Satoru Gojo and Kakashi Hatake x OnlyFans!Reader
Summary-
You are one of the top creators on OnlyFans, and of course, you have special requests from your biggest fans. Men who will pay top dollar to fuck you- why not? Your top two clients, Gojo and Kakashi, are accidentally booked on the same day…and the same time. Was this a total disaster or a blessing in disguise? (Happy second Tumblr anniversary @madamechrissy, so grateful to be a part of this event!)
18+ Minors will be BLOCKED
Your day started as normally as it could be for a woman like you, checking your dm’s and requests. One of your favorites, going by the username @ satorunotgojo, is such a cutie but very, very clingy. Always first to comment on your videos, sends the most money, and requests you say his name during livestreams as you cum. He’ll send you videos of him masturbating; his huge cock distracts you from his pathetic whimpers and cries in the background of the video.
Then you have your second-favorite client, going by the username @ only1eye. Such an odd name for a man with a huge cock. He’s the one you kind of look forward to seeing in a private chat. He mainly pays for private live streams, videos, photos, and anything with you and him alone; he’ll pay big bucks for it. He even sent you a custom dildo the size of his cock, and you were in awe when you revealed it in your unboxing video for him…then you cummed on it like eight times, but that’s a story for another time. Recently, you’ve listed a new premium option on your website for your VIP clients.
☆ One-on-One Sessions: Price Varies…
Of course, when you posted that link, thousands of men signed up, and it almost made your website crash. You were confirming so many hookups that you didn’t notice you had double-booked your two favorite clients for the same day…at the same time.
Satoru Gojo is a very attractive man, with absolutely no game at all. He’ll come up to you at a bar or club, and at first, you’re smitten by his appearance, but once he opens his mouth, it kinda gives, like when SpongeBob thought he was ugly in that one episode. The man’s pick-up game was awful. He was a little bit too direct.
He liked to have people believe he was this big shot red pill guy, but the entire time, he was so perverted and lonely. So when Satoru discovered your page, it was like finding a pot of gold. Finally, a woman whom he thought he could actually have. He was attached way too quickly and became parasocial. He literally set up autopay on OnlyFans and your private website so he can keep in contact with you. Not to mention, he masturbates to you when he wakes up, mid-day, and right before he goes to sleep.
In his mind, he tries to think you only have eyes for him by the way you send him sweet messages, pictures of clothes he requested, using toys he wanted, and always shouting him out on your videos. Deep down, he knows you’re just doing what you have to do for that bag, but he really thinks he’s your man sometimes. When you text him, you send him the same copy-and-paste you do to everyone else…and he eats it up.
“Hey, Baby, I miss you…can’t wait to see you in my next livestream! Xoxo”
Kakashi Hatake is a semi-closeted freak. He’ll hang out with his friends and give some vanilla sex advice, but when he fucks? He wants complete control over who he’s fucking. He loves being dominant; every woman he’s fucked has always called him, begging for more. One day, he accidentally discovered your page and, just like Satoru, was hooked instantly. He sends so much money that all the other men get a little nervous and wonder who the hell this guy is. Kakashi sends you lavish gifts as well.
You love the attention a little more from him than from Satoru, though. It’s like Kakashi knows how to make you fold instantly. Whenever you tell him no, or you don’t think you can do something, he always sends photos of the gifts and money he has for you, and of course you fold all the time because who wouldn’t want a new Chanel bag because you squirted for a man???
One day, you’re getting ready for your scheduled meet-up with Kakashi. He normally wants to meet up every two weeks, but he texted you a few days after his last meet-up, asking to meet again for another session, and he was willing to pay more. You smirk; he just can't get enough of you. When you booked him, you didn’t realize there was a glitch on the website, and you had already booked Satoru for the same day… and the same time.
Satoru was following the directions given in the email. Once he arrived at your apartment, he was geeked as hell. Finally able to fuck the woman of his dreams. Once he got to the elevator, another man showed up. White hair, shorter than him, they both got in, and Kakashi, who was closer to the keypad, asked Satoru what floor: “Third floor, please.” Satoru told him. Kakashi let out a small chuckle. “What a coincidence—looks like we're going to the same floor.” Satoru, not thinking anything of it, scratched the back of his head, laughing softly. Even as they got off and walked in the same direction—
It was just a coincidence, right?
Kakashi was a little confused as to why his doppelgänger was following him. Maybe he was going to the apartment next to yours; maybe he’s Kakashi’s long-lost brother who got stuck in a different universe. Kakashi didn’t expect anything from him.
What he absolutely did NOT expect was to not only arrive at the same apartment as Satoru–but also to share you with him. Satoru, on the other hand, was really confused and somewhat upset he didn't get you to himself—but he was also turned on at the thought of watching you get fucked by another man as he watched in person this time.
When they both stopped at the same door, neither man said a word, but they side-eyed the hell out of each other. Satoru slowly brought his hand up and knocked on your door. You rushed to open it, and when you did–your jaw dropped. “Uhhh” was all you could manage as both men stared at you, just as confused. Kakashi sighed, hanging his head in shame. Maybe he was being too lustful, asking for another meet-up while his Temu brother was scheduled to meet with you.
Satoru, on the other hand, was not so composed; with no self-awareness at all, he walked into your apartment. “So I'm guessing you didn't double-check when you talked with me—make sure I got you to myself,” he said, looking around.
Meanwhile, you’re apologizing over and over to both men as you scroll on your laptop to see that you did double-book them. “I am so sorry, guys, I-I honestly…don’t even know what to do now, I mean I would have no choice but to reschedule you both–” Your brain stops for a second…you don’t think with that instead; you’re listening to the brain that’s throbbing down there.
“Why not fuck them both???”
You shake your head at the thought. You’ve never had a threesome before, and you weren’t going to now!
“Why don’t you just fuck both of us?” Kakashi said so nonchalantly. Satoru’s eyes widened upon hearing this, ears red. Clearly you wouldn’t have agreed, right???
Two minutes later
Well, so much for your dignity, because you’re bent over your bed, holding onto your sheets for dear life as Kakashi is taking you from behind, his thrust set at a brutal pace as he fucks you, his meaty cock just terrorizing your poor walls. To your surprise, Satoru wasn’t upset. Instead, he was sitting in a chair—jerking off to you being fucked. It was discussed a while ago in one of your chats with him that he’d wanted to be in a cuck chair watching you, but you just thought he was joking…he was not joking.
Kakashi couldn’t help but smirk as he heard you moan. From the corner of his eye, he could see Satoru jerking off, and it looked like he was close already. “What a wimp,” he thought. His hands now tangled in your hair, pulling you up to his chest as his pace sped up, the way the tip of his cock kept pressing at your spot, you were seeing stars. You couldn’t even close your mouth; you were so fucking close to cumming. Small little whimpers and squeaks came from you. Kakashi eased you back onto the sheets, “Let my Temu twin see you fall apart, pretty girl…” Your eyes sprang open, and you couldn’t help but giggle mid moan.
Satoru’s eye twitched—Temu twin??! How dare this man who looks like he’s old enough to be his father say that? He marched right on over and shoved his cock in your mouth mid laugh. “Shut up! It’s not that fucking funny!” He said, holding the back of your head as your nose touched his pelvis. You gagged, spit forming as his cock reached the back of your throat. You were now holding onto his thighs for support while being pounded from behind. That made it worse; every thrust made you take Satoru’s cock even deeper. He was so geeked when he felt his cock peeking down your throat.
He smiled so sadistically, “Is that so funny? Being fucked like a whore by two men due to a lousy mistake, is that funny?” He said, pulling out until the tip, thrusting back in after letting you catch your breath for a second. You're completely helpless. Gojo’s angrily fucking your throat while Kakashi is menacingly fucking your pussy as he owns you.
Kakashi was having a time; he was enjoying whatever the hell was going on, watching you gag and choke on his Temu twin’s cock while he stuffs your pussy, your aching hole just like a waterfall, the way his cock glistens when he thrusts. He can feel himself getting closer and closer as you tighten around him. Hearing your skin slap against his, some of your release from however many orgasms you’ve had by now.
You could hardly focus…being used by both of your top clients at the same fucking time was so euphoric for you. You never gave it any thought, but they really do look alike. You closed your eyes as you felt another wave of an orgasm coming until, like machines—Satoru and Kakashi just stopped. They both pulled out of you, making you gasp. They looked at each other, and it was like they had the same brain and knew exactly what the other was thinking.
You curse yourself because why—just why would these men think it’d be a great idea for Satoru to get under you and Kakashi is still behind you—they both shove their big cocks in your pussy at the same time, causing you to yelp out in pain at first, but Satoru was rubbing your clit to stimulate you and to ease your pain.
Imagine two big ass bullet trains trying to fit into one tunnel…yeah that’s you. “It’s not going to fit—” you cry out as Kakashi’s hand lands on your ass. “Don’t be ridiculous now; we’ve seen you shove lots of things up there. Don't act brand new now, you slut.” He began to thrust; both you and Satoru moaned as Kakashi was also rubbing against his cock. Kakashi was relentless, not giving a fuck about anything anymore. His pace was relentless, his angry red tip punching your cervix at this point.
Satoru tried to be nice, like his cock wasn’t also shoved inside you; he kissed your collarbone, telling you to relax. He then rubbed your clit, pressing down on it slightly to hear you cry out. Both men toying with you, both men stretching you out, and both men you were definitely keeping as your top clients.
Satoru’s hands flew to your hips, gripping them with such force, his face so red he looked like a tomato. “C-Can you slow down, man? At this rate—ah!” He groaned and felt himself getting closer. Kakashi was still going crazy, but he too was close. Within seconds, both men let out low groans, and your walls were painted extra with their cum.
Kakashi was now hunched over you, breathing heavily. Satoru was out of it, and you were thinking only one thing—
“shh… just a little more,” sae croons as his hands are latched onto your waist slowly pushing himself into you.
you whimper slightly at his size the head barely pushed through your folds and you’re already a whimpering mess.
“i’m gonna push a bit deeper now, okay?”
you nod letting out a shaky breath he leans forward pecking your forehead with a soft kiss before moving his hips pushing his cock deeper into you.
“ngh- shit,” sae curses under his breath before doing one big thrust shoving his whole size into you.
you both softly groan at the sensation his face moving to rest and lick along your neck.
“…so tight.”
he breathes as he slowly rolls his hips into you. he lifts his head and looks all over your body before seeing your tummy bulge with his cocks imprint.
his fingers move to glide along the bulge making him chew on his lower lip letting out a grunt.
“do you see that?” he says pressing his palm down on the imprint of his cock making you squirm.
“y…yeah.”
he continues to slam his cock into you, hitting your womb making you moan out.
his girthy thick cock filling your insides with each push of his hips.
“m’ so full sae…”
you breathe out feeling the intensity of his thrusts. he leans forward brushing strands of hair off your forehead pressing a kiss,
“yeah? you feel full of my cock?” “you like that don’t you?” he says with a smirk on his face.
his balls slapping against your ass and the lewd wet sounds of his cock sliding in and out of you echoing through the dark room.
you nod biting your lower lip you can’t even think straight at this point.
sae shakes his head and shoves two of his fingers in your mouth.
“ah ah. no biting those pretty lips. you’ll make em bleed.”
you nod and suck on his fingers to distract you from biting down so hard on your bottom lip.
he groans when he feels you suck on his fingers making him slam deeper into you. balls deep. having you both panting.
“fuck. i’m so close baby.” “keep sucking my fingers like that.” you suck harder on his fingers feeling his cock slam into you thrust after thrust.
his girthy cock sliding against your gummy walls making you moan around his fingers.
and with one final snap of his hips he lets out a breathy moan spilling his hot load into you.
his balls tightening as he cums spurt after spurt. his cum dripping out of your pussy. he pants leaning forward pressing his face against your neck.
“mmgh. you did so good today. you barely whined.” he says sucking on your neck.
“let’s clean my pretty girl up now, yeah?”
he says leaving his cock in you for a few more seconds before pulling out. his cum fully spilling out of your white covered walls.
making him smirk at the sight of it,
sliding his fingers down at his left over cum and shoving his two fingers back into your mouth making you lick his seed.
A/N:
sorry this is lowkey buns… this is what happens when you don’t write for a week and now you’re a luke warm writer („• - •„)
"Oh my gosh! These are so good! Did you make them?!" You cheer as you shove another pastry in your mouth.
The two of you were sitting down on a bench in a park, trying some sweets Isagi brought.
He lets out a light laugh, a faint blush creeping on his cheeks. "Oh, no! My mom made them. She was trying out a new recipe, and I figured I would have them with you."
You beam with happiness as you listen to him. "Your moms amazing! You have to let me thank her sometime."
But as soon as Isagi was about to open up his mouth, he hears a familiar voice from behind him."
"Tch. Lukewarm."
Both of your eyes traced the source of the voice, to which you saw Rin, holding a box of his own share of pastries.
"Hi Rin! What are you doing here?" You wave, voice laced with enthusiasm.
Rin's eyes meet yours. "I was passing by."
Isagi stiffens at the sight of you two interacting. "Well, its nice t-"
"Shut up. Don't talk to me, you npc."
Isagi opens his mouth to say something. Then closes it.
Theres a silence between the three of you for a brief moment, before Rin's gaze falls on you, happily enjoying the last of your pastry.
"Do you like pastries?" He questions, his tone flat like normal.
"Love 'em!"
Isagi cuts into the conversation, a hint of jealousy seeping through his voice. "They especially love the ones my mom mak-"
Plop.
Rin takes an eclair from his box and puts it in to your mouth, ultimately hand feeding it to you.
The colour drains from Isagi's face, and it takes all his power to not allow his jaw drop to the floor.
Rin watches as you eat the last of the pastry from his hand, mumbling something about making a mess.
"They're so good! Where'd you get them?"
"I made them."
Isagi swears that you've never looked at someone with more adoration than you did with Rin at that moment.
Desperate to recieve your full undivided attention once more, Isagi takes your chin in his hand and turns it so its facing you, a competitive grin plastered on his face.
"Shame on you Rin, everyone knows you should never put food in someones mouth without a heads up first."
Isagi takes a profiterole and holds it against your lips, to which you open your mouth and accept happily, munching on yet another delicious pastry. He shoots Rin a cocky look. He huffs out of irritation.
Rin looks like he's about to give up, taking his eclair and sinking his teeth halfway of it, watching you chew.
Isagi huffs, about to open his mouth and make a snarky comment, until all of his pride collapses before him.
The moment you swallowed, Rin's mouth was on yours, feeding the eclair to you once more.
With his mouth.
Isagi's soul leaves his body completely.
He stares in horror at the interaction. How Rin tastes you, how when he pulls back, a visible string of saliva that connected the two of you drips down. How it all looked so natural to him.
He frantically searches for the right words, his gaze darting between you and Rin.
"Ch....Cheater!" He accuses the teal haired boy.
"Huh? Not my fault your game is half-baked."
And with that, Rin moves along, walking away. Leaving you with a frozen Isagi, whilst he listens to the faint sounds of you trying to snap him back to life.
tags: NSFW . minors dni . mostly a crack fic . piv . fem!reader . pure filthy smut . blowjobs/pussyeating . getting caught . etc
w.c. 3.7k
a/n: no comments. anyway, this fic was requested by this ask here! ( @solalol you have the greatest mind ever<3)
Sae Itoshi — caught by shidou
sae had you pinned against the wall, cock buried deep inside you as he fucked you with rough, punishing strokes.
it had been far too long. the second he came home and saw you, he didn't waste a single second on words. he simply shoved your shorts down, freed his aching cock and sank into you in one brutal thrust.
now he was drilling into you hard, hips snapping forward with a steady, merciless rhythm that had your back sliding against the wall with every thrust.
"fuck...sae—" you moaned, legs locked tight around his waist. your nails dug into his shoulders as he drove deeper. "you're so deep...ahh!"
he growled against your neck, teeth scraping your skin. "been waiting weeks for this cunt," hus voice was low, strained with lust. "so fucking wet for me already."
one of his hands gripped your ass tighter, the other braced on the wall as he angled his hips and started hitting that perfect spot with every thrust. your moans grew louder, shameless, echoing in the small bedroom. the wet, filthy sound of his cock sliding in and out of you filled the air.
"gonna cum—sae..."
"then cum," he ordered, voice dark. let me feel you,"
he slammed into you harder, grinding against your clit on every deep thrust. the coil in your stomach snapped without warning. you cried out, walls clenching violently around his thick cock as your orgasm crashed through you. your whole body shook, thighs trembling around him while you moaned his name like a prayer.
sae kept fucking you through it, jaw clenched, eyes burning as he felt you pulsing and gushing around him. he was close, very close—but he was holding back, savoring the way your cunt squeezed him.
that's when suddenly the door swung open without a knock.
"oi, itoshi! you got any—" shidou's voice stopped dead.
ge stood there in the doorway, eyes widening before that wild, predatory grin spread across his face. he took in the scene: you pressed against the wall, legs wrapped around sae, his cock still buried inside your twitching pussy, your face flushed from your recent orgasm.
sae froze mid-thrust, buried to the hilt. the sudden shock of being caught hit sae like a freight train.
"dude shit—!" he grunts through gritted teeth.
his hips jerked once, involuntarily. a groan tore from his throat as he came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling deep inside you while shidou watched shamelessly. sae's face dropped to your neck, biting down hard to muffle the sound as his cock pulsed again and again, emptying everything he had.
you whimpered at the feeling of him filling you up right in front of his roommate.
sae's breathing was ragged against your skin. his cock was still twitching inside you, sensitive and spent, as he slowly lifted his head.
"get the fuck out," he hissed, voice hoarse and dangerous.
shidou only smirked wider, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. "you sure I cant a piece of that?"
"touch her and I'll kill you," sae said, holding you close to him.
shidou smirked, "fine. i'll just touch you then."
Nagi Seishiro — caught by his bff
nagi was fucking you like he'd die if he stopped. it wasnt his fault really. it'd been six whole months since he last saw you. you've been traveling thanks to being a model and well...he missed you.
he had you lifted completely off the ground, your back pressed tight against his chest as he stood behind you. his strong arms hooked under your knees, spreading your legs wide open in a full nelson hold. every needy thrust drove his long, thick cock deep into your dripping pussy, the wet sounds echoing obscenely in the room.
"fuck...missed you so much," he groaned into your ear, voice rough and desperate—nothing like his usual lazy drawl. his hips snapped up harder, burying himself to the hilt with every stroke. "been thinking about this pussy nonstop...couldn't wait anymore."
you moaned loudly, head falling back against his shoulder as he manhandled you effortlessly. the position left you completely exposed—tits bouncing, cunt stretched wide around his cock, his balls slapping against you with every deep thrust. his grip on your legs was iron tight, lifting you up and down on his length like you weighed nothing.
"nagi—! ahh, too deep—!" you cried out, pleasure bordering on overwhelming.
"mmm..can't help it," he panted, lips brushing your neck as he fucked you harder. "need you...need to feel you cum on me." his voice cracked with raw need, hips losing their rhythm as he chased the feeling of your tight heat.
one of his hands shifted slightly so he could rub fast circles over your swollen clit while still bouncing you on his cock. the combination was lethal.
"i-i..i'm cumming, nagi!" you screamed, body seizing up as your orgasm slammed into you. your cunt clenched violently around his thrusting cock, gushing wetly as waves of pleasure tore through you. your legs shook in his grip, juices dripping down his balls.
"you're squeezing me so tight," nagi whined, voice needy and broken. he kept fucking you through your orgasm, desperate and relentless, his own release building fast.
the door suddenly burst open.
"nagi? i got the new—oh my god."
reo stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide in pure shock. the scene hit him like a truck: nagi holding you up in a full nelson, your legs spread obscenely wide, cunt stretched around nagi's thick cock, your cum still dripping down his balls, everything completely bare and on full display.
nagi's hips stuttered. the sudden mortifying realization that reo was seeing everything — your dripping cunt, the way his cock was buried inside you, the way you were still twitching from your orgasm—sent him spiraling.
"reo—?!" nagi gasped, voice strained.
he couldn't hold back. with a needy groan, he slammed up into you one last time and came hard. thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy as his cock pulsed violently inside you. his arms trembled slightly as he kept holding your legs up, forcing you to take every last drop while reo watched in stunned silence.
you whimpered at the overwhelming feeling of being filled while completely exposed.
reo's face turned bright red, all the way to his ears. his mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally managed to speak.
"i didn't...fuck, im so sorry!" he slapped a hand over his eyes, clearly flustered beyond belief, but not before you both saw how red his cheeks were. "i should've knocked—i didn't know she came back!"
reo peeked through his fingers for half a second, saw the way nagi cum was leaking out around his cock and immediately covered his eyes again.
"you know what..im leaving! i'mm leaving right now! sorry!" he turned on his heel, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed out and slammed the door shut behind him.
the room fell silent for a moment except for both of you panting.
nagi slowly lowered your legs, but didn't pull out yet. he wrapped his arms around your waist instead, hugging you from behind as he buried his face in your neck, still catching his breath.
"...that was embarrassing," he muttered, though his cock gave a lazy twitch inside you. "but you felt really good when he walked in. did you like being watched?"
you let out a breathless laugh. "you're such a pervert."
he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "only for you."
Rin Itoshi — caught by his bro
rin had you completely folded underneath him in a ruthless mating press, knees pressed tight to your shoulders as he fucked you with deep, punishing strokes.
his hips snapped forward with brutal precision, driving every thick inch of his cock into your soaked pussy until his heavy balls slapped loudly against your ass. the wet, obscene squelching of your cunt filled the room with every thrust, your juices dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets beneath you.
his arm was locked around the back of your neck in a tight headlock, forcing you to stare up at his intense, flushed face while he railed you. sweat glistened on his forehead, his eyes burning with possessive hunger as he watched every flicker of pleasure and desperation cross your face.
"fuck—you're squeezing me so tight," he growled, voice low and mean, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious grind of his hips that made his cockhead bully against your cervix. "this sloppy cunt is mine. say it."
"it's all yours—rin..nghhh! 'm yours!" you moaned, voice breaking as he hammered that perfect spot inside you over and over. your walls fluttered and clenched greedily around his girth, trying to pull him even deeper.
he smirked darkly, tightening the headlock just enough to make your breath hitch.
"louder. i want everyone to know who you belong to." he pulled back almost all the way, letting just the fat tip stretch your entrance, then slammed back in with a savage thrust that made your tits bounce and your eyes roll back.
you cried out, nails digging into his back as he set a punishing rhythm—long, dragging strokes that made you feel every vein and ridge of his cock, followed by short, rapid punches that left you gasping. "rin—! please—fuck, it's too deep—!"
"too deep?" he laughed, low and cruel, leaning down to bite at your exposed neck. "you were begging for this earlier. now take it like the greedy little slut you are." one of his hands slid down to grip your ass hard, spreading you wider so he could watch his cock disappear inside your puffy, dripping folds.
the lewd sight made him groan, his pace growing even more erratic and forceful.
your body was burning, every nerve singing as he fucked you senseless. the pressure built higher and higher, your thighs trembling violently against his shoulders. you could feel another orgasm coiling tight in your core, even stronger than the last.
"rin—! im gonna cum..! please don't stop—!" you sobbed, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.
"then cum," he snarled, crushing his mouth to yours in a messy, dominating kiss before pulling back. "cum on my cock like you were made for it. milk me, baby."
your orgasm hit you like a freight train. your walls clamped down hard around his thick cock as you cried out, gushing wetly all over him while your whole body shook violently in his grasp. tears of pleasure slipped down your cheeks as you came hard, pussy spasming and squirting around him in messy pulses.
right in the middle of your climax, your eyes flew open and locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.
"sae..?" you gasped in horror.
rin froze mid thrust, buried balls deep inside your spasming cunt. his head snapped toward the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise for a split second.
sae stood there with his arms crossed, watching the scene with a cold, slightly disgusted expression.
for a moment, the room was dead silent except for your heavy breathing and the wet sounds of your pussy still fluttering around rin's cock.
then sae spoke, voice flat and unimpressed.
"you both disgust me. at least have some shame."
he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
"what the hell..?" rin stayed frozen for another second, still deep inside you, processing what just happened. then his lips curled into a dangerous, mean smirk. he looked back down at your flushed, embarrassed face and tightened the headlock again.
"anyway, where were we?" he asked, voice low and venomous.
without waiting for an answer, he slammed back into you with a brutal thrust, picking up right where he left off, even harder than before.
"cumming on my cock while my brother watched? you're such a fucking whore,” he snarled, pounding you mercilessly into the mattress. "don't worry...ill make sure you remember who you really belong to."
Isagi Yoichi — caught by bachira
isagi's head was thrown back against the couch, mouth open in a silent moan as you knelt between his spread legs. his chest heaved with every shaky breath, the usually confident striker completely undone by the wet heat of your mouth.
this was his first blowjob and it was overwhelming him completely. your lips stretched around his thick cock, sliding slowly up and down while your tongue pressed flat against the underside. your hand stroked the base in perfect rhythm with your mouth, twisting gently on the way up.
his thighs trembled violently on either side of you, fingers digging so hard into the couch cushions that his knuckles turned white.
"ahh—fuck… baby, that feels so good," he panted, voice hoarse and cracking. "i-i can't—nghh!"
you hummed around his length, the vibration making his cock twitch hard against your tongue. you took him deeper, relaxing your throat until the head bumped the back of it. isagi’s hips jerked up instinctively, a broken whimper escaping his throat as saliva dripped down his shaft and over your fingers.
you pulled back slowly, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, teasing the slit where precum was steadily leaking. his cock was flushed dark and glistening, veins pulsing visibly under the wet sheen. you looked up at him through your lashes, loving how wrecked he already looked—flushed cheeks, messy hair, half-lidded eyes glazed with pleasure.
"slow down a little… 'm gonna—" he gasped, trying to warn you, but his words dissolved into another needy moan as you sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks.
you pulled off with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing tip. "you're doing so well, isagi," you purred, voice low and sweet. your hand kept lazily pumping him, thumb brushing over the slick head.
"just relax and let me take care of you, hm? i want to make your first time feel amazing."
isagi nodded frantically, biting his lip as you dove back down. you took him even deeper this time, nose brushing against his trimmed pubic hair as you swallowed around him. his hand flew to your hair, not pushing, just gripping desperately like he needed something to hold onto while you worked him.
"oh shit—yes, just like that," he groaned, the words tumbling out broken and desperate. you bobbed faster, sucking noisily, letting messy slurping sounds fill the room. one of your hands slid up to gently roll his balls, massaging them as your mouth worshipped every inch of his cock.
isagi's moans grew louder, more shameless. his abs clenched visibly with every deep suck, thighs shaking harder as he fought the urge to thrust into your throat.
"you're so fucking good at this… i'm—i’m really close," he warned, voice cracking. his cock throbbed heavily on your tongue, the veins pulsing faster as his orgasm built.
you whined around him in encouragement, doubling your efforts. you took him as deep as you could, throat contracting around him while your hand stroked the rest in tight, twisting motions. isagi's breathing turned ragged, his head tipping back again as broken whimpers and curses spilled from his lips.
his thighs started shaking harder, muscles jumping under your palms. his grip in your hair tightened, hips stuttering as he teetered right on the edge.
"baby—fuck, i'm gonna cum—"
right as isagi’s moans turned into broken, high-pitched whimpers and his cock started pulsing wildly on your tongue, the door to the shared room swung open.
"heya isagi! wanna go—WHOA!"
bachira stood in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers. he took in the full scene: you on your knees with isagi's cock buried in your mouth, isagi's flushed face and messy hair, his pants around his ankles.
isagi's eyes snapped open in panic. "bachira?"
bachira's cheeks instantly turned bright red. his usual energy vanished, replaced by pure flustered embarrassment. he slapped both hands over his mouth.
"oh i didn't see anything... i did...but uhm, sorry!!"
he spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet and bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.
the room fell silent for a second.
isagi was still rock hard in your mouth, throbbing desperately. his face was burning crimson with embarrassment, but the sudden shock and adrenaline seemed to push him right to the edge.
"oh god..fuck," his voice broke off into a desperate moan as his hips jerked.
you started again, cutting him off. you sucked him deeper and isagi came instantly with a loud, broken groan. thick spurts of cum flooded your mouth as he trembled and panted through his orgasm, overwhelmed from both the pleasure and the mortifying interruption.
you swallowed everything, gently pulling off with a soft pop and wiping the corner of your mouth with a blush. isagi slumped back on the couch, chest heaving, looking completely dazed.
"...i think we sacred him.." he mumbled, covering his red face with both hands.
you climbed onto his lap and kissed his cheek with a grin.
"at least you finally got your first blowjob."
isagi peeked at you through his fingers, still flushed. "yeah..it was amazing."
Hyoma Chigiri — caught by his sis
chigiri had your thighs spread wide on his bed, his long red hair tickling the insides of your legs as he ate you out like a man starved.
his tongue moved with elegant precision. slow, teasing licks followed by firm, hungry strokes that had you gripping the sheets tightly.
"hyo..that feels so good," you moaned, one hand tangled in his silky hair.
he hummed against your cunt, the vibration making your hips twitch. his hands held your thighs open as he licked deeper, sucking gently on your clit before flicking his tongue over it rapidly. he was a natural—attentive, passionate, and devastatingly good with his mouth.
"you taste so sweet," he murmured, voice slightly husky. he looked up at you with those sharp, beautiful eyes, lips glistening with your arousal. "i could do this for hours.."
he leaned back in, sucking your clit into his mouth while sliding two long fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against your g-spot. your back arched off the bed, moans growing louder and needier.
"hyoo! hah—im so close, please,"
he doubled down, tongue working faster, fingers pumping steadily. your thighs started trembling around his head as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.
just as your orgasm was about to crash over you, the door to his bedroom opened.
"hyoma? have you seen my..." chigiri's sister paused mid sentence, eyes widening.
she was holding a towel around her wet hair, clearly fresh out of the shower. "i wanted to borrow your conditioner, but..oh."
you let out a mortified squeak and tried to close your legs, but chigiri's grip kept them open for another second before he finally lifted his head.
his sister's face turned bright red. "i-i didn't know you had someone over, my bad!"
chigiri wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, surprisingly calm despite the situation, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks.
"it's fine..just leave, please?"
his sister nodded quickly, clearly flustered. "right! sorry again! carry on or whatever.."
she rushed out and closed the door behind her.
you covered your face with both hands, dying from embarrassment. "oh my god..your sister just saw you eating me out i wanna die."
chigiri let out a soft chuckle and gently pulled your hands away from your face. his eyes were still dark with lust.
"she'll survive,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "let's continue?"
he lowered his head again, tongue sliding back through your folds as if nothing happened. " no dying yet, i still haven't made you cum and 'm not stopping until i do three times."
"hah—hyo!"
Megruru Bachira — caught by rin
bachira had you bent over the desk in his room, pounding into you from behind.
he was in one of his feral moods—fucking you hard and fast, hands gripping your hips tightly. his cock stretched you open perfectly with every deep stroke.
"so tight and warm," he says breathlessly, leaning over your back. "i love how you squeeze me when i go deep like this.."
"meg..ahh! slow down a little!" you moaned, gripping the edge of the desk as he railed you. the desk creaked loudly under the force of his thrusts.
"aw baby, but you feel so good!" he pouts playfully, before suddenly changed angles and started hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. "i wanna to hear more of those cute sounds..yeah, good girl."
his pace turned relentless, hips snapping against your ass as he fucked you. one of his hands snaked around to rub your clit, making your legs shake.
"gonna cum meg, 'm gonna cum!" you cried out.
"hah—shit, cum for me baby," he groans, thrusting harder.
your orgasm hit hard. you cried out, cun clenching around his cock as pleasure ripped through you. bachira groaned at the feeling, still pounding into you without slowing down, chasing his own high with that signature wild energy.
then the door slammed open.
"what the hell is this noise—?" rin stopped dead in the doorway, eyes widening in pure disgust.
bachira's hips stuttered for a second as he looked over at rin, still buried deep inside your twitching cunt. a big, mischievous grin spread across his flushed face.
"oh rin! wanna join?" he said cheerfully, giving one lazy thrust into you just to make you whimper.
rin's face twisted in horror and annoyance. "ew. you're disgusting. both of you. i can hear you from down the hall."
you buried your face in your arms on the desk, mortified, still full of bachira's cock and dripping from your orgasm.
bachira only grins, clearly unbothered. "we were? aw..my bad,"
"shut up," rin snapped, cheeks slightly red. "lock the damn door next time, idiot."
he turned around sharply and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
the second the door closed, bachira looked down at you. "hm..make more noise for me okay? let them all here."
˖⁺‧₊˚ ♡ ˚₊‧⁺˖ you and Hugo like pda a little too much…
“Can you two let go of each other for like ten seconds? God…”
“What are we doing wrong?” Technically nothing, but in the eyes of everyone around you, you and Hugo walk around like you’re attached to one another and honestly…it’s getting boring.
Every couple engages in pda from time to time, it’s inevitable, if you like someone you’ll want to be close to them as much as possible, right? But whatever you and Hugo are doing? Goes beyond simple pda.
Be it on the bus, the campus’ cafeteria or even in your lectures, you guys are always touching in some way. Obviously, not in an inappropriate or obscene manner, you have the minimum amount of decorum, but you’re not strangers to stealing a few pecks here and there regardless if there’s a crowd or not.
At first it was cute and all. You two are young and in love, of course your Vivien is going to find any excuse possible to have his arms around you, just like you’re going to take any opportunity that comes to kiss and be all over him.
But there comes a time where it just becomes too much.
“What are you doing wrong?” Poor Loki, he’s had to deal with you guys bullshit since day one. It’s not that he's not happy for you because he is, but damn! Can you not wait until Hugo’s practice is done to do all this? Every time you come around to watch him play this happens and everyone is getting tired of it. “You two are borderline humping in front of the whole team and you’re asking what is it you’re doing wrong?”
“We’re not humping,” it's true you’re not, but you’re sitting on your boyfriend’s lap while his hands are resting on your hip, dangerously close to your lower back. “[Name] is my partner. Is it wrong that I wish to be near them?”
“Yeah Loki, we’re in love. I don’t see what the problem is…”
“Ugh, whatever…” Loki is a smart man and knows there's no point in arguing with you two, he’ll just leave you to it. Break is almost over, so this will have to stop eventually. “Just come back to practice when you’re done with whatever this is.”
Even when his teammates throw you two funny looks, it doesn’t deter you from going back to being clingy. But thankfully for your boyfriend’s team and unfortunately for you, his coach is now telling everyone to go back to doing their drills, “Okay, now I really need to go back there. Are you staying here?”
“Of course I am. You know I like watching you play.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that,” he kissed you for the nth time today, “and I play better when your eyes are on me.”
“Yeah?”
This guy was already leaning forward for another kiss…“Yes, mon chou—”
“Hugo! What the fuck man! Hurry up!” Just to be rudely interrupted by one of his insolent teammates. Only then does he let go of you. Already missing and craving the feeling of your body against his own…
Yeah, you guys really are gross. But you don’t care.
an — i like how we all agree that hugo would be a clingy man. i luv this headcannon <33
It started off as stuble – unnoticeable, but gradually after a while, you picked up on his behaviour. He'd literally have anything in his mouth: gum, plastic, the back of his pencil, his nails – nearly everything. It doesn't matter what. He just needs to have something in his mouth.
It's why he adores eating you out so much, and if he could, he would stay there for hours and hours on end. Just with his head buried between your thighs, which are squishing his temples so hard his head could pop.
He would ask you every day to eat your pussy if he weren't so shy about it. Poor guy. He'll ask as much as his nervousness will allow him. It's why he savours your taste every chance he gets. Give him an hour between your legs; he's a happy man.
His fingers tap against his thighs nonstop, keeping his hands nice and occupied while he ravishes you. His tongue runs along your folds until he finds your clit. He gives it a swirl before pulling it between his lips and teeth, sucking on it like his life depends on it. He lets out a satisfied hum like he's enjoying this a lot more than you are, which honestly, it wouldn't brush past you.
He's always been precise with it, perfectly altering between tongue-fucking you or just playing about with your clit with his tongue. Just back and forth. It's surprising how his jaw never gets tired, especially when he's been doing this for over ten minutes now — without a single break.
His hands move from his lap to wrap his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer towards him. His hair tickles your thighs — his breath hot and heavy against your pussy.
He knows you're close. He can feel it – taste it, even.
His tongue moves from your clit all the way down to your hole before he slides it as deep as he can inside you. You cry out, shaky thighs squeezing his head as you cum — soaking his mouth and chin with your juices.
Even after that mind-blowing orgasm, he keeps going. You really think he's going to stop after one orgasm? You're naive.
author's note: this has genuinely just been chilling in my drafts for ages, and i didn't know.
If you had known coming to watch your boyfriend’s game would lead to this, then you seriously would’ve thought twice about coming.
You see, Sae really liked it when you went to his games, but he never asked you out loud – all he ever did was throw a (his) jersey your way or message you with the info about the match, like he was expecting you to already know what he wanted without him needing to say it – and it always worked. You always understood what he meant, and how important it was for him to have you in all the matches you were able to attend.
So, to have him actually ask you to come – with a very tight hug from behind while you cooked breakfast and a groggy “You coming, right Amor?” – you should’ve known something different from the normal was happening.
“And Itoshi Sae gets a red card! He’s expelled from the match!”
You wanted to disappear. To turn into smoke. Because how else were you supposed to react to your boyfriend and your ex fighting because of you in the middle of a game with sold out tickets?
“And it seems Bunny Iglesias, who Sae just punched in the face, just got one too! It’s an ‘El Classico’, ladies and gentlemen! Everybody is on the edge!”
The commentators were not helping your case. Of course, you knew Real Madrid x Barcelona was one of the most heated rivalries in Spanish football, but Bunny and Sae were making everything pretty damn worse!
You could clearly see Bunny looking at you in the stands and smirking, while Sae was being held back by his teammates every time your ex said anything. You couldn’t really hear what they were saying from your seat, but judging from Sae’s expression, it wasn’t really a polite or friendly conversation.
Thankfully, Sae was able to calm down – after lots of begging from Luna and his other teammates – and was already exiting the stadium. You quickly got up to meet him in the dressing room, only to stop when Bunny screamed your name. In that moment, all the eyes were on you – especially Bunny’s and Sae’s – but all you could feel was your own face burning up from the utter shame you were experiencing. Then, like the little prick he is, Bunny Iglesias lifted up his hand, put it near his ear in a telephone shape and mouthed “Call me.”
When Sae ran back towards the field and punched Bunny in the face again after what he said, you really wished you had never dated a football player.
the shuffling of sheets is the first thing you hear as you wake up. then, you can feel a strong arm wrap around your waist and pull you tightly against a firm body, caging you in a secure hold.
"vivian..." you groan groggily, your body weakly protesting at the change of position.
as you try to roll back into your previous one, vivian whimpers petulantly and tightens his grip, squeezing you against him. his face is buried into your chest, his legs intertwining with yours in order to make it impossible for you to escape his hold.
"why would you move away from me...?" your clingy boyfriend mumbles sleepily. "you stopped hugging me when you were sleeping. do you hate me?"
a sigh escapes your lips at his childish behavior. when vivian feels your body relax between his arms, signaling that you have given up on fighting against his hug, he puts great effort into the task of erasing every single space between your bodies, almost like he is trying to merge you two together.
"how can one be so clingy?" you sigh softly, though your fingers move to thread his hair in a soothing motion.
"i'm not clingy", vivian denies immediately. "we're just bound to be together. accept your fate".
"there is a difference between being together and trying to break my ribs".
"you really have no willingness whatsoever", he mumbles against the skin of your neck, his lips leaving a trail of sleepy kisses there until they reach your collarbone. "you should not remain that unbothered by the man destined to be with you showering you with affection".
"the thing is, i'm not" you reply. "you bother me a lot".
vivan lets out a humorless huff before pulling back and glaring at you. his eyes are two big orbs, two deep pools of black ink that look like they'd swallow you whole if you blink. a small crease appears between his brows, his unfairly long eyelashes curling upwards out of displeasure.
"that is not true", your boyfriend states, his lips frowning into a half pout. though, his eyes search yours, a hint of uncertainty simmering just under the surface of his confident act. "i know that's not true".
you can feel your heart melt as vivian stares at you longer with his puppy eyes, his fingers loosening their hold on you.
"i mean" he shrugs, "if you have enough of me, go ahead and defy your destiny".
his eyes dart away from yours and he pulls his hands back, his legs leaving yours in order to roll onto his other side, his back facing you now. and here he is: your dramatic and childish boyfriend.
"are you ignoring me?" you ask, failing to hold back a chuckle as you do so.
"no", vivian grumbles. "i'm finally giving you the space that you wanted so badly".
"come on, you're ridiculous".
no answer.
then, he turns back around and comes back between your arms, whimpering like a baby. "i can't go against fate. please hug me, name..."
"caving in already?" you grin at his pathetic, needy act. "i thought you were giving me space?"
vivian's lips curve downward and he buries his face in your chest, his large hands holding your waist tenderly, careful not to break your ribs, as you put it. "i'm not anymore. give me affection or i die".
you barely stifle a laugh at his antics, but hug him back anyway. you can feel his steady breath against your upper chest, his soft hair tingling your chin, the muscles of his arm comfortably settled around your waist, cradling you close.
"you don't get to move anymore", vivian states sulkily as he pins your legs between his.
"what if i want to get up?" you hum, hands getting lost in his thick hair again.
"why would you want to get up?"
"to go to the bathroom?"
your boyfriend thinks about it for a moment, before pulling you closer to his warm body. "just don't".
the sigh you let out is not even registered by vivian, who proceeds to close his eyes and rest his cheek against your chest with a satisfied groan. you can't even be mad at him. his angel face while he sleeps has always been your weakness.
"i love you, you big, big baby" you mutter against the top of his head, your lips leaving a kiss there as your arms wrap comfortably around his neck. he snuggles closer, effectively getting rid of whatever space there was between your bodies.
"je t'aime", vivian whispers back, lips grazing your collarbone as he drifts back to sleep.
and you just lay there in the early morning, cradled in the arms of the big, clingy mess that is the love of your life.
synopsis. spending ebb day together as friends... will you still be friends afterwards?
pairing. rafayel qi x lemurian! non-mc! reader
content/mdni. A TON OF FUCKING. fem!reader, lemurian!reader, non-mc!reader, friends!au, friends-with-benefits!au, more level-headed!reader, dom-then-sub!reader, sub-then-dom!rafayel, needy!rafayel and reader, mean!rafayel, mean!reader, possessive!rafayel, slight dumbification, mention of masturbating (m solo), begging (m and f receiving), cunnilingus with MONSTER TONGUE, cow girl sex, doggy style sex, missionary sex, one cock sex, two cock sex, DOUBLE PENETRATION, OVIPOSITION, MONSTER FUCKING MONSTER, TON OF CUM, CUM PLAY, hair pulling, spanking, protected sex, raw sex, multiple rounds, allusions to anal sex, overstimulation, tummy bulge, teasing, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, partner/mate, good/sweet girl, whore, slut, cockslut, all the good stuff lmaoo), kissing!! SCENT KINK, HAND KINK, TON OF SWEAT, TW: BLOOD, marking, mentions of breeding, mentions of mating.
word count. 8.5k
a/n. prepare your panties! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!
the first time it happened, it was an accident.
just two people hanging out, forgetting the current date. just two people, so absorbed by their newly founded human existence that they sidetracked their origins.
just two lemurians, friends since childhood, who, because of circumstances, were pulled together by raw desire to spend the changing of the currents as one.
the first time it happened, it was an accident. the other instances, however, were deliberate.
•••
you were standing in the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the 24/7 convenience store, a basket hanging from your elbow with an xl pack of condoms already inside.
“what else, what else…”
the air conditioning was too cold, raising goosebumps on your arms, brushing over the sprinkle of scales already adorning your skin. the cool air was combatting the warmth from the outside, but there was a deeper heat slowly coiling low in your belly, pulsing harder and harder, overtaking your very being quietly — a heat that couldn’t be tamed by the artificiality of the cooling device.
you’ve been feeling it for hours. the telltale thrum, the hypersensitivity of your skin, the way your gums ache faintly where your fangs wanted to push through.
ebb day is tomorrow. officially.
you still have a few hours to prepare.
your phone unexpectedly buzzed against your skin, a frantic, continuous tremor that has you fumbling for it. rafayel’s name light up the screen, a silly picture of him trembling together with the vibrations.
you swiped to answer, a teasing remark already on your lips.
“if you’re calling to back out–”
“please.” his voice cut you off, and it sounded wrong. it was not the smooth, sultry baritone he usually wielded like a weapon, articulating witty remarks at your expense. it was breathless, strained, cracking at the edges. “please, come over.”
you froze between aisles, your hand tightening on the phone. “rafayel?”
“i need you.” a low, fractured whine escaped him, and the needy sound went straight to your core, igniting the latent heat into a sudden, roaring blaze. “it’s… it’s early. it’s so early. i thought i had more time but it’s… i need you now.”
you could picture him too clearly.
at his seaside manor, in the vast, luxurious bedroom, with the curtains wide open, welcoming the full moon. rafayel, welcoming you, sprawled on his massive bed, his pale skin flushed and beaded with sweat, his hair a disheveled mess of purple.
you imagined him grasping his phone with a trembling hand, spotted with scales, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in gasps.
fangs peeking through oh so beautifully.
“i’m at the store.” you said, your voice coming out rougher than you intended, your own state suddenly worsening due to rafayel’s intervention. “i’m getting the things. i’ll be there after checkout–”
“no.” he gasped immediately, and the desperation in his voice was loud, a hook that sunk into your chest and pulled you like a fish out of waters. “too long. ugh– i can’t– please. i can’t wait anymore. i feel like i’m burning up. we have everything here, so...”
“i need you. please, please, just ahhhh– come here.”
the plea was a whisper, broken and sweet, and that did it for you. you’ve always been weak for him. in this human form, in your true one, it didn’t matter; he had you wrapped around his pinky finger since you were children, even if he didn’t always know it.
“raf…”
you wanted to say something stubborn, to remind him that you were buying the very supplies he’ll be grateful for later, but another whimper came through the line, and your resolve crumbled to the ground.
“fine.” you heard yourself say, already turning and abandoning your basket on a shelf, condoms and all. “i’m coming right now. stay on the line.”
he let out a soft, relieved sound, and you could’ve sworn a sloshing noise accompanied his tune. “okay. f–fuck– okay.”
you left the store at a near-jog, the warm night air hitting your flushed cheeks.
the moon was almost up, a perfect, luminous circle in the sky, yet too bright, too full. it made your blood sing, your skin prickling with more and more clusters of scales.
you could still hear rafayel’s breathing on the other end of the line, quick and uneven, punctuated by tiny, swallowed sounds that he’s probably trying to hide.
that, and low, wet sounds — most likely his hand moving lazily up and down his stiff cock.
“tell me how you’re feeling.” you said as you slid into your car, your hand steady on the wheel even as everything inside you was starting to shake.
you have to keep your composure for just a little longer.
you also have to keep rafayel in check and make sure he doesn’t tip over.
“hot.” he breathed into the phone. “everything’s s–shit– too hot. my clothes… i took them off already. i’m just in the sheets. i nghnn– keep thinking about your hands.” his voice dropped, becoming that familiar, teasing cadence even through the haze of the heat.
“you have such nice hands. so soft– ngh– i keep thinking about them on ahh– me. groping me, pinning me down. do you think you can do that?”
your fingers tightened on the steering wheel, your knuckles whitening at his request. “rafayel.”
“i want you to.” he continued, his voice a low, needy murmur. the sticky sounds raised in intensity, no longer just background noise. “i need you so bad. i need you on top of me, baby.”
you pushed the accelerator harder, running a stop sign you didn’t even register. the streets blurred under your hazy vision, the city lights smearing into streaks of color. the heat inside you was building up with every word of his, with every little gasp and hitch of his breath.
rafayel was doing a phenomenal job at riling you up.
“what are you thinking about?” he asked all of a sudden, his voice a silken thread that woke you up. “are you thinking about me?”
“yes.” you admitted bluntly, the word torn from you without much effort.
“nhgh… t–tell me, baby.”
“the way you look when you’re between my thighs.” your voice was steady, booming from the speakers of his phone, but your hands were shuddering now. fingernails threatening to elongate into monstrously sharp claws. “the way you eat me out so good.”
he groaned, a breathless, shattered sound, and his hand sped up. the wetness staining his cock was palpable, the sound harsh yet delicate. “f–fuck yeah, i wanna taste your cunt so bad.”
a pause, then his voice murmured a confession once more. “i need to bury my face in you. i need to smell you. ahhhh– bet you’re drenched already, can almost s–sniff it from here.”
he was right. since the beginning of your conversation, the flimsy material of your panties was nothing but sticky. each and every request of his, delving into his nastiest wishes, generated more gooey arousal, effectively coating your panties in a generous amount of slick.
it also did not help that you were a lemurian, normally producing more slick than a mere human.
thankfully, you were pulling through the gates of his estate, the tires of your car crunching on the gravel driveway. you didn’t even bother parking properly — just killed the engine and eft the car where it stopped.
“i’m here.” you said into the phone, your legs carrying you up the front steps without waiting for another invite.
you swung the door open without a second thought.
rafayel was standing at the end of the hallway, and the sight of him made your clit throb.
he was fully naked, his skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, his hair plastered to his temples. his chest was heaving, his pupils so dilated that his irises were reduced to thin rings of purple. but it was the scales that caught your attention — a scattering of iridescent, pearl-white scales along his cheekbones, down his neck, across his shoulders.
painting his skin, lower and lower.
going beyond the base of his aching cock.
the scales shimmered in the moonlight, catching the light like tiny mirrors.
“baby!” his eyes found yours, and he smiled — a beautiful, unhinged grin, all sharp teeth and raw need. “you came.” he breathed, relieved, taking wobbly steps towards you.
he was deeply affected by the rising full moon, hands jumping away from his sides and searching for support onto the walls.
you were soon to be deeply affected as well as your nostrils inhaled the pheromones dominating the entire mansion: the smell was terrifically strong, a pungent odor that lulled you towards primal desires. you almost stumbled backward from the powerful aroma, palm shooting up and covering the bottom half of your face in an attempt to protect your senses.
“f–fuck, the smell…”
you needed to remain levelheaded.
you needed to remain the rational one, since rafayel was clearly indulging fully in the effects of the moon.
but it was hard. you could already feel your fans poking through your gums, could already sense the tremble in your body as rafayel caught up to you.
your entire being was calling for him, just like his own called for you.
his quivering hands clawed at your dress, pulling you fully inside, the door slamming shut behind you two and effectively trapping you in his den. taking advantage of the defensive stance you took, he manhandled you against the closest wall, caging you perfectly, his body a line of burning heat against yours.
“ah, ah, ah, you…” his face instantly found your neck, burying itself in the seductive dip between your throat and shoulder. and, with a loud whiff, rafayel inhaled your own tumbling pheromones. “ahhh– smell so fucking good.”
he did not stop at that, nuzzling further into your skin, dragging the tip of his nose up towards your pulse point, punctuating the spot right behind your ear. with that, he managed to caress a patch of sensitive scales, eliciting a moan out of your hidden lips, forcing your palm to abandon its post to tangle in his messy locks.
“baby, please, pull ugh– my hair, please.” he started to beg as he felt your fingers latch onto the roots of his hair, body curving into yours more and more.
his legs snuck their way between your own, parting your thighs and allowing his knee to dip into the material of your dress and make contact with your clothed pussy. his arms flew away too, finally taking hold of your torso and putting you into a needy embrace.
“raf, i–”
your voice echoed in his ears, blessing him with the delicious shudder of your tone. but something was wrong, he slowly realized between his hazy thoughts — you have yet to make your move, you have yet to show the same neediness he has been carrying for hours.
“i–is something wrong? no, please, baby…”
he removed his face from your neck, abandoning his mission to devour your scent gland in favor of discovering what was holding you back. a strong feeling of anxiety shook his entire body, and memories of abandonment flashed between his obscene fantasies.
changing the atmosphere entirely.
“go on, raf, it’s okay–”
“n–no.”
you couldn’t resist him, especially not now.
he decided to perch his head on your chest, entire body slouched over your own, and look up at you with his lust-filled orbits. the pout on his lips was dangerous, accessorized by his long and sharp fangs. his legs were now practically glued to yours… and you could feel his heavy cock pressing against your thigh.
“do you not want me, baby?”
oh, he was gonna be the death of you.
“raf, someone h–ngh–as to be rational, i can’t give into pleas–”
“we will be careful, like always…” he cut you off enthusiastically, tightening his hold on your midriff to block any kind of escape. worse, he dipped his face lower into your chest, pressing right against your exposed sternum… and sticking his tongue out to taste your sweaty skin.
“rafayel.” you warned through gritted teeth, gripping the base of his scalp and pulling his head back. but he was ready for such an action, simply letting out more length of his monstrous tongue and continuing his perverse ministration across the peaks of your breasts.
“i k–know what will help!” he chirped between licks, and the sensation of his rough, elongated tongue tracing the delicate flesh of your chest made your resolve shake.
you tried to hold firm, to remember the reasons why someone needed to stay level-headed, but he was a master of persuasion: his hands, which had been so needy and clammy, slid down your hips with a slow, teasing pace. and he stopped when he reached the fabric of your short skirt, fingers twitching at the hem.
“just a taste.” he whispered, long tongue retracting from your skin to wet his lips. “i ugh– to taste your pussy, baby. please.”
his voice was a raspy, desperate plea, and the sight of his body — the way he pressed himself against you, precum wetting the ends of your dress — broke something in you. you were supposed to be the rational one, but the pheromones were a thick haze in your lungs, intoxicating your very being.
your own body betrayed you, the ache between your thighs becoming a pulsing, insistent throb. your firm grip on his hair lessened, hand guiding his head unconsciously down your body, moving him in line with your center.
“ah– j–just a bit...” you breathed, your voice shaking now. “but then we m–”
move to the bedroom — he didn’t let you finish.
a submissive, relieved groan escaped him, and he was already sliding down your body. his bare knees hit the floor with a sharp thud, but he didn’t flinch. you tried to steady yourself, but rafayel had other plans — hiking your right leg up his shoulder, spreading you wide open for him. and you were taken by surprise, fingers curling and pushing his head around from the sudden movement.
“f–fuck yeah.”
he let out a sharp, encouraging moan against your exposed thigh, and you felt his lips press a wet kiss on the newly exposed patch of skin of your knee.
his hands shoot up, scattering the hem of your dress. he pushed the material up around your waist, silently prompting you to hold it down and away from him. the cool air of the hallway licked at your exposed thighs, prickling at your scale-scattered skin.
his gaze dropped, and he stared at the sight before him, cock twitching between his bent legs. the wet spot on your panties was dark and obscene, the cotton perfectly clinging to the shape of your pussy. you were absolutely soaked through, arousal escaping the comfort of your underwear in order to stain your inner thighs.
the rims around his blown-out pupils turned a bright blue, and a devouring hunger flashed across his features.
“oh, my baby.” he breathed, the words almost a whimper. “you’re s–so wet for me. i bet it h–hurts so much.”
he didn’t wait for an actual answer as he leaned forward to thoroughly inspect you. his nose pressed into the damp fabric, and he inhaled deeply, a tremble running through his body as he feasted on your scent. he nuzzled against the soaked cotton, his sharp fangs grazing your sensitive flesh through the thin barrier, and your knees nearly buckled.
your hand forced his head deeper instead of pulling it away, a silent surrender to the powers of the moon.
he took the signal with a groan of satisfaction. his tongue snaked out, long and monstrous, and he dragged the wide, flat of it across the dark spot. he licked slowly, savoring you through the fabric, his eyes rolling back from the aroma.
“you ahh– s’ good.” he mumbled against the fabric, his voice muffled by the fabric and his groans.
but he needed more than just soaked panties. so, with a swipe of his tongue, he wrapped the length twice around the gusset of your panties, tugging the material downwards. you felt the wet cotton drag along your sensitive flesh as it was removed, exposing your cunt entirely to his burning gaze.
“r–raf, please.”
he saw everything: your wet, swollen flesh glistened in the dim light, your clit engorged and peeking out from its hood. a fresh glob of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his adam’s apple bobbed at the bodily reaction.
“babyyy…” his breathing hitched, and he slowed down, his entire being focused on the sight and scent of you. “look at you.” he muttered, his voice heavy by lust. “so beautiful, so mesmerizing.”
and before you could form a response, he dived in. his lips glued onto you, and his tongue — still a long, monstruous muscle — latched onto your entire cunt. he licked a wide, flat stroke from your oozing entrance to your pulsing clit, and the feeling of his wet mouth against your slick flesh made you whine.
he did it again, and again, building a rhythm that was ruining you from the inside out. he was starved, licking and sucking and slurping you like an intoxicated man who knew no other flavour.
“rafayel, r–fa–yel!”
you threw your head back, the wall cold against your skull, as you fought for composure. but it was a losing battle: his mouth was too skilled, too curious to discover your pussy. he found every sensitive nerve with the tip of his tongue, swirling around your clit until you were seeing stars, then dropping down to probe at your entrance.
licking up the streams of your juices like they were the only source of water in the world.
you made the mistake of looking down at him. he was on his knees before you, his body trembling with the effort of restraint and desire. his eyes were heavy-lidded, focused solely on his task, and his gills —delicate, slit-like openings on his neck — fluttered slightly as he breathed through them, allowing him to remain glued to you without a pause for air.
he was relentless, dedicated.
he needed you to tip over into your animalistic side.
“i– oh, fuck–”
your voice cracked and morphed into a high, unhinged moan as he circled his tongue around your clit, wrapping it tightly with its length while he sucked the bundle of nerves with his lips. the tip of his tongue dipped lower treacherously, pushing against your greedy hole and effectively overflowing your mushy brain with pleasure.
your hips jerked forward of their own accord, and you felt your fingers drag through his hair, pulling him even tighter against you, demanding more even as you were overwhelmed.
“hmhmm– ngh–” he moaned into you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your pelvis.
his hands slid up your thighs, thumbs spreading your lips wider, giving him unrestricted access to every inch of your center. he worked on you with a desperate, submissive fervor, eating you out as if his existence depended on your pleasure.
and it was working. the feeling built and built in your tummy, a coil of heat tightened and tightened with every flick of his tongue.
“al’st.” he gasped, pulling away just enough to see the defeat in your eyes. his lips and chin were shining with your wetness, his sharp teeth shimmering as he smiled at you. “cum in my mouth, please.”
your resolve had shattered the moment his mouth had made contact. so you just nodded frantically, a sobbing whine escaping your lips, and he leaped at the signal. his mouth descended again with renewed vigor, long tongue focusing on your engorged bud. he sucked hard, creating a devastating pressure, while he simultaneously probed the back of his tongue against your entrance, massaging the contracting muscles.
“ah, i’m–”
you came with a cry that echoed down the empty hallway, your body arching off the wall as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through you. your hand forced his face deeper into you, and he drank everything, his moans of ecstasy vibrating against your sensitive flesh as he swallowed your release.
and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, easing you through the shaking aftermath, his eyes locked on your trembling form with a satisfied, devouring gleam.
“ah, a–ah, ah.”
when you finally opened your eyes, you had a good look at his needy, disheveled face, still resting between your thighs. his lips and chin were slick with you, his long tongue still lazily licking at your flesh as if he couldn’t bear to lose the taste. his gills fluttered rapidly, and he smiled up at you — temporary satiated by your pussy.
… or so you thought.
“g–go again?” he pleaded, his voice high-pitched and weak. “please, please, please, ple–”
and you knew why he was begging so arduously: gazing downwards at the floor, you soon realized that he also spilled his release, most likely pushed over the edge by your own orgasm. the floorboards were covered in a thick layer of cum, white and sticky substance staining his thigh and your own resting foot.
“please, baby, one more time– i love your pussy, i–”
you were still trembling from your own climax, chest heaving, gills fluttering on the sides of your neck. but something in his desperate, submissive tone made you sit up straighter, an ounce of rationality still guiding you. yeah, you felt the wetness between your thighs, the echo of his tongue still a pulsing memory, but you knew that you were far from satiated.
the moon’s pull was still in your bones, and his pheromones were a thick haze in the air.
you reached down, took a handful of his wet hair, and pulled his face away from your cunt. the slick was thick, mixed with his saliva, and it created a strong, sticky bridge between his lips and your nether ones.
“m–move…” you commanded, your voice coming out fragmented, tainted by your orgasm and the heat. “bedroom, now.”
his eyes flashed with relief, and he nodded so quickly that his locks flipped against his temples. “yes– yes, baby, anything.” with obedient, trembling hands, he pushed himself up from his knees, his muscular thighs quivering as he rose. he was still weeping, his cock stiff and red, the tip glistening with his own release.
but he made no move to wipe it away, fixated on obtaining you.
before you could step forward, he enveloped you in his arms, both hands sliding under your knees and lifting you as if you were made of feathers. your legs latched around his hips on instinct, your dress riding up to your waist, your naked slick pussy pressing against his abs. he took off with long, hurried steps, his legs no longer staggering.
“c’mere.”
his mouth was on yours before you could process his words.
“so ngh– good t’ me.” he mumbled against your lips, his tongue sharing your aroma. “so beautiful, so perfect– i’m ugh– not deserving.” he kissed you with a wide, open mouth, his sharp fangs grazing your lower lip as he pushed your dress higher with each push.
his words were a stream of subservient praises — celebrating your benevolence in assisting him with his heat — as he carried you through the living room and into the wide, disheveled bedroom. and his mouth never stopped; he fully slurped at your lips, devouring your mouth with the same fervor he ate your pussy.
he loved to caress your fangs with his tongue, grunting between lick as you were finally showing signs of turning.
“ah, ah…”
when he reached the giant bed, he turned and sat down on it, his back leaning against the headboard with a soft thud. he kept you on his lap, your knees straddling his hips, your soaked cunt hovering just above his twitching, dripping cock. his hands were instantly on your body tugging away at the dress, removing it from your body and letting your scale-splotched skin to bask in the full moon.
his sharp digits took a hold of your full hips, nails digging into the soft flesh as he tried to lower your body onto his.
“please, baby.” he breathed, his hips rolling upwards on instinct, his bare cock sliding against your wet slit. “i need to feel you around me– please, i fuck–”
you reached around, your hand finding the nightstand and its drawer, your fingers closing around a square packet. as you were retrieving it, his hands worked all over you, groping your waist, your tits, your thighs with a restless, ravenous need. his cock was jumping against your thigh with each squish of your body, impatient to ease into you.
“let m–me help.” he whispered as he saw you struggle. but you shook your head, at last ripping the packet open with your fangs.
the image made him groan — he loved when you used those fangs.
he wished you’d use them on him.
as you rolled the condom down his length with steady hand, your palm gliding over the latex as you smoothed it down the veiny cock, he gasped, his head throwing back against the headboard, his hips pushing up into your fist.
“fuck– baby, your hand, it’s ngh– so good, i’m gonna–” his words devolved into a strangled moan as you gave him a last, twisting stroke at the base, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from cumming right then.
his gills fluttered rapidly, and his hands clawed at the sheets, his white-knuckled grip the only thing keeping him grounded.
you left him hanging on the edge for a sweet moment, your eyes locked on his trembling stomach and the way his scales shimmered harder. then, with a slow movement, you raised yourself up on your knees, aligned the tip of his cock with your soaked entrance, and slowly began to sink down.
the sensation was electric. his length slid inside you in a smooth, velvety thrust, the latex making it easy but no less intense. you felt him stretch you, push past your greedy muscles that spasmed around him, and you gasped at the fullness. he moaned your name, vibrating against your chest as he pressed his forehead into your shoulder.
“so fucking tight– so wet–.”
“ah, raf, that’s mhm–”
you took a moment to adjust, to feel him settle deep inside you, to take in the way his tip was kissing your cervix. then you began to move — slow rolls of your hips, lifting and sinking, pulling him out until only the tip remained, then sliding back down to the hilt. your clit slapped deliciously against his muscles, and so did his heavy balls against your behind.
his hands flew to your hips again, guiding you, but he never tried to take control; he merely held you, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your hips with reverence.
“yes, that’s ngh– it, use me.” he implored, his voice breaking into high whinse as you picked up the pace. you rolled your hips in a figure eight, harshly grinding against him at the bottom, and his lips parted on a silent scream. “oh, oh fuck, right there, please, baby–”
you leaned forward, lips bitten, your palms braced against his chest, and you rode him with a ferocious need. every stroke was accompanied by his gasps, the sharp, slutty breaths strung together with your own traitorous ones into a rhythmic chant.
“so good, so good, i’m– please, please, let me cum inside, i beg you–”
his words were slurred, mind so thick with lust he forgot he had a condom on. but he was attentive to you, never taking his eyes off your bouncing body. when you sped up, your thighs burning with the effort, your clit brushing against his pubic bone with every downward thrust, his head lolled to the side in pleasure.
the sensation was heaven for you too: the way his cock hit that sweet spot inside you, vein pulsing just the right way against your walls, the way his hands trembled as they held you, the way his moans sounded like prayers…
“cum for me.” you allowed, your voice raspy and commanding, and that was all he needed.
with a broken whine, he threw his head back, his spine arching off the headboard as he spilled into the condom, his hips jerking up into you with ragged, uncontrollable spasms. his mouth opened in a silent shout and his hands clawed so hard into your hips you knew they would leave bruises.
the sight of him cumming, his face stretched in ecstasy, pushed you over the edge. you rode him through it all, your second climax building and building until it broke. your inner muscles clenching around him as you shuddered through your release.
he whimpered into the air like a mantra: “thank you, thank you, thank you–”.
after a few more seconds, you finally slowed down. with your gills working overtime, your body washed in sparkling sweat, you remained motionless, straddled over him. his aching cock was still inside you, spent once more that night.
but ebb day had just commenced, and a mere fuck was not the solution.
you were still trembling, his overstimulated cock still twitching inside you, when he shifted his hips upwards — a lazy, circular rock which sent a sharp spark through your oversensitive flesh. you whimpered, a needy tune that you hadn’t intended to let out; the sudden trust took you by surprise, hitting your walls in a way that made your whole being shiver.
he did it again, this time with a sharper thrust, his strong hands pushing you down into his cock, and your palms flattened against his chest in a vain attempt to put some distance between the two of you.
“raf– wait, slow d–ah–own a bit.” you gasped, your voice cracking, the overstimulation short circuiting your brain. “i need a second–”
his laugh was low and mean, a strong contrast to the high-pitched moans he freely let out a few minutes ago.
“slow down? why? you’re still aching for more.” his hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs with a brutal firmness. his expression was no longer kind and pliant, the barely-there purple of his orbs changing into a blinding sapphire color.
he tutted at your scrunching face, digging his fingers harder into your skin and dragging you forth against his chest. “no, no, baby. i don’t like that.”
“raf?”
“you’re not gonna fight what you are. you’re a lemurian in heat, just like me… giving in is not a choice.”
before you could respond, he twisted out of you with a squelching, wet pop and shoved you forward onto the sheets. you tumbled onto the mattress, hands and knees catching you as he positioned you around like a puppet. his palm pressed the small of your back, forcing your spine into a beautiful arch, your face pressed into the pillows.
it happened in a blink of an eye, your body going pliant and obeying the desires of the man behind you. you could no longer see him, with your head buried in his cushions, but you could hear the shift of his weight as he knelt behind you, the heat of his body washing over your exposed skin.
shit, he was taking a dominant stance now — the predator inside him most likely no longer pleased by your ‘controlled’ approach to ebb day.
but you had to stay strong. you had to stop him from fulfilling the mating ritual since you were not his beloved. you had to–
“look at you.” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension, blue eyes taking in the sight before him: you, face down, ass up, supple flesh drenched and quivering with arousal. “so fucking wet… and you still have the nerve to tell me to slow down. pathetic.”
his fingers traced down your curved spine, pausing at the swell of your ass. then down to your used hole. with delicate fingers, he touched the gaping rim of the condom still lodged inside you, dragging it slightly out of you. you flinched, back arching even more, hips pushing into his touch unconsciously.
“a condom too… ruining all the fun.” he clicked his tongue, low and mean, but chose to abandon the rubber for now. he decided to reach around to find your clit, his skilled thumb pressing against it with just enough pressure to make you tremble into the sheets.
“you think you’re in charge, hm? you’re nothing but a slutty little whore who needs to be reminded of her place.”
he circled his thumb over your swollen bud, slow and torturous, while his other hand kept you pinned down. you whined, your hips pushing back instinctively, seeking more friction, but he was having none of it: he smacked your ass hard, the sharp slap echoing in the room as it landed on your flesh.
“don’t you dare act on your urges now. you’ll get what i give you, when i give it.” he warned as he increased the pressure on your clit, his movements forming teasing figure eights. you writhed against the sheets, tried to push back and speed him up, but his hand on your spine kept you arched and immobile.
“p–please.” you whined, your voice pitching high, now mirroring the state he was previously in— flushed face, dilated pupils, consumed by the urge to be used. “raf, i need–”
“you need to shut up and take what’s given.” he cut you off, his tone cold and superior. he removed his thumb without warning, and you whimpered in loss, eyes bubbling with tears from his cruelness. “see? that’s what you get for being impatient. now be a good girl and wait.”
wait?
for what?
he reached down, fingers curling around the rim of the condom still inside you. with a slow, torturous pull, he removed it. the sensation of the latex sliding out making you shiver, hole gaping in dissatisfaction. your cunt was practically begging for the rubber to return, for something to be inside it once more.
“greedy pussy.”
he pinched the tip of the condom, dangling it above your stinging flesh, and, with his thumb and index finger, he pressed and dragged out... letting the thick, white semen spill all across your ass. throwing the empty rubber away, he then smeared his cum over your cheeks with a rough, possessive stroke, making sure to dip his fingers over your asshole and the perineum.
the warm, sticky sensation made you cry out, and he laughed again.
“you like that, don’t you? being marked with my cum?” he rubbed the cum lower, into your slit, working it into your wet folds until you were dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his seed. “you were so dumb for putting on the condom.”
and with that vitriolic remark, he positioned himself behind you once more, the mushroom head of his engorged cock prodding at your slutty entrance. he rubbed it up and down, teasing the flesh without pushing in, controlling his urge to breed you for the sake of hearing you beg.
and you began to sob, pleas leaving your bitten lips with ease.
“p–please, raf, just fuck me, i need it so bad, please–”
“aww, look at you now — beg harder.” he purred, his tip still tracing slow circles over your hungry hole.
“please! please, rafayel, i beg you, just put it in, i’ll be good, just fuck me–”
“there it is.” he smirked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “but oh, i’m sorry, baby– i think we’re out of condoms. what a shame.” his tone was condescending, and he rolled his hips just enough to press the head inside.
before pulling back. “i can’t–”
“i don’t care.” you babbled, your mind now a blur of heat and hunger. your previous carefulness was entirely wiped by your animalistic desire to be mounted and taken by rafayel. “j–just do it, fuck me raw! i need your ugh– cock inside me, please, raf–”
“finally.”
without other comments, he thrusted in one sharp, brutal motion. you screamed, but not in pain — the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled without any barrier felt heavenly. his hard cock, littered with scales, plowed into your soaked cunt until his hips smacked against your ass, his balls swaying against your swollen clit.
“yes.” he groaned, his voice now raspy with his own need. “this is where you belong: spread open for me, taking my cock like the cockslut that you are.” he pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, the squelch of your juices and his cum making a loud, obscene sound.
“fuck, you’re so warm, so wet, so fucking good.”
he set a ferocious pace, his hips jutting into you with the starved intensity of an animal in rut. each thrust hit that spot inside you, making your spine curve into him more and more. and you were kept in that deep arch by his strong arms, your voice reduced to a stream of moans and whines as it got drowned out by the pillows.
“ngh– baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tight.” he grunted, his hand snaking forward to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back. “greedy girl, sucking me ah– so hard.”
“tell me you’re mine. tell me this is what you wanted.”
“‘m y’rs.” you gasped, the words tumbling out in stutters as you squeezed around his rugged scales. “gods, yes, fuck me harder, please–”
he released your hair with a satisfied moan and doubled his efforts, his strokes becoming messy and unhinged. he was so deep inside you that you could feel his cock throbbing against your walls, the tip kissing your cervix with every slam. his length seemed to grow inside you, expanding and stretching your sensitive walls in all dimensions.
you were completely affected by ebb day now, your pleasure so strong you could no longer separate where your being ended and his began.
but the night has just begun, and so did rafayel.
you felt it before you saw it: a second pressure, a new sensation against the flesh of your ass. another cock, thicker and more brutal in its proportions, had emerged from the base of his first and sprung upwards, settling directly between the sweaty valley of your cheeks.
it was a monstrous thing, wet with its own pre-cum, rocking against your asshole in tune with his other cock.
“is that– ugh–”
with every slam of his hips into your soaked cunt, this second cock rubbed relentlessly against your tight, untouched asshole. the friction was addicting, a blunt force that glided over the twitching rim of your second hole with every forward push.
you could feel the ridges of it, the scales that dragged across your delicate skin, and it made your eyes roll back from the pleasure.
“you feel that, baby?” he grunted into your ear, his voice a condescending purr. “my other cock, itching to breed that pussy too. you’re so fucking soaked, i am sure it will ngh– slip right in.”
you couldn’t respond. you were beyond speech, your face buried in the sheets, your voice reduced to a high, siren-like whine that filled the room.
the way his second cock humped against your asshole, the way his first cock was still plunging into your cunt — it was a sensory overload that threatened to spill all over. you clenched around him, trying to drag him deeper, and he groaned, leaning over your arched body.
“can’t even fuckin’ answer me.” he snarled, his pace slowing for a moment as he leaned down, lowering his sweaty chest against your back.
his sharp mouth found the juncture of your neck and shoulder, your pulse point, and he opened his jaw wide. his fangs grazed your flesh, a heated, demanding pressure falling over your skin.
he was…
“you want this so badly, don’t you? you want me to claim every hole.”
going to bite. he was going to mark you as his mate.
panic lashed through the fog of your lust. you were not lovers: you had agreed to this arrangement solely to protect his future beloved from the primality of the lemurian heat. so your arm shot up before you could think it over, your forearm wedging itself between his lips and your neck just as his jaws clamped down.
“ah.”
his fangs sink into your flesh with a wet, ripping sound. the pain was sharp and immediate, a burning sensation that made you scream into the pillows. you felt the hot trickle of blood cascade down your arm, and he let out a surprised, muffled groan around your limb.
his cock slid out of you during the chaos, leaving you suddenly empty and weak.
“n–no!” you cried, your voice a shaky mess of pleasure and desperation. “not that! rafayel, we aren’t– we’re not lovers! you can’t mark me like this. you have to save yourself for your chosen one, you know that.”
he froze — he stayed still, his fangs still embedded in your forearm, his breath hot against the wound. then, slowly, he released you. his jaw unclamped, and he licked the blood from his lips with a slow, seductive swipe of his tongue. but his eyes had changed. the lust was still there, but now it was underlaid with something far more dangerous: a cold, rageful possessiveness.
“you dare...” he said, his voice dropping to a level of condescending fury that made you shiver. “you dare tell me who to save myself for? you dare speak of a ‘chosen one’ when you’re the only one who has ever made me feel this?”
before you could respond, he moved with unnatural speed. his hands gripped your hips and with a brutal twist, he flipped you over like you were no more than a rag doll. you landed on your back, the sheets cold and damp against your sweaty skin. he was on top of you in an instant, his legs knocking yours apart as he settled his weight between your thighs.
his first cock pressed against your soaked entrance, and his second one rested heavily against your clit, both of them drenched in bodily fluids.
“you foolish woman.” he snarled, leaning down so his face was inches from yours. his eyes were gleaming blue, his scales catching the light like the facets of a gem. “there is no other chosen one. there is only you. you’re the one i want. you’re the one my body and my soul demands.”
“r–raf?”
“and i will not be denied.”
he thrusted forward, sheathing his bottom cock inside you in one single, devastating move. you were so wet, so inviting; there was no resistance, only a lewd, obscene squelch as your fluids started to froth at the juncture between your bodies.
you whined out a broken approval, and he groaned in triumph above you.
“that’s right.” he confirmed, rolling his hips harder and harder to pick up his previous pace. “your body knows the truth, even if your mouth lies. you’re mine.” he began to pump into you, his strokes sharp and possessive as he, once more, descended closer to your face.
“you can beg all you want for a different fate, but you will never escape this. you will never escape me.”
and with that, he sealed his lips over yours.
your hands clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pounded you into the mattress. your legs wrapped around his waist, pushing him deeper, traitorously consenting to his declaration even as your mind spun with lust. he leaned forward more and more, trapping you under his massive frame, and he kissed you brutally, tangling his long tongue with your and forcing you to taste your own blood.
“say it out loud.” he demanded against your mouth, his pace never faltering, his mouth carefully traversing lower to your pulse point again. “say you’re mine. say it and i will fully take you, my mate.”
“i’m yours!” you wailed, the words torn from your very soul as his fangs scratched your skin in warning. “i’m yours, rafayel! please, just don’t stop, don’t you dare stop–”
a prideful, predatory grin spread across his features. he slowed his pace as his jaw opened once more, trying to time his movements to offer you the most intense pleasure. pulling out almost all the way, his tip snagging onto your hole, he stuck out his tongue to wet your skin as his hand lowered to his cocks… pressing his second length snug to his other and preparing it for penetration.
“ngh– raf– ah–”
as he plunged his fangs into your neck, finally marking you as his mate by drawing blood, he also rutted both cocks into your hungry cunt. the immense quantities of arousal lubed everything, allowing his two dicks to press deep into your without much difficulty.
and his timing was perfect, getting you to orgasm with a perfect o on your lips as he rocked your whole world.
“that’s right.” he purred, moving his head to nuzzle at the bloody bite on your skin, licking the wound with soft strokes of his tongue. “you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.”
and as he spoke, he picked up his pace once more, the slap of his balls against your skin filling the room, his resolve renewed. you were cushioned beneath him, a trembling mess, a willing partner to desire, and as he watched you fall apart beneath him — your eyes rolling back, your moans a constant chant — he too was pushed over the edge once more.
unlike last time, his thrusts stumbled into a rhythm that was clumsy but deep, as if he refusing to let go of you. unlike last time, you felt a swelling at your entrance, the way his top cock, the one that had been pressing against your clit moments ago, now grew in thickness.
the sensation was overwhelming. your walls were stretched further, and you could feel his cocks throbbing deep inside, ready to spill.
“breed.” he groaned against your neck, lips bloody, voice raspy. “let me fill you. let me breed your sweet cunt.”
and he did.
his top cock began to inflate at the base, the tissue swelling into a something that locked him deep within you. you whimpered in pleasure as the first shiny, pearl-white ovoid passed through his urethra and into your hole —a smooth, rounded glob that stretched you to the fullest before it settled inside you.
then another, and another, and another. each one leaving a trail of warmth as it popped through his cock and deposited itself in deep inside you. his hands stopped flat against your stomach, to keep you from moving away, and he felt the bulge begin to rise.
the eggs were gathering together with his thick cum.
“yes, yes.” he murmured, his tone a mix of wonder and satisfaction, eyes glassy with lust. “so many eggs already. and there’s more for you.”
he kept pumping, each thrust squeezing another round egg into you, and with it came wave upon wave of thick, pearlescent cum that filled every remaining crevice. your tummy bulged more and more, the skin stretching tight until you could feel the weight of his eggs sinking low inside you. you were so full that you couldn’t tell what was cum and what was ovoid; you only knew that he was still pumping, still depositing, still claiming.
“r–rafayel, i w–will ugh– i can’t hold– nngh!”
your protests were swallowed by another orgasm as he rutted his final drops into you, the bottom cock twitching inside you as it added its own thick semen to the swelling pool. your tummy was now a pronounced curve, the skin taut and shiny, and you could feel each individual egg pressing against the walls of your tummy.
“yes.”
finally, he stilled, his body shaking with the last spasms of release. he remained inside you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your sweaty skin. then, with a small whine, he pulled out: first the bottom cock, then the top one, releasing the lock on your pussy. you felt a gush of warm cream follow him, and when you looked down, you saw the mess he had made of you.
your pussy was ruined, swollen, hole gaping as thick, white cum started to drool out in hefty treads, pooling on the sheets beneath you.
he moved down your body, his hands sliding over your blooming skin until they rested on your swollen belly. he pressed gently, and you felt the first egg pop out with an obscene sound. the smooth, pearly ovoid rolled out onto the sheet, shining with your combined juices. then another, and another, each one escaping as he pressed firmer, each one making you whine from overstimulation.
your tummy slowly deflated, but not all the eggs were out yet — you could still feel a few resting high inside, near your cervix.
“shh, i’ve got you.” he said, his voice suddenly soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the brutality from moments ago. he shifted his hand from your belly to your swollen clit, his fingers gliding through the wetness with good intent.
“you’re doing so well, baby. let me help the rest out.”
he began to rub circles around your hyper-sensitive bud, while his other hand pressed firmly on the top part of your pelvis. the overstimulation made you sob out, but his sweet expression (his soft, purple orbs, the blush on his face, the cute smile on his lips) kept you grounded.
“that’s it, sweet girl, let them out. you’re so brave for taking all of that. now just one more– yes, there it is.”
with a particularly deep press of his palm and a swirl of his thumb, the last egg got out with a sultry plop, rolling to join its siblings on the sheet. your body shuddered violently, another spasm of climax racing through you, but he never stopped the gentle ministrations of his hand.
he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your belly, his lips tracing your skin as you orgasm again into his palm.
“such a good girl.” he whispered against your skin, his tone full of adoration and gratitude. “you took everything so perfectly, my partner.” he lifted his head to look into your hazy eyes, and there was nothing but contentment in his gaze. “let’s rest for a bit.”
at last, he removed himself from between your legs, allowing you a moment of respite as he lounged next to you on the bed. cradling your spent form into a delicate side embrace, he guided your head onto his chest, petting your wet hair away from your face.
tags: @yuunileb, @txtworlddom, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel, @gardenialily, @weirdothatwrites, @cherrytokkiz, @brailsthesmolgurl, @happyshark2222, @velomira, @darkchococwoissant, @thealunari, @starswillseeus, @ninalove323, @lumichella, @amanehyuga, @txtworlddom, @milumier, @someonestopsoren, @lettushi, @jadeloverxd, @hellothisisnanaaa, @ops-esion, @thealunari, @maplewood-valley, @massivebanananut, @livanavier, @rafayearning4eternity. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
the hot june sun was beating down on your back, and your feet were dead from the tens of thousands of steps from that day. you were only two days in out of your three month long trip—if this was how it was going to be the entire time, you were truly going to die.
your eyes were glued to the tiles on the streets, not realizing you had bumped into someone until you felt a dull pain on your head. “oh shit—i’m so sorry.” you stammered, phone and earbud case falling out of your pockets.
you groaned, crouching down to reach for your dropped items, but someone handed them to you before you could even blink. you glanced up, meeting deep burgundy—nearly black—eyes. “thank you.” you met messy and long maroon hair and a deadpan expression.
“i’m in love with you.”
you nearly choked, blinking rapidly at the words that had just exited the redhead’s mouth. yet he still looked as if this was just another day in the office, expression unchanging. your entire face burned, eyes wide. passerby probably didn’t know you were going through every single chemical reaction possible internally.
“oh, uh, i, um, what?” you asked, mind malfunctioning. you were still crouching down awkwardly, as was the stranger. yes, the stranger. you had no idea who the hell this guy was, nor did you know his age or his name or anything about him.
you stood up stiffly, and the stranger did as well, wind blowing in his maroon hair perfectly. he looked like a model. “as i said, i’m in love with you.” his gaze was observant, quietly unraveling every feature of yours, every inch of your body. yet there was a tiny glimmer in his eye that told you this was more than just logic.
love at first sight, maybe? cute, but you weren’t interested. you were here for three months, and you were here to lock in (to eat all of the french pastries). plus, you had to go home anyway. you didn’t want heartbreak. “no thanks, i’m not interested, sorry.”
he raised an eyebrow. how the hell is this surprising to him? “oh, i see.” you almost let out a sigh of relief; maybe he’ll back off now. then you could forget this hot, tall, nice guy you met in france randomly.
“guess i’ll have to try harder to convince you then.”
excuse you?
your jaw went slack—how the hell were you supposed to respond to this? “no, genuinely, i don’t think you understand. i’m a tourist. i’m here for three months and i’m gone.” your french wasn’t perfect, but hopefully, you got the message across. “plus, i don’t know you. like, at all.”
at that point, a few passerby stopped to stare, noticing your discomfort. the stranger tilted his head. “i’m vivien hugo. i’m seventeen, a member of the french u20 football team, and i currently play for pxg’s u20 team, though i’ll be transferring to play for arsenal soon.”
so this guy was famous as well? and likely rich? the thought of going home was getting farther by the minute with hugo in front of you.
“and i’m also your future husband, so i suppose it is important for you to know me better.” goddamnit, did this guy have any friends growing up? you were already red in your cheeks, but at his comment, your entire face was probably redder than his hair.
“sure, buddy. whatever you say.” you retorted, furrowing your eyebrows. “nice to meet you hugo. you live around here or something?” you were practically the same age, but since he was a pro player, he probably had his own living quarters.
“i do. i’m guessing you stay at a hotel?” he asked. you nodded.
“i’m not telling you which one.”
“i wasn’t interested in knowing anyway. we’ll meet again even without conventionally necessary information.
this guy was pissing you off. “alright. see you then, hugo.” paris was a city with far too many people for you both to meet again. that’d be ridiculous. with that, you turned your back on him and walked away.
of course, you just had to be wrong.
because when you left your hotel just two days later, your head ended up making impact with yet someone yet again. your earbud case and phone ended up falling out of your pockets again.
“i’m so sor—wait,” your eyes widened, mouth opening wide. “hugo?!” no way. there was absolutely no way such a coincidence could ever exist. and yet you were met with his familiar burgundy hair.
“oh, you’re staying at this hotel. my apartment complex is actually right next to it.” he pointed at the building next door, which you hadn’t even realized was an apartment complex until he said so. no fucking way.
“guess we’re fated after all. not that i doubted it in the first place.” hugo stated, picking up your case and phone casually.
“oh my days,” you breathed. “how?” you hated how steady his gaze was while you were having a meltdown. this guy, this creep, was stuck around you now!
“destiny.”
“not a good reason…”
“you can choose not to believe it, but we’re fated for each other.” hugo replied. “i was actually looking for you, but i suppose destiny decided to be kind and drop you right in front of me.”
you pressed your lips into a thin line. “okay, what is it?”
“you’re traveling alone, i assume. you’re also only here for three months, so i was just thinking that you might need a guide. i only have practice for a few hours five days a week anyway. it doesn’t matter to me.” hugo tilted his head.
“you want me to accept a stranger’s offer?” you asked. “sorry, i don’t have the survival instincts of a walnut. i barely know you.”
“it’s your decision. but just so you know, i am a celebrity by technicality. i have a reputation to uphold. i can’t just kidnap you or mistreat you. that’d be bad for the both of us.” hugo said. you had to admit, he did have logic in his argument. “again, your choice.”
your budget didn’t allow you to find a tour guide, so this was really your best shot. and despite stranger danger, you had to admit that your gut and instinct really sensed noting off about hugo.
“fine.” you sighed. “sure. i’ll do it. you can be my tour guide or my helper or whatever you wanna call it.”
“that’s a deal.”
you hated to admit it, but vivien was good company.
he was blunt and could be preachy at times, but the thing was that he was completely aware of the times he was being annoying…and he completely owned his it as well. you had to admit, he was pretty funny, even if his humor was unintentional most of the time.
when the final day came, vivien decided to bring you on a walk. it was the evening of a weekday, and the park was quiet. the sun was setting softly, and the loudest noise was a small breeze and crickets.
you sat on a swing, meanwhile vivien stood against the swing’s metal beam. you didn’t want to speak. what the hell were you supposed to say to him? you were probably never going to see him ever again.
“well?” vivien began.
“what do you mean, ‘well?’” you asked. he looked at you as if you got 1+1 wrong.
“do you love me?” he asked. you choked on air. “i told you when we first met that i was in love with you. that hasn’t changed, not at all. do you love me back?”
your cheeks dusted pink. “i, well,” you did. you loved him, definitely more than just a crush would ever account for. he was practically your only non-digital communication for the past three months.
but this was bound to end.
and you didn’t want to leave.
you didn’t answer, instead standing up from the swing and walking towards him. when you were in front of vivien, he tilted his head—which was perfect for what you were about to do next.
because your hands cupped both of his cheeks, and you brought his lips to yours without hesitation.
vivien reacted within milliseconds, bringing his hands to your waist and only pulling away to catch for his breath. his cheeks were scarlet, his mouth open for air, and pupils dilated, this was the most emotional you’d ever seen vivien.
and he was so, utterly, completely in love.
“stay here,” he whispered. “just stay with me. i can cover costs for everything. i’ll do anything for you if you just don’t leave.” his gaze softened. “marry me if you need to. just don’t go.”
a bitter smile made its way onto your face. “vivien,” you grazed your thumb across his cheek. “i wish i could, but you know, i’ve got a life to live. and i’ve got senior year waiting for me back home, and graduation, and my friends, and i’ve got so much ahead of me. i love you, vivien. i really do. but this was never meant to last long anyway. if someday we meet again, but in a place where we could be together for longer, i promise i’ll marry you.”
you didn’t expect to be met with dejection, and that wasn’t what you received in the least. because vivien looked more determined than ever.
“that’s a promise. no take backs.”
you kissed his cheek. “no take backs.”
even two years later, you can still vividly remember your plane ride home.
you didn’t cry in front of vivien. you forced yourself not to, not when he dropped you off at the airport or when he stayed with you all the way until you entered security check and he had to leave.
but you were absolutely bawling your eyes out on the plane ride. and it was pathetic, to get so emotional over a 3-month summer situationship over a boy you’d probably never see again.
but there was just something about vivien that you couldn’t get over.
senior year went and left faster than your previous summer. midterms, finals, winter break, midterms, ap testing, sat, act, finals, graduation.
the next summer just wasn’t the same without vivien. rather than go out every day and enjoy the sun, you instead rotted in bed and just scrolled on social media. you shouldn’t be so hung up over him. you shouldn’t even remember him.
yet you did.
you applied to 12 colleges, all within your home country except for one: a university in london.
though i’ll be transferring to play for arsenal soon.
you still remembered vivien’s words. you didn’t want to search him up; you didn’t want to see him without being able to love him. but if there was even the slightest chance that you could get into that university in london, then maybe, just maybe, fate was real.
the university in london was the only one you were accepted into.
so you packed your bags and left. only your freshman year of college was just lonely. you didn’t see vivien. not a single time. no hearing his name in the streets, no seeing him on billboards, nothing. and sure, you kept your grades up, but you were in an entirely different country with no friends.
even though your college was impossibly close to the arsenal headquarters, you were never once able to get tickets to any matches. they just sold out too quickly. football fans were scary.
you didn’t return home for the summer between freshman and sophomore year of college.
your fate was determined in the middle of summer.
the hot june sun was beating down on your back, and your feet were dead from the tens of thousands of steps from that day. you were only two days in out of your three month long summer break—if this was how it was going to be the entire time, you were truly going to die.
your eyes were glued to the tiles on the streets, not realizing you had bumped into someone until you felt a dull pain on your head. “oh shit—i’m so sor—“
this scene felt strangely familiar.
when you looked up, every single one of your dreams manifested.
because vivien hugo looked at you as if he saw an angel, and your earbud case and phone were the prayers that led him to you.
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ hugo hates how you just easily plague his thoughts (esp when you’re blowing him while he’s with his book)
“ma be-belle… f-fuck… just—hahh—like that…”
maybe it wasn’t the hottest thing in the world, to be listening to a play through commentary of arsenal’s most recent game while your boyfriend was on his usual shenanigans of reading an empty book.
it really wasn’t hot, but you just love to see your boyfriend all flustered. the two of you were on his couch in front of the large windows overlooking the city where you were in.
for some reason—as much as you really didn’t want to admit it, it thrilled you to be the cause of such turmoil over your boyfriend. especially considering the fact that you didn’t really get to hang out with vivien during his season.
the sole purpose of even being here was to comfort him during stress, and well… of course, you want do your job.
he’s too uptight sometimes—especially now that arsenal tied with barcha—and to be against a fellow ng11? vivien wanted to up his game. he’d told you that he’d be in the living room listening to a play through commentary podcast thing.
and of course, he had a damn empty book.
you were in barcelona together! sure, maybe he does have a game to settle the tie, but he has time to practice any other day. here you were, all ready for him to take you and he was staring at blank pages, occasionally flipping the pages (this time, he’s using the book you’d gotten him from an artesian shop in morroco… much to your pleasure), but still!
you were next to him, on your knees while you slouched down and sucked his dick.
“chérie… you’re sucking t-too hard…” your boyfriend—whose voice usually lacked such vicarious emotion, was higher pitched; vivien’s lip was even quivering, and you could note his grip on his book shake.
he was enjoying this. that little furrow of his eyebrows told you. the fact that his hand on the curve of your back didn’t let go, did too.
vivien’s state in general was nothing short of absolutely disheveled—and you loved it.
“sure, mon chouchou, but aren’t you focused on your book?” you looked up, stroking his cock with your free hand while making eye contact. you were such a fucking tease, with sarcasm dripping from your words while you looked at him with such lust…
and god, you looked so fucking erotic; your pouty lips were swollen and your eyes were glassy.
your lips were on his tip, tongue swirling around the shaft while your hands—fuck, your cute manicured hands—were holding and jerking him off from the base.
“lemme care for you; you’ve been too stressed recently.”
vivien’s breathing was shallow, his onyx eyes staring you down as if he was practically trying to eat you. you didn’t get to give him the chance to respond though, as you went right back down, sucking his cock and making such pretty sounds of choking around his length.
he gasped, throwing his head back; the grip on your nightgown tightened and he put his book down. his hand that once held the book, now was on your head, gently tugging your hair while your tongue slid against the veins of his cock.
then he let out an amused chuckle mixed with a gasp. “c’mon, princesse… let’s take this somewhere else. i don’t want anyone else to see you like this.” (despite being several floors up in the sky).
-
-
-
first hugo piece what do we think…? (idk how to feel about this…. i wrote this on 3 hours of sleep in the morning…)
giving hugo his first titjob content | smut, afab!reader, bsf!hugo, whimpering, insults, spitting
“s’nice,” he moaned, his eyes wide and fixed on his cock between your tits.
you squeezed yourself against him, your chest wet and glossed with his pre-cum. hugo’s gaze burned into you, sending a strange heat down throughout your body.
“y’like this, freak?” you scoff, looking up at him with heavy eyes.
he leaned back more on the couch, a shaky breath escaping him. “mmf . . . so much.”
your smooshed tits squeezed the base of his warm cock flush between them. you could feel the persistent throbbing of him, and with the amount of pre that gushed out his tip, his dick kept slipping out, making him sound out a soft whimper every time.
“merde . . . so pretty,” he whispered reverently, watching as you go up and down on him with your plush tits.
“shut up,” you murmur.
spit!
“haaah—” hugo’s thighs trembled as you spat on his leaking tip. “ohmygod . . .”
hugo’s panting got louder and louder. his cheeks flushed a soft red, glistening with sweat. “warm . . . y’warm . . . gonna make me . . . mmm . . .”
“cum?” you say, bringing a hand to lightly rub his blushing tip.
his breathing picked up. his glassy eyes widened as he frantically nodded, “yesyes. yes. cum— i’m—”
hugo couldn’t finish his sentence as his dick began splurting out clear white, making him sound out loud shaky moans. his head threw back, not a second going by where he isn’t making noise.
“fuck—” you hiss, feeling the stickiness of his cum all over your tits. “s’much . . .”
you glance up at him, taking in his obscenely flushed state. his chest rose and fell, enchanted at the sight of his cum all over your tits.
you sat up, not yet wiping anything off. hugo’s gaze followed. tsk, like he was some kind of dog . . .
“you’re gross,” you scoff, looking down where he sat flushed on the couch.
“mm . . . m’sorry,” he mumbled half-heartedly, his eyes falling to the mess he made on you. what a jerk . . . he doesn’t even seem ashamed.
R/AITA For Looking Through My Girlfriend’s Phone? u/keepingitrealbyhugo.v
I am not one to bring my personal life to Reddit. But this is important. I (19M) have been dating my girlfriend for a while now. It’s been common practice for me to look through her phone so I know what she’s up to and so she hasn’t strayed down a dark path. I’ve only done it out of protection and love. But she apparently doesn’t seem to think so.
Last night she was in the shower and left her phone in the bedroom. I of course had to look through it. Upon finding a collection of dirty porn books (whatever you call them) I immediately had to bring it up to her. The profanity was downright ridiculous. What even is AO3?! Who is Eren Jaeger?! When she got out of the shower, I asked her why she was reading those books. I said that the words on those digital pages are obscene and then she threw a clothes hanger at me. Why?
She told me that looking through her phone was a massive invasion of her privacy. That makes no sense considering I’m only helping her out to make sure she’s the best version of herself as possible. How can she be the best version of herself if she is dabbling in porn books?
The conversation we had went terribly, to say the least. I’m staying over at my friends while me and her go through this rough patch. I don’t think I’m the asshole here. I wasn’t the one reading profanity whilst in a relationship . . .
So, am I the asshole for looking through my girlfriend’s phone?
| u/julianloki.therealest: im the friend yall
> u/keepingitrealbyhugo.v: Indeed you are ;)
> u/julianloki.therealest: dude chill im easy 😩
> u/itzcharleschevy: YO IM HERE TOO WSP and stop acting gay or else one of you will get pregnant
> u/keepingitrealbyhugo.v: Charles please log off…
| u/xxotoya.exx: she’s fs cheating on u im sorry. nta.
| u/bumblingbachirahehe: i read an article once that looking through people’s phones is a sign of emotional immaturity.. talk to her. unfortunately i think yta
| u/saeitoshi10: 😂😂😂😂😂😂 yta
| u/yaboykunigami: Girls are so hard to deal with. But I don’t think looking through their phones is ever a good idea. What did you expect..? YTA
| u/themichaelkaiser: what a fucking loser. wasting time on love? i can’t believe what i’m seeing. check out my podcast for real life advice and not from losers on reddit
> u/xnagisei: hey u promoted ur pdcst under my posts 2 ://
> u/themichaelkaiser: cuz people like u need my help.
| u/ddddddddlorenzo: buy her a birkin bag or something idk.
| u/shidouisdeepinside: wait what were the books she was reading 👀👀
| u/rinthedestroyer: you really brought this shit to reddit? damn loser. yta
> u/julianloki.therealest: easy on my boy u child
> u/rinthedestroyer: die
> u/itzcharleschevy: RIN THE DESTROYER 😂😂 you make me chortle i think i’ll pee from laughing rn
> u/rinthedestroyer: kys.
| u/iggybunny: she threw a clothes hanger?! i’d kms hahaha. nta
> u/totesnotsae: would you kys?? actually?? prove it.
synopsis: maybe you should've given it a second thought before accepting your best friend's offer to be your sperm donor - especially when it's obvious he'd rather be the baby daddy! is your relationship really platonic? or will years of gojo's pining finally get him the girl of his dreams?
pairing: best friend!gojo x f!reader
wc: 9.2k
content: mdni, FLUFF AND SMUT!!!, some light angst, mutual pining, but reader's lowk in denial, childhood friends to lovers, he fell first and harder lmfao, gojo is the best sperm donor and dad, very much planned pregnancy, gojo is so in love, lots of comfort, touchy/clingy-ness, lowk codependence, kissing, confessions, HEAVY LACTATION KINK, nipple play, gojo is THIRSTY ok, unprotected piv sex, creampie, happy ending
a/n: commission for the incredibly lovely @cantarcantar hehe :3 the art is by @1amglow !!
“You want a what?”
“A baby,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders and shoving another piece of cake in your mouth as if you told him you wanted a designer bag for your birthday. Innocently blinking, head tilting to the side as the fuzzy crown he bought for you started to slip from where it was hastily placed on your hair. The 3 and 0 candles still left on the corner of your plate, the burnt ends sitting there and reminding him that you were already moving onto another stage of life without looking back to see if he was chasing you.
But Satoru Gojo had spent so fucking long trying to fit into whatever space was left for him that he wasn’t sure what he’d be without you.
From the first moment he met you, back when your family had been hired at his clan’s estate and you became his built-in playmate, your face scrunched up with indignity at your circumstances before you begrudgingly shoved your hand out to shake his, all he had wanted to hold onto you and never let go.
“Like, um, a real one?” He stupidly asked, throat constricting as he watched you clean the fork with your tongue slowly. Considerately. Taking your time to think about what he was asking, what this conversation actually meant, while his brain was thinking filthy things about your glossy lips, what your eyes might look like glazed over, how good your hair probably would smell if he buried his face in it.
“Mhm,” you eventually hummed, pulling the fork out of your mouth and plopping it down on your plate. Glancing back over your shoulder for a quick second, looking at the birthday decorations he’d spent two hours setting up before you showed up at his penthouse, the banners and the balloons and the glittery streamers that were probably way over-the-top for takeout and cake for just the two of you. Smiling a little to yourself as your head turned to him, tilting a little as your eyes locked onto his. “Do you think I'd be a good mom?”
“The best,” he honestly answered, as if in his fantasies, he wasn't already imagining he was the father.
“I was thinking of getting a sperm donor,” you casually added, clearly something you'd been toying around with for a while.
Two words, and a terrible idea blossomed in the back of his brain – and exited his mouth before he could shut the hell up for once.
“Why not just use mine?”
Your mouth fell open. His did too.
Watching you slowly blink, eyes slowly narrowing into a squint as he panicked and pushed out some frantic explanation, holding his hands up as he tried to make it sound somehow less creepy, “Look, you just never know if the guy you pick already has like, fifty other kids, and what if your baby meets one of them and doesn’t know that they’re siblings and-”
“You don’t want me to use a sperm donor because you think my hypothetical kid might accidentally fuck their sibling?”
Okay, wow, that was worse.
“I’m just saying you wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of stuff with me,” he continued, choking on the lump in his throat before clearing his throat. “You already know I have great genes.”
And like he wasn’t already shooting himself in the foot just by speaking, he flexed his bicep with a stupid grin on his face, t-shirt straining against his muscles just for you to roll your eyes at him.
“You’re twenty-eight,” you bluntly said, as if he had ever given a shit about being younger than you before.
If he was the same age, would you see him differently?
He had asked himself that too many times to count. Enough that the hurt that it came with had seeped into his bones and started to live there. Weighing him down as he wondered how you would treat him if he met you later, when you were both older, somewhere neutral.
Would you want him the way he wanted you?
“And?” He whined, pouting as you resisted the urge to shut him down harder. “Doesn’t that mean I have, like, even better sperm?”
“Satoru, you’re gonna meet some gorgeous girl and get married, and then it’s just going to be weird if-” You started, shaking your head dismissively.
“I’m not,” Satoru cut you off before you could finish coming up with weak excuses, like he’d ever met anyone he thought was half as gorgeous as you.
You made that cute little face you always did when you wanted to argue with him but couldn’t come up with anything that would make him agree with you.
“You don’t know that,” you said after a few short moments, leaning in closer, oblivious that the next whiff of your perfume was enough to make him lose what little reason he had left.
“What if I pinky promise?”
“That you’ll never have kids with anyone else?” You gawked at him, face scrunching up in confusion. “That’s literally ridiculous. You know I’d never ask you to-”
“I was going to get a vasectomy in a couple years anyway,” he lied in a panic, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t really care when he had literally never cared more about the simple notion of some stranger’s sperm winning out over his.
“You never mentioned that,” you quietly pouted back, like you were a little upset at the idea he never brought it up. But at least you believed it.
“If I was even ever going to have one,” He paused, dragging his chair closer to the table to stretch over it and wipe some icing stuck to the corner of your mouth, dredging up something he knew without a doubt was the truth to make up for his bullshit. “I’d want it to be with you anyway.”
You stared at him, his fingers still grazing against your mouth before he dropped his hand and reclined back in his chair, as if there was even a scrap of his cool left to recover. Shrugging his shoulders as he scrambled for something to say before you could call him an idiot for even suggesting something like that.
“I could even pay for it,” he grinned like this was some grand gesture instead of him desperately clinging onto this chance. He didn't like to just throw money at problems – but he'd throw his entire dignity in the trash can if it meant when you were waddling around pregnant in six months, that it would be his baby you were carrying. “What else are best friends for?”
Personally, he’d prefer to add father of your child (and future husband) to his resume, but he was used to accepting whatever you offered.
“Satoru,” you said his name slowly, sounding out the syllables so he could hear the hint of scolding in them. But you didn't dismiss him.
He smiled at you, and it was just as easy as it had always been. Comfortable. Cozy.
“It's not a big deal,” Satoru shrugged. “I want what you want.”
Even if it meant pulling down his pants and jerking off in a cup a few weeks later after you admitted that maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have the hottest guy you knew contribute his sperm to create the cutest child ever – not that you worded it exactly like that. He guessed his promise of paying all the bills may have also helped sway your decision.
The whole thing was sorta scary, waiting and hoping for updates from there about egg retrieval and embryo viability, feeling like a loser checking his phone two hundred times a day when he wasn’t with you and showing up at your place with meals, trying to pick out foods that were good for someone doing IVF.
You always let him in, even if you hummed and huffed that he didn’t have to do it.
Satoru clung to claiming that he just wanted to be supportive.
Carrying you back to your bed after you crashed on the couch, tucking you under the blankets and cleaning up the dinner, stuffing the styrofoam boxes down in the trash can while he cursed himself for not just coming clean about his feelings fifteen fucking years ago.
Sometimes he wasn’t sure you even saw him as a man. Didn’t realize he wasn’t the awkward, lanky preteen or scrawny kid he used to be despite the fact he’d been taller than you for over half your lives now.
You didn’t even blink when you woke up to him sleeping with no shirt on your couch, the blanket deliberately draped at his hips to show off his sculpted abs, just yawning and walking past him, already showered and fully dressed, applying lip gloss as you scrolled on your phone.
“Just lock the door after you leave,” you hummed, dropping your phone back in your purse and picking up your shoes before returning back to the couch to sit on top of his calves so you could slip them on.
A few years ago, he might have pretended to groan, to tease you for being on him, but now he just felt utterly hopeless at how hard he was savoring the connection, the weight of you on him even when it was totally platonic. Blinking sleepily and staring at your side profile as you bent over to slide your shoes on, preemptively picturing where you both might be in nine months. Would he be helping you get them on then? Putting his hand on your stomach and feeling his baby kick underneath your skin?
“Where are you going?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes before he propped himself up on his elbows.
“Today’s the day,” you casually said, and after a painfully long pause, it clicked.
“Like, the day?” He gawked, adrenaline overwriting the exhaustion at the thought that you could be coming back home with his babies implanted inside you.
“We don’t know if it will take,” you muttered. The cocky half of him wanted to remind you that the doctors had said that his sperm was high quality, tempted to turn it into a joke and break the tension, make some childish offer. But he held it in, reached out to brush his fingers against your arm.
“How many are they implanting?” He asked, tracing a faint little heart over your skin you didn’t seem to notice.
“Just one,” you answered with a little sigh, biting your lip to hide the hint of a smile curling up and betraying the hint of excitement under the surface you were trying not to feel. “A girl.”
And then you were standing back up, readjusting your purse over your shoulder as you searched it for your keys, despite the fact they were sitting on your kitchen counter instead.
“Can I come?” He asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks as you puckered your lips together, shuffling on your feet. Was it so fucking wrong to want to be in the room at least when he got you pregnant?
“It’s not like-”
“I could drive you,” Satoru offered, hyperaware of how hopelessly desperate his own voice sounded. “I have the day off anyway.”
He didn’t, but he’d call out sick if he had to, fake a coughing fit and convince Ijichi to push back all his meetings or come in at absurd hours to catch up on stuff if he had to.
Satoru didn’t want to miss a single appointment. Didn’t want to let you do it alone – no matter how strong he knew you were. You never needed him. But he needed you.
Craved being the guy you depended on. Trusted to help take care of you.
You glanced back at him, tilting your head to the side with that cute little sigh of yours you always made right before you caved in.
“Fine.”ᘏ⑅ᘏ
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
For a man who was only supposed to be a sperm donor, Satoru Gojo was acting far more like a father.
Your best friend standing outside your front door with shopping bags of baby stuff, stumbling through your threshold with that stupidly charming cheeky smile. And when he realized he was about to be scolded, he started dramatically sniffing the air as he peeked past you to see what you were cooking, eagerly changing the subject before you could comment on what he brought, “Whatcha making?”
“How many different outfits do you think she needs?” You rolled your eyes as you eyed him suspiciously, sighing as you shut the door behind him. Satoru just laughed, already piling up everything on your coffee table as you self-consciously tried to pull down your t-shirt from where it was sticking to the swell of your stomach, threatening to ride up and show off your growing baby bump. Only five months in and barely fitting into any of your old stuff anymore, despite how many prenatal yoga classes you attended or midnight cravings you ignored.
He looked as perfect as he always did. White hair tousled and the sleeves of his button-up rolled up on his forearms, veins sticking out as he glanced up at you with those irritatingly sparkly blue eyes. God, you couldn’t remember a single time you’d seen him look bad.
Even when you were younger, you couldn't escape the effect he seemed to have on everyone else. It didn't help that your family worked for his, that you got a front row seat to watch him get everything he ever wanted. Hyper aware of all the differences in his life than yours, what world he'd been born into that you just happened to occupy. Only able to stare from the sidelines, the bottom row of the bleachers, pointedly aware that he occupied a certain position above everyone else.
You’d grown up glaring as your other friends fawned over him, strangers approaching him in public to shove their numbers at him or shyly flirt while he smiled at the affection he was showered with. It wasn’t his fault. You didn’t even hold it against him, not when over time, you’d found yourself increasingly, um, fond of him.
But you couldn’t just ignore who he was when it trickled down to every aspect of your own life.
All the guys you started seeing never lasted long.
Either assholes who cheated on you or dickheads who dumped you, both always citing how little they could stand Satoru, just insecure, you supposed, unable to tolerate your best friend and his sometimes annoying antics. He had a bad habit of showing up right when you were about to go on dates, swinging by late at night or bringing presents just because.
You tried to explain that it was just how he was. Satoru had spent his entire life being spoiled and sheltered. Spoiling you in return was one of the few ways he knew how to show affection. And when he could drop a few bands a day without noticing so much as a tiny dent in his bank account, it wasn't like money or gifts meant anything to him.
And here you were now, feeling like you were taking advantage of it anyway, single and pregnant while your best friend bought your (his?) baby teething toys and the most expensive car seat stroller combos, helping turn your spare bedroom into a nursery on the weekends while you reminded him (and yourself) over and over again that you didn’t expect him to do any of it.
Satoru didn't just blur the lines.
He buried them.
Took a shovel and tossed so much sand over it that it was impossible to tell where they originally were. And after the first embryo was successfully implanted, once you went to the first scan and saw the tiny little blob that would be your baby, you seemed to be making meals for three instead of two most days when the man who helped make it insisted on coming over after he got off work nearly every evening.
Sometimes, he'd arrive with takeout or groceries, but he never showed up empty handed.
“How's our, um, this little princess doing?” Satoru grinned after he corrected himself, walking over to squat down in front of you, tapping your stomach like he was trying to wake her up.
“She keeps kicking,” you murmured, biting your lip as his palm abruptly pressed flat as if he was hoping to experience it for himself. His hand was warm through your thin shirt, his thumb subtly dragging a small semi-circle as you continued, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Lay down,” he muttered, just as a faint flutter stirred in your stomach, the sensation of your baby moving around still alien and strange as you watched the slow smile spread up on his face as he felt it too. “I’ll finish cooking.”
“You suck-”
Satoru pressed one long finger against your lips before you could argue with him, shaking his head as he scoffed, “I’ve been taking classes.”
“When?” You pouted, a hand on your hip as you racked your brain for when he’d even have the opportunity when you practically had to shoo him out of your place half the time.
“Every other Tuesday,” he retorted – and then he was gently trying to guide you over to your couch, not stopping until you were sitting down and he was putting the remote in your hand.
Begrudgingly flipping through boring movies, readjusting a pillow behind your back before you gave up and started sorting through the bags of stuff he brought with him.
Blue dresses. Pink bows. Extra diapers and wipes. Swaddles.
A two-pack of onesies featuring the words MOMMY’S ANGEL and DADDY’S PRINCESS embroidered across the chest.
A small voice in your head rationally suggested that you should set some better boundaries. Tell him you weren’t going to put her in that second one when he was supposed to be more like a…rich uncle? Family friend?
Well, something other than daddy.
But some awful part of you sort of liked it.
Liked how much his attention was devoted to you, how you couldn’t exactly ever feel lonely when he was always around, always willing to step into whatever box he thought you needed from him. He didn’t complain. Never groaned or gritted his teeth and acted like you were too much. Always able to make you laugh and smile, holding your hair back when you were nauseous and holding your bags for you in public.
Even if all of it was only platonic.
You weren’t stupid enough to think his interest in you was romantic.
He could pick anyone. Go out and come home with a girlfriend in two hours if he wanted to.
Satoru was simply excited to share this with you, at the idea of a little infant that might have his hair or his eyes, his ego probably ballooning and bigger than ever because you chose him to have it with.
The one thing you could never afford was letting yourself have a crush on him.
Especially when his care right now was temporary.
It would probably fade after your baby was born, once she was crying and crawling and required more than just trinkets and toys to thrive. You didn’t think he’d disappear. But he would move on, focus on his work or his other friends, return to his more spontaneous visits as he resumed his role as your best friend rather than baby daddy.
Which was fine.
Completely, totally, fine.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Satoru hummed, handing you a warm bowl before clearing off a space on the coffee table for you to put it before rushing back to grab napkins and a drink for you to go with it. You stared at him. Struggling to ignore how sturdy his frame was, how handsome, how steady he’d turned out as he hurried around, casually rummaging through your cabinets to pick out a glass while he acted like he was perfectly at home here when his own place was probably three times bigger, your heart thumping a little too loud for your own comfort as you caught a glimpse of that cute crinkle by his eyes when he turned his head.
You loved him.
As a friend.
You were content to raise your daughter by yourself, made the decision to have her because you knew you could.
But maybe you could enjoy his attention while you had it.
Hold onto how things were before he got bored.
And whatever this fluttering in your stomach was, the one that you couldn’t blame on the baby in there, it would pass.
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru only realized the depth of his own stupidity when he was realized just how fucking hard it was to stay best friends watching you waddle around swollen and seven months pregnant with his baby. Barefoot with powdered sugar dusting your fingertips, one hand casually resting on your stomach and leaving a print on your loose pajama shirt while you baked your favorite dessert, babbling about how badly you were craving it in between complaining about how much your back was aching.
He’d known his pining was pathetic from an early age.
Forced to acknowledge it post-puberty when you started going on dates and he had to resist the temptation to punch a wall and tell you that no one was good enough for you. Discomfort and anger crawling under his skin at the idea of you giving anyone else who obviously didn’t deserve you any of the time that should be his.
And now, despite the (lack of) wisdom age had added, he was still just stuck staring at you with an open mouth like a moron as you glanced back at him, glowing no matter how much you complained about how awful you thought you looked.
His pants had never been fucking tighter around you.
Boner carefully concealed with one of your throw pillows, long legs stretched out on your couch as he pretended to scroll on his phone.
Every day only seemed to get harder too. More of a struggle to shove down his feelings when you started to rely on him more. Leaning against his shoulder, holding onto his forearm, your fingers skimming over his skin as you started to casually cling to him the same way he always hung onto you. Asking him for massages, laying your head on his lap, playing with his hair when you walked by him. Your stare had started to stick to him more, catching you watching him when you thought he wasn't looking.
Satoru had spent years dreaming of this easy domesticity with you.
Walking through your door to find you already making a meal big enough to share, baking or singing to yourself, peeking out and smiling at him without even being surprised. Expecting to see him there.
And still, he only ever got to sleep on the couch.
Didn't get to hug you or hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the night.
He wanted to invite you back to his place, see if you’d spend it with him if he changed up this new normal, but he was scared that you’d decline. That he’d fuck up this tightrope he was walking before he made it to the other side.
Um, and maybe because he’d turned one of his own extra rooms from storage to a pretty, pink nursery too. Just in case you asked him to babysit, or uh, wanted any extra help with her.
But there was a subtle edge to your behavior, your softness sometimes switching abruptly, going cold or sharp when least expected it, suddenly getting short with him when he got a little too close. Hormones, maybe?
It wasn’t like he could ask without receiving a lecture that he shouldn’t blame your feelings on your hormones just because they didn’t match whatever he thought they should.
“You’re quiet tonight,” you commented with a huff, turning on the timer on the microwave after you shut the stove.
“Jus’ thinking,” he hummed, trying to avoid the urge to spill out his dirty secret.
“About?” You tilted your head to the side, almost bumping into the baby swing he built last weekend as you walked back over to him, starting to bend over to try and lift one of his legs instead of just sitting on him like you used to.
He patted his thighs, as if you would actually take him up on it, just to earn a dramatic hand on your hip, pouting hard.
“You’re really making a pregnant lady stand?” You muttered dryly, jutting your bottom lip out further.
“There’s a perfectly good seat right here,” he teased, grinning as his hand reached out, leaning forward, about to gently graze against your waist when-
You started crying.
Big tears welling up in your eyes before he could so much as blink, your brows knitting together in frustration as your own fingers rushed to wipe them away.
His mouth fell open, words automatically spilling out, “Sorry, I’ll move, I-”
“You’re an asshole,” you hissed, breath hitching as you started to turn away from him, and he was shoving himself up off the couch, hurrying to spin you around by your wrist only for you to yank your arm away from him.
“What did I do?” He gawked, blinking hard and fast, panic seizing in his chest as he desperately tried to search your face for any sign.
“You keep acting like-” You stopped yourself, just vaguely gesturing up-and-down at his body before you scoffed and buried your face in your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking that this was a good idea.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he argued, pulling your hand down so he could wipe away your tears himself. Dragging his thumb under your eyes and cupping your cheeks to force you to look at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We need, like, boundaries, or-”
“Boundaries?”
Okay, sure, boundaries were normal, needed even, in most relationships. But he’d be lying if he said the idea of you putting up walls and pushing him away with new rules didn’t make him want to vomit.
“You keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend,” you said, eyes wide and wavering as you barely managed to meet his stare. “Like, this means something more-”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
He knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment he heard how it sounded out loud. Heard the sharp inhale you sucked in, how shattered it came out. “Stop-”
“You mean everything to me,” he blurted out before you could break his heart, ready to beg, to barter, to do whatever he had to just so you would see it.
“Don't say that,” you whispered, shaking your head as you tried to take a step back. “Not when you don't mean it.”
“I do,” he huffed, holding onto you as he again attempted to stop you from pulling away, from severing this connection. And somewhere in his panic, his body purged all the words his mind had been shoving down for so long. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you. I've loved you my entire life and I will for the rest of it. I'll be anything you want me to be, shit, just don't shut me out.”
“You love me,” you repeated, like it was ridiculous.
“I love you,” he said it again anyway, his voice dropping low.
“You-” You stopped yourself, starting to breathe fast through your nose, biting your bottom lip before you continued, “If you're just trying to make me feel better-”
“Do you seriously think I'd say it and risk ruining us just because you're crying?” He asked, wiping away another stray tear from your soft cheek, managing to sound appropriately serious for the first time in his life.
You swallowed hard, like you were suffocating on the truth now that it was out there. Fingers balled up by your side, fists shaking as you fought the reality Satoru had dropped on you.
“I don't expect you to tell me that you love me too, just, fuck, just don't walk away from me, okay-”
And before he could finish begging, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him down, his mouth still open when yours connected with it.
You kissed him, soft, unsure, like you weren't certain or confident that this was the right decision. But you didn't stop even if part of you thought you'd regret it later.
His own hands failed him, his brain freezing the second if processed the fact you were actually kissing him, stuck completely still as you soft lips lightly started to suck on his bottom one, his breath stolen and his heart straining to accept how fucking sweet this felt.
But then your fingers went loose, started to let go of his shirt, and he snapped out of it. Tethering his hands in your hair, deepening the kiss before you could pull away and he'd have to hear that you changed your mind. That he lost his only chance.
Satoru tried to show you with his lips.
Tongue dancing across your bottom lip for entry, dragging over the ridges of your teeth, exploring your mouth and memorizing how it felt. Saved it in case he'd never be able to savor the experience again.
And when a cute little moan slipped out as his chest pressed against yours, as your bodies connected, your baby bump pressed against his stomach and your free hand draped over his shoulder, he knew his boner was back.
“Mmph, Sato-” you murmured when you finally pulled away for air. He was desperately trying to suck in the quickest breath he could just to kiss you again.
The most he managed was a few quick pecks pressed to the corner of your mouth before your palm pressed flat against his chest.
“We should talk about it,” you reasonably said, despite how inclined he was to throw reason out the window and carry you back to your bed.
“Do you want me?” He asked, sucking in a short breath, leaning down so his nose was nuzzling against yours.
“I do,” you answered, your voice strained and tight as you reluctantly looked up at him, studying the shape of his lips. And maybe it was because he’d spent an entire life wrapped around your finger, building and molding himself to be the sort of man you wanted, that you needed, he knew what thoughts were swirling around in your head before you said any of them. “I’m just scared.”
Hearing it out loud still scared the shit out of him though.
Knowing how close he was to having you – and how easy it would be to fuck it all up.
“What can I do to show you just how serious I am?” He murmured, leaning in, lightly grazing his lips against your mouth again.
You closed your eyes, held onto his shirt and let yourself melt into his chest.
This kiss didn't last long though, not when the timer on the microwave suddenly blared out.
“I, um, should check on that,” you muttered, and it was incredibly hard to let you go. To watch you slip from his hold again and walk back into your kitchen, some intangible thread tugging him towards you, unable to stay more than a few steps away from you while you opened the oven and sighed before you added a few more minutes on the timer.
But you didn’t come back, didn’t speak up immediately.
You were staring at your distorted reflection in the microwave, like you were silently attempting to convince yourself of something.
Maybe to turn him down.
Say that you were both always going to be better off as friends.
“Tell me what to do,” Satoru begged.
“I don’t know,” you blanched.
“Anything,” he started. “I swear, I’ll-”
“Shouldn't we take this slow?” You hesitantly asked before he could offer to put up a billboard professing his love or get down on his knees to propose, clinging onto the counter tight enough he could see the clear outline of the bones and tendons in your knuckles.
“You're having my baby,” he pointed out, and you just pouted at him.
“I know,” you muttered, mulling over how you wanted to word your concern. “But what if you're only doing this because of that?”
“Sweetheart,” Satoru started, a fresh pang of panic shooting straight through his chest. “I would want you whether or not the baby was mine or someone else's. I've loved you for so fucking long-”
“It's hard for me to accept that,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don't understand why you would pick me. You could have-”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. You occupy all my thoughts,” he breathed, his throat constricting as he did his best to confess. “Your glare. Your laugh. The way you defend me even when I'm a dick. How you indulge me even when I don't deserve it. Every morning, every night, every stupid meeting I get stuck in and when I'm in the shower. I've spent my whole life waiting for you to see me standing here and hoping for you.”
Another big tear welled up in your pretty eyes, one you quickly blinked away as your stare shined up at him.
“Can you wait a little longer?” You asked, as if he wouldn't wait another ten, twenty, thirty fucking years holding onto this.
“Of course,” he whispered.
As long as you needed.
He’d just hope it was a sooner rather than later thing.
You wiped your cheeks, recollecting yourself before checking the oven again, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you put some mitts on and opened it to pull out the baking tray before reaching up to shut off the timer.
Satoru ended up where he always did.
Stretched out in the corner of your couch, arm thrown around the back and pretending to pay attention to what was on TV instead of watching you in the corner of his vision. But this time, you snuggled up a little closer after you sat a plate down in front of him.
Curled up enough that your thighs were firmly pressing against each other, and slowly, his hand drifted down to cup your stomach. Just under the skin, feeling the faint flutter of his daughter kicking, or readjusting in there. Growing to hopefully be more like you than him, even if she would get stuck with half his DNA.
“You’re warm,” you softly said, as if that was your excuse to melt into him more.
“Will you still let me spend the night?” He pouted, lips parting only for you to push a warm treat against them to shut him up.
“On the couch?” You asked, watching him chew, chocolate probably smeared across his mouth before you asked something he only ever dreamed about. “Or in bed?”
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru never stopped staying the night.
And despite the fact he’d technically gotten you pregnant, you still had yet to have sex with him. But instead of him walking in hungry for your cooking, he was starving for you. Thighs hooked over his shoulders while he dragged his tongue up across your pussy, greedily lapping you up like it was his new favorite meal.
You liked the way he kissed you when you woke up, his strong arms slung around your body, his soft mouth dotting your face like it was his favorite thing in the world. You loved the way he looked at you when he left for work, the warmth that seemed to radiate and wrap around you when he leaned down to caress your cheek and tell you that he’d call you at lunch.
Somewhere along the way though, or more precisely around week thirty-eight, you started spending the night at his place instead, getting stretched out on his long fingers in his silk sheets instead of your cotton ones.
You spent almost an hour chewing him out for the nursery he’d already set up there, dismissing his excuses because you both were well aware of the reasons why.
He didn’t want to just be the donor.
He wanted to be your baby’s dad.
And when it came time to actually have your daughter, when your water broke a couple days past your due date and he rushed you to the hospital, you were the one to tell the nurses that was exactly what he was instead of playing pretend and ignoring what was right in front of your face.
Letting him wipe the sweat from your brow and hold the cup of water to your lips, nearly breaking his hand by holding it so hard when it came time to push, hours of labor culminating in a little baby with your favorite set of blue eyes.
She had your hair though, and he tried to say your smile too, peeling off his shirt right there in the room and ready to do skin-to-skin with her the second you said he could.
If you hadn’t figured out you were completely and totally fucking in love with him, you knew the second you saw him cradling her to his chest, the gleam in his stare and the reverence in his trembling fingers brushing across her chubby cheeks.
He had looked up at you with that lopsided smile, pride and adoration present in every line etched in his face.
“I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he grinned.
And just a couple months of being with him had made you see how lucky you’d always been to have him.
To have her.
Even though you were pretty sure she inherited her dad’s personality.
Specifically the loud and clingy parts.
Always needing one of you to be carrying her, crying when you tried to leave her in the crib, refusing to be bottlefed half-the-time even when you were just feeding her what you pumped. Her crystalline stare welling up with fat tears if you dared to put her down on a soft mat for tummy time, lazily hitting her tiny feet against the ground instead of trying to roll or crawl.
All that baby proofing Satoru had spent hours on pretty much useless so far when she'd barely been outside of your arms or the baby carrier he proudly walked around with her in. He even started working from home once his paternity leave ran out, taking meetings with her still in the carrier, chatting with people on the phone or on video calls, something about the sound of his voice and the way he bounced her, always seeming to lull her to sleep.
You had unofficially moved in with him, although you let him handle all the packing and unloading, rooms conveniently already set up like he'd always been holding that space for you, closet half-vacant until all your clothes were hung up by his.
Boyfriend, best friend, husband, no title really needed to tag onto whatever it was the two of you shared.
It was bigger than that.
You were his now.
And you didn’t want to deny it anymore.
Besides, you'd done some laundry a couple days ago and found a ring box underneath his boxers in the sock drawer, so you supposed it would have a label soon anyway.
If you were going to spend the rest of your life loving someone, it was always going to be him.
You were an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
But he never made you feel like one.
He kissed you good night like it was the most natural thing in the world, half-draped across your body and skimming his fingers over your face before he curled up next to you in the dim bedroom, blankets tangled around your bodies.
Falling asleep came fast when it was in his arms, but you'd begun to have one, or, uh, two problems when you woke up at four in the morning with a massive ache in your chest.
In his quest to be the best father (and future husband), he'd taken over night feedings to make sure you slept, but despite his sweetness, your body wasn't on the same page. Or rather, schedule.
Missing her night feedings had left you engorged.
Tits swollen and milk stuck in the ducts, the usually soft flesh practically hard under the stretched skin, painful when you sat up and realized you had started to soak through your bra and shirt. You tried to peel both off of you, wincing at the wetness as your finger fumbled for the pump you left by the nightstand in the dark only to knock it off instead.
“Sweetheart?” Satoru groggily spoke up, a big hand reaching out, half-patting your stomach in his sleepy state.
But then he was already shutting his eyes again, yawning and humming as he drifted back to sleep, your lips pressing together in a frustrated line as you swung your legs off the bed and bent over to grab the pump.
Although, it wasn’t really much use when your ducts were too fucking clogged for anything other than a painfully slow drip to come out, the ache just getting worse as you begrudgingly switched on the lamp by your bed and bathed the room in warm yellow light as you put the pump back.
“Satoru,” you whined, rolling over in bed and lightly shaking the pretty man drooling on the pillow next to you. He almost immediately stirred for real this time, sitting up and blinking before wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth, grunting as he got up, the low sound only making your thighs tense and press together.
“Mm, baby?” He yawned as he stretched, running his fingers through his hair as his baby-food-stained sweatshirt rode up to show a sliver of his toned abs.
“When did you feed her?” You half-whispered as his tired eyes shifted to his phone on the other side of him, briefly turning it on with a sigh.
“Like, an hour ago?” He answered, blinking a couple times as his eyes returned to you – and then practically bulged out of his head at the realization your boobs were out.
Mouth falling open in a pretty ‘o’, drool probably pooling inside it as he stared at how heavy they were hanging, tongue uselessly trying to form a coherent follow-up and some strangled sound escaping instead.
“I need you,” you admitted just as another droplet of milk leaked out, starting to roll down your breast – but before it could make it more than an inch, Satoru was there, wrapping his lips around your areola and starting to suck before you could even get another sentence out.
He pulled you closer, an arm slipping around your lower back, pulling you in as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, his other hand already reaching up to squeeze your other tit, groaning at how it felt under his palm.
You gasped, a surprising surge of electricity racing down your spine as heat you hadn’t expected bubbled up to simmer in your core. Technically, you’d been cleared for sex, like, six weeks ago, but you’d been a little anxious about him seeing your postpartum body.
Not sure if his feelings would be swayed after you carried his baby, if the stretchmarks or soft plush of your stomach would put him off.
But the ravenous gleam in his eyes, the frenzied way his fingers kept fumbling to make sure you couldn’t slip away, you didn’t think anyone had ever wanted you as badly as he did right now.
And before you could fully process it, your back was hitting the bed, pinned between his heavy body and his firm mattress, the sheets crinkling underneath you as he greedily drank.
He looked delirious.
Okay, probably a little bit sleep deprived from being in night feeding duty half the time, but he was drunk on you, letting out a lewd moan as he sucked hard on the hardened bud, desperately kneading into the other one with those thick fingers of his while something hard and huge dug into your thigh.
Fuck.
Why the hell was he that big?
The size of him was on your mind as he switched breasts, eagerly slurping as he squeezed, trying to break up the clog with his thick fingers, pressing in and working into the skin, forcing more milk out as he tried to drain you.
“Shit, angel,” he moaned, barely pulling away to glance up at you, the blue in his eyes swallowed up by his pupils as milk dribbled down the corner of his mouth. “You’re so sweet.”
“S-Satoru,” you stammered, relief washing over you as he went back to drinking and managed to clear out at least one of the ducts, eyelashes fluttering as his tongue toyed with your still overly sensitive nipple. Your fingers were shaking as you tangled them in his hair, trying to guide him back to the other one, hyperaware of how sticky your skin was, some of the milk definitely leaking down onto the bed and getting on his shirt as he continued without a pause.
“S’not fair,” he whined, fingers digging in again as he practically rutted his cock against your thigh. Hips rolling down to grind against you, his muscled thighs flexing with every rock of them. “How come she gets to drink this all the time and I don’t?”
“You can’t be serious,” you gasped, tugging at his roots to pry him back just to find that fucked-out look on his face, everything relaxed as he jutted out his bottom lips like he was willing to beg for more if he had to.
“This is my new favorite drink,” he insisted, and before you could sputter out another protest, he was latched on again, relieving your other breast with that pretty mouth of his, massaging it until you were both moaning, your head falling back against the pillow as you gave in.
Gave it all up for him.
Finding yourself arching your own back up off the bed, squirming and shuddering as he went to work on it, teeth skimming and scraping until your nipples were sore, swallowing your milk until your breasts almost felt empty – but you knew they’d fill back up sooner or later. Sooner, if he kept sucking on them like that as if he could telepathically communicate to them to make more.
And even when they were nearly drained, he was running his tongue over your chest, cleaning you up like he was a goddamn cat. Taste buds dragging over your skin, running his fingered over your peaked nipples now, a surprised squeak pulled from you that made you both pause for a second, his blue eyes wide when they immediately locked onto your face.
Neither of you said anything.
But his cock twitched, and a funny pulse shot down to your clit, and your mouth was opening to ask him something you’d been craving more than you could confess.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You breathed, awkward, tense.
Terrified he’d say no, no matter how irrational it was.
But Satoru just smiled, climbing completely on top of you and caging you back in to caress your cheek, “God, you have no idea just how long I’ve been waiting for-”
Your mouth crashed against his before he could even finish his sentence, your own impatience catching you by surprise, lips fitting so nicely in between his, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to take what was always yours.
You could taste yourself on him, the faintly sweet milk on his breath, although it was a little weird mixed with the leftover mint from him brushing his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind though, eagerly shoving his tongue in your mouth, the now-damp fabric of his shirt pressed against your chest.
One of you would definitely need to throw a load into the washing machine after this, strip the sheets down and change them after the mess you were making.
But you couldn’t help but slip your hand down, sneaking underneath the band of his sweatpants and inside his boxers to feel his swollen tip, collecting the thick pre-cum already there and sliding it down his dick.
Veins pulsing against your palm, your fingers delicately wrapping around his girth and starting to stroke as he made some guttural groan that made your stomach feel funny. Pure want searing through you, desire you weren’t used to handling or holding back now dealt to you in spades.
Maybe it was because some small voice was trying to suggest that you were about to have sex with Satoru, a sliver of you thrilled at the idea of him needing you too.
“F-fuck,” he whimpered, and it was probably the prettiest sound you ever heard. “M’gonna cum if you keep doing that.”
“You’re not even in me,” you teased him. He growled at that, and before you could even giggle, he was pulling your hand back out of his pants, firm fingers gripping your wrist and pinning it above your head before you could make him snap.
And then his other hand was suddenly helping spread your thighs further apart, easily able to move the thin fabric of your cotton shorts and lacy panties aside so he could shove two fingers inside your pussy to see how soaked you were.
“Baby,” he immediately hummed the second his fingers swirled inside, one corner of his mouth curling up almost condescendingly while you huffed back at him. “I wasn’t even in you.”
Dick.
But it was hard to be hurt by him mocking you back when he was sliding his actual dick inside you barely thirty seconds later, the rest of your clothes and his quickly discarded so he could do what you'd both been dreaming about, his eyes scrunching shut as he slowly took it inch by inch. Savoring the stretch, the way his hands trembled as he touched you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he felt your walls squeeze around him. You might’ve complained at how long it was taking if you weren’t also having a hard time holding yourself together.
Studying all those details of his face you’d fallen for, the shape his soft lips made when his features were all twisted up in pleasure, how his long lashes fluttered as he whispered your name like a prayer.
Sure, you had sex before. Weren’t exactly a virgin by any means.
But nothing was like this.
No one was like him.
Satoru was treating you like some alter he was born to worship at. Every movement deliberate, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushed through, filling you up until his cock was nestled against your womb, the pressure mind-melting as he tried to focus on your own body reacting to him.
“I-is it too much?” He asked, like he wasn’t straining, his voice thin and airy. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
Still concerned for you, still worried he might wound you.
You nodded, heart thrumming wildly as his cock throbbed and all your sore muscles tensed around him. Hesitantly opening your mouth to reassure him, “I’m good. This is good.”
Fantastic, actually, but his ego didn’t need that much of a boost.
Satoru still lit up like you’d told him it was the best you ever had.
“Thank fucking god,” he murmured, his head falling down so he could nuzzle his nose against your neck. Peppering your throat with kisses as he started thrusting, almost delicate at first, but quickly picking up the pace once he was confident he wouldn’t completely break you with his cock.
Driving himself in faster, harder, both hands now holding up your hips, angle himself deep enough you could feel himself re-molding you to him. You were out-of-practice, and you could tell he was too, but his sloppiness was made up for with how eager he was, how earnestly his mouth and his fingers and his cock worked to make you feel good.
“I love you,” he babbled, breathing hard and heavy into your collarbone, your breasts still leaking a little bit of milk onto his chest that he didn’t seem to notice. “I, oh fuck, I love you so much.”
You were nodding, tracing your fingers over his broad back, his defined shoulder blades, holding onto him as your walls tried to squeeze and clamp down on him. The sex felt different, all your nerves suddenly more sensitive, everything burning and starving for more.
“I-I love you too,” you gasped, an invisible weight lifted off your chest hearing the words leave your mouth.
He made a noise that was probably loud enough to wake anyone else in the building, both of you freezing as your heads snapped back towards the door to see if it woke up your daughter down the hall.
But then his thumb darted to your clit, rushing to make rough circles, his chest heaving with fast breaths as he tried to make sure this wouldn’t end without him making you cum.
“My pretty girl, fuck,” he purred, sucking a spot he’d already nipped at above your tendon, the jolt it sent through you dragging you embarrassingly close to climax when it was combined with the patterns he was painting over your needy bud. The friction was intense, feeding something deep in your chest you hadn't realized was hollow before.
Comforted by him coaxing you, crumbling bit by bit into his hand as his cock continued pumping inside you.
“Always been your girl,” you half-whispered back, toes curling hard as your body tensed up again, lips staying parted as he pulled you right to the precipice.
“Forever,” you promised without really thinking, breath itching in your throat as his cock abruptly stalled, still buried deep.
You were pretty sure he came first, but before you could open your eyes or get another word out, his thumb twitched and pressed down mid-motion and you were seeing stars right as he groaned and snapped his hips down. Too occupied with the pleasure rolling through your almost limp limbs, your nails scratching down his back as warm spurts of cum started coating your walls, leaking down your legs.
“Shit, fuck, please tell me you came,” he hissed, his own eyes shut, sweaty strands of hair hanging down and sticking to his forehead as you stared at his glossy lips.
“Mhm,” you murmured, blinking as he finally peeked his eyes open and took in the full sight of you. Breasts still sticky and swollen, his cum dripping down your thighs, bite marks probably staining your throat.
“Will you marry me?” He bluntly asked, and you could only roll your eyes and laugh at him.
“Ask me again later,” you muttered, sighing at the state of yourself and wondering if a late night shower would wake a sleeping baby.
You guessed it didn't matter when her soft cry cut through the brief silence, both of you exhaling at the same time.
“I'll get dressed and go get her,” Satoru preemptively offered, climbing off of you with a small yawn. You watched him pad barefoot over to the dresser, biting your lips as he pulled fresh boxers back on and rummaged through the other drawers for pajamas.
“Um, Satoru?” You hesitantly spoke up as a thought nagged at you.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I'm not on birth control.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ your bf vivien hugo... really likes your face... a bit too much
since you began dating the red-headed midfielder, you very quickly came to realize how… opinionated he was, or rather, very much open about thinking about ... pretty much anything that’s on his mind.
despite his rather cold and calculating appearance on the field (and during interviews since you can admit… your lover has a major case of resting bitch face), he’s kind and passionate.
vivien calls you beautiful any chance he gets and is overall a clingy and attentive lover (very evident given the fact that he’d try to court you in a very try-hard way before you ever started dating). he even remembers the small things about you and every time he gets the chance to see your reaction, he literally holds your face and just stares in awe at you.
however, while your lover is very opinionated and very much… him, that also comes with the fact that he is very much open on his sexual preferences.
in particular, he’s really into seeing your face. whenever you ask him about this particular quirk regarding this, he’d shrug it off, saying how, “i love to see your face when we make love. what’s wrong with that?” you knew he liked your face, but it wasn’t until he had said it where you began thinking.
rarely do you ever see your boyfriend lose his cool or even his calm demeanor, that is until when you have sex; but even so, he stays rather peaceful.
so why not torture him a little? vivien gives you the perfect reactions, afterall.
"w-what are you doing...? shit..." vivien huffed, his rough hands guiding your hips. you were in your apartment, where you were lounging together on your bed, watching a show on your tv, before one thing led to another and you suddenly found yourself riding him, legs latched around his waist while he led you.
of course, vivien loved it when you rode him–because god, you looked so fucking sexy. he loved the way he could see you–see how your breasts bounced with every thrust, and most favorably, just seeing how your expression got. but today, it was different.
your body was clinging onto him, your arms wrapped around his neck and plush body pressed against his firm chest.
"mmm...lemme stay like this, vivi..." he made a sound mixed with a groan and almost like a sigh.
"please... baby... i wanna see you, beautiful-!"
but you could only tease your lover so much—for so long. before you knew it, he had pushed your body onto the bed, him topping you.
you could see how vivien’s expression changed; how his lips suddenly curved to a smirk and his eyes gleamed. even with the dimmed lamp lights illuminating your room, you could tell how flushed his cheeks were.
“i told you that i wanted to see you,” he whispered. you felt your eyes widen at how much more you could feel his cock splitting you open—how much you could feel his weight against you further.
your lips were parted and your face was hot, eyes all glossy and eyebrows furrowed. vivien wished he could simply capture this moment forever. he caressed your face, putting his thumb in your mouth and further splitting your lips apart.
"shhhh...baby. lasse-moi voir ce beau visage, ma belle..." vivien angled his hips upwards, pressing your body onto the bed and spreading your legs wiiiide. his onyx eyes were glued on your face, going back and forth from your face to where the two of you were connected, him just staring at where his cock entered and slipped out from your overflowing cunt.
“i love you—fucking love your face… so so damn pretty…”
-
-
-
i highkey dk art this drabble but ya… (most reposted from my old blog and from literal requests 🥹) also yall… is his name not “vivien” since that’s technically the masculine spelling of the name? (not trying to be like picky n shit but just wondering bc i keep seeing “vivian”... also lmao my very limited knowledge of french is coming through ig)
izzy806
andulkaphoto
prguitarman
yousharknotpass
stormborns
