-can you say that f’me a-again, sweetness?”

And you’re letting your pouty maw fall slack in order to - to demand for more. A few stupidly mewling sentences on the edge of your tongue when Ino’s reeling his hips back and thudding numerous wet collides into your sloppy cunt. Prespired body glissading easily - so sloppily - against yours in determined smack! smack! smacks! such a tangled mess of limbs and need.

God- it almost hurts. Overstimulation and pleasure hitting him doubly all at once, he’s gritting his teeth with a rough groan of your name before planting more pounds after pounds. 

“D-didn’t say it f’me- ngh- ah! again–” Ino’s panting into your dumbstruck-open mouth, sweat-lacquered forehead resting against yours. Pinching his thigh over and over to just keep his senses. And his deep voice cracks into a whine at the very end, “Talk to me. Please, tell me- ngh- t-talk me through it, pretty. Please-”

But his actions spoke the complete opposite. 

Ino was clashing the steamy curve of his rotund tip against your g-spot so hard, beating it like a sloppy drum with every jackhammering dab of his hips. Fucking out every thought and gurgling syllable out of you with a pussydrunkenly boyish grin.

Spitting a thick pwah! of saliva onto two of his slender fingers, he’s dipping them down, down, down to roll a few zig-zagging patterns on your pulpy clit. 

“C’mon- w-wanna hear your pretty voice—” he’s babbling, pearly tears making their home at the crinkled ends of his delicately pretty eyes. 

“T-Taku–” You don’t think you could’ve spoken even if you wanted to, tugging through his smooth woody hair. Until it makes him hiss, and his sultry crownhead gush out wet globules of precum. “No ngh- fair.”

“Heh. Who has ya f-feelin’ like ah- this, sweetness?” He’s snickering into the corner of your mouth, chestnut eyes drooping further and further half-closed the deeper his veiny shaft was poking into the goopy bottom of your pussy. The further he was milking his seething tip on every miniscule cling of your walls. Teasing, “Who? Oh whoops- h-heh- tha’s right…you can’t talk right now.”

But oh, Ino had forgotten that just how fucked stupid that his brain was meant the exact same for his body, too. 

Because in a split-second, you’re elbowing the pillowy mattress determinedly to flip the two of you over - Ino’s swollen girth still sunken inside, your brain still woozy. Even more so when straddling the slender curve of your boyfriend’s hips, trembly palms trekking down his mountainous pecs to push him flat onto the silky sheets. 

Ino has such a sexy look of drunken adoration in his eyes when you’re bouncing your squelching cunt to ride him out of his mind. Prattling with your currently one-tracked brain, “S-said I wan’ you to f-fill me up, Taku–”

Oh. oh. And then he is - both of you are. 

You’re jerking almost-violently at the wracking bouts of high that take over your body, flashing silvery stars behind your scrunched-up lids. Those sobbing thwack! thwack! thwacks! of his bulbous tip have you shrilling, letting Ino reach out a hand to draw little circles over your overwhelmed clit.

And he isn’t any better off - has his eyes sliding all the way back until all you could see was pure ivory, Ino’s chest arching deliciously into yours. His lower lip strawberry-red from being bitten hard enough gulp back those wrenching whimpers threatening to burst pathetically free.

One hand leaving a quick smack! to the fat of your ass before swirling it in hypnotic little circles to feel those ribbony globs of his cum sloshing around. Ah, he can feel it steaming thick masses so deep inside you - jittery fingers feeling for that familiar hot nudge at your womb. Such voluminous amounts that laminate his twitchy shaft with layers upon dripping wet layers of glistening seed, making such a mess-

Ino ends off with a giggle - a giggle. “Oh, I love it when yer r-rough w’me, pretty.” 

♡ GOJO SATORU - 25 secs

“-twenty-three…twenty fouuuur-” Gojo’s dragging out, rounded tips of his fingers ghosting over your pulpy clit - just far enough to zap! your sensitive hood with an atomic buzz of jujutsu. Grinning down at you from where he’s holding you captive in a lecherous prone bone, “-twenty-five- h-heh…n’ already gone. New record, sweetheart.”

And you would’ve snapped back at your utterly ecstatic boyfriend if you could, you would’ve huffed out that he totally drawled on the count far longer than it should’ve lasted - but how could you?

Because just the sappy peck! of Gojo’s globular tip down the treacly pucker of your slit makes you dizzy. Meady wet spurts of his precum strolling languidly down your pussy lips, making such a mess - and he’d barely even shovelled you overly snug of his full, thickened tip. 

But oh what was unfair - what was so completely dirty - is the way he was buzzing his filthy fingerpads with a shimmer of cursed energy, pinching your sensitive clit just enough to make you see stars.

“Ngh- oh my god.” you’re babbling out through slacked lips that feel like they’re fucking numb. Hips dizzily confused whether to bury yourself in a cocoon of those silken navy sheets or to run away. 

“Yes- yes tha’s right–” he’s cooing, one hand swiping away the globular pearls of sweat that trek down your forehead, the other ringing out against your peaked clit with a miry swat! “Talk t’me ngh- l-loove hearin’ what that empty lil’ haaah- cockdrunk mind of yours has ta say.”

Sobbing out, “S’jus’ so- so big, Toru—”

“Heh…see?”

Yeah, he loved the cute wafting nonsense that spilled from your lips whenever you were fucked stupid on his thick, throbbing length. Red and angry to make your head even emptier-

And you’re scrambling helplessly towards the plushy pillows, the edge of the bed, the fucking headboard - only for Gojo to slam! one massive palm down on the mahogany headrest. Splitting it straight down the middle-

Muttering in your ear so sultry, Gojo’s slurring out a stumbling, “Now now- where’d ya think you’re going?” Your entirely shivering body being scooped up with a single curl of his bulging forearm around your throat. Fuck- his sweat-glossed biceps flex as you’re hauled back down, down, down onto his thoroughly rummaging cock. 

“B-barely even halfway in n’ yer already so heheh- fucked dumb.” Giggling - giggling - deliriously in your ear in condensed little pants, he’s so hot glissading his weighty body down your back. Rows of ivory white teeth sinking into your precious ear lobe, you’re graced with a firm set of six-inch fingers on your waist. “Get- get ready for a hah- biiiig stretch, sweetheart.”

And a big stretch, it was. 

It feels like you’re being rawly split apart - Gojo’s intruding girth caving out a bulging cylindrical pathway down your slobbery pussy. Puffy, crowned cockhead smearing open your gluey walls until you were sure you could feel every ridge, every thumping vein. Feel him poking his weepy divot into your mushy cervix in thick drags - you could cum from just this. 

And you think you do - without your poor, spellbound goo of a brain even realizing. Your back arches into an almost painful curvature when you’re throwing your head back and cumming. 

“Please- please please-” Garbling out, so fucking cute that he can’t help but lick a sleazy stripe down the glistening middle of your back and hum.

You’re gasping at the thickly vicious splatter of something on your shoulder - only to bleary your heart-filled eyes over your shoulder at the way that Gojo was drooling. 

Whining, with every pap! of his prettily full balls against your ass. Slumping his heavy bodyweight like he was melting into your, ridged washboard abs massaging your back, hefty bodyweight pinning you down onto the mattress. His bicep curls into an even tighter headlock around your straining neck, “Yeah- ohoho yeahh that’s the stuff- t-talk to me s’more, my girl.” 

“C-can’t even-” You’re whimpering out, hips jostling upwards in embarrassing little grinds that swirl the very rounded tip of Gojo’s tip around your melty insides. Milking out heaps upon heaps of creamy precum with every one of his greedy drives. “-can’t even think- can’t even b-breathe. J-jus’ want you…”

God - he was making a sheerly sludgy mess out of you. Branding your sweet insides with sugary coatings of precum, with thorough bruises. 

“What do ya w-want, sweetheart?” Gojo’s muttering all over again, bearing your puffed-up clit with another pinch. Then another. And another. “Anything m’gonna give ya- ahhh, fuck- anything.”

Blinking up tearily, “A-anything?”

Which only makes him fuck you hard enough to practically mesh into one with the mattress - and then some. And it’s like he was pounding himself just as stupid on your cunt as you were with every one of his animalistic rams. 

Sodden. Heavy. French mushes against your bruised g-spot - and you could already tell by the scarily bittersweet accuracy and those stray bolts of tiny blue lightning that Gojo was using his six eyes to cheat his way buttering your pretty cunt with lethal hits. 

To spy your sweetest spots inside-

“M’gonna marry ya-” Promising over and over when he’s routing a wet trail of kisses down your perfectly arched spine. “-buy us a niiice big mansion- or a small one- your hah- choice. Grow old together, n’ I’ll kill off anyone that dares object.”

“Satoru…”

“Yes- yes?” Sapphire eyes wide and wild now - like he was in the middle of a fight, like he was prowling for prey just the way his fat tip was probing down every orifice of yours. “Tell me- tell me, sweetheart.”

“I-I want-” your lower lip wobbles adorably, and Gojo can’t help but slither his own down and suck like his favorite gummy candy. Making you mewl, “-wan’ a baby.”

And you swear you could hear the lilting crack in Gojo’s voice when he’s echoing out a highly-pitched. “A b-baby?”

The only thing your poor brain can manage out is a nod, and the only thing he can manage out is to just barely not fucking snap. 

THUD!

Gojo’s got you locked in his powerful hold - muscled figure pinning you to the soiled bed, his deadlocked bicep hauling your mouth onto his. And he’s snapping his hips to yours so hard that you wince ever-so-slightly at the bruise surely formulating by now - or, well, would have formulated had it not been for Gojo’s reversed curse technique. 

Working overtime now to not break a bone when he’s plugging your sodden insides with thick knots of cum. He’s cumming and cumming so hard that Gojo thinks he can’t stop - thinks he doesn’t want to. 

“H-how I love when ya talk outta yer ngh- pussy, sweetheart-” Your shoulder stains with a few more translucent spatters of drool - and tears. Big and overstimulated, beading behind his glazed lids. 

Gojo can’t let a single swashing wad of his seed drizzle to waste, plugging in numerously overspilling ounces back in through your puckered pussy lips. The sheer volume making his achy balls twitch with more and more. Doubly penetrating your sloppy hole with two fingers, he’s taking the sinful opportunity to slither a few spiralling patterns around your sensitive entrance. 

A baby. 

“A baby. A…a fuckin’ baby.” Gojo’s shaking his head - crazed. Smile humorless and dangerous where it was directed at you, and for a moment you’re wondering who really is the one fucked stupid right about now. “Oh, my girl, I’ll give you ten.”

A/N. Smooches to that one nonnie for sparking the idea hehe <3

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

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

Fucking laughing.

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

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

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

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

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

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’d started playing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

In middle school they adored him just as much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smoked them all- hah!

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

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

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

They actually did puncture his football.

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

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

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

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

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

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

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

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

Fuck again.

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

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

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

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

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

The. Fucking. Audacity.

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

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

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

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

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geto Suguru.

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

“Oh-”

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

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

“What did you just-”

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

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

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

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

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

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

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

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

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo smiles wide.

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

“Well…”

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

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

Was he?

.

.

.

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

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

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

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

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

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

To you.

And stops right before you.

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

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

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

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

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No promises.”

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

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

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

.

.

.

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

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d texted you.

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

You: ?

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

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

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

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

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

You: Ah, of course. 

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

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

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

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

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

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

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

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

You suppose.

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

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

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

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wastes no more time.

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

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

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

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, here you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, who were you kidding.

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

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

“Getting dating rumors?”

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

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

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

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

“Did you really mean it?”

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

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

“I did. Why?”

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

“Awwww-”

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

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

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

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

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

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

“Me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just as he’s about to lean in-

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and get over here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just so much.

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

Your eyes widen.

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

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

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

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

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

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

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

But Gojo was…really massive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

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

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

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

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

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

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

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stalemate.

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

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

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

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

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

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

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

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

Speaking of tender spots…

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

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

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

“N-no-”

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

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

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

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

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

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

Fucking unfair. 

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

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, well, a bet is a bet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cock got your-”

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

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

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

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

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

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

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

And he’s taking you right along with him.

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

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

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

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

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

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

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

This fucking good?

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

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

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

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

“I-I am-”

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

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

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

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

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

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

Grinding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

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

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

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

“Pardon?”

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

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

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

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

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

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

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

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

“Aw, man.”

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

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

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

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

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

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

Well, as the second chair occupied.

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

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

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

Expressionless. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

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

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

You share your name.

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

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

He turns.

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

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

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

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

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

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

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

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

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

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

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

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

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

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

1-2 to Japan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At this, the pink-haired man is letting out a loooow whistle- one of his pink brows raise as he looks between his opponent and you in the stands. 

Oh—how fuckin’ pretty you were. 

Just engulfed in an ice-blue jersey with the Tokyo Free Blades logo on the front - they sold those things for far more than they were worth, but Sukuna’s sure this must’ve been one of Gojo’s own. It was big enough and looked softer than the merchandise- or maybe that was just the slight blur around your figure…were the lights too harsh or was Sukuna hallucinating? It’s slipping down to your wrists, where you were holding a big banner that had your boyfriend’s name on it—‘Go Go Gojo The Strongest Satoru!’ Eyes sparkling. Lips slightly swollen from your nervous gnawing. Jumpin’ up and down excitedly as you catch his eye. How cute…

And while Sukuna’s wondering just how damn lucky the bastard opposite him was- Gojo can’t help but muse about just how awfully the other’s hair color clashed with his uniform.

Blood-red just like his eyes.

Locked and narrowed on you—

Gojo’s knocking his hockey stick against Sukuna’s, making the other man finally tear his eyes away. He gruffs out finally, “Never said she wasn’t.”

He pushes against his opponent’s wooden blade harder, “Then why’ve you got her name in your fucking mouth?”

“What- scared she’s gonna like it better in my mouth, heh?” Only for the other to push back with a leer.

“The mouth I punched back in the New York playoffs?” Gojo scoffs. They’d played against each other a few times before - it was impossible to avoid anyone in the big leagues. And each time had ended up with one or both in the infirmary and headlines for days. “Or the mouth that got himself suspended for two games a few months ago?”

He sweeps a look towards you in the stands, you were on your feet and looking over them in concern now. And listen—listen, Gojo was well-aware he’s lucky to have you - and proud of it. But having you be stared at by this son of a-

Sukuna leans in with a whisper, “The mouth tha’s gonna make your girl cum harder than she has in her entire life.”

“See, the difference between you and I…” And Gojo should be rageful- he was. Despite that strange throb in his shorts, he promises he was. But more than that he couldn’t stop from leaning in himself, letting his breath cloud out within the cold stadium. Against Sukuna’s ear shell, “-is that you can only dream…while I have my mouth on her every fucking night.”

Sukuna jerks away, “You little-”

“Oh, and the title as well.” Gojo smirks, that little dimple popping out by the edge of his lips. He can hear his numerous fan clubs scream even louder - Gojo Satoru had splashed onto the ice hockey world and shot straight to the top without looking back. 

They couldn’t get enough of the Prince of the Ice. 

His looks. His winks. His plays. “Perhaps you haven’t realized it yet, Ryomen Sukuna, but the only reason you were the greatest center in history was simply because…I wasn’t playing yet~”

The other man straightens silently. He was a few inches taller than Gojo, standing at an impressive 6’6 to Gojo’s 6’4. It was easy to realize why the media seemed to love him as a ‘bad boy’ - the troublesome one. Despite them being similar ages, he was the more experienced one. Buffer. Nastier. Tattooed and towering. 

They called him the King of the Rink for a reason. And the King looked down on them all—especially new captains with blue eyes and too many fan clubs. But that wasn’t saying he didn’t have many of his own - but at least he deserved his. “And what took ya so long to reach my level, Gojo Satoru?”

Gojo looks at Sukuna.

Gojo looks at you.

Then back at the other player- “Was too busy fucking my girl.”

And Sukuna’s ready to spit out something that wouldn’t be able to air on sports channels- before the referee skates over just then.

His deadpan voice cutting through the chaos, “Alright alright, break it up you two.” The older man - Masamichi Yaga, a legendary player in his own time, one of Gojo’s own junior coaches - looks between the two. “Keep it clean.”

Sukuna grumbles but ultimately glides a few inches backwards, hockey stick at the ready. Gojo follows with a smirk.

The commentator announces- “Two players who’ve made the headlines for their explosive rivalry- Ryomen Sukuna, the strongest center in history, and Gojo Satoru, the hotshot who stole that title from straight under his nose—hah! I can hear the fan clubs already. Though, that’s not to say our King of the Rink will be giving it up that easily. We’re in for a reeeeal treat tonight, ladies and gentlemen!”

“Okay- King, welcome back for another season.” Yaga then turns to the white-haired man. “Gojo, welcome to the NHL. Set.”

Gojo smiles, he hopes you’re watching this. Nothing matters if you’re not watching.

“Oh—our Prince of the Ice is smiling. Can it be that he’s confident in his win already?”

“Yeah- welcome, bastard.” Sukuna bites out, his stick blade digging into the designated area on the spot. “Enjoy yer first game here- and your last. By the end of it yer gonna be crying in your gal’s arms.”

“But Ryomen Sukuna is one of the most feared players in the league for a reason- just look at those muscles!”

One white brow raises, “You think I’d lose against you?” Eyes locked on Yaga once he presents the puck and readies himself.

“This is a moment in NHL history, ladies and gentlemen.”

“I know it.”

“Gojo and Sukuna-”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“-who to choose?!”

The Prince and the King.

Both prodigies.

The puck is dropped and it’s a mad dash—the clap of hockey sticks like a most satisfying lightning strike, and that circular slab of black is being swung past the neutral zone and into Gojo’s side.

“Sukuna gets the puck! Such a tight turn and attack straight to the net- the Tokyo Free Blades aren’t letting him get far—oh, what a steal.”

Gojo’s speeding past to let his first defense line sweep him back the puck- Sukuna’s racing past to take it back from him.

And the game commences. 

“This is going to be a tight game, ladies and gentleman”

In the first twenty minutes, it’s one point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

Considering the intensity of each team’s defense, you weren’t surprised that it was off to a fierce yet slow start. Gojo was holding back, testing out the playing field, and Sukuna was a lot more used to this stadium. This league. It was making the other captain sweat.

But with your cheers, you could see a faint smile on Gojo’s face as he started the second twenty minutes.

Your boyfriend was using his famous body fake technique to gain two more points-

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

One point for the Tokyo Free Blades.

Everyone was on their feet. Whether out of exhilaration or out of desperation for their team—and you were one of them. During the second break Gojo, of course, skidded down the side of the rink during his break to spend it blowing kisses at you through the plexiglass - before his coach arrived to drag him away.

And so caught up in your embarrassment at his display, you didn’t see the way he shot a smug look at Sukuna. The other man glowering from his own side of the bench.

He was never one to be left behind.

The final twenty minutes started off with the pink-haired tyrant using his signature aggressive playstyle to get nothing more than three more points back-to-back. Making the commentator cry out at the hat trick and the audience get onto their feet now.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

One point for the Heian Hawks.

The score was quickly five to five - one of the greatest plays that the NHL had recently seen. And Sukuna was basking in it.

Basking.

He was skating down the sides of the stands at a rapid pace, showing off for the audience- showing off for you—Sukuna reaches where you were seated and bangs the shaft of his hockey stick against the plexiglass. THUD-THUD-THUD—! You startle while the fans around you jump up and cheer-

And he’s looking right down at you. Smirking through the cage of his helmet…

Until Gojo’s skating by him and rams Sukuna against the plexiglass with his own body. The two of their muscular figures colliding. Sukuna’s turning to Gojo with a snarl. Gojo’s raising his fist up high and aimed.

It’s a fight that Yaga has to break up.

The timer rings.

.

.

.

“—can’t believe I had to take the win with a fucking shootout.” Gojo speaks in his aggravated tone, hissing once you press the ice-pack to the cut above his eyebrow.

This wouldn’t have been considered worse for wear had it been any other player, but this was the Prince of the Ice. You could already envision the headlines that would flood your timeline tomorrow. The hat trick. The smile. The fist fight. 

“But you won, Toru.” Once the game had ended in a tie, there was no choice but to start an overtime period. A fight to the death, more like. It lasted less than five minutes and ended up with Gojo scoring first out of pure fury and adrenaline.

Though that in itself was a tight match, the game had finally ended: 6—5.

The Tokyo Free Blades had won. 

Barely. And if you asked Gojo Satoru, a bare win was worse than a fair loss.

Which is why you were cooped up with him in the team’s locker room even after the rest of the players had filtered out. The coaches knew you well enough by this point that you’d gained access easily, and you knew Gojo well enough to know that he was taking this match to heat. Especially as captain.

And here you were pressing an ice-pack to the numerous cuts and bruises he’d acquired during his tussle with Sukuna. “I thought you did really well, baby.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. But-”

“Oh, come on—”

“But having you with me during an NHL game and I it ends up like this-”

“Toru, you’re the hardest on yourself.” Huffing, you push back on his damp white bangs. “I loved your playing today and I know everyone else did, too.”

“Yes, but I made the team go into overtime-” Gojo cries out once more.

“Which happens fairly often!”

Throwing his hands up in exasperation, “Yes, but that damned Ryomen Sukuna- fuck! How I wish I could have used more backhands against him- or body checks- or cycling- or even just slammed my hockey stick into his ugly fucking-”

“Satoru.” You interrupt him, and your boyfriend looks up at you immediately.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Underneath the glowy white light of the locker room, you can’t help but think that Gojo looks so pretty like this. 

There was a reason that he was the hockey player with the most fanfiction written of him (you knew, you’d checked). He was still in his deeeep blue uniform from earlier, not having had the heart to take them off just yet. It was slightly loose as it should be, but did nothing to hide Gojo’s firm shoulders, his broad chest, his strong arms. Matching the shade of his teary eyes, slightly reddened around the edges in a way that made him look so delicate. He flutters his long lashes up at you and subconsciously pouts. You’re noticing just then that he had a fresh bruise on his lower lip, making them look even more plump. 

Gojo looked almost ethereal. 

Head slightly sweaty. Body slightly blushing. His fingers still jittery with adrenaline. 

Pouting. Pretty. 

Though it didn’t matter because to him—you would always be the most beautiful. 

Gojo whimpers at the slight sting of pain once you kiss his poor, injured lips. “Fuh-fuck, sweetheart…mm.” And it was almost impressive how you had a 6’4 mountain of muscle and power as nothing but putty in your hands.

He melts.

“My girl?”

“Mhm, Toru?” You’re cooing down at him- chuckling at the way he chases your lips once you slightly pull away. It doesn’t matter if it hurts…he just needed you.

“Can you make me feel better?”

“Of course, Toru.”

In mere moments you’re being slammed up against the locker with your cunt against the smooth metal and Gojo’s hot erection inside your cunt. His fat cockhead probin’ between your pussylips and pushing against every tiny nook and cranny.

Just so thiiiiick and flared wide open that it makes your mouth water. Your legs limp.

You fucking loved when Gojo got like this - just after one of his games when he’s so high on the adrenaline that his furious erection just won’t seem to go down.

And of course - of fucking course - the only possible solution to that would be to shove you against the nearest flat surface he can find. To press you down with his hefty weight so that you can’t squirm your hips away. To hold you against this still-sweaty body as he pummels his thick inches inside you. To fuck you so hard and needy that even the lockers echo out their sounds in sultry synchronization with you.

Slam-slam-slam— 

In and out, in and out, in and out—

“F—ngh, fuck.” He whispers, all hot and breathy against the back of your neck. It makes you slightly flinch at the sensation and Gojo’s pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your nape- then digging his teeth in to almost draaaag you back to him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck- m’feeling better already, sweetheart.”

“Thank goodness, because you’re making me feel all- oh.” Just then his mushroomy tip swabs against your g-spot and you can’t stop your moan. “Shit, right there, Toru.”

Gojo’s panted chuckle breezes down your spine, “You could say I really, mm, hit the goal- hm?”

“Sh-shut up.” 

Before you’re arching right at Gojo’s sculptured core - he still had his blue ice hockey jersey on, and so did you. One of his that he’d given you, in fact.

Though he was holding his jersey up with one hand so that your restless body could sliiiiide down each sensual curve and ridge of his abs. He knew how much you liked that.

He could feel just how much wetter you got whenever you felt Gojo’s white happy trail scrape up against your cunt. Your outer pussy was just rubbed raw on the slammin’ of his base and now there was this—he pulls the hemline of his jersey up to his mouth and bites down on it. Keeping it permanently held up as the captain ruts and ruts against you even harder now.

Deeeeeeep, plunging strokes that leave wet thwacks! against the back of your cunt.

The hockey player’s reddish globular tip pushes against your sweetest spots a few more times, and each time he’s counting- “That’s one.”

“Wh-what do you…”

Hitting that exact spot once more like a target- wetness seeps from your cunt and sticks your thighs together with a wet sheen. Shit, it was just too cute how he had that mind of yours muddled with only a few strokes. “Two- three—” Each one accompanied by the most vicious mwah against your throbbin’ bundles of nerves.

“Why are you- hck! counting, baby?” You sniffle out.

So damn gone on his thickened, veiny length that he’s forced to (well, more like glad to) hook two rugged palms underneath your thighs and lift you up. He’s supporting your body a proper inch off of the tiled floor, jerking you up even higher every time his aching hot cock was swabbin’ away into you- “Three. That’s a hat trick.”

You blink tearily over your shoulder, not quite sure you heard him right. “A…a what?”

“A hat trick.” All three of those words were followed by three more pushing probes against your g-spot- “And look at thaaaat- that’s another hat trick.” Cutely peckin’ away his swollen cockhead again. And again. And again and- “That’s four. Five. Six. Seven-”

“Pleeeeeease—”  The only thing you can do is grab onto the jutted handles of the lockers for dear life. Back arched. Toes curling.

Those bulbous wet tears welling up by the sides of your eyes are so damn cute that all he wants to do is kiss them away. “Not ‘please’, heh- what you mean to say is thank you.”

“Th-thank you.” Babbling out with no difficulty.

And that makes even Gojo raise one pale brow, his rosy lips curling at the edges. “Fucked dumb already? Mmm, you really liked today’s game, huh? So good f’me.” With a raspy titter he slides a hand down the middle of your spine and gives your right ass cheek a goooood spank. “Then can you say thank you very muuuuuch, Toru—?”

“Thank you very- hck! much-” Mouth moving before your mind, he’s planting down yet another smack before you can finish your sentence. “-Toru!”

The focused captain nearly doesn’t wait until bossing you around again. “Theeeeen, how about can you say that Gojo Satoru, my handsome- ngh, boyfriend, is the best ice hockey player in history?”

Your mind was almost dizzy at the length of that sentence- “Satoru- ngh, fuck.”

“Nuh-uhhhh—” His needy pitch echoes out, planting a few more mean thrashes against your g-spot to leave you even more stupid. Hat trick. So slick with your glazy syrup that it’s easy to follow that route to reach your delicate spots. “It’s- Gojo Satoru, my handsome boyfriend, is the best-”

“Begging yer girl to say that shit because you know it’s not true?”

A voice that decidedly didn’t sound like either yours or your boyfriend’s.

It was too gruff, too mocking, too…predatory. Something in it that makes goosebumps erupt down the line of your spine and for you to snap your head immediately to the side- despite no one being in the locker room, you two had still chosen a slightly private corner of the mazing lockers. Somewhere no one would be able to see.

You just didn’t think that Ryomen Sukuna of all people would come looking for you.

He stood inside the sex-saturated room with his arms crossed, beefy biceps bulging through his red jersey. Head cocked. Expression smug. Tall enough that the tips of his pink hair touched the ceiling. Like Gojo, Sukuna hadn’t changed much out of his uniform- he was still sporting his red jersey and a slightly bloody nose to match.

Something you didn’t realize could be so attractive-

Dried around where his lips curled up into a smirk so smug. 

You’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t find Ryomen Sukuna attractive - anyone with able vision or ears would be able to. He was strong. He was cocky. He was the type to glide through the rink as if he owned it- and just today he’d stopped and signalled at you—

And then there was the matter of his tattoos.

Thick inky rings at his wrists and his biceps, some more peeking out of his uniform. They always did give him an aura of authority. 

Even now, he stood inside the traitorous room as though he owned it. 

Stealthily, he’d opened up the door and crept inside the rival team’s locker room- or maybe he hadn’t. Maybe he’d been deafeningly loud and you two just hadn’t noticed.

Being so caught up-

Sukuna’s crimson gaze glides down the curvature of your spine and to where your pussy was just drippin’ all over the other man. Creating a slimy sheen down Gojo’s pistoning cock and all the way down his muscular thighs.

It smacks n’ splatters all over the globes of your ass because the white-haired man just wouldn’t stop-

“Why the fuck are you here? Spying on us because you can’t get any?” Gojo scoffs, not even slowing down- in fact, by the way you could feel his thick throbbing tip at your throat, you think he might just be speeding up—

“Fuuuuuck, Toru-”

“Shhhh shh shh, sweetheart.” One of Gojo’s hands lifts from your thighs and ends up clapping over your mouth. He feels your gaped maw splosh out in saliva and presses against your face even harder- “Wouldn’t wanna let that mean ol’ pervert hear any of your pretty noises, right?”

“Who the fuck are ya calling old-” Sukuna growls.

“I-I…” And you’re torn between looking behind at your boyfriend, and sideways at the pink-haired intruder. Both just making your cunt throb even harder.

“Hear that?” Sukuna snickers out of his toned chest, “Heh- yer pretty girlfriend doesn’t even know where to look.”

“Probably wanting to look anywhere but at your ugly ass-”

“Probably looking for an escape.” The taller man looms even closer, casting a shadow over your sweaty connected bodies. Your cunt quivers and he eyes you greedily as though he knew- “Rutting into her like that? Honestly- if ya won a match then fuck her like it.”

Gojo opens his mouth, “I won’t take advice from a sore loser.”

“Then take advice from me as a man.” Before Sukuna’s diverting his gaze down to where you were looking up at him with widened eyes. He softens his tone just for you, he leans down to speak just to you—grinning. “Your pussy wants me bad, doesn’t she, mama?”

“Don’t you fucking talk to her-”

Gojo tightens his palm atop your loosened mouth- and the only thing that does is smear the wads of saliva leaking out of you. Because you’re clenching your gummy walls so hard that he can’t help but give an animalistic jolt-

“She jus’ squeezed that pussy tight, didn’t she?” The hockey captain asks, and he doesn’t need to wait for the answer - he could already see it in Gojo’s dazed eyes. His parted lips. His aching cock. Sukuna’s own aching erection that he reaches a hand down to palm over his shorts, “Mmm, I can already imagine- fuck…what a shame she’s wasted on a bastard like you.”

Any and all haziness leaves Gojo’s peripherals instantly as he whips them over at the other man. “Uh-huh? And you really think you’re any better?” He’s inadvertently jostling the two of you even closer to him. 

“Fucker, I know I’m better.” Sukuna steps closer.

And you’re not sure how but you find yourself practically sandwiched between them - Gojo’s pecs pushing up against you from behind, his lengthy shaft drilling into you like a madman. Sukuna’s against your front - pressing against you with his muscular core, and his erection throbbing obviously between his legs. You were pulled away from the locker that was your lifeline and could barely even breathe like this-

Gojo humps his roverin’ tip into you from behind and scowls, “I’d say prove it but my girl doesn’t deserve to be put through that.”

“You’d say prove it but you’re scared I’d steal your girl.” Sukuna was cornering you both now. The positions had somehow flipped so that Gojo was starting to have his back against the locker now, Sukuna looming in. You between them. Being compressed. Being fucked stupid still-

He hisses at the frigidness of the metal, “In your dreams-” 

“Oh yeah?” Sukuna seethes, “Watch me.”

And then Sukuna’s snaggin’ away your panties- yes, you still had your panties on. Light blue just like your boyfriend’s eyes because you knew how ruined he was for that - and as soon as Sukuna’s registering the fact, he’s grazing his nail against the cloth and riiiiiiipping it straight off of your wet cunt. 

Nose crinkling in amusement as he throws it to the side-

“Oi-” Gojo snaps from behind, “I bought those limited edition for her, y’know-”

“And next time I’ll buy her ones in red.”

“You wish you could afford that shit-”

And it’s the last thing you’re hearing before Sukuna’s pressing one of his thickened fingertips right between your pussylips. His roughened crown pries apart your folds—sluuuurp, and you were just so damn damp that it trickles down his tattooed wrist.

Glistening against the ring of ink on his skin- Sukuna’s openin’ you up like some cute birthday present. Spreading apart your thick pussylips. Probin’ just the knobbled edges of his digits against your entrance—maybe because of his rumored rough training, but Ryomen Sukuna’s hands were much more calloused than Gojo’s. Much thicker. Much meaner.

He takes a goooood look down at your hole and chuckles- “Pull out and pull her legs up.”

At that, Gojo falters his sloppy pace. “Wh-what?” You could hear the surprise in his voice.

“Did I fuckin’ stutter?” Rolling his crimson eyes, the man sighs. How troublesome. “I said- pull out and pull her legs up. Lemme get a taste of that pussy.”

“Over my dead body.”

Sukuna looks over at you with a smirk, “Cover your eyes, mama- there’s about to be a murder.”

The only thing you can do is let your eyes follow their argument like a tennis match- or a hockey match. Mouth babbling uncontrollably by this point, “Please-”

Your boyfriend’s cooing down at you immediately, “Yeeees, my sweetheart?”

“Yeeeeeees, my sweetheart~?” Sukuna mocks.

“Jealous?”

“Over my dead body.”

Jealousy, surely. And Gojo knows it, too- which is why he’s kissing your throat in front of the man. Lips spreading across your skin in such a sultry way. “Then what do you say, my girl? Wanna- mmm, let this ol’ pervert have a taste of you? After I’ve been inside you?”

“Wanna feel-” You’re gurgling out, “Wanna feel you both-”

“Hmm, fine.” Gojo answers, “But this pussy’s too nice.”

The white-haired man echoes out in a scorching breath, slight possessiveness seeping into the way he gives your gooey cervix a final ram before pulling out—no, wait. He’s not going to make it that easy on his rival.

Without a single warning, Gojo’s coating your dewy walls in a thick layer of his seed.

Gojo’s cumming.

Almost timed, almost perfectly on schedule, almost making the other man’s knees buckle as he sees the frothy white residue seeping out of your hole. There’s so much of it, and he can feel his balls emptying out even more with each pump. Fucking the clingy wads back in a few times- really messing up the slick surface of your channel with his cum. Cumming harder than he thinks he has in his entire life-

And you’re throwing your head back against his collarbone with a moan, “O-oh my god, Toru. It feels so good.”

“Hear that?” He chuckles at Sukuna, who couldn’t take his eyes off of the way Gojo’s slick shaft kept slippin’ in and out of your cunt. Glistening n’ glossy with so many layers.

He gulps.

Seeing the state the pink-haired captain was in, Gojo leans down and whispers something in your ear—

“O-on your knees, Kuna.” You’re repeating with a slight whimper, still slightly dizzy at the flood of ivory sap being poured inside you. And he didn’t tell you to add on that little nickname but ah well- it was worth it to see Ryomen Sukuna, King of the Rink, fall to his very knees before you.

To have Gojo Satoru pull his massive cock out of you with the loudest, most lecherous sluuuuurp!

You’re twitching at the sheer sensitivity- feeling the spray of cum gush out of you so intensely that you almost want to close your legs. But your boyfriend holds them wiiiiide open with two arms being hooked underneath your knees. 

He lifts you cleanly off of the ground- 

Your knees up to your tits. Your ass being smacked by his toned v-line.

A standing full nelson.

There’s a ribbony wire of cum that slips out of your hole and ends up slide-slide-sliding all over your pussy. Gojo’s cock still hot and red between your legs. He snickers down at the kneeling man, “Eat that.”

Sukuna doesn’t need to be asked twice.

He doesn’t care that your pussy’s all covered in him—he doesn’t care that you’re just so stimulated and gone after this round that all you need is his flattened tastebuds on you to shatter into your orgasm.

Sukuna’s mouth guffawing out darkly as he feels you clench ‘round  and ‘round his tongue- “Heh, would ya look at thaaaat?” Looking up at the two of you through his pink lashes, “Cummin’ on my tongue the moment I put it on her- this pussy reeeally likes me, doesn’t she?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“Sure thing, two-pump chump.”

And whatever Gojo’s saying next - you don’t hear. Because just then he’s movin’ apart your folds with his mouth and shovelling the entirety of his tongue inside.

Push after push.

Probe after probe,

Pointed chin slapping your cunt. His honed canines grazing your folds. Drilling into you like a man starved throughout your orgasm- he’s pressing both palms up against your thighs and pushing them even higher to get to your sweetened core. Smacking at the miry ribbons of white that were webbing up your insides.

And you don’t know whether it’s the sheer stretch or the intensity of your bliss, but you find yourself sobbing maddeningly. “Oh- oh my god.” Bucking. “Don’t stop.”

“Don’t plan to.” He chuckles wetly, a line of cum dribbling down his mouth. The slashes of his tongue somehow precisely pinpointing each peak of your high. Elongating that feeling inside of you until it felt like your veins were bubbling up- “Because she’s my pussy now, huh?”

You gasp, “I-I mean-”

“Says who?” Gojo growls out from above.

Pressing his rock-hard erection back between your pussylips as if to remind you just who was holding you up. And the audacity of Ryomen Sukuna—he’s merely leaning down and spitting a glittery wad across your slit. 

It ends up dolloping straight down onto Gojo’s cock, as well.  

The white-haired man shivers-

“Says me.”

Before Sukuna’s back to pressing one hot kiss on top of your cunt, two hot kisses, three. They were all open-mouthed and lavish—slidin’ his tongue furiously in and out of your hole. In and out. In and out. “Fuckin’ her all this time and you couldn’t even make ‘er cum.”The vibrations of Sukuna’s deep baritone sends jolts of pleasure up your spine, “Fuckin’ her all this time and I bet you’ve never made her feel this good-”

Gojo reaches up to grab at your throat with one hand, still holding you up. “S’that true, sweetheart?”

“I-I like bo—fuck.”

But then both men are rendering you speechless - Sukuna with his tongue slappin’ into the tender ridges of your walls, Gojo craning his long fingers down to press on your clit. Anything so that neither of them would have to hear how you wanted them both.

Pick one but not both.

And they’re both trying to be that one- Gojo flicking your throbbing clit with ease, Sukuna shoved between your legs and lappin’ at your every treacly dewdrop with his tongue. 

It was so different from the way your boyfriend would eat you out - while Gojo was slow and sensual and loving—handing you anything and everything you could ever want with his tongue - Sukuna was the complete opposite. He was rough. He was teasing.

He was grippin’ onto both of your thighs and draaaagging you back once you attempted to bounce your hips away. With his nails digging into the sides of your flesh, he was eating you out until you couldn’t breathe-

Just sharp, rapid pumps inside your hole with his slicked tastebuds. Draggin’ his teeth on your folds. Slurping up the pearly white dewdrops of sap. And whenever you clenched like it just felt so good- he’d reel his sloppy tongue back and slap it over your clit instead. 

Never letting you feel too good, never growing tired of those cutely disappointed huffs n’ puffs you’d let out.

“Oi oi-” Sukuna’s tongue slides over Gojo’s fingers, both tugging and grinding on top of your clit. “Yer in my zone, Gojo Satoru.”

“You’re in my girl’s pussy, Ryomen Sukuna.” He’s biting back. Jaw dropping slightly open at the sheer pace at which Sukuna would thrust into your sopping wet hole- uncaring whether you were stretched out enough to take his sheer circumference because Sukuna was going to make you take it either way. 

“Haaaah? Thought we went over this shit already- this is my girl’s pussy from now on. My pussy.” 

“You call her that when I’m the one that’s cum inside her?”

“Yeah, but who made her cum?”

You hitch out, “You’re both so s-stupid-”

And the bickering is starting up one more - though unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately) for you, the more they argue, the harder they’re going on your cunt. Rubbin’ their lips and fingers raw—“Got a problem with that?”

Gojo pipes up, “She never answered the-”

“Aht aht-” Sukuna interrupts the blue-eyed man, just too fun to watch him fume like this. And instead of paying him any attention, the King stares right down at your pussy. “Got a problem with that?”

He wasn’t talking to Gojo. He wasn’t even talking to you-

He was talking to your greedy pussy and waitin’ until she answered- opening his mouth to let his tongue spread your lips wide open and draaaaag down your velvety walls. 

Inevitably, you’re just so wet by this point that you can’t help but splash out in your juices- and it creates the filthiest squelching noise that Sukuna grins at. “See? She doesn’t mind.”

“You fucking-”

“Sh-shiiiiit—” Before the sultriest, most mind-numbing stretch opens up your pussy. And you snap your head down on carnal instinct to find that Sukuna was kneeled between your legs and fingering your pussy open. 

Ruthlessly with not one, not two, but three of his thick fingers- they were just so large that it took him a few half-thrusts to even fit the first few inches inside. Those roughened crowns of his mazing like spotlights searching for your every sweet spot, “Oh my god, it feels so good, Kuna-”

“Oh yeah? What a coincidence, yer- I mean my pussy’s saying the same thing, mama.” He then looks up at your boyfriend as if to say—your move.

Gojo Satoru rolls his eyes.

And he’s then pushing Sukuna’s head back to fully take over your clit for himself.

“Fuck off.”

Sukuna’s pink brows furrow and he grimaces. “Watch it, fucker. I have a Calvin Klein ambassadorship-”

“He talks big but he doesn’t know this pussy as well as I do, huh?” Though Gojo doesn’t listen to a word he says - doesn’t have to. He’s rolling the edge of his thumb along your clit in quick clockwise circles, and then stopping every then and now to repeat the motion anti-clockwise. “All that chit-chat, but really…she’s still my pussy, isn’t she?”

You hiccup, “I-I just don’t understand why she can’t be both-”

“No.”

“Nuh-uh.” Gojo affirms along with Sukuna. Breathy laughter echoing against your right ear in a way that almost felt crazed—“Guess I hafta remind it to you then, huh, my girl?”

“Ohhhh, he’s slurring, mama.” Sukuna titters.

“I’m realizing…” You breathe out.

Maybe the two of you had broken Gojo Satoru. 

Maybe the two of you had made Gojo Satoru snap-

In no time he’s jerking you further up in this position and absolutely shattering you with the movements of his nimble fingertips. Gojo always did have the prettiest hands you’ve ever seen, the prettiest palms, the prettiest digits that had countless edits dedicated to them on social media. 

And they were just so looooong and flexible- tuggin’ on your throbbing knob a few times before drawing patterns. Not just any patterns - but something swirling and swipin’ that makes your eyes roll all the way to the back of your skull.

He was curving the soft crown of his fingerpad against your clit- making a curving shape that makes you buck. 

“And what does that say?”

“Wh-what?” You gasp out stupidly to the man above you, his voice eerily calm.

“I said…” A few more twists n’ turns of his fingers on top of your clit that make you tremble with pleasure. “-what does that say, sweetheart?”

Hell, even Sukuna has to look up at the tone of Gojo’s voice. Something about it so…either way it’s making the pink-haired man flicker his gaze up n’ down your cunt and chuckle. “Not bad, you sick fuck. Not bad.”

And you’ve never been more confused- “I don’t know what you mean-”

“I said-” It’s only then that you’re feeling it, feeling the sensation of Gojo’s doughy fingertips pinch your swollen clit. Letting the sting seep into your nerves for just a bit before he’s resuming that same swipin’ motion. “-what does it say on this pussy?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing he’s spelling something out on your cunt.

“Man, she’s too fucked stupid on my tongue to realize-”

“In your dreams.”

“Shit, is it…” Your dazed pupils seem to be following in the same motion, being held to him with absolutely no mercy. And, somehow, you manage to be mapping out the swivelling of his fingers. “Is it an ‘S’—?”

“‘S’ for Sukuna.” The pink-haired captain titters out.

Before Gojo’s immediately spanking down on your pussy for no reason- “And this one? What about this one, my girl?”

“Shit, shit shit, shiiiit—” You could feel the oncoming tidal wave of your high - already so close with both men stimulating you so much that it almost hurt. “Is that one- hck!” If you weren’t mistaken, this current one was something…pointier than the last curving letter. “Is it an ‘A’?”

“Good girl.”

“Aw, shit-” Sukuna gruffs out between your pussylips, “I can’t let my pussy go that easily, can I?”

Increasing the incredible zaps of electricity that were running straight from your core, Sukuna had another swivellin’ fingertip of his pressing inside. Four—and they were just so big that you swear you could feel your mind start blanking out.

Pushing and pushing.

Shovelling his hot tips against the sweetest of your spots, it’s almost as if he was providin’ his fingers inside with the aim to bruise-

“And how many fingers s’that?” Sukuna leers up at both you and Gojo, a challenging smile upon his handsome face. “Count f’me, girlie.”

“Be original.” Gojo scoffs.

“Be better.”

“Not when you’ve got my cum on your face.”

Sukuna isn’t even sure what to say to that, merely stuffin’ his face into the froth of white and transparent juices pourin’ out of you.

“Fuh-four.” Almost feeling embarrassed by how much your words were tangling n’ mingling into one- but that’s if you were in any better state of mind. Right now it felt like you could barely even string a coherent thought together let alone a sentence. “Four fingers?”

Sukuna smiles against your tender folds, “Aaaaatta girl.” Pulling back and this time pushing in a different number of digits. “And how many now?”

“Three?” You cry out.

“We’re not done here, sweetheart.” Thrown by the way that Gojo was rasping into your ear, “Don’t let has-beens distract you- what letter?”

“It’s a ‘T’—?”

“What number, mama?”

“Two.”

“Letter?”

“Oh—” Feeling your legs start to twitch the way they did whenever you were close, “It’s ‘O’-”

“Number-”

You’re arching against them, “Four-”

“Letter-”

Bucking your body, “‘R’—”

“Lett-”

“Number-”

“Letter.”

“Fuck- number.”

“Fuck off- letter.”

“S’my pussy and I want to ask-”

“No, it’s my pussy and-”

But only you could cut through one of their infamous arguments with ease- “Satoru.” Bringing back both men’s attention onto you and you entirely. Your back arches against Gojo’s front until his smooth pectorals were providing you with cushioning for his rough fingers. “Y-your letters are spelling out- ngh, ‘Satoru’ on my pussy.” And then you’re staring down at the pink-haired man, “And Sukuna- you’ve now got four fingers inside me.”

He smirks, “Atta girl- correct.”

“You did well, sweetheart.”

And their sweet whispers are all you hear before you’re shattering into your second- third- perhaps even fourth orgasm of the night. Something that lasts so loooooong and blissful that it leaves your body utterly limp in Gojo’s arms.

Sukuna plops his fingers and mouth down on your cunt and fucks you through each incredible high, the mountains of it unfurling over you. His globular fingertips pressin’ into the tiniest crevices inside and marking himself out. Meanwhile Gojo was spelling his name again and again and agaaaain on top of your swollen pussy. 

Until it was a pattern that you think might have permanently embedded into your very veins with how frenzied your boyfriend was marking it out. Gojo crushes you to his toned front and whispers- “Cum f’me, my girl.” Scalding hot pants against your ear, “Yes- yes, cum f’me.”

He ruts his aching cock against your behind and you whine-

“Cum f’me so good.”

And Sukuna himself looks as though he wanted to say something as he dragged out the tremors across your body- but he was far too busy with his lips glued to your pussylips. Lappin’ up every ounce of slick and cum- “Mmm, just you wait, mama.”

They don’t stop until your massive wave of bliss has well and fully bated - until it’s nothing more than a few tingles that shoot sparks up your spine.

But then…they don’t stop even then.

Sukuna has his lips plastered to your clit by now, his fingers smeared down your walls—and he didn’t give a fuck what the other man had to say about it. Because Gojo himself had his arms around you tightly, hips just lightly pushing and pulling. Reeling and rutting.

Gojo’s plush cockhead was swervin’ between your legs and sliiiiiding up the slit of your pussy-

“Oi-” Sukuna’s grunting as the other man’s smooth velvety length grazes his lips, “Watch it. M’trying to eat out my girl’s pussy.”

“Then shut up and move.” Gojo gruffs out, teeth grit. He hits his hips against you with a smack! “Or don’t- I don’t fucking care.”

“That’s gay as hell.”

“Bi.”

“Bye to you, too.” Sukuna’s rolling his rouge eyes. He’s just about to open his mouth once more with something snarky, when he realizes that oh…Gojo was actually fucking serious.

He was actually attempting desperately to pummel his hips into you. He was actually holding you up with only one of his beefy arms for a brief moment, guiding his thickened tip to smooch up against your hole and puuuushing—

Cumming.

Pouring out hot loads of seed in a gloss.

“And who said you could fuck my girl’s pussy?” Immediately, he’s on his two feet and shrugging down his shorts- dampened with precum by now. Thoroughly. It’s then that you’re getting the first proper look at the Ryomen Sukuna’s cock.

Where Gojo was longer and prettier- Sukuna was just thiiiick and covered in so many veins that it made you already anticipate him being inside you. It was almost dizzying the sheer amount there was. Unruly pink happy trail. Heavily tightened balls. He was the most sensual tannish pink at the very top of his shaft, graduating down to a darker shade at his base. And his base—oh.

“You seriously got tattooed there?” Gojo’s the first to voice his thoughts out loud. One of his pale brows raising at the ring of inky black ‘round Sukuna’s hilt. “Sick fuck.”

You yourself gulp at the sight, “Did that hurt, Kuna?”

“Who cares if it-”

“Nah.” Sukuna replies, “No pain, no gain- right, mama?”

“I-I suppose…” Nodding was all that you could do - Gojo was furiously smearin’ apart your pussylips and trying to rut inside.

“And what exactly would my girl be gaining, huh?” The white-haired captain is the one to ask.

“Isn’t that obvious?” His tone certainly made it out to be, and the King was looming even closer with his throbbing erection. Just like Gojo, he looked so hard that it almost looked painful- almost looked as though he was begging n’ bursting to be inside your tight hole. Sukuna’s caging the two of you against the lockers, “She’s gaining both of us.”

Your eyes widen, “Both-”

“Inside.”

Gojo perks up, “At once.”

Both. Inside. At once. 

You weren’t walking out of this locker room.

At all.

Sukuna inches ever-so-slightly closer. One hand placed outright against the locker room- and you honestly have to stop yourself from ogling his bulging biceps. The other wrapped around his meaty hilt and pressin’ up against your hole- 

“If s’both at once then you better put them in at the- mm, same time.” Gojo mutters.

“Tch-” But Sukuna doesn’t deny him - and before you know it, he has his rugged hand wrapped around both their cocks. Gojo’s face wincing with a hiss at the slight sensation, he dribbles out in even more cum that gets smeaaaared down your wet crevice. “And that last round- we didn’t end up deciding whose pussy this was, huh?”

“No…” Gojo’s clenching his teeth, straining his head to look down at the heavenly sight below. Sukuna was teasin’ your flooded orifice, getting you used to the feeling of them both.

“Then how about…”

“-we let this pussy decide.”

“Mmm, heh-” Sukuna smirks, “-time for the overtime.”

And they might have been the fiercest of rivals on the ice—but here? Gojo and Sukuna were in perfect synchronization when they’re tuggin’ their cocks to your cunt and emptying out.

Fucking you at the same time.

“Eeeeeasy now, mama- s’gonna be a snug fit.” Sukuna’s forehead starts to bead with sweat, “You should know that they say my cock’s so big it’s as if they were- hah, two.”

“Two inches, maybe.”

“What were you saying, two-pump chump?”

It was such a tight fit.

“Ngh—fuck.” Sukuna spits out through his pearly white canines, nose crinkling at the sensation of your walls rubbing against him and him rubbing against Gojo. “You’ve got me, mama.”

“Fuh-fuuuuuck, sweetheart-” Meanwhile Gojo was damn near drooling- he was trembling, he was spurtin’ out his precum. He was holding onto you for what felt like dear life as he’s rutting- “It feels so good, what the fuck- what the fuuuck.”

“Yer welcome.” Sukuna chuckles, though you could see the burning blush formulating on his ears.

“Not you-”

He throbs, “Nah, tha’s definitely me.”

And you can’t help but cling onto both of them- “Toru—Kuna- you’re both inside- fuck.” One of your hands grabbing into Sukuna’s toned deltoids, while the other was scrambling to grab onto Gojo’s pure white hair. Honestly, you didn’t even need the balance at this point - they were the ones holding you up. Gojo’s strong arms holding you up in a full nelson, Sukuna’s ones latched onto either side of your hips to keep from running. “And you’re both just so big- I don’t know if it’ll even f-”

“Don’t say that it won’t fit, sweetheart.”

You’re turning back to Gojo, “Why- oh.”

Because your boyfriend’s voice sounded octaves higher than usual. It sounded breathier. It sounded more unsteady.

You don’t think you’ve heard him sound like this in your entire life.

And you’re just looking behind to check up on him and- fuck. Gojo Satoru was already pussydrunk - you could tell by the bleary look in his eyes. He was shivering. He was letting his pinkish lips fall further and further open every time he’s plunging in a solid few pumps-

“Oi oi-” Sukuna gnaws down on the insides of his cheek to keep from any strange noises like…whimpers from seeping into his tone. “-I thought we were fuckin’ her together?”

“Oh—huh?” Blue eyes looking between the two of you- did he seriously forget that? Was he seriously that gone? And you’re getting your answer the moment that your gluey walls clench—and Gojo’s breath hitches. Body moving before his mind as he ruts-

His eyes blow wide open as if he didn’t even realized what he just did.

He holds into you so tight that neat crescent marks embed into your skin. “Don’t say it won’t fit- please.” Breathy whispers plastering in scorching breezes against the side of your neck, “Don’t say it won’t fit because I need it to- have to.”

“Why’s that, Toru?”

“Yeah-” Sukuna raises his pinkish brows, “Why’s that, Toru?”

“B-because…” Gojo’s handsome cheeks give a slight blush, and he’s averting eye contact with both you and the cocky man that also had his cock stuffed inside you. “-how will make this pussy really mine if I can’t even hit her- ngh, womb?”

Your jaw drops- but Sukuna only lets out a light whistle. “So thaaaat is the master plan, huh?” The other captain himself giving you a solid, aaaaaching thrust- “Hasn’t yer coach ever taught you not to tell yer master plan to the rival team?”

“Why does it matter?” Poor, pussydrunk Gojo Satoru cocks his head. And you almost start to feel sympathy for the way that Sukuna was starting to take your boyfriend as a joke- “You won’t win anyways”

Nevermind.

It doesn’t take long for them to funnels their cocks upwards like fucking animals-

Claiming every single spot inside you. Slidin’ past one another for space- they feel the sensitive spots on their cock press against the other’s and that makes them buck. Molding and massaging and making you sob out on the feeling of two entire cylindrical intrusions keeping you wide open.

Gojo was impatient with his tempo, slashing the most delicate parts of your insides with his lengthy cock. And it certainly didn’t help that the globular end of his shaft was covered in slick and hooooned to reach your deepest depths. Even deeper.

Even deeper than Sukuna, who was spending more time training your entrance to gape out into a pretty lil’ oh—the same way your mouth was. “Just like that, mama.” And listen…he can’t help himself when he leans down and spits straight between your puffy lips. Sticking a thumb between your legs and pryin’ your folds apart. “Would ya look at that…she’s actually starting to take me- I dunno about that other motherfucker-”

“She’s taking me, too.” Gojo scoffs.

“-but I just know this pussy’s gonna love my cock.” Sukuna hums, his great chest rumbling with satisfaction. “She’s gonna have me stuffed all the way against her womb and then beg to be called mine.”

Making you shiver with the drag-drag of the calloused digits holding his base, “Sh-shit-”

Sukuna grins, jerking his hips up. Rapid and ravenous. “And she’s begging to take it all the way until that tattoo at my base-”

“In your dreaaaaams~” The other man’s answer comes before yours, and so does a thorough bang right near your g-spot occur. “She’s all mine. So if you w-want any then come and get it now, Sukuna—oh wait.” Leaning down theatrically, Gojo pretends as though he was hearing something emanating from your pussy. Something riveting. The squelches. “You can’t- because the only one she’s begging for is me.”

“Face-off.”

“Fuck off.”

“Can you two just shut up and fuck me—ngh.” Your tastebuds sizzle in the drenched layer of your own saliva, taking over your mouth in an instant once one of them finally bottoms out.

One of them.

And the problem was that you couldn’t register which one was which- before a second loud wallop tremors at the bottom of your pussy and the other man is bottoming out. Both of them. 

Mere split-seconds apart from each other. 

Their rotund tips curving against your cervix juuust right until your eyes roll back, hands latching onto their muscular bodies. Toes curling. Teary lashes fluttering. Gojo and Sukuna had you pressed tightly between them as they funnelled all their swollen, greeeeedy inches inside of you.

“So?”

It’s Sukuna who’s speaking- and you can just barely manage to extract yourself from the valley of his pecs. Sometime during their furious cadence, you’d wound up salivating between his toned chest. “S-so?”

Gojo hums, “So what’s the verdict, sweetheart?”

“Verdict?”

Sukuna tuts with one of his usual eye-rolls. “So- who’s first, mama? Who did that slutty pussy of yours want more?”

“O-oh…” Your mouth drops agape, “It was…”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

Blinking back the tears in your eyes- “It was…”

“Take your time, my girl.”

“It was-” It’s then and there - mid-moan to one of Gojo’s impatient thrusts - that you decide to come clean to the two men. Sadly looking down—if you were in any clearer a state of mind then maybe you’d have noticed the way both their plummy tips throb even harder when you pout. “I don’t…know…”

“Well…” Gojo looks at Sukuna, and Sukuna looks back.

“Well.”

And there seems to be a silent conversation there that you weren’t privy to.

“We can always fuck her pussy and then ask her.”

“Y’know- sometimes I love the way you think.”

You’re not quite sure which one of the two suggested it, and which one of the two simply agreed - Gojo or Sukuna. Because they’d finally fit inside and now Gojo and Sukuna were pistoning their hips up into you like they were trying to make you forget the other.

Trying to make your mind nothing but a blur.

The pinkish lengths disappearing in and out of you nothing but a blur.

Both of their split-ended cockheads dig into the deepest grooves of your pussy, finding each of your favorite spots as if they were almost magnetized to them. It just felt so good to have them slide across your walls and slide across each other- those veiny lines on their cocks being pressed against the other’s shaft. Bulging out your tight channel like you never could have imagined before. Expectedly, knowing your body for a longer time, Gojo is the first to find your g-spot and preeeeess his flared tip against it.

He smirks down at Sukuna- who didn’t take more than a few more vicious strokes to find it himself. Though he can’t lie the blow it did to his ego— “What was that? Your cute lil’ womb feeling lonely, girlie?” Sukuna’s speaking down at your slurping cunt, “Awww don’t worry, I’ll help you-”

“Tch…” To which the other man was also concentrating a bit more on the route that his length was taking inside your channel. Gojo was hard and sloppy- the cap of dribblin’ pre on his shaft making it so that sometimes he’d barely even graze his tip against your channel until he’s doing it all over again. “Upset you can’t find the g-spot?”

“M’surprised a man like you could even find the clit.” Sukuna’s snarling back, purposefully dipping his thumb up to roll over that sweet nub.

“M’surprised a man like you was even given the chance to fuck her.” Gojo chuckles haughtily.

“Why were you surprised when a man like you was given the chance?”

“At least I won the match-”

“At least I won the girl—my girl.”

Gojo bristles, “You seriously think you won my girl over?”

“If the shoe fits-”

Gojo scoffs- and thankfully it’s the only thing he does. Thankfully he’s ignoring the vengeful temptation within him that’s telling him to just deck Ryomen Sukuna in the face one and for all.

Instead, he’s taking his anger out simply on your cunt. Both ice hockey captains swipin’ their rotund crowns inwards and attempting to fuck the decision out of you.

Faster.

Harder. 

Choose me. Choose me. Choose me.

“Sh-shit, how am I ever meant to choose—” You’re gasping through your cascade of tears, legs twitching- and you’re taking it as a sign to mean that your high was nearby. Though how you were expected to orgasm once more with the sheer amount of overstimulation that your body was wracking from, you had absolutely no idea.

And Gojo and Sukuna were fucking you like they didn’t even care about that in the first place.

They had their hands gripping onto your body- almost teamwork. “Don’t tell me that we’re gonna go this long without you even choosing, sweetheart…” Gojo purrs. He was the one holding you open, and Sukuna was the one taking advantage of that to twiddle n’ tug at your clit. 

“Yeah- don’t think yer getting out of this any time soon.” Sukuna agrees - agrees with Gojo Satoru for what was likely the first and last time ever in his entire life. You squirm your hips and he’s pinning you down to keep you from moving a single inch—“If ya don’t choose now then we’re gonna have another- hah, round.”

Eyes damn near bulging out of your skull, “A-another round?”

“Another round.” Gojo affirms. His head falling into the crook of your neck, “And another round- and another round- and another round and another round and another-”

“Aaaaaall the way until you finally choose, girlie.” Sukuna chuckles darkly—“Me or him.”

“Me or him.”

“I…I choose—” You start off- and you can feel the way that both Gojo and Sukuna lean in even closer to hear your ultimate decision. Who’s pussy was this? Whose girl were you? They’re slammin’ their hips into yours so hard that the skin of their pelvis grows bright red. “I choose-”

“Yes?” Gojo shoves his cockhead against a particularly sweet spot inside you.

“Mhm?” Sukuna was pressing down haaaard on your clit like the cutest button.

And it’s with great difficulty - and a few more rabid strokes - until you can speak. “I choose…that you both fuck me again.”

Such filthy, filthy words coming out of your pretty mouth- 

It’s enough to make both you and Gojo cum again- and for Sukuna to take one lingering look at you two before he himself starts to throb with his high. “Fuh-fucking hell.” Never stuttered in years since his first team tryouts. Never felt so overcome with his orgasm since he first discovered what the hell that was. 

They’re both pumping out looong luxurious stripes of their seed.

Your own high was nothing but a mere few trembles by this point—or so you think. That is, until those faint tingles burst into something so intense and white-hot that you see your vision blacken for a few seconds. A strange wetness seeping between your legs.

You wonder just what might have happened- until Sukuna’s low whistle sounds. “Squirting, huh?”

“All because of me-”

“Actually-”

You have to open your eyes and see for yourself- and it’s making you gape at the splashes of squirting sap that escape you. So much so that you start to wonder just where so much of it must’ve fit, so hard that it makes every single double thrust push you through your constant high. “Sh-shit, I did this…”

Again and again.

Only once the most of it has bated and left you unclenching can you focus on taking every single wad that they’re planting inside you. Emptying out their heavy balls. Using both globular cockheads to swipe the dewy droplets inwards. 

“Inside, motherfucker.” Sukuna spits out at the other man, guiding his ruby-red tip to swivel inside. 

“I already know, you fool.”

“Sh-shit, there’s so much of it.” The mess of it glazes your insides and creates a sort of second skin. Only temporary, however, because every time you were fucked- that sheen would splosh all over again. “I feel so…ngh.”

“Mmm, filled up to the brim?” Sukuna swipes his thick fingertip down your slit and collects the excess of ivory cum dribbling out of you.

Gojo helpfully supplies as well, “Properly stuffed full?”

Sukuna smirks, “Wet like a waterpark?”

“The sweetest treat with a creamy middle?” Gojo was ruttin’ his hips up furiously, properly fucking all three of you throughout your orgasm. Toes curling. Back arching. Even when his own high was starting to peter out now and he was only pumping you full—

“Like yer gonna explode?”

“Heh, like yer gonna end up pregnant-”

You’re throwing your head back with a mewl, clawing onto their muscular bodies- “Please-” Just fucked stupid until both their waves of bliss are fading out. Pouring pumps of wadded cum every time they underwent a peak of bliss, “F-fuck, please-”

“Please?” Sukuna raises one brow down at the way you sob, “Whaddaya mean ‘please’? I distinctly remember a certain indecisive pussy- and you, wanting to go another round n’ really decide? Right, Satoru?”

“Most certainly, Ryomen.” Your boyfriend - that traitor - is fucking agreeing with his rival for one.

When did that even happen—?

But you don’t have the time to think too deeply about it- because in almost no time, they’re pulling out. In the next blink you find your limp body laid flat across one of the large wooden benches in the locker room.

Gojo and Sukuna kneeled between your legs and looking absolutely famished. You could feel their cum pouring out of you triple-fold like this, a slow n’ slick ooze.

“Shit- look at the way she’s leaking.” Gojo nudges Sukuna.

Sukuna smirks back, “Mostly because of me, heh?”

“You fuck-”

“Ahem.” They’re snapping their eyes to you instantly, just so pretty when they kneeled before you like this—they should do it more often. Still twitching from the aftershocks of your high, “And you- ngh, want me here because…?”

“To eat that pretty pussy out, mama- duh.” Sukuna rolls his eyes. “Because no matter what, we belong to you.”

Gojo pipes up, “Just trying to figure out the logistics- I want to taste my girl first, you’ve already had your turn-”

“Eh? Fuck off, I’m eating her out first-”

“You already-”

“Why not both?” It’s become your mantra, of sorts. And you’re leaning back on your elbows against the bench, leads spreadin’ just a bit wider.

The two hockey look players between you and your pussy with widened eyes.

Before you’re reaching out and bringing their heads together to kiss your puckered cunt. Their lips meeting your pussylips. Their lips meeting each others—

A hot, open-mouthed kiss.

Gojo moans.

Sukuna can’t keep the blush off of his ears once his and Gojo’s tongue slide against each other and fight for purchase of your cream-covered cunt-

“Help me decide, boys.”

.

.

.

“Aaaaand we have Gojo Satoru and Ryomen Sukuna coming up to the center to take the opening face-off, ladies and gentlemen.” Different game. Same commentator. “This might just be the most anticipated moment in our play-offs: Tokyo Free Blades vs. Heian Hawks. Gojo Satoru vs. Ryomen Sukuna. The strongest center now vs. the strongest center in history—and which one of them will take the Stanley Cup?”

Gojo and Sukuna were skating up to the face-off circle, their hockey sticks at the ready and their eyes locked on one another.

It had only been a month or two of fooling around until yet another NHL play-off, this time in Shinjuku, had the two men facing each other. And they were ready for it- in fact, they almost seemed excited for it.

Your two boyfriends are lowering into position as the referee arrives to give them a concise speech, and you can’t help but jump up and down with your cheers. Still slightly sore from how hard they went on you. Still covered in marks down your neck and your thighs from both of them. You were in the fan section for the Heian Hawks, despite the Tokyo Free Blade jersey you wore - but at least the banner in your hand announced—Shinjuku Showdown! Go Go Toru and Kuna!

And yet, even then you knew that one of them would find something to whine n’ huff about until you gave them extra coddling. You hope you didn’t write one of their names bigger than the other…

It drew a few stares, predictably.

From fans around you that beamed or from the particularly fervent fan that couldn’t comprehend this betrayal. You just never would have expected that it would draw the attention of the game commentator itself-

“And what’s that? Isn’t that Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend?” To your acute horror and amusement, you’re suddenly seeing yourself splashed across the big screen. “Look here, ladies and gentlemen- Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend with her support for the Heian Hawks as well—raise that banner higher, my dear.”

With a cheer, you do as you’re told. You know this is about to take over your entire timeline very, very soon.

“Well well well, who could’ve imagined? Maybe the Prince of the Ice has some competition, eh?” Panning over the visuals to a smirking Sukuna and Gojo who was rolling his eyes- fondly, however. “Isn’t this the same lass that caused a fight between the two players during their last match together?”

Though you’re shaking your head with a laugh, Sukuna raises a thumbs up.

“Who’d have thought…maybe a friendship between two heated rivals really is possible after all?” The commentator muses out loud, and you’re dodging the phone cameras that are being shoved your way now. Being Gojo Satoru’s girlfriend always did come with a bit of publicity that you never did expect, but being the girlfriend of both of them…“Or maybe even…something more?”

Gojo and Sukuna look at each other.

They flip each other off.

“Or maybe not—” The man declares to roaring laughs, and Yaga is smoothly lifting his hand in a signal of dropping soon. “Let’s have a good game Gojo and Sukuna fans. Clean. Fair. For that Stanley cup. No one gets injured too badly and most important of all—rock me!”

The puck drops.

The game starts.

A/N. Shinjuku showdown? More like Shinjuku PLOUGH-down *throws tomatoes* Also fun fact: some of the commentary in here were taken from actual games!

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

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

Fucking laughing.

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

“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”

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

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

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

Fuck.

Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.

And his irritation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he’d started playing. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

In middle school they adored him just as much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smoked them all- hah!

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

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

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

They actually did puncture his football.

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

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

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

The offer.

He was glad to leave it all behind.

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

But fuck, man. 

All that…for this.

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

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

Fuck again.

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

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

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

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

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

The. Fucking. Audacity.

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

Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.

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

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

This wasn’t his first match interview with you.

Not in the very least. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Geto Suguru.

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

“Nothing.”

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

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

“Oh-”

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

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

“What did you just-”

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

He pauses at that.

Just a split-second.

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

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

Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.

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

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

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

You wonder if he can hear your heart race.

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo smiles wide.

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

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

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

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

“Mhm.”

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

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

“Well…”

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

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

Was he?

.

.

.

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

2-3 to Japan.

All the way from 0.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’d simply rolled your eyes.

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

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

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

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

To you.

And stops right before you.

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

You sigh.

But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.

“Fine.”

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

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

But that earnestness in his eyes…

You wonder if-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No promises.”

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

He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.

And a flying kiss.

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

.

.

.

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

“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d texted you.

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

You: ?

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

You: I’m blocking you.

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo 

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

(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg

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

You: Ah, of course. 

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

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

You: Hello, Satoru-san.

(Foot)ballz: hehe

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

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

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

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

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

You suppose.

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

(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝

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

The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wastes no more time.

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

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

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

“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.

.

.

.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And yet, here you were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You seem like the type to never retire.”

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, who were you kidding.

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

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

“Getting dating rumors?”

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

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

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

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

“Did you really mean it?”

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

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

“I did. Why?”

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

“Awwww-”

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

“Let me have this moment—”

His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.

.

.

.

The door slams behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.

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

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

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

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

“Me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And just as he’s about to lean in-

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

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

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

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

“Shut up and get over here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just so much.

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

Your eyes widen.

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

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

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

You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.

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

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

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

But Gojo was…really massive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you always have to win?”

“Yes.”

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

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

His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin. 

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

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

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

“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A stalemate.

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

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

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

Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.

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

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

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

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

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

“Now, that’s not very nice~”

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

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

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

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

Speaking of tender spots…

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

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

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

“N-no-”

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

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

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

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

The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your jaw drops.

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

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

Goal.

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

Fucking unfair. 

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

He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, well, a bet is a bet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All the way sloppily to your shoulders.

Your neck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Cock got your-”

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

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

“I-I don’t need to—”

“She’s saying…”

Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.

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

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

And then he’s tugging at your jersey.

You’re looking up in confusion.

Then he’s pulling at your jersey—

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

And he’s taking you right along with him.

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

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

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

His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, was right.

It was exactly right.

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

And it’s not just that.

Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.

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

This fucking good?

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

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

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

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

“I-I am-”

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

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

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

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

He pushes you into the mattress.

He fucks you into the mattress.

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

Grinding.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.

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

“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“O-oh my god, Satoru-”

“It’s captain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Overspilling.

There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course I remember.” He interjects.

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

“Pardon?”

“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”

“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.

“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”

“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”

You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.

You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.

And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”

“Aw, man.”

“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”

“Fuck yeah.”

.

.

.

Eight years ago.

“Are you new here?”

Gojo startles.

The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.

He wouldn’t know.

But outside was the waiting room. 

He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.

It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.

Well, as the second chair occupied.

So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.

Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping. 

And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.

Expressionless. “Yes?”

“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”

“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”

You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”

He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”

“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”

The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.

“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”

At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”

“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”

You sigh. 

And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.

“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”

“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”

You share your name.

He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.

And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.

He turns.

And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—

But, Gojo Satoru turns back.

He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”

You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”

And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared. 

Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.

He’ll find you anyway.

.

.

.

Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.

Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.

The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.

But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal

Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.

He takes a deep breath.

He points.

He kicks.

He scores.

There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—

“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!” 

1-2 to Japan.

To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.

Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.

You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.

“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”

His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”

You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”

He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.

A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.

“Zoning out, hm?” A hot gust of breath sends shivers sprinting down your spine, and in an instant you’re snapping your eyes to latch onto deep, hazel ones. Choso’s. The edge of his plump lips curl slightly upwards, “My apologies, this wedding reception is quite droning, isn’t it?”

Hastily breathing, “N-no! Of course not, I…” You’re wincing when yet another wizened elder saunters up to the raised platform of your table. Probably the hundredth of the night. “-yeah, maybe a bit.”

Choso stifles out a rumbling bout of chuckles as he catches your gaze, so close now that his pearly white teeth almost nick your sensitive earlobe. “Let me take care of this, my wife.”

And when Choso shifts over to nod curtly at your oncoming guest, you couldn’t help but appreciate how beautiful he is. All tall, towering lines of lean muscle, his silken black yukata wafting of heady cologne, and delicate features that made him have almost as many admirers as he did foes. 

Or, at least, delicate features that were currently twisted into something hardened. Something exactly like clan leader Kamo of all the stories. 

He’s tilting his head up, long lashes narrowed, “Elder Tanaka, a pleasure.”

“No no! The pleasure’s all mine.” The older man slurs drunkenly, and despite the way his words were just dripping with saccharine sweet politeness, years of suffering through these exact interactions had made it easy for you to spot faux niceties. Like right now. “Or should I say- the new madam’s. You must be glad to marry into a clan as esteemed as the Kamo’s.”

The plastic smile that smears all over your face is painful, and you’re biting your tongue before it betrays you. “Yes, of c-”

“My apologies for cutting in, madam.” You’re startling - but you don’t know whether it’s because of the softened fingerpads that intertwine around yours, or the utter fire curdling in Choso’s eyes. “But I must say, I am the lucky one here.”

Oh.

Elder Tanaka is more impressive than you thought - his mask of respect barely even cracks, other than the jerky twitch of one eye. Honestly, you don’t think he’s ever heard Choso speak this much ever before. Quickly gathering his bearings, “Ah- ah, of course, master Kamo! Correct as always!”

Fuck- you can’t hold back the way you roll your eyes, only remembering yourself when Choso’s engulfing hands loosen from your own to give your thigh a warm squeeze. 

“You have wedded quite the catch, of course of course.” Your unwelcome company finally, finally looks at you properly. A sneer coating his slow blinking, “I-I simply meant that considering the master’s incredible power, wealth, and options, what she brings to the table-”

“-is herself.” Choso finishes off monotonically. “And that’s all I need.”

Choso’s words were husky, his grip on you tight. And you wonder if he even realized just how hard he was clutching onto your heated skin - mountains of his palm dragging a smooth up n’ down your clothed leg.

You knew he was well-hidden underneath the lacy tablecloth, you knew that not a single elder, family member, or friend bustling about your wedding reception could see that particular touch over the dim yolky lighting. 

But something about it just made you feel hot. 

It takes you a few fuzzy seconds to realize that Elder Tanaka was still speaking - in fact, he’d even summoned over a few more members of the council to encircle your decadent table. All the more voices speaking at you rather than to you.

“-that’s what I was saying-” You’re catching croaked-out snatches of conversation, warily eyeing the way the men clap each other supportively on their backs.“-it’s about the right time don’t you think?”

Another one nods, “Jin has been waiting for so long, after all-”

“-yes yes, to have an heir-”

Oh.

That’s what had Choso’s high cheekbones currently dusted with a faintly blossoming rose pink. That’s what had his thickened digits dipping past your luxurious evening yukata to rover between your thighs higher, and higher- like he didn’t even realize what he was doing. 

Like he was yearning for it.

“The Kamo clan shall have an heir.” You’re interrupting their ramblings, the mere sound of your voice enough to make Choso’s fingertips twitch. Smooth skin prickling with heaps of goosebumps already when you lock eyes right with his. “As soon as my husband is ready, right?”

And Choso Kamo was brought up with the most rigorous of training, raised to never show even the barest flicker of emotion - especially one where he’s caught off guard.

But right now he knows that he looks as stunned as he feels.

Coral pink maw falling into a soft oh! dark whirlpools of his eyes glinting with something so utterly raw. The trembling tips of his fingers lurch up just the barest inch to drag a lazy line down your pussymound. 

He’s instantaneously shifting his free hand up in one, fluid motion to cover the feverishly flushed half of his face. Jaw clenching with a sharp click! of his teeth when he swipes the fat pad of his thumb down a fresh bead of your leaking slick, making such a flimsy mess of your drenched panties. Was this all for him?

Because now Choso’s getting…greedy.

And you’re almost letting off a slight whimper when he hastily drags his scouring hand away - that is, before every and any sound dies in your throat once your husband dips his wetted thumb past his lips and sucks. 

Subtly. 

And his voice cracks oh-so-pathetically, “R-right.”

Eyes staring deeply into yours when he parts his doughy fingertips mere millimeters to lather it with a fat wad of saliva. Your breath hitches in your chest, frantically glancing at the babbling group of men who were, thankfully, way too absorbed in themselves to notice your little…tryst.

And it’s only with all his years as a seasoned fighter that Choso’s nuzzling his soaked digits back between your jittery thighs. In a flash.

Planting exactly three soppy smack! smack! smacks! plapped onto the perfect arch of your drooling pussy. Choso’s raising his neat brows at just how those tremors make you squirm in your seat.

“Ch-Cho—so-” You’re gasping under your breath, hips repeatedly shuffling on your cushiony chair when he licks up repeated, sultry circles- no, wait, hearts along the slippery slit of your covered cunt. Up and down. “Th-they might see…”

“Shhh, don’t want them to hear, baby.” He’s leaning in to pant out a murked cloud against your ear, throat bobbing with a ravenous swallow of saliva as he then probes a few stuffy fingers under your panties. “You seem stressed– Let me take care of it.”

Oh, it was a promise - and the rasping growl that bled into Choso’s tone told you that he was well and fully intent on accomplishing his little task. “Spread those pretty legs now.”

With a steady, muscular calf hooked with your own, he’s cracking your thighs evermore parted. The scorching hot press of his big, beefy forearm over your shoulders making you feel as if you’re on the verge of melting. Practically on his lap now-

“Is everything alright, master–?” You’re hearing from what sounds like somewhere over in the distance, even though you already know that it’s from right in front of you.

“Everything is quite alright.” Choso’s plush pecs vibrate with his rapid answer, and you’re finding yourself leaning your weight onto his. Huffing and puffing near the crook of his neck, “It seems the madam is just feeling a little ah…tired, right now. Continue your talk, elders.”

Tired - you couldn’t feel more riled up if you even tried.

“Ngh- Choso-” You’re sinking your teeth into your wobbly lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. High, carved chair singing off a slight creak! when you’re bucking your hips up to jostle his gluttonous fingers closer to where you wanted him the most. “-need you.”

Well, whatever his wife wanted - you got. 

In simple nanoseconds, Choso’s snugly prying away your gauzy lace. Letting the too-thin fabric snap back against your sappy cunt with a teasing little swat!

Before you can blink, he’s gracing your panties with microscopic tears at just how eager he was to give your plump, buttony clit a good, hard push. Cold golden wedding ring perking up against your most tender spots. Flexible wrists bending towards an even vulgarly deep angle to keep you from escaping-

And you think you could scream, you think you could open your mouth to make a scene - before Choso beats you to it. Purring out an oblivious, “Is everything alright, my wife? You seem a little feverish.”

All the while slipping n’ sliding his fingerpads to smear your gluey pussylips open. Mazing down, down, down in a lecherous little pace to plug up your geysering entrance snugly full with two of his fattened digits. 

You’re clutching helplessly onto Choso’s thick yukata sleeve when the elders stare over at you curiously, “I-I’m fine, Ch- my husband. Just a few post-wedding jitters.”

“Awww, that’s alright.” He’s cooing from above you, words sugarcoated with such gentleness - but his hands were anything but. “M’here, m’here.” Setting out a vicious, ceaseless pace that has his manly fingers outlining numerous circles round n’ round your tight, flooding entrance. Motioning in slight, sleazy swirls all around your elastic hole just to fit inside properly. “Your dear Choso’s here, y’know? And I’ll take such good care of you.”

“Ah! Of course-” Ring out the replies, evidently your hurried-out shudders were not enough for your guests to lose interest. Or for Choso, either - because he’s just feeding your slobbering orifice with more fat inches upon grinding inches. “-producing an heir is a very integral part of the marriage contract. It’s understandable to be nervous.”

Shivering, “S-sure.”

“Mhm—” Choso’s trawling his pouted mouth down your perspiration-simmered temple, “-a very integral part. But, of course, we’ve got to make sure that my beloved wife is-” Quirking the very edge of his digits to clash right into the target of your g-spot. “-ready, after all.”

The clingy embrace of your warm cunt so cozy that it’s bumping Choso’s metallic ring further and further from his hilled knuckles to dredge out a chilling, languid massage along your channel. 

It takes everything in you to manage up a half-heartedly narrowed glare up at your chatting husband, easily conversing his way through every battering ram being placed on your pretty pussy. 

He doesn’t make a sign - he doesn’t even make a noise. Nothing except for a sharp, sudden inhale once another innocent peck at your lips makes your filthy hole fountain out a fresh lather of sickly sweet juices. 

Dripping all the way down to his wrist with thickly viscous adhesive, he’s making such a fucking mess. And a loud one, too. 

Slurp after slurp being wrenched out with every pound of his neatly cut nails patterning out little indents onto your most favorite spots - ones that have your legs shaking underneath the humid table. Choso’s bouncing his knee to drum out a staccato against the floor, just to cover up your cute little melody.

He has you going insane.

You’re pushing apart your legs to dig into either side of your chair with just how desperate you were for him. For more more more.

Bumping your thigh against one of his, and the mere touch is enough to send shockwaves down Choso’s sloped body. 

“Trying to tease me, baby?” He’s hovering over you even closer, darting out a hefty thud! of two fingertips- no, three - when did he even bully in another one - onto the goopy roof of your cunt. 

“M’not-” You’re biting out, head lolling ever-so-slightly backwards when Choso furrows his brows and pumps out copious thrusts that hit your forbidden g-spot dead on. Engulfed so deeply inside your hot core that the gentle curves of his palm smudge against your clit now. “J-just keep- talking.”

And, truly, it wasn’t just because your company was peering over the two of you expectantly - it was because Choso sounded so very hot. 

Vibrato husky with an animalistic sort of need, tremoring ever-so-slightly-

“Agreed, I would like a few sons and daughters.” Choso’s nodding along smoothly, although his full attention is focused on you. His wife. And the way your sweltering hot gummy walls clench around his bludgeoning fingers even tighter at the words. Faster. “Maybe three. Maybe five. Although, it’s up to the madam.”

In the corner of your eye, you’re catching them all staring at you, and you urgently force out a nod.

“C’mon now, answer them using your words like a big girl, why don’t you–?” He’s humming, tilting your burning face up. Faster. So that you can’t hide.

Lilting shrill just as unbalanced as your head was, “Y-yes-”

But of course, that wasn’t enough - that would never be enough. “Louder. They can’t hear you over the music, baby.”

Can’t do anything but claw down drawings of red, red lines all across Choso’s milky arms when he bustles into the targets of your honeyed spots even harder. Unsteady syllables spilling out from your lip before you can even register them, “Yes- yes. As…many as possible.”

“That’s it- good girl.”

Fuck. 

And those raked scratches make perfect artwork for him to admire - just as he was admiring you right now. 

It was just such a shame that the others here were, too, even if they didn’t know the complete and utter sin happening just underneath the table cloth. Sloppier. 

Choso’s kissing his teeth, broad deltoids of his shoulder positioning to hide you away from any sleazy gazes. Because they could be near, but they couldn’t see. You were his.

“Then, it’s settled-” He’s drawling, hooded eyes locked onto you. Memorizing your every minute twitch and reaction when he urges his free hand to hold onto yours on your lap. Or, at least, that’s what it looked like to the outside. In fact, Choso’s snugly prying apart your silken robes to roll over your throbbing clit and pinch. “-we can look forward to an heir, soon. Right, madam?”

And that’s all it takes for you to cum.

Your head tucking into his sculptured shoulder, thighs closing with a dull clap! as your high crashes into you headfirst. You don’t need to mutter a single sentence for Choso to know.

For his eyes to widen just a fraction at the way your treacly slit only got infinitely dewier, rounded gumdrops of your slick sprinkling down in a weepy sheen all over his messy hands. Mouth going parched at the realization that you’re orgasming right here, right now. 

“O-oh? Seems my wife agrees.” Choso’s waving those elders away now, not taking his eyes off of you for a single second. It was just too adorable how you were shaking like a leaf at his side, “Well, m’glad. So- so…glad.”

Motioning your hips in such salacious semi-circles to bump up his upright fingers against your every extra sweet orifice.

Your sticky walls were so staggeringly tightly wrapped around him that it’s making his forehead bead with sweat, low puffs of air escaping with every peak he fucks you through. Every peak of white-hot pleasure that he draaags out until your guests are finally - finally - walking back to their own tables. 

“Sh-shit-” you’re mewling when Choso barely hesitates - barely even takes a quick sweep around the room to check who might be looking - before parting from your sappy cunt with a resounding squelch!

Immediately popping those viscously-glazed fingerpads into his starved mouth, he’s letting his glassy eyes sprint to the back of his head. Musing out a moan, “Fuck- fuck!”

You can only watch with an awed gape whilst Choso stares right into your heart-shaped pupils as he cleans himself off. One by one. Before trekking his lustrous fingers back over to your cunt, and measuring out a wide few inches - perhaps nine - from the base of your teary entrance up to your tummy.

“Choso…” you’re whispering, hazy eyes blinking up at him as if through molasses. “Wha’s that for?”

And Choso only grins, stray range of knuckles thoroughly bitten underneath his gleaming canines while he measures you up. 

As if he was holding back. Keeping himself sane. And the half-lided greed in Choso’s eyes told you that he’d fuck you all proper right here and right now if he could. “N-nothing- just making sure of somethin’, my wife. Making sure that you can take me.”

Oh. 

This was far from over. You were fucked. 

And you were completely and utterly sure of it even if the topic of an…heir didn’t come up for the next few days after that. 

Not that you didn’t think about it, though - it was hard not to, when your fatally notorious husband showed such a tender side of himself with his younger brothers. 

With you.

And soon enough even through all the bustling meetings and duties of a madam, you’re still figuring out a way to tell Choso that you really weren’t kidding about what you said during that wedding reception.

Sure, you were drunk on his fingers but - that wasn’t just all, was it?

But you’d sorely underestimated just how busy a clan leader could get. And before you knew it, putting off the conversation for the morning after your wedding night had turned into putting it off for the weekend. 

Then putting it off for next week. Two weeks. 

All the way until you’re trudging along the winding corridors of the Kamo Estate during the most unholy hours of the night. Grumbling groggily to yourself about how you’d finally told him and it had ended supremely well - in a dream, that is.

Choso had been absent for almost the entire day today, attending an important land negotiation with a far-off clan, according to Jin. 

Now, you knew just how powerful your husband was - it was impossible to escape the legends and rumors, in fact - and you trusted him. Still, you couldn’t help but toss and turn the entire night away in your coldly empty bed as you wondered just how safe he would get home.

You’d been to such veiled conferences before, after all. 

And it’s simply pure worry that has you dragging yourself out of your king-sized bed to shuffle into the barely-lit kitchen. Stifling half-blindly in the moonlight through cabinets and coolers to find ah! Exactly what you’ve been looking for. 

Thank goodness this place was empty right now, you didn’t know if you could handle it if the chef was here to lecture you about balanced diets when you’re bites deep into your sugary, shaved icing.

And it’s exactly with this thought in mind that you hear a loud thud! emanating from the far end of the hallway. Your eyes widen, ears searching for more-

Footsteps. 

At this time? Your fingers itch towards the sparkling display of knives tucked in one corner of the granite counter. Ready to aim for that tall approaching shadow, ready to fling just as Choso had taught you when-

“Baby?”

“Oh–” Your breath comes out in a heavy gust of relief, eyes unable to tear away from the shaded outline of your husband, taking up every inch of the doorway. “It’s just you, Cho.”

It was. But there was something about Choso that seemed…different. Off. 

But not in a bad way - your eyes rover appreciatively over the tautly flexed muscles of his upper half, peeking out almost-blasphemously where he’d shrugged the upper half of his deep purple yukata off. 

Glinting bow and arrow stained with crimson, held in one tightly-gripped hand. Your nose wrinkles at the slight, dangerous scent of something metallic. Something not his. 

Yet, you can’t help but ogle the slow path of dewdropped sweat trailing down between the curvaceous bulge of his heaving pecs, bumping up and down over his washboard abs, before disappearing below-

It’s like you’re being bolted with an instant flash of lightning as soon as this happens, snapping your eyes over to find Choso’s weighty ones. And oh- the moment you do it’s like something in him melts. 

THUD!

You’re jumping when his weapons hit the floor - uncaring of whether this might alert anyone else in the household, uncaring of anything other than crossing the sizzling distance between the two of you in three urgent strides. 

You don’t even have the time to process it before Choso halts right before you and falls to his knees. Dark lashes fluttering up at you, he echoes, “Baby.”

Like a broken little mantra. 

“Ch-Choso- baby-” It’s just about the only thing you can manage out through hollowed gasps when he’s immediately digging two hands on either side of your hips to easily and pliably seat you on the icy counter. Just where he wanted. “-what’s gotten into you?”

“Dunno.” He’s garbling out, and you’re letting your boneless legs tumble further and further open to let him bury his face right at his favorite place - into your fluttering cunt. “Was jus’ thinking about you alllll day.”

And you could tell.

Because Choso’s every movement was depraved. Jerky. His sensory fingertips trembling when they card underneath your cottony sleep garments, bringing it up to his canines to rip–!

All with his mouth.

“Fuh-fuck-” You’re squealing at the sudden hit of cold air - followed very closely by a scorching hot breeze overtaking every inch of your cunt when Choso leans in and sniffs. Long, hard. Curdling out a feral keen at the back of his throat, “-that’s so filthy, baby.”

“Nothing’s filthy for me if s’you, madam.” At the glint of something slobbering and sharp, you can tell that he’s grinning. “If s’you or…her.”

He was enamored with your ready core, curving a gentle thumb down the glossy edges to give your driveling hole a good trickle of spittle. 

And Choso Kamo knew he had perfect aim - he knew he didn’t have to make a mess. 

But oh, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head just degrees to the side to let the splatters leave dripping wet splotches down your saturated folds, your inner thighs. 

Tongue so long, lolling out drunkenly to smear away that filthy excess. He’s poking heated ounces again and again back into your soppy entrance. You were practically flooding torrents of sweet, sweet juices around him, already making a mess that lacquers his dimpled chin. 

You were always so sweet - so good for him. And he can feel his ears pop already with the greedy anticipation of what he was craving to do. 

“Think you missed me, too.” He’s snickering, teeth sinking down onto the fleshy nub of your clit. It’s enough to make you want to sob. “Didn’t ya?”

Gyrating your hips in such hypnotizing little swivels off of the smooth counter, you’re feeling his candied breaths hit your gummy walls even deeper. Sloppier. Whimpering out, “Yes- yes. Missed you so badly, Cho–”

“Oh yeah?” He’s tensing up the dexterous edge of his tongue to swipe up unhurried skids of his roughened tastebuds around and around your quivering entrance. In and out. Syrupy slick leaking in heaps right as he does, Choso tilts his head back to let those gooey masses slide down his throat. “Mmm— you’re wetter than usual, baby. How badly do you want the ngh- clan leader on his knees for you, hm?”

It was true - and Choso can feel something coiling and coiling heatedly at the base of his stomach at the idea of giving you perhaps…a kid…or two to make sure you’re not so lonely anymore. 

Ah, he was pussydrunk. 

“So- too badly.” You don’t think you’d ever be babbling away like this if Choso wasn’t making out with your needy cunt like that. 

You’re tangling your fingers hastily into his dark, silken locks - gripping desperately onto his sweat-dampened scalp as you use up all your strength and push. All the way until the very tip of Choso’s button nose was meeting your pulsing clit in a harsh smooch, his chin smacking the teary ends of your cunt.

Words tremoring against the very outer ring of your puffy pussy, silvery strings of saliva n’ sap break off when Choso mutters, “Was talkin’ to her, y’know?”

Fuck. 

And you think you would be huffing and puffing about how he was talking with your dousingly wet cunt instead of you. 

That is, if you weren’t talking back to him from between your legs. 

Because the only thing louder than the slack-jawed ah! ah! ah! leaving your lips with every repeated thrust of Choso’s tongue, was the sound of your soppy squelches. “Ohhh- so that’s how your day was? Tell me more…”

So loud - so embarrassing that you can feel your heart race.

And Choso’s was, too, but for a much more lecherous reason as his tongue clashes even harder to draw out those very same pretty noises from you. He was craning his ears closer - he was addicted. 

“Yeah-  yeah, tha’s right.” Choso’s groaning, eyes faltering droopily until they were almost shut at the way his husking growls only make you wetter. Well, he could help with that. Hitting your hot core with wad after weighty wad of even more sugary spit. “Thaaaat’s fuckin’ right, missed how mouthy you hah- are. My talkative girl.”

“Cho- ngh!” You’re biting down on your tongue to hold back your words when Choso raises up a hand to leave a solid spank right on your bloated pussymound. 

He’s nodding along, head lurching intoxicatedly ever closer and closer. Wiping away a glistening streak of slick painted over his blushing cheeks - his blushing cheeks. “That’s right- would’ve made a- haaaah- a whole lotta b-better points than that stupid council does.”

Before pecking a lingering French kiss on your throbbing clit like a lover would. 

And you count one, two, three- partway through four before Choso seems to remember that he’s still in the middle of his conversation with your cute cunt. It’s rude to leave her hanging, he’s pondering.

“Well-” Stringing himself away with such a pained grunt, cerise lower lip plumping out in a pout at the mere thought of being away from you. “-better points than that stupid council d-did. They won’t be making aaaaany comments ‘bout you anymore, madam.”

Your leaden eyelids struggle to flitter open, “Wh-what do you ngh- mean, baby?”

But the only response you get is a quick staccato of swats at your leaky slit, before Choso’s curling in a thick thumb past your watering lips and in to your slicked entrance. Followed by the delicious drag of his lengthy tongue doubly slipping back inside.

Thrust after thrust. 

So extensive that he was skimming across all your ridges, mapping out every sweet spot of yours on his mouth. Your adhesive walls were clinging onto him like a vice, sappy mushes making him pry apart your thighs even more through furrowed brows. 

“Jus’- just means-” He can’t even bear to speak. To break off from stretching you staggeringly open. Your legs wrap mindlessly around Choso’s ravenous head, “-means I don’t let anyone- hah- say anythin’ about my wife.” 

Without a second thought, your eyes find his splayed-out arrows on the floor. The way they were sullied with red…

Oh. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything other than let your head jerk backwards, muffing out slight whimpers when he alternates in such sloppy measures between swirling the fattened expanse of his tongue all over every possible spot of your gummy walls and sucking on your clit like his favorite candy.

“They won’t say- do- anythin’—” In so deep now that all you could make out were numerous wet gurgles. And the pure, unadulterated love in Choso’s tone when he twists his thumb to graze right against your bruised and battered g-spot. Hard. “Not when I love her so much.”

He’s gonna raise your kids to love you just as damn much.

And when you cum, you think you might be sobbing - you’re shaking. 

Flurries of stars bursting behind your eyes as you dig your fingers through your husband’s perspired strands. Keening out, “Fuck- m’cumming- m’cumming–”

“I know I know.” He smirks hotly against your puffy pussy lips, so close that you could feel the cratered dimple of his grin. “Yer cute cunt told me, baby– heh- wouldn’t mind being welcomed ah- home by my wife like this every day.”

He lets himself be manhandled, pulled and pushed to your every whim. One of the strongest clan leaders whimpering - whimpering - when you pull just a bit too hard to mash his cushiony mouth in a deeper kiss. 

Hot. Sappy. 

You’re still shaking with sparking bouts of heat that rush down and up your spine, legs twitching when Choso pulls away with a loudly kissed mwah! Overly exaggerated just to see that shy, fucked-out expression on your face. 

He was so unfairly pretty like this - a delicate red blush burning all over his face, eyes half-lidded like he was feverish. A shimmery spray of your juiced slick drips down his chin, his bruised lips, all the way up to his regal cheekbones. 

He made a mess. And he was wearing it like a badge of honor.

Rising up, up, up to shutter your ajar jaw and plant a drenching kiss. Choso always left your mind so melty and stupid no matter what he did. 

“Do you…do you want some hngh- sh-shaved ice?” You’re babbling with your cottony tongue, unsure of what exactly to say after something as intense as…that. 

“Nah-” One kiss. Another Two. Five. “-I jus’ had something a whooole lot sweeter, madam.”

Right now it was so quiet in your kitchen. Just you, Choso, and the gleaming moonlight illuminating his pussydrunken enchantment. Even more so than usual. 

You’re glissading your arms around his sweat-matted neck, reeling him in even closer. He smells so good, piney cologne searing your senses even despite that tint of iron. Nervously musing, “Hmmm, wonder if s’always gonna be like hah- this whenever I get…cravings.”

Well- it wasn’t exactly what you wanted to say, but, better than nothing.

“Cravings, huh?” Choso’s eyes twinkle - and you’re not sure if that’s a result of the muted lighting or because of what you just said. Hopefully the latter. 

“Well- well just saying I wouldn’t mind if-”

Cutting yourself off, you’re sure it’s the latter when he rests a massive palm, warm against your tummy. Just for a split-second before tucking his big, strong arms underneath your body and propping you in an easy princess carry. “If you have cravings then I’d be the one cooking for ya, my wife. 24/7, at your feet.”

Yeah, you were fucked. 

But you never really realized just how much - just how badly - until just a few days later; seated on the polished hardwood floor of the famed Kamo archery dojo. 

It was routine for your husband to practice his pinpoint precise shooting, and by now it was your routine to watch him. 

How could you not? Because it was such a heavenly sight.

Choso’s pristine, white yukata unravelled at one muscular shoulder; showing off the rippling curves and dips of his sculptured back. Strong. His honed eyes filmed with a focus he only ever gets in bed. Adonis-like biceps bulging in a lecherous little flex when he draws the string back, back, back and lets go-

“YES!” Yuji’s resounding cheer thunders across the vast chamber with way too much volume than a six-year-old should possibly have. “Let’s goooo- big bwother hit the target again.”

A simpering smile stretches across your lips as soon as he turns to you for reassurance, gesturing out a slow nod at the way Choso keeps piercing bullseye after bullseye. “He did, your brother is very talented, Yuji.”

Humming, “When I grow up m’gonna be just like him.” 

“Of course.” You’re chuckling at his enthusiasm - the youngest of your husband’s brother’s always did have a special spot in your heart. And you can’t help but wonder when - if - you had an heir with Choso, whether they would be much the same. “You are his brother, after all.”

You’re frantically hovering your hands behind him once he bustles to a haphazard stand. Stumbling only a few times as he races over to the neat line of inventory, “Then- I’ll be just like him now.”

“Be careful!”

Ah, he really was a handful - which meant, you really didn’t expect it to go over perfectly smoothly. You’d known that simply wouldn’t have been possible as soon as you met Itadori Yuji. 

Yet, you didn’t expect everything to go so wrong in just a mere matter of seconds. 

Before you can even blink, Yuji’d tottered his way over to one particularly large, wooden bow - one used only by Ryomen Sukuna whenever he visited. Puffing out his chest as he reeled out the massively heavy weapon - overly heavy, way too much for even the most determined child-

CRASH!

“Yuji!” You don’t know who yelps louder - you, or Choso. But with your proximity, you’re the one that reaches him first, cradling the sniffling boy in your arms. 

You jostle away the weighty bow - honestly, how he even managed to lift this in the first place you have no idea. 

“Awww, don’t cry don’t cry–” You’re cooing, distantly registering the worried pants of his older brother skidding to a stop beside you. He always did have him curled around his little finger. Pushing away the pinkish curls from his forehead, “-you’re alright. See? You’re alright.”

“Are you hurt? Are you dizzy? Are you feeling nauseous-”

“Choso.” You warn, catching the way Yuji’s eyes widen in panic. 

Taking a few deeply necessary breaths to calm down. “You- don’t do that-” Choso’s hissing, but you could practically feel the worry seeping into his tone. Thumbing slow circles on his aching shoulders, “-ask me for a bow instead.”

You have to bite back a grin - with the watery glaze taking over his eyes, you wondered who was really hurt - Yuji or Choso himself. 

“M’sorry big bwother.” Blubbering through big, pearly tears that dry salty streaks down his chubby cheeks. He’s batting those lashes in a way you’re sure gets him out of any sort of trouble. Ever. The full, merciless force of it hits your poor heart as Yuji turns to you. “Sorry, mama.”

Mama. 

Mama. 

You freeze. Choso freezes.

Hell, even the twittering birds outside freeze mid-song. 

It seems like everyone in the entire world freezes except for an oblivious Yuji who only continues inching his tiny hands closer towards that guilty bow. Clearly not having learned his lesson - but you didn’t even register that right now. 

You’re staring at Choso, only to find that he’s staring right back. Droopy eyes uncharacteristically wide, blinking rapidly - it didn’t even look like he was breathing right now. 

Maw parting and closing stupidly agape, and you’re almost tempted to reach out and check whether he’s doing okay - before he finally finds his voice again. Finally. Husking out a choked-out, “W-well- maybe we should- ah- should-” He’s turning towards his contrastingly okay younger brother, “Yuji?” 

“Big bwother!” Comes the, unfortunately, helpless answer. 

And something in his beaming expression seems to jolt Choso out of his reverie, something that makes him let out a tight nod. Scooping up the giggling boy over his shoulder, he calls out at you, “Wait here.”

As Choso walks out of the doorway, you could only watch.

Only sit there for what could be four seconds - or maybe even four hundred years - until he’d presumably dropped off Yuji at the safety of Jin. Taking steady, focused strides back to you that thud! thud! thud! right along to the beat of your racing heart.

Choso’s expression is blank - pale as if he’s seen a fucking ghost. And he doesn’t even look at you, can’t even bear to once he walks back to the thickened air of the dojo. Now pointedly alone. 

Very, very alone. 

Wordlessly, he picks up his famed bow. And you swear that you can see his practiced hands tremble. Something was happening. 

It’s like an artwork that you can’t look away from. The fluid motion of aligning a singular arrow to aim for his final, rounded target. Doughy pads of his fingers pinching the string back, back, back until it snaps!

And misses. For the first time in years.

“Fuck.”

You barely have the time to compute - to even suck in a gasp of surprise before your husband comes and crashes into you. It’s as if he was magnetized and couldn’t get away even if he wanted to. 

It’s a frenzy of white billowing sleeves and powerful arms, throwing you over Choso’s shoulder in only two seconds flat - much the same way that he’d done with Yuji moments prior.

Except more…urgent. 

“Choso- Cho!” You’re squealing, as he lurches into hurried treads away. Legs kicking weakly in the air, only for your stubborn self to be granted with an unapologetic spank! right on the mound of your ass. Your nose crinkles as his long, inky locks tickle your face, “What is-”

“Be quiet.” Choso’s rasping, so small that it could not have been more than a whisper. So close that you’re drinking in heady wafts of his masculine cologne. 

Something in his snarling tone makes your stomach tighten. Digits grappling precariously onto the toned curves of his shoulders, your fingertips slide down the sweltering expanse of his exposed skin. 

And only too late do you recognize the familiar pathway towards your shared bed chamber- oh. 

So that was what it was. 

And judging by the dark, primal look swimming in the clan leader’s eyes you could only hope that you made it out alive-

SLAM!

You don’t know what’s forcing you more out of your excited little reverie - the shuddered slam! of your mahogany double doors, so hard that it makes the golden hinges shake, or the way you’re thrown haphazardly on the bed. 

Like some glorified toy. One of Choso’s favorites. 

You’re throwing your arms over his broad shoulders as you fall, lugging him in even closer with each springy bounce on the bedcoils. 

But closer wasn’t close enough for your husband - he’s bullying into every ounce of your personal space, caging you in between two splayed-out palms on either side of your thoroughly spinning head.

“Mama, is it?” Choso starts out. Slow. Thick. Like he was approaching a cornered prey. “Baby, I want…I want it.”

You’re blinking up at him through eager eyes, “Want what, Cho?” 

“I want an heir. I want to make you…” He gulps. The circles of his fingertips were so warm on your skin, trailing down lovingly all across your cheek. Your collarbones, your heaving tits - down to where you predictably flinched as he palmed your tummy. “-a pretty momma.”

Fawny strands of chestnut brown curtain his gaze, but you could tell just how serious he was. Just how greedy. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Choso like this in his entire life. 

All you can breathe out is a crackling, “Yes.”

You said it. You finally said it after all these weeks. 

And it’s the only thing you hear before your yukata is all but torn off of you, Choso doesn’t even realize when he’s doing so. It’s melting away like butter underneath his strength, mere obstacles to where the real prize is - your gorgeous, shivering body.

Pebbles of goosebumps rise onto the surface of your flesh when he throws away those useless pieces of fabrics onto the tatami floor - you can have more newly tailored anyway. Many, many more with just how round and full you’re about to be very soon. 

He’d take care of it for you.

“Oh, madam- madam.” He’s spitting into your unfastened mouth, low growls sounding out across each four corners of your room. Held hostage by the arousal in your eyes, he can’t stop staring. “M’gonna ruin you.”

And Choso is feral like never before. 

Usually one to take his time during sex, finetuning you into it like a sultry waltz. His favorite hobby was to drive you mindlessly wild before he even thought of stuffing you full. But now…

Still not breaking his dreamy eye contact with you, Choso hooks a rapidfire finger over the cute bow-tied hem of your panties. Slurring down an oozing little snail trail of slick that laminates your jittery thighs with evidence of just how badly you wanted him. 

You feel the blistering pant of his mindless oh! fanning your features, leaning backwards with a loosened maw to admire just how glistening you are in this lighting. 

How ready.

With a low, fucked-up whimper breaking at the back of his throat, he rubs over the bloated curvature of your needy pussy. Slipping ever-so-slightly at the saturated puddles leaking out, Choso has no hesitation or shame when he tugs his fingerpads into his mouth once. 

Twice. Thrice. 

Dipping back down for more and more and more-

“Can’t-” He’s guttering out, eyes crinkling and- fuck, were those tears? “I c-”

You reach your hand up to smear away his hot rivulets of salt, and Choso stops his prattling like a broken record forced to a halt. He jolts as if your touch has just sent a zillion shocks of voltage down his spine, all the trekking trailway down to his furious, aching cock. 

Unsteady hands flinging apart his snowy robes - barely even bothering to remove them and wrench down his undergarments before you see it. You finally understand why Choso was so…restless.

Because he’s never been harder. 

Fuck being furious, his bawling cock was seething. Equally as red as the ripest of strawberries, the split-ended crown of his cockhead was just as plumply swollen. All proud inches nestled underneath his painfully-clenching breeder balls, ballooned and lush. Only the barest of your gaze is enough to make Choso’s lustrous tip twitch, laminating himself with a freshly dripping glaze of translucent pre. 

Though, it’s not like you were doing any better. 

Your gluey lips pucker and pout up at him once he’s wrangling your legs into a boneless hold. The feeling of his palms underneath your thighs are so soft - even despite his battle-hardened calluses. Worshipping. 

But the way he’s resting your legs on his shoulders, and folding you in half like a whining lawnchair is the complete opposite. Mercilessly into a-

“M-mating press-” Choso’s getting out through strangled breaths, as if the sole words had his poor sanity fraying at the edges. “-mating press- a- a-” Something he’s never tried out before. His head dips down, pearls of sweat simmering across his trembly upper lip as soon as your sticky folds leave a wet snog on his fattened mushroomy tip. Topping it with a generous heap of honeyed sap, “Well, hello there, baby. I have you in a mating press n’ m’gonna…gonna…”

He couldn’t even finish his sentence. 

Couldn’t even finish his thought before Choso was doing - body moving miles and miles ahead of his stupidly saccharine-sweet mind. 

“F-fuuuuck–” You’re letting off the keenest of whines, the edges of your nails leaving neat crescents all over his toned back. It was the perfect little present for the way he had you so split open. 

And he was barely even pushing past the tip. 

“Oh. Oh.” Choso’s grunts are throaty, as if they weren’t coming from the man himself but somewhere murked and dark inside him. And the same went for his feverish thrusts - tight, rigid little pushes past your slicked-up hole just to fit inside. He’s spitting into your slacked mouth, “C’mon- c’mon c’mon–”

Usually, it takes so long to prepare you to take his nine- no, ten inches. But currently, fast just wasn’t fast enough.

There’s a thundering slam! abovehead - only hours and hours later do you have enough brainpower to realize that it was Choso striking his palm down on the headboard - and it makes your clingy walls grip onto the battering mountain of his dewy head. 

Squeezing in a repeatedly adhesive-like tempo, Choso’s nose crinkles at the rubbery resistance of your snug hole. Still molding to the slightest curves and ridges of his drowned slit with every desperate rut-

“Please- take it- fucking take it.” His voice was trembling on the edge of a crack, thickened exactly the way one does when he’s about to cry. “H-how can I fuck! How can I breed ya…if I don’t-”

And you’re swearing you see his ruddied cheeks glisten with a few slipped-off tears - though, that just might be from the way that your own vision mists over when his stray hand plugs up your spilling entrance to pry two thickened, scissoring digits inside and stretch. “Fucking- take that big fuckin’- cock-”

Bullying in a few more long n’ girthy inches- You’re so full that it feels like Choso’s pushing his bloated crownhead against the spongy edges of your lungs. 

The bed dips and moans with frequent soft creaks! when he plants his curved knees firmly further apart. Flexibly so. And you’re getting a good, greedy eyeful of his pale, bulky thighs - angling at the perfect bend to snap his slender hips and jackhammer-

“Sh-shit-” Your head sinks into the cushiony pillows underneath you, and it already feels like you’re in heaven. “-don’t- don’t know if it’ll fit, Cho–”

With a bitten lip, Choso rovers down his sturdy hand from the surface of the bedframe to measure out ten solid inches. Bringing it down much the same way he did during your wedding reception, “Y-you can, baby–”

“But-”

“You will.” He’s gasping, gracing you with a soft brush of his curvaceous mushroomed head along one of your utmost favorite hidden sweet spots. It’s enough to make you buck. “Gonna take my cock, n’ you’re gonna haaah- take my seed ‘ntil you’re bloated. So I’ll make it fit- fuck- watch, I’ll make it fit.” Before you know it, that very same hand finds itself crowning your head, threatening to push you down- “C-can you say hngh- ‘biiiig stretch’ f’me?”

You’re hiccuping out, “B-big stretch?”

“Nuh uh-” By the time that Choso shakes his head, you’re being sprinkled with loose flecks of his sweat. He was in so deep now. “Say it with me- b-biiig stretch, baby–”

“B-biiig- stretch!” It takes you everything in your body to hold your own against the vicious pounds being planted and struggled into your goopy depths. Choso was determined. Frenzied. 

And god, the way you’re dumbly parroting his words is so hot. He can’t help but dollop out muggy icings of pre that slosh and swab at every nook and cranny inside you. 

“Good girl.” Rewarding you with a slow heart being patterned right on the throbbing peak of your clit, the roughened edges of his fingertips rub you just right. Not too hard. Not too soft. Your husband nuzzles his flushed head into the havened crook of your clammy neck, “S-say it again, madam.”

“Biiig-”

Honestly, it’s a wonder you manage to get exactly two syllables out at all. Because soon enough, Choso’s taking your distracted few seconds to lace his fingers onto your scalp push. To bump his hips back until your geysering cunt was struggling around his fat, bulbous tip.

Before stuffing you full all the way in-

“Fuck- no.” Choso’s spitting out venomously against your thrumming pulse, sharp fringes of his teeth digging in animalistically. Bottomed out but still pushing and pushing- Slamming a lazy stripe of luscious precum down your spongy cervix, “No- no no–”

No sooner are you full of all his massive, rummaging length, he’s making you take even more. This time in the form of dribbling, ribbony volumes of cum that leak and leak and won’t stop from his heated divot. 

It’s ballooning up your tight channel even more. Swashing around and sticking to your gummy walls like a treacly lacquer. Filling you to your very brim-

“S-so much.” You’re gaping, through tear-strung lashes. The shivering edges of your fingers subconsciously dance downwards to splotch over the puddling globs of seed tricking from either side of your sloppy slit. Squeezing out even more to coat Choso’s bulky base with creamy rings upon rings. 

And, usually, your husband might be just a bit embarrassed. Usually, he would have pulled out to make out with your pretty pussy until your scores were more than tied.

But that wasn’t your husband right now. 

“Don’t.” Choso clicks his drunkenly heavy tongue, lips pulling back into what almost looks like an oh-so-feral snarl. And you have to admit that it looks so sexy on him. He’s rudely swatting away your curious hand, “Move that fucking hand n’ let me see.”

It takes only a split-second for both your hands to be pinned underneath one of Choso Kamo’s. 

“Tha’s not enough to take.”

And only one more split-second for him to flip you over onto your tummy and stuff your head into the cushy pillows. 

He’s fucking you like he’s using you. Like he’s pumping his mushy, swollen head to nudge in the weighty heft of his cum deeper and deeper and deeper-

“Y’know I hate hngh- disrespectin’ my wife, baby–” He leans over to sigh against your ear in craving hisses, pinning you with his body. His muscles. You could count each n’ every one of Choso’s bulging abs, glissading damply against your perfectly arched spine. Bubblegum pink nipples pressed roughly into your scorching skin, “Hate it- but…”

You gasp at Choso’s audacity next - at the way it makes you so traitorously soaked when he hikes up one of his feet to rest upon your head. 

Gurgling out a stupid. “Ch-Cho–”

But he didn’t seem to hear you - you didn’t know if he was even managing to breathe at this point. Only letting his devious lips twitch up, up, up into such a satisfied grin. “-but ‘ntil I get my hngh- heh…heir, you’re gonna hafta be my cumdump, madam.”

And if the saturated slurps singing out at a near-deafening tone from your dripping pussy said anything - it was that you loved the idea. 

Especially when the changed angle makes his scouring cockhead maze between the most treasured spots of your jelly-like walls to strike numerous, merciless hits dead-set on your g-spot. 

Ah, there it was, pipes up that small voice in Choso’s overtaken brain. Jostling your hips back onto his with a sudden spank on the target of your drivelling hole, the stinging pressure makes you bump your tenderest spots again and again into his ruthless batters. 

It’s bruising - the proud circumference of his plummy cock against your elastic cervix with every recoiling bounce, the rounded patterns of his balls against the hind of your pretty pussy with each thrust.

If you didn’t think you were being fucked stupid before then you were sure now. 

Your velveteen pillowcase dampens with the ever-flooding saliva spilling from your mouth every time Choso rears his aching shaft back to plant rapid, precise strikes where you wanted him the most. 

Whimpering at how every ramming dab of his split cockhead leaves leakages of pearly white cum all over the bottom of your pussy. That sultry swirl of his dumped heaps inside of you making your head spin just as dizzily. 

You almost don’t notice it when Choso’s drifting both hands to skirt over about halfway down your tummy. Feeling for that bloated, cylindrical outline of him vulgarly messing up your insides, “Gonna be e-even fuller here soon, y’know-” He’s giggling - giggling. Erratically letting his hands slide down to your clit to give the peaked ends just a tiny pinch. “-have you all round. Full. Full-”

He can’t say anything else.

He can’t do anything else - other than watch in purely entranced awe when that makes you cum all over his fucking cock. 

So big n’ thick that your claggy walls can barely even squeeze around his throbbing shaft. The thought makes you huff as he rams rigorously through your blinding high - teeth grit, your fingers fist at the pillows and make sure you can clench-

When you do- oh, when you manage to cling your gummy cunt onto his girth as if to suck out his fucking soul, it makes Choso cum, too.

Fatigued hips somehow matching his cadence, your knees shiver on top of the softened mattress stuttering through every dousing mass of cum gliding inside your cute cunt. It was so heavy having his massive torrentials inside of you, spraying the door to your womb with a slippery sheen.

It was maddening. 

And maybe it’s been hours - maybe it’s been mere minutes. But all you know is that you’re put through rounds and rounds and more rounds. But he’s still not stopping. Still dredging out the tiniest of hollowing grinds. 

Until much, much later Choso’s breath hitches in feverish stutters. It was so steamily hot inside you, only getting more humid by the minute as you ride out yet another crashing high.

“G’na milk e-every ngh- drop-” He titters, fleshy edges of his fingers closing in around where your pussylips were the most buxom. The most leaky. “-n’ you’re gonna ngh- keep it. Keep ‘ntil you give me an h-heir. Remember that, baby– keep it.”

You’re fighting against the weight of his muscular leg on top of you. Was he clamming your pussy shut? 

“Choso, baby.” Your straining out, throat drier than the Sahara at this point. Even despite how the hypnotized way your husband looks at you makes your tongue lather with watery saliva. “Want- want more.”

You think you might just have broken Choso Kamo.

Might just have made him reach another surprising high all over again with just your simple request. He’s lifting off the powerfully pressurized foot crowned on your head in favor of lurching downwards to grab your tender throat into a headlock.

Manhandling you as he pleased. Lifting you off of the tattered pillow, the completely splintered bed frame now. 

Your chin juts over his thick, bulging biceps, fighting for both air and the space-

“More- more, she says-” He’s chuckling out, words cracking a few octaves higher than normal. From the corner of your eye, you sneak glimpses at the way that Choso’s eyes were wide, crazed. Flashing all sorts of feral promises when he plants one, two, three long thuds against your soppy cervix. “Fucking- m-more.”

You’re letting off a tiny whimper - your orgasm nothing but tingles at this point. Yearning for that the piping hot streak of seed flushed into your already-overspilling cunt. Syruping in with the rest of his numerous goopy volumes, it’s thick and needy. 

Only one.

“Sh-shit.” He’s wheezing against your ear, free hand flying down to tug at his reddened base for more more more- one’s not enough. Every possibly wiry wisp and speckle that could fill you up. Could give him an heir. “Can’t cum dry- won’t- oh.”

Rutting into you like Choso won’t stop - didn’t know if he even can stop anymore. You flinch at the suddenly hot splatter! of something warm…and wet at your shoulder. 

“Cho- oh!” Not only was the clan leader drooling out glossy spatters of saliva, he was crying. Hugging you even closer, you’re showered in neverending streams of overstimulated tears.

And Choso can only babble away, “Hope- hope s’a daughter, madam.”

A/N. AYYY y’all have been wanting more dom Choso saurrrr- Anyways hope you have a lovely week <3

There’s a strangely sharp glint in his stare, and his traitorously handsome jaw clenches through a wild grin. 

With a wide sweep of the bustling ballroom, he murmurs over the live orchestra. “You’re gonna give me away~”

“Don’t even have to try.” You’re tilting your head up in defiance when he closes in so many sultry inches, all the way until you could feel the heated press of Gojo’s ticking biceps through his formal suit. Heady masculine cologne invading your senses, “That mask does more than enough damage.”

Honestly, what fool dons a disguise with a mask that looks exactly like his hero one? 

Though, you weren’t complaining - if Nightwing accidentally provided the perfect distraction for you to swindle future big-shot congressman and business heir, Naoya Zenin, out of his precious diamonds then so be it.

The fact that Batman’s protégé would be humiliated was only a plus. 

Scoffing, “So what you’re saying is you want me out of it? Scandalous, but I don’t fuck before a first date.”

A very, very big plus. 

“Never in your wildest dreams, Nightwing.” You’re pettily raising your voice just a pitch to make the sculptured man in front of you squirm, as much as he would never admit it. “S’it that you don’t fuck or you don’t get to? Come here to try out your hand with the wives of the bourgeoisie?”

“I’m here on business, sweetheart. Gotta get to that brat Naoya’s office.” Gojo nods towards a gaggle of ogling older ladies, ever-the-charmer. 

It’s enough to make them swoon, and - you hate to admit it - for your heart to stutter just a beat. 

Because Gojo Satoru looked good. All powerful, lean muscle that carried him so many numerous inches over six feet. The rich, yolkish lighting makes his dark blue jacket look almost painted to his slender waist, and those meaty, meaty thighs. 

Easily the sexiest man in this room full of sordid businessmen and shifty politicians.

If you dared to let your gaze roam, you’re sure they’d stray past his milky collarbones to catch a hint of the even tighter black and blue hero suit he was surely wearing under. 

He looked more than good, if you were being honest.

But when has one of Gotham’s most notorious cat burglars ever needed to be honest?

And you’re so caught up in pondering just what the others see in him that it gives you an electric jolt to feel the doughy pads of Gojo’s gloved fingertips brushing down your thigh. Feeling as if he was searing through your saucy, glittering gown.

There’s a tremor of amusement when his sensory tips meet the cold hilt of your famed dagger. Hidden.