What could happen if a lovely maiden showed a bit too much of an ankle to the knights in a local tavern? And what if they turn out to be someone much more... important... than simple knights?
part of the Tales, Myths, Romances
pairing: Satosugu x Reader
content/warnings: MDNI 18+, Medieval AU, tried to keep the historically accurate speech and some elements, smut with some plot, threesome, pussydrunk, cunnilingus, blow jobs, we're fucking with knights let's gooooo, they are down bad, manhandling, creampie, slight breeding kink, reader is a bit shy, she's also a virgin, we're getting courted!!!, belly bulge, King Arthur and Merlin based story
WC: 5.2k
a/n: Do you know those fics "getting sandwiched between Satoru and Suguru or Toji and Sukuna in a club"? Yeah, so this is my equivalent. Also, a quick note, the term "fair maiden" I'll be using is not related to the reader's skin colour. It simply means a beautiful, virgin, virtuous young lady!
Maiden = young, unmarried girl
Wench = A SLUTTTT
art by idk who, help meee
The music rumbled, goblets of honeyed mead trickled down your throat one by one, and braided hair looked quite messy. Not ladylike, not like your mother taught you – definitely not courtly, as you should present yourself.
Ladies like you shouldn't even be in lousy, dirty taverns, with sticky wooden floors and most of the bizarre townsfolk gathering inside to feast and dance.
"Just today," Shoko pledged, while covering your hair with a milky veil. The plan was rather simple – sneak out of home and dance all night, till the first beads of sun peek through the tavern's windows. "Just for this evening, we shall have some fun!"
"What if we get caught?" you whispered, still getting yourself dragged quietly through the back doors of your home.
Shoko was your most cherished friend and a little viper who always put sinful ideas into your head.
Like this one, for instance, to sneak to the local tavern and have some fun, before both of your hands will get ringed by some folks. After becoming wives, you surely would not have time nor permission to enjoy such moments as this one – drinking, dancing, jollying with young men, maybe even stealing a few kisses (dearest, no, you weren't a wench!).
After slinking into the tavern, a mix of sweetish alcohol, jumpy music and loud laughter washed over your body, sending exciting sparks straight to the fingertips.
Oh, how thrilling it was!
To have a drink one after another, with sugary nectar slipping down your chin and blaring music making your heart gallop faster. With folds of pinkish dress rolling up under your embroidered little shoes and droplets of sweat curling under the loose braid. It was anything but ladylike.
However, as you were quick to notice, other ladies acted quite frivolously too. Drunk and jolly, chirping with you and Shoko freely, with the tavern's warm candles licking their reddened cheeks. They laughed cheerfully as if tomorrow would never come, whispering about the knights sitting at the corner table.
"They've been glancing at you all evening, dear," one of them giggled, while you secretly turned your head.
And she was right indeed – two knights, dressed in grain tunics and black trousers, sat at the dimmest corner of the tavern. Goblets of mead untouched, no words slipping in between, but solely dark, cheeky eyes focused on your... dearest!
You quickly corrected the robes of your dress as they accidentally rolled up to the middle of your calf.
"They've been staring at my legs!" you shouted in a whisper, with a blush spreading up to your ears.
"Well, your legs are quite lovely," Shoko giggled, and the other three girls joined her. "Why won't you show them a bit more?"
You quickly looked back, seeing that the knights were still looking your way. But this time, with a sly smirk curving their mouths, while the white-haired one sent you a wink.
Your sheepish eyes went back, looking at the girls with a clear horror. "Oh God, what shall I do?"
"Wait for them to ask you to dance, I guess?" Shoko said, getting another goblet of mead.
"I shan't! My mother would hang me," came out almost cryingly, as you hid your face between hands.
The music changed the tempo, with flutes, lutes and recorders turning the tavern into yet another tale-like bash. More and more townsfolk gathered inside the small, wooden house, dancing jolly with mead and bear flooding from between their goblets.
Another goblet of mead was shovelled between your hands, with golden waves almost whispering your name. Drink us, drink us, and you shall have fun!
Were you drunk already?
"Well, good that your mother is not here then," one girl chirped, resting her plump face on a hand. "I wished the knights looked my way too. You know, I've heard from a few girls in town they're really good in... it!" she gestured, and you once again groaned, hiding face between feverish fingers.
But before you answered, all three girls, together with Shoko, suddenly straightened up, with gentle giggles slipping through their drunken lips. "Oh, dear, um, we shall join you back soon," Shoko winked, taking her goblet. "Let's go, let's go, they need space."
"What–" and soon after, two tall, looming figures walked to your table, with a gentle knock on the wood, forcing you to look up.
"Good day, my lady," the white-haired knight smiled, with a joyful gleam in his eyes. "May we join you?"
The other man smiled, almost as ominously as the first one, with purplish eyes and dark locks giving him a rather girlish look.
With clenched throat, you gave them a shy nod and followed the white hair catching warm hues of the candelight.
"I'm Satoru, my lady," the first one chirped, taking your hand between his fingers. A gentle kiss was placed on your knuckles, with light, ocean eyes tracing the soft bloom spreading over your cheeks. "And that's my companion, Suguru."
Satoru gave your hand over, and soon another long finger clenched it gently, with a wet kiss tracing the knolls on your shivering skin. You introduced yourself quietly, not daring to look at them longer than needed.
As, god help me, you've seen quite a few fellows through the tender days of yours, but never ones of such a beauty. Looking almost like those little angels in the local church, with sharp faces and blooming skin. Eyes rather sly, curved as if entertained by little sips you took of the fresh mead, with plump lips smiling alluringly. They were tall and, dearest, muscular – with biceps tensing under the beige tunic, which, usually loose, material hugged their broad backs warmly.
"Where's the armour, good sirs?" you asked, thinking why the king's knights could allow themself to dwell among the townsfolk in commoner's clothes.
"Why? Wanted to see a bit of silver, my lady?" Satoru hummed.
"Well, I'm quite disappointed. This maiden has never seen a fully armoured knight," you laughed, supporting a hearty face on a chin.
Gaze already a bit hazy, drunken warmth spreading all over your body, kissing, tracing, brushing feverish skin under the tight dress. It covered you almost fully – with ankles and wrists wrapped in a pinkish dress, leaving a little peek on your plush breasts with a thin necklace resting between. The foggy air of the tavern alone was making you wet, and sweet mead, together with those men's attentive eyes, pushed you over the edge!
"A maiden?" Suguru chipped in, seeing your gaze lulling between him and his companion. "You're unmarried, then?"
Sweet giggle tickled their ears. "I am indeed, my good lords," another sip of mead warmed your heart. "Not for long, I'm afraid, as my mother has her foul plans."
"Poor little birdie, aren't you?" Satoru pushed out his pinkish lip, bending a finger to bring in more mead.
"Oh no, good sir, I mustn't! That's enough for–" but before you could finish, another three goblets were placed on your small, wooden table.
Small candles licked their cheeks, as both men laughed and clinked their goblets with yours.
"You shall have some fun, my lady. As this is the last night before marriage, right?" Suguru asked, looking at the way cold alcohol swirled down your chin, dripping right on a bare piece of chest.
"I'm not getting married anytime soon! And it's my first night out... ever, indeed."
Both of them raised eyebrows, hearing your shy confession.
"Ever?" Satoru asked after.
You nodded, swirling a lock of hair around finger.
"Have you ever danced then, my lady?" Suguru continued, but before you could scoff and say that you weren't such a commoner, he added. "With a man."
There was a minute of silence, with nothing but the bard's jolly music jumping in the background and the sticky floor of the tavern trembling under the heavy feet of the dancing townsfolk. Your table was nicely hidden, with nothing but a few candles offering a mellow, tender glow, bathing their faces in dangerously handsome angles.
"I've never..." your throat bobbed, feeling their knees under the table brushing yours. "I've never been with a... man. Nor did anything."
Satoru tilted his head, and a few white strands brushed over his milky forehead. "Anything, my lady? You mean, anything?" The last word rolled with more pressure.
You nodded.
Oh, was it always that hot in this tavern?
"My good sirs, what are you insinuating?" you probed, but both of them said nothing.
Well, only shared a one meaningful look, which made you rather wary, but nevertheless quite... feverish?
As the next second, Satoru took your hand to help you stand up.
"Shall we dance then, my lady? Allow us to give you a bit of joy during this night."
You should say no, of course. You should slip your hand away and thank them for the fine talk before going back to your female friends.
You shouldn't let yourself get dragged between other sweating bodies, but still be far away from the prying eyes of the townsfolk.
You should not allow them to cage you, covering fully with massive backs and fingers tracing the plush of your cheeks.
You should walk out of this tavern the second Satoru's thumb pressed your lower lip, and Suguru slipped behind, with his big hands slowly, slowly, tracing your hips.
"Your dress is quite thick, my lady," he whispered to your ear, with warm breath tickling the lobe. "I must assume you've spent quite a while tying it up," his deep voice slashed through the melodic tunes played by a bard, sending a gallop of shivers through your sweating spine.
Their bodies squeezed yours, lulling you softly to the not-so-calm music. But none of the townsfolk cared about the poor maiden being eaten alive by the king's knights. No one even saw you, probably, considering how dim the place was, with their muscular shoulders wrapping your body tightly.
Satoru's fingers traced the softness of your cheeks, squeezing them with a low groan, while looking closely at the shuddered breath that slipped through.
Suguru's head nuzzled in the crook of our neck, inhaling the sweetish fragrance of your sweat. His arms curled around your waist, pulling your hips closer to his.
A soft cry filled their ears when the mound of your ass brushed against something hard.
Though Holy Church did condemn intimacy of wedlock, yet among the common folk of the town, such deeds during courtship or betrothal were rather cherished. Too common, you could guess, with a few of Shoko's friends being closer to a wench rather than a prudish maiden.
You, however, were neither courted nor betrothed to either of those knights, thus truly shouldn't allow Suguru's fingers to slide down your hips, right between–
"Shush, my lady," Satoru whispered, covering your fallen lips with his thumb. A warmth filled your lower belly when Suguru's fingers circled the dangerously pleasurable spot. And you still wore a full dress, mind you. "You don't want anyone to see you in such a wenched state, hm?"
Your head shook, lips closed with a gasp when Satoru's hips brushed against your front. He, too, was hard and cunning, with ocean eyes following all the changing expressions of your face carefully.
"I cannot," you muttered, trying to push them both away. "I shall wait to be properly courted by my future husb–"
"We can court you, sweet lady," Satoru chirped like a little bird, with a crafty smile curving up his lips. "If you wish, we can even pledge in a betrothal."
Suguru's clothed cock nuzzled against your ass, and, oh may the Virgin Mary watch over me, if he wasn't huge.
A lovely cry rolled through your lips, but Satoru pushed his finger in, placing it right on the drenched tongue. "Good maidens shall follow knights' order, my lady. It's the king's announcement," Satoru whispered, pushing you harder against Suguru's chest.
Your lips unconsciously curled around his milky finger, sucking it gently to strangle another cry. Satoru's brows furrowed, lips fell flat, while Suguru hissed upon feeling your hips brushing against his in harsh waves.
Maybe you were just a wench, after all. A wench and a harlot, who lost her mind for two simple knights.
Or maybe, you were just a woman?
Satoru's eyes suddenly glimmered, with gentle candles smooching his flushed cheeks jolly.
"So now, my sweet maiden, do you wish to be properly courted?"
𓇬 𓇬 𓇬
"Fucking hell," he groaned, trying to undo the strips of your dress.
Pinkish strips curled around your back, tying your waist tightly and pushing the breast out. They changed positions, with Suguru currently drenching your lips in a messy, hungry kiss, with his sweet breath coiling all your senses.
You don't know how, but at some point, the three of you tumbled to one of the tavern's rooms on the upper floor, with Satoru renting it for a whole night. At least they kept their promise to hide you away from the prying eyes of Shoko and other girls.
But she surely knew where you were heading, seeing a piece of your lovely dress going up the stairs!
"Forgive me, my lady. I'm not a patient man," Satoru whispered, and a second later, the back of your dress was ripped apart.
"My lord! This dress–" rolled with a cry, but Suguru quickly shut you up, placing another messy kiss on your swollen lips.
The dress finally hit the wooden floor, and nothing, nothing, could prepare you for the wave of sticky fingers that started to travel around your body.
Wearing nothing but a skimpy, white robe, their fingers strolled feverishly through your skin. You didn't even make it to the bed when Suguru cupped the swell of your ass, lifting you high up. Satoru was right behind you, tracing plush breasts and hard nipples covered by nothing but an almost translucent robe. Your back was glued to his chest, head lulled on his shoulder and thighs wrapped tightly around Suguru's strong hips.
You curled fingers into his raven hair and moaned, feeling his lips tracing the drenched kisses down your neck.
"C-can we, please, my lords, move to the bed?" rolled shyly, but this position was quite uncomfortable and, well, not enough.
Not enough to feel their rigid bodies and hard cocks, trying to brush against your plump skin. They both panted and groaned, feeling your warmth and sheepish moans slipping through, every time Satoru rolled your nipples harder and Suguru sucked harshly on your neck.
"We can do whatever you want, sweet lady," Suguru murmured, and soon your back hit the plush mattress.
And from this position you felt like... a lamb.
Spread almost naked, with wetness dripping down the thighs and pleading eyes staring up at two massive men. Looking down at you with maddened gazes.
You've seen wolves before – howling in the nearby forests and from time to time feasting on a few chickens and cows kept by neighbours.
You've seen the bloody trails left on the ground and the crimson pool of their prey's bowels, spread all over the road.
And now, with two muscular knights, undressing slowly in front of your trembling body, you thought that your fate was no better than that of a simple lamb. Waiting to be either killed by her family or devoured as prey.
"Sweet lady," Suguru murmured, while Satoru climbed behind you. Strong arms curled around your body, slowly, slowly, pulling you against his chest. "What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
Your throat bobbed. "I'm scared..." slipped quietly, but they still heard your almost silent voice.
Satoru's lips tickled your ear, placing a soft kiss on your lobe. "There's nothing to be scared of, my lady. You know the rules of courtly love, right?" he chuckled, when your head shook. "Well, for example, one of them states that the male lover shall be obedient and inferior to his lady."
Suguru moved to your squeezed thighs, spreading them wide with a gentle push. Plush lips traced wet kisses around your knee, going down, down, making your skin crawl and drenched pussy squeeze around nothing.
Purplish eyes followed every change in expression of your face, while Satoru whispered sweet little pledges, curling his fingers around your nipples.
There was something predatory, but still gentle, in the way they handled you. With rough hands, but velvety touches, skimming your skin in an almost shy manner.
And this... this was making you lose your mind.
It's not as you shouldn't, but simply weren't allowed to be there – a fair maiden with two stranger knights, indulging in the most sinful activities prohibited by the Holy Church.
But your mind was blank and heart heavy, upon feeling the first shy licks of Suguru's tongue near your dripping cunt, and his trembling groan going straight to your folds.
"G-good s-sir–"
"Just Suguru, my sweet lady," he looked up, taking in the sweet mimic of your face. "Call me Suguru."
"W-well then, Suguru–mhmmm," your hips waved, as if seeking more of wet kisses.
One place in particular – fluttering, trembling, drenching the bedding till Suguru looked down at it and inhaled sharply. "Quite impatient, aren't you?"
Satoru giggled, rolling the hem of milky robes up, up, up, finally leaving your soft body bare and feverish. Muscular arms again locked you in a hug, pulling your back to his naked chest.
"And you know, my sweet lady, what else the courtly rules say?" his lips traced down your neck, leaving gentle kisses and wet trails over the skin. You head, once again, shook, rolling a deep chuckle from his throat. "The male lover shall do quests and trials in his lady's name."
Suguru's palms forced your thighs to open even wider, with a heavy gaze stuck to your heat.
Oh, he was already starving!
"Q-quest? What q–ah!" came out in a cry, when his fingers spread your folds open.
"Dearest, Satoru, you should see it yourself," he groaned, taking with two fingers a heavy whip of your creaminess and lifting it up.
Looking at his long fingers covered in your sticky cum seemed so filthy, messy, sinful. It wrapped around his skin firmly, like a spider's web, slowly trickling down the knuckles and palm, till Satoru grabbed his wrist and pulled it closer.
And then– oh, the Sunday prayer will be nothing but shameful.
Seeing Satoru's blushed lips curling around the man's fingers, licking them clean with a low hum, made you cry a bit louder. With warmth bubbling in your lower belly and mouth falling open.
"Mmm, you really are sweet, my lady," Satoru whispered. "Now allow us to fill the first quest in your name," before you asked again, he squeezed your cheeks, lifting the head back, till your gaze met his. "And that is to make you cum, of course."
And from then on, everything went too fast.
Suguru's tongue delved between your folds – licking, slurping, scooping your honeyed cum to fill his mouth even fuller. Hands kept your thighs open, placing gentle circles on their back, as if trying to calm your trembling body.
Satoru took his cock out, smearing the precum all over your back, with fingers still fiddling with your swollen nipples.
The room was hot and steamy – dirty windows already covered by a gentle veil of fog, hiding three sinful bodies away from the lively streets. Warm candles licked the lines of their handsome faces, smooching foreheads veiled in a thin glaze of sweat and lips curving in a smirk, every time another cry slipped through yours.
Nothing but your heavy breaths and Suguru's drenched licks filled the room, with your cunt clenching around his tongue in rhythmic spasms. His lips sucking your clit? Clench. Satoru squeezing your nipples? Clench. Your hand reaching for his dripping cock? Clench.
And when Suguru murmured, let me make it easier for you, sweet lady, your body was suddenly moved on all fours. With hips high in the air and nose deep in milky pubes.
"Are you okay, my lady? In dire need of help?" Satoru chuckled, but his brows furrowed the moment your soft hand wrapped around his cock.
It sat heavy in your palm, with a pretty pink head leaking pearly beads of precum. In size, it was no better than Suguru's, with a slightly curved tip and blueish veins curling around its shaft. You've never seen a man's cock, of course, as such acts were reserved solely for the purest and most obliged maidens, who followed the rules of proper courting.
For long you have thought that such a title could also be bestowed upon you, but... well.
You weren't better than a simple tavern harlot.
His cock jumped when your warm breath hit its head. It smelled rather good, delicious even, but most importantly – manly. And soon your lips curled shyly around the pinkish skin, before taking the shaft deep down the throat.
"Mmm, my lady!" Satoru groaned, tangling his fingers in your dishevelled hair.
You weren't skilful nor talented in sucking cock, but your teary gaze and sloppy, awkward licks somehow made him ever harder. The way your tongue swirled around the leaking head and throat clenched around his shaft pushed him over the edge. Swollen cheeks were sucked in, as if trying to milk him dry.
And when Suguru's tongue again slirped on your drenched hole, you moaned, sending a wave of trembling pleasure through Satoru's body.
"Suguru, fuck, let's change, or I'm going to cum."
"You're really weak, my King," he mumbled, already drunk on the sweetness of your cunt.
King?
You couldn't pry further, because Suguru quickly slipped a single finger in. "My sweet lady, you're so fucking tight."
"I confirm," Satoru growled, pushing his cock further into your clenching throat. "Squeezing me like a good little slut, aren't you? Maiden my ass, let me stuff your cunt full, and we can get betrothed tomorrow morning."
Suguru was slowly stretching you up – curling, thrusting, skimming the quivering walls of your soft pussy. His leaking cock brushed your feet, with soft head mendling between your fingers, soft pads, smearing the precum all over your skin.
It felt immoral. Wicked. Unholy, with two men caressing your body in such a fiery, but gentle manner. With Suguru kneeding the swell of your ass, but at the same time sucking softly on your clit and drenched hole, with creamy juices dripping down his chin. Satoru moved your head faster, with pinkish cock hitting the back of your throat, but also stroking your puffy cheeks in delicate circles.
And when your eyes started to cross, with feet curling in pleasure, they suddenly stopped. Both exchanged a quick, meaningful look before changing positions.
"Hello, sweet lady," Suguru muttered, leaning down and capturing your wobbly lips in a short, sweet kiss. A moan rolled, and he swallowed it with a low hum, squeezing your cheeks, before pulling away. Nothing but a long string of spit hung between the two of you, with his maddened eyes taking in the flushness licking your cheeks. "Care to help me out a bit? Open your pretty lips up."
His fingers traced back the lost strand of your hair, and you nodded into his big palm. His skin wasn't calloused as you expected from a knight, but rather felt your cheek tenderly, with a big thumb spreading your lips apart.
"Good girl," he whispered, smearing sticky precum all over your lips. "Sweet little maiden, you're taking us so well. Sure, you've never been with a man?"
You didn't have a chance to speak when something suddenly poked your entrance. Warm and round, slapping a few times against your drenched cunt, before slowly slipping in.
It felt... terrible.
No... heavenly?
A mix of painful stretch and a shattering pleasure washed over your spine when Satoru's fat cock smooched through your folds.
"Fucking hell," he moaned, throwing milky forehead back. "Suguru, she's never been with anyone. Trust me."
Suguru chuckled, following Satoru and pushing his cock between your fallen lips.
Little tears danced in the corners of your eyes, but he wiped them off with a thumb before licking them clean. "Even your cries are sweet, my lady."
And then, they started working in perfect harmony, as if touched by a spell. Satoru's thrusts were deep, but slow, with his balls clamping gently against your clit, and fingers gripping the fat on your hips. The stretch still burned, but slowly started changing into something else. Something that made your hips push back to meet his and throat clench around Suguru's cock.
"Gripping me so tight, dearest. I managed to pull out the sword, but forget about pulling myself out of your pussy, my lady," Satoru groaned, his shaft smooching your clamping walls with its rolling precum.
Your cunt was moulding around his girth – pulsing, clenching, hugging it warmly, sending shivers down his spine every time the tip kissed your cervix.
You wondered why it was Satoru who fucked you first, but Suguru seemed to read your mind.
"It's for the best," he caressed your wet cheeks, biting down a lip to suppress a deep groan. "Your sweet lady deserves a first time with someone of a higher rank. It'll make things easier in the future."
You ignored the fact that he called your pussy a sweet lady, and furrowed on the second part of the sentence.
But, oh well, couldn't ponder too long, as Satoru started thrusting faster. Meaner, with low groans floating down to your ears and fingers going between your thighs, only to start fiddling with a clit.
He seemed to forget the weight of his body, resting bulging hands on your perked ass. Suguru was no better, thrusting his cock deep down your throat, till milky fog veiled your vision and fingers curled around the bedding.
The last traces of their gentleness seemed to quiver away, with a warmth slowly building inside all three of you. It started spreading fast, coiling tenderly in your lower belly and getting ready to gush out every time Satoru's cock licked your womb.
He was that deep, with a vague bulge pushing out your pouch and stretching the velvety skin.
"My sweet lady, dearest, I'm going to cum soon," he groaned.
You wanted to pull back, scream that he shall not do it inside, anything but inside for the love of god, but Suguru's palms kept your head in place. Nose brushing his pubes, and cheeky eyes glancing down at your wobbly face.
"Don't worry, lady, we'll take care of all the consequences," rolled lovely, but there was nothing sweet in the way his hand clenched around your throat, tracing the pattern of his cock. "We promised to court you properly, after all. And that's what you shall get."
A second later, something burst.
Inside and outside, with Satoru's cum filling your bruised womb in heavy swells, and Suguru flooding your throat, till salty seed tickled your nose. Your clit trembled under Satoru's merciless pads and gushed all over his palm. Waves of pleasure tickled down your spine, legs, and bedding, with their heavy groans smooching your ears. It felt maddening, divine, almost sacred, with breaking currents washing over your body in the bliss you've never felt before.
The whole thing must've really taken hold of you, as your lids soon started to close. In a pleasure, but tiredness too, with all the strength leaving your body at once, till it fell lifeless into Suguru's arms. The last thing you could remember was both of them dancing around you like maids – wiping your drenched body with a wet cloth, changing the sheets, and, finally, cuddling with you on a simple bed, caging your sleeping body between theirs.
And when the sun started to creep through the dirty windows – you finally woke up.
It was still before the first rooster, but the golden rays started to glow over the horizon. Which meant that you didn't have much time before your mother would try to barge into your room.
Which also meant that you would get flogged and hanged on the town square, if you didn't come back home... right that second.
Moving quietly between their sleeping bodies, you quickly put on the dress – or its shredded pieces – and left the tavern.
Parting away with the first and only night marked by such a pleasure and a mix of emotions, that would forever be kept locked away in the deepest chambers of your heart. Saying goodbye to white hair lying messily on the pillow and raven strands tickling your cheek in the morning. Ocean eyes with the slyness of a wild fox, and the violet gaze that washed your heart with serenity. During the night, their skin rubbed against yours lovely, with muscular arms wrapping you warmer, as if trying to shade from the autumn's biting cold.
When you suddenly woke up in the middle of the night, they were still there. And you could trace quietly sharp jaw lines and straight noses. The slightly plump lips and straight brows, bending obediently under your feather touch. They looked so peaceful, filling your chest with a weird, but rather alluring warmth.
You got back home on time, but what about it! Your heart lingered heavily – sometimes stuck in throat, sometimes low in belly. It was flooded with misery, and you cursed Shoko for ever taking you out that night.
If she hasn't done it, your feelings and dignity would still be intact.
But one day, suddenly, a sharp scream spread through the town. Soon, the short melody of a trumpet and the loud clacking of a golden bell hit the open windows, lifting up the curious ears of each and every townfolk.
"Hear ye, hear ye!"
A town crier has come!
You, your mother and two sisters run out of the home, gathering with other people on the square. All the neighbours you've known had come, pushing through the crowd, just to get closer to the man.
A long scroll has been gripped by his fingers, with a tall body hidden under the thick, red coat.
"Hear ye, hear ye, townsfolk!" he shouted again, ringing the bell to amass the attention. "As of this day, the King has decided to make an announcement."
Someone gripped your arm, and a second later, Shoko joined you in a crowd. "What have I missed, my little harlot?"
"Nothing, yet," you murmured, hitting her with an elbow.
"Good folk!" the town crier continued. "A grand wedding shall be held in the Royal court, with a fairest maiden chosen by the King's own hand. 'Tis said she shall ascend the throne of the Kingdom, and bear a royal heir, with dignity and fate. This decree by the monarch's own wise wizard told, should be terminated as of now. With the fairest maiden named..."
And when your name rolled slowly through his lips, the world had stopped.
As never in your wildest dreams would you think that two men who fumbled you a few sunrises ago would be no one but the King and his dearest magician themselves!
I needed a short break from mythology, so I hope you liked it! If someone didn't understand, Satoru and Suguru are presented here as King Arthur and wizard Merlin!
Okay, townsfolk, I shall now start working on those requests (Ares!Toji first!) and Bridget Jones series.
Synopsis. Toji Fushiguro: MMA light heavyweight champion, tyrant in the ring, the strongest man in the world. But after a sudden losing streak leaves him without his title, Toji realizes that he suffers from a certain…jinx. The cure: you, his new physical therapist - and what’s between those pretty legs of yours!
Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!physical therapist!reader, MMA fighter!Toji, Jinx (the manhwa) AU, he’s mean, matches, slight vioIence (to his opponents), Shiu cameo, jinxes, pússydrunk Toji, oraI (fem rec.), face-sítting, fíngering, spítting, p sIapping, SO MUCH manhandling, HEADLOCKS, slight chokíng, rough s, cervíx kíssing, folding you, p talking, he’s rude, creampíes, cúmplay, tasting it, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.2k
A/N. PHEW-
“Ouch! Huge overhand right—Toji Fushiguro is on his last leg, ladies and gentlemen and everyone in-between. I repeat-”
Toji scowls as the commentator’s voice bellows in his ears, like lightning flashes of derision through the thunder of the crowd. Those bastards, he seethes, they sure were singing his praises last season…
He sways ever-so-slightly, and throws a punch- misses- then gets hit with an uppercut that he really should’ve dodged.
Should’ve.
“That is some damage- wow! A shocking turn of events for the once-champion, it seems like Toji is already down for the count tonight.”
The hell are they talking about? He tries to glare down at the table of commentators (which would’ve been easier if said table wasn’t so…tilted).
Why was the world spinning?
Before he knows it, Toji’s on the mat. He feels the referee rush to his side, slamming the ground in countdown. He feels the crowd roar as he’s announced his defeat, yet again. And in that moment, he knows.
It’s a jinx.
.
.
.
“—devastating loss for the man that once ruled the octagon.”
“The latest in his recent losing streak, fans are left wondering when their light heavyweight champion will make his comeback. And what changes have to be made in order to—”
“—almost as if he’s been jinxed, hah!”
You hasten to turn down the volume on your phone. Despite having your earphones connected, all those screams n’ cries n’ protests still melded together into a powerful whirlwind, blaring out from the cheap speakers.
Tinny. The disappointment of the vast audience on-screen was far too much for your device to contain.
And not wishing to draw any more dirty looks from the other passengers on your bus, you muted the video and paused it on a still of Toji Fushiguro.
It was right after his defeat in the preliminaries; his skin glistening in fervent sweat, a cut bleeding from his brow, face scrunched as he rejected the help of someone from his own team. Instead, choosing to get up by himself.
Still silenced, you let the video play on a little longer - and you take in the glump slump of his shoulders. Oh-so-toned. You take in the way he stalks grimly off of the octagon-shaped battleground that the MMA was most famous for.
From here, you could tell that Toji towered above all of the crew- hell, he even towered above his opponent.
So why did he lose?
Alright, so you weren’t an expert in all things mixed-martial arts - but as a physical therapist you think you had some sort of say in the matter!
From here, you determine that this should’ve been an easy win for him. Terribly easy. Practically handed to him: for Toji was built considerably larger, stronger, about 6’3 with a ripped physique that made you understand exactly why the fighter had graced every single sports magazine in existence last season. Every TV show. Every sports exclusive. He’d taken the fighting world by storm at his debut, and he’d held that title ever since.
Infamous.
A wonder to watch on the screen.
A deep v-line. Arms the size of your head.
Those sage, half-lidded eyes of his were intense - especially now, as they blazed with injustice. You could remember feeling them follow your every move, prowling, from the athletics section on every magazine aisle. You think you’d picked up those exact magazines a few times, just to make sure that they weren’t somehow actually following you.
One time, you even remember the shop employee nodding approvingly at your choice.
Everyone knew Toji Fushiguro.
If not from his legendary MMA reputation, then from his irresistible looks. If not from his irresistible looks, then from his reputation as a tyrant in the ring.
If from neither then from his recent streak of losses that shook the fighting world.
It’d come out of nowhere. And no athlete quite expects to lose, but this seemed to have come as a surprise especially to Toji and his team, crew to an athlete that should’ve been at the top of his game.
You ponder - perhaps it was some wear on the joints, or maybe he hasn’t been getting enough electrolytes this season…
You’re pulled out of your little reverie by a cough from the kind ol’ lady seated beside you; the type that was less a necessity of the body, and more a pointed intonation of ‘I don’t know what you’re doing and it seems like neither do you’.
And, suddenly, you realize that you hadn’t just been staring into space as you’d thought- no, you’d been staring (quite passionately) at a paused frame of Toji Fushiguro in all his shirtless, sweaty glory. A close-up of his built figure. A close-up of the tattoo on the side of his toned hip.
Which, you had to admit was quite…attractive- pull yourself together! You turn off the phone that you’d pulled out in the first place for research, lest anyone else on the bus start thinking that you were some kind of pervert (it might already be too late for that, the elderly woman was tittering to herself). Ducking your head in shame, you sigh out in relief as you notice that your stop is near.
“The next stop is Sendagaya Station, Shibuya.” The lilting voice of the conductor rings out, “Please prepare your fares.”
You were glad to finally get off this bus, after a long ride spent toiling to yourself. In no time, you’d paid your fare and was stepping out into the bustling city.
Conveniently, right in front of the gymnasium you were supposed to arrive at: TEAM BLACK, TOKYO MMA GYM. 5F.
To work for Toji Fushiguro.
You check your watch—five minutes early. Dressed in your crisp scrubs, you adjust the glinting golden badge engraved with your name and your position as physical therapist.
And then you step in.
The sound of gloves connecting with flesh, of groaning punching bags, and shouts greet you immediately as you enter. There were a multitude of fights that were ongoing in the expansive gym, but there was only one that you couldn’t take your eyes off of - right in the middle, pummeling his bloodied opponent, was Toji Fushiguro.
From around the ring, teammates and coaches were yelling at the dark-haired man to stop. But he doesn’t.
His stone-cold face specks with blood, and he still doesn’t stop. His opponent taps at the mat to halt the match, and he still doesn’t stop. One of the other fighters in the gym runs up to grab him, and he still doesn’t stop.
Ultimately, you watch as it takes about five men to even match Toji’s strength- forget about overpowering.
“What’s wrong with you?!” One of the men cried out, “‘Free sparring’ doesn’t mean you should actually take the guy apart- someone could have gotten injured!”
“You okay? You seemed lost there, man…”
“Is this about the loss from a few weeks ago- eek!” Several of them stumble backwards as Toji glares at them for that particular comment, and suddenly you’re reminded of the match you’d just watched on the way here. That devastating loss.
You look over and can’t help but notice that the man inside the ring right now is much bigger than the one he’d fought during that match. Much stronger, it seems.
And again, you’re wondering - why the hell couldn’t he win?
“The punk wanted to spar, s’not my fuckin’ problem he couldn’t handle it.” Toji grunts, and it’s the first time you’re hearing his low baritone. Slightly husky.
He rolls his eyes as he shoves off the other fighters, and pulls aside the colored ropes ring to step out. Which is when, slowly, magnetically, his eyes meet yours.
“Who’s this?”
Toji’s in front of you in a split-second, his broad shape looming. His twinkling irises staring down. His black t-shirt skin-tight. His scarred lips slightly quirking upwards—
And before you can even think of responding, you hear a call of your name.
From the other side of the gym, a clean-cut man with a slight spattering of scruff was pacing his way over. He was well-built, like the other fighters here, though with an air of authority with which he wielded a clipboard.
In front of you, Toji repeats your name. Like he was tasting it.
“Ah, you must be the new physical therapist!” The man announces once he’s close enough, and you bow politely to which he does the same. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. The name’s Shiu Kong, m’the manager of these animals- so if there’s anything you need to ask, you ask me.”
“Thank you for having me, and for the opportunity.” You smile, seeing Toji’s stunned expression from the edge of your peripheral vision.
He scoffs, “And what do we need a physical therapist for?”
Shiu instantly smacks him with his clipboard, “Have you had one too many blows to the head?” He barks out, in a tone that was the complete opposite of the gentle way he’d spoken to you. “Huh? Have you? Have you forgotten the fact that you’ve done more losing than winning this season-”
“Alright alright-” Toji waves off, “The fuck? They should put you in the ring next.”
And then he turns to you and sweeps his eyes up and down. Deciding to take a chance, you thrust your hand out in the attempt of a handshake- only for him to take it in his much-larger, roughened one. And instead he flips your palm over and bends- almost like he’s bowing, almost like you’re royalty - and grins. “Pleasure.”
He doesn’t introduce himself, he knows he doesn’t have to.
And with only a slight smirk thrown your way, Toji turns on his heel and heads in the direction of one of the clinical-looking rooms in the gymnasium. Away from all the fighting, you assumed that this will be your office going forward.
Toji’s already there when you enter, and he’s-
…shirtless?
His broad back was all on display for you, every curve n’ divot, every one of his eight washboard abs, every flex of his muscles. He was glimmering with a sheen of sweat that brought out just how toned he was- and you think you could see, closer than ever, the inky spirals of a snake on his hip.
“My clothes are soaked in sweat-” Toji turns to look at you, and you feel your heart race at being caught staring. “I can do this in my boxers, right?”
“Ah, yes!” You try to keep your tone even, and help your client - your client - lay down on the examination table. But oh- he really was attractive. Painfully so.
Not even those smokin’ hot magazines and edits on social media (all part of your…research, of course) had done him justice.
But you had a job to do, and you’re getting started right away. “Do you have any specific concerns?” You ask, pulling a thin towel over Toji’s crotch area as he reclines. And he only sighs and rests his head upon his palms, muscles rippling as he does so.
“Just do your thing.”
“Yes, sir.” You nod, “Then, I’ll give you the full body sports oil massage.”
“Mn.”
You start from his broad shoulders, and then down to his pecs.
And he really wasn’t like any of the clients you’d had prior - no one came even close. You could feel the power in his body, the firmness, the training. Any time you glissade your lotionized hands across Toji’s muscles, he grunts- and, oh, you have to squeeze your thighs together to stop from thinking anything stupid.
You kneaded your way down from his bulging biceps, and onto the side of his hips - where you got a really good look at the snake tattoo. You notice that it also had flowers inked around it.
And then onto his thighs…you’re raising them in external rotations. All the while looking up at his ridiculously handsome face to check whether it hurt, you didn’t register the way your hands somewhat struggled to get a proper grasp on his meaty thighs, especially with the sweat.
You didn’t register the way your fingertips slightly scoured downwards-
“Oh, shit!” You hiss, jumping your hand back. In the few seconds that you’d been distracted by his looks, you’d somehow traced the crown head of something long…and hard.
Looking down, you realize that Toji’s erection was throbbing against the thin layer of his boxers. Barely even hidden by the cover of the towel, the lengthy cylindrical outline was there for your eyes to see - and for your hand to accidentally touch.
Your eyes widen.
How was he so big?
“My- my apologies, sir!” You sputter out, resting your treasonous hands against your sides. “It’s a very common physiological response to get hard- ah- an erection during a massage, and it’s completely my mistake for not noticing. Again, my apologies, I completely understand if you wish to-”
“Whaddaya doing just standing there?” Toji cuts you off gruffly, and you look up at his face in surprise. He raises a dark brow, “Aren’t you gonna finish what you started?”
You blink, “Finish what I…”
“The massage.” He cocks his head, though there’s a knowing smile on his lips - how devilish he looked this way. “That damn Shiu’s gonna give me hell if I don’t get it- so hurry it up, will ya?”
That was close. Hastily nodding, you reach over to massage his thigh once more. “Right at once, sir.”
Looking down, you chose not to make eye-contact with him for the rest of the session. Instead, focusing your entire attention on perfectly executing the massage, step by step - you wouldn’t want a repeat of what happened before!
Toji, however, stared at you through his partially-lidded eyes the entire time.
.
.
.
“That wraps up your treatment for today. Thank you for your patience, Mr. Fushiguro.” You step to the side, giving the athlete the space to stretch out his long limbs and feel the effects of your massage- which, you had to admit yourself, was amongst some of the best in the academy.
He takes his time rolling his shoulders, feeling the way the blood vessels on his muscles flow smoothly. Energized.
“Hm, not bad.” Toji muses, more to himself. “Most of the punks here call me ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Fushiguro’-” He nods at you, “You can just call me Toji.”
“Oh- I’m honored, sir- I mean-” Your veins blister with heat, and you think that the slight quirk of his lips might have something to do with it. “—Toji.” It felt so wrong on your tongue, and yet so right.
And before you can let anything further slip (because, really, you’d never been close enough to a client to address them by their first name, let alone be told to do so after the very first session), you turn away from the handsome man to grab your bag of supplies, your coat, and step to fumble with the door handle. “And now- if that’s all, then I’ll be going now. Have a nice day, sir- I mean-”
As you make your very evident escape, Toji can only watch. Can only stare.
He feels his massive erection still throb furiously between his legs, still ravenous. Like never before. And one of his hands snakes down to squeeze—“How…interesting.”
Before the door swings open once more and in comes Shiu, prattling away something about how you ‘left in such a hurry’ and what a ‘sweet lil’ thing’ you were- Toji casually throws a second hand towel over his lap as his best friend (and manager) comes to slap him on the shoulder. “Feeling refreshed, eh? I can see it in your eyes- with her, we might just have hope about winning that next match.”
“Yeah.” He rasps out, throat dry. Toji watches where you left, he can still feel your soft hands tingling on his skin. “Yeah, we might just.”
.
.
.
“Fuck-” The champion spits between his clenched canines- well, future champion. But it didn’t hurt to be a lil’ optimistic, did it? “Oh, fuck- I’ve never been fuckin’ harder.”
He didn’t fucking care. Not right now, not when he had his strong hand rested against the glistening tile of the stall. His head bent forwards, his back wet with the pouring shower, his right hand slipped below his v-line and furiously pumping his cock.
Up and down. Up and down.
Fuck, he was jerking himself off like he never had before. Until the friction of his roughened palm left his long, hot length all red n’ raw- and yet, he still wasn’t stopping. Still couldn’t.
He remembers the feeling of your soft hands on his thighs and Toji bucks-
“F-fuck-” The fighter gnaws down on his scarred bottom lip, trying desperately not to make a sound that will echo out in the gym’s empty locker room. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- s’not supposed to feel this good.” Sure, they had stalls - but right now even the slightest flick of his thumb, right underneath his mushroomy tip, felt so good that he might as well moan out loud.
And the worst part was that he’s sure his very first moan would be your name.
“Fuck, mama, s’not supposed to feel this good.” He snarls, entire body wracking with shivers. The bulging biceps on his arms ripple as he glides his hand down to his base. And all the way back up.
Abs tensing. Veins on his pelvis popping.
With a few more vulgar strokes, he’s hoverin’ his thumb right over the divot on the middle of his cockhead. It was all pink n’ needy, dribbling out in syrupy white cum in absolutely no time- “Look what you’ve done to me.” Toji watches himself through his shaggy black bangs, wet with water and perspiration, cumming all over his hands. “I don’t know what blessing- what c-curse you’ve put on me, but…” Why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?
He rides out his high on his right hand, fucking his fist like he imagines you might tease him through it- just like the way you’d teasingly grazed his tip. Just grazed.
You’d probably take it like such a good girl. Let him paint his gluey white cum all over your face, and just across your lips - it would probably match your scrubs, heh. Biting back a groan, those lecherous thoughts of his only make him finish even faster.
And once the sparks of his high have finally bated - the fountain of his ivory sap stopping - Toji washes off the remnants of his lewd act. Spurting out some cool body wash and cleaning himself off, he slicks back his hair with clean hands now.
Head throwing back, he knew he had to get his mind in focus for the upcoming match - just in a few hours, actually. The car was supposed to be waiting for him outside the gym by now. It was some sort of rebound match of Legends vs. Rookies that Shiu had managed to scrounge together, and it should be displeased at the fact that he was supposed to fight some no-good, hotshot punk- but, honestly he had a good feeling about this one.
Toji’s thoughts stray back to you, and he finds himself cracking a snicker- “You’ve fuckin’ cursed me, woman. You plague me. But…” A thrill zaps through his strong body, “…I like it.”
.
.
.
Toji Fushiguro won the Legends vs. Rookies event.
A wipe-out so clean that everyone was sure it’d go down in history. A comeback so strong that it had already gone down in history.
After that, it was a streak of absolute demolition: the preliminaries, the co-main events, the PPV matches, each and every single fight that was thrown his way- Toji Fushiguro was sure to win without even breaking a sweat (metaphorically).
Hell, at one point even some of his past contenders from his losing streak had demanded rematches, perhaps thinking that they could put the legend in his place once more.
He’d won those, too.
After a season-long losing streak, it was months of winning. And you were giving him his massages on the days before every match.
And Toji was back on the magazine covers, the interviews, the brand deals. Right now you couldn’t even step outside your humble apartment building without being met with at least four different billboards and several commercials featuring him. It was quite strange - seeing the rugged persona in those mediums, and then his still-rugged demeanour in real life.
Though, slightly less so.
There was a faint gentleness to the way that Toji was (when you’d brought this up with some of the other fighters you’d grown close to, they’d fervently denied and showed off their bruises from the pummelings that Toji gave them in the ring).
But you were sure it was there: in the way that he’d always be first in the office, in the way he’d lightly murmur greetings to you and only you, in the way he’d hold open doors and look away as if he wasn’t, in the way that there was a drink of your favorite preference on your desk every morning. And you’d asked around, wondering if it was perhaps Shiu or any of the rookies that was doing so- but they all denied it.
All but one of them.
Toji.
Even Shiu seemed to have noticed that something had shifted in his best fighter. Hell, he was on a winning streak after so long, so of course there had to have been a change.
The other man couldn’t quite pinpoint it, though he gave most of the credit to you and your massages. ‘They must be some sort of magic work!’ He’d exclaimed to you one day, after a particularly tough opponent that Toji had easily beat.
And you yourself couldn’t quite be sure, though you didn’t want to give yourself all the credit. You were only glad that your favorite fighter (yes, after being around MMA fighters for long enough now, you’d determined that Toji was your favorite) was back to winning again.
Only glad you could help.
Which is why, in the ghost entrails of the early morning, at exactly 2:36AM, when Toji texted you - you answered.
2:36AM - Toji (MMA fighter): I need you.
2:38AM - Toji (MMA fighter): For another one of those full body massages.
2:42AM - Toji (MMA fighter): Please.
2:42AM - You: On my way!
As you jumped out of your bed to get dressed, you noticed that you had several missed calls from Shiu, as well. After calling him right back, he informed you that just last week, Toji had come up on a draw during his last match, which was yet another co-main event for the #1 Contender spot.
Of course, you knew of this, you’d watched the match on the gymnasium television. And though it wasn’t the worst of outcomes (especially considering that this was world-class fighting, at a light heavyweight level), considering his winning streak, you were somewhat surprised. And slightly afraid that he’d go back into his rut of losing, just as Shiu was.
Which was why he, too, wanted to reach out to inquire whether you could do one of your ‘magical’ full-body massages on Toji on the night before one of his biggest matches yet. A rematch for the #1 Contender spot - the audiences loved him.
Shiu told you he’d seen Toji moping around after that devastating draw, and knew that the only one who just might have the ability to brighten his mood would be you. So please, if you could go at 2:45AM to the penthouse apartment of a celebrity MMA fighter to give him a massage?
Of course, you said yes.
It seems that Toji’s team had arranged for everything already, and a flashy black car was already waiting outside your apartment building to whisk you off to your destination. You twiddled your thumbs, slightly nervous (for what? You weren’t quite sure) as the car parked in front of a set of gleaming skyscrapers. Apartment buildings of a calibre that you’d only seen in architectural magazines.
Escorted upwards by a few of Toji’s own personal bodyguards past an entrance larger than your entire apartment, and a lobby that practically screamed luxury.
You didn’t even know that Tokyo had such a place.
Massive. Concierges that bowed as soon as they saw you. An orchestra that still played in the dead of night. Chandeliers like miniature suns that lined the ceiling.
Damn, maybe you should’ve become a famous fighter, you whistled. It made sense, though, he is one of the highest-paid athletes in the country. Even the elevators were gilded, shining so brightly that you could make out every inch of your face on its reflection. And the bodyguard’s, too- you quickly straightened up and tried to look as casual as possible as he led you to the very top floor.
A large glowing button simply labelled with a ‘P’.
The penthouse floor had a wide carpeted corridor leading up to it, all golds and reds like the rest of the apartment. You walked up to the expensive-looking door at the end of it, and buzzed the doorbell on its touchpad.
Bzzzz—!
The door swings open.
And there stands Toji Fushiguro, in all his sweaty, shirtless glory.
It almost reminded you of the first time you gave him a massage. Chest heaving. Vision bleary. A glittering bead of sweat lines the curve of his jawline, ending at his chin and dripping downwards. Down, down, down the valley of his pecs.
There was a lewd little flush that overtook his tannish skin.
Like he was…sex-flushed.
Spreading out across his tense shoulders, and all the way down his chest. The back of his neck. You don’t think it even ends as it follows the line of his dark happy trail, those curly lil’ hairs at the bottom of his navel, and then even further down—
Toji’s grey sweatpants hung low on his hips.
Dangerously low.
And you have to force yourself to look away. You swallow as he raises one big, beefy arm and rests it on the top of the door frame. Looking at you through the gaps in his damp bangs, “Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, mama.”
“O-oh.” You immediately close your mouth, realizing that you’d been gawking at him for far too long now (how unprofessional!) Sheepishly, you raise your bag of supplies and shake it ever-so-slightly. “I uh- got your text! And Shiu also called to tell me that you wanted an extra round of physical therapy before your match, sir-”
“Toji.”
“Toji-” You amend. Before taking on a stern tone, “And it looks to me like you’d already been up working out before your match. Overstressing your joints will wear them out, you know!”
He scratches the back of his head, a sleazy smile overtaking his face. “Working out- right.”
Tutting, “What you need now is a nice massage and some relaxation. I’ll do your usual with some added therapy for your blood pressure, how about that?”
“Perfect.” Toji grins, and he cracks the doorway open. Just slightly open. So that you have to squeeze yourself between the doorway and his chiselled body - not that you were complaining. “Come on in and give me a- hah, real workout then, how about it?”
“Relaxation, Toji.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
Ignoring his teasing, you step inside. It’s a luxurious apartment - one of those stylishly modern types, black and white, with flares of Toji’s MMA career. Boxing gloves on the sprawling couch. A TV that takes up an entire wall, paused on highlights from his last match. A cabinet overspilling with trophies and belts.
Led by him, you stumble past towering artworks that likely cost about five of these penthouses - and that’s about ten thousand of your own apartment.
He walks you through winding hallways, and ultimately into what you guess is the master bedroom.
His bedroom.
The first thing you notice as you step in isn’t the rich furniture, or the king-sized bed, or the draping curtains that were cracked ever-so-slightly to let a sliver of the city seep through. No- it’s the mountain of tissues scattered on the wine-red carpet, the bottle of lotion on his bedside table, the way the dark bedsheets looked like he’d just been thrashing on it.
Toji casually lays back down on his wrinkled bed, and rests his clammy head on two hands. Stretching out.
You hasten to set out your work, coating your palms in lotion, and beginning your massage. As you start off warming up his obliques, you can’t help but blurt out- “M-my apologies for assuming it was a workout-”
Fuck.
Why would you say that?
You gasp, “I mean-”
“Why?” Toji croons, tilting his head to look at you. Trying to avoid his gaze, you quickly shift to extending his legs instead. “It was a workout, heh.”
Your veins bubble, “Oh…”
“And it’s a workout I need before every match, y’know?” Looking at you closely, still, you’re too aware of the fact that you’re massaging his thigh. “The fact that m’fuckin’ my fist like some lecher before every match, you don’t think that’s strange?”
“I see. I don’t really…” Your throat is drier than the Sahara, you have no idea what to say - though, you admit, a part of you wants to hear more. So that’s what he’d been doing, in this very room, on this very bed, just before you’d arrived.
Another part of you is thrilled. Another part of you is confused why you’re thrilled- which quickly morphs into understanding once your brain conjures up a sizzling image of Toji Fushiguro alone with his sweatpants at his ankles, hands fisting his rock-hard cock.
Shaking your head free of those lecherous visions, you attempt to lighten the mood- “Is that why you’ve been winning all these matches lately, hah?”
“Exactly.” And Toji sounded dead-fucking-serious. Rising, he looks you squarely in the eyes with his slightly murky ones. “See, the thing is, I have this jinx.”
Your eyes widen.
“That’s why I was on a losing streak- no matter what happens, it turns out I needa have a real good high the night before a match.” Your hands have stopped their movements, yet he shifts to edge them up higher. Closer. “N’ it needs to be truly satisfying for me to win.”
“So- so these past few matches?”
“Mhm, you’re a smart one, mama.” He shifts on the bed, sitting up. Even closer. “You could say it’s my routine, and it’s very important to me.” His verdant gaze shifts from your right eye, to your left, to your lips. A triangle. “And…I’d found my fix. Just fucking my fist to the thought of her was enough- but lately…lately, I dunno if that’s all I want.”
Your breath catches—he was talking about…“I see- th-that must be quite challenging.”
“Heh, it looks like you still don’t get it.”
Before you know it, his hand grasps yours. And he’s bringing it up- to press an innocent peck on the back of your hand, though the burning look in his eyes was anything but.
Scarred lips murmuring against your skin, “Why’d ya think that on the crucial night before a match, I’d go through all the trouble of calling my manager, informing security, and having you come over?” He chuckles, “And if you still don’t get it-”
And that sweet, sweet kiss he was pressing to your hand?
Well, Toji’s canines slip outwards to lightly bite down - just teasingly. He looks at you through his long, Stygian lashes. “I know the way you look at me, ya aren’t slick- hah! If you want - only if you want - you should know.” Sighing out. A confession. “It’s always been you, doll. Always.”
So he really was talking about you earlier.
Your heart stutters, and the only thing you can think to do - let your hand slip up, just the way it had on the first day you’d given him a massage.
And sure as day, there it was, the massive fucking erection that raged beneath his sweatpants. Just as large - if not even larger - than how you’d remembered him.
Just as needy - if not needier.
You gulp, “Well, I am your physical therapist intended to help you…” You stare at him dead-on in the eyes: they were drunk with lust. Looking as if he was on the very urge of shattering if you just say the word. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think of him in that way, either. “-win.”
.
.
.
“Oh fuck, you taste so good, mama. Just a lil’ wider now—just a little wider.” At Toji’s throaty beckons, you’re stretchin’ your thighs further apart with a whimper.
Feeling the scorchin’ hot gust of his breath against your core, you arch your back with a yelp once you feel him swat his calloused fingertips against your folds.
Teasingly, he runs his fat thumb right past your pussylips- snagging down on your clit to make you even wetter above him. “Wiiider now- lemme see her properly, mama.” He huffs out, demanding. “No need to be shy with me.”
“M’already stretching.” You’re rebutting, grabbing onto a few tufts of his raven bangs to balance yourself. You knew you didn’t need to be gentle with him- in fact, Toji groans at the feeling of you pulling on his hair, using it as leverage.
After all, he’d been the one to insist on making out with your cunt this way: your thighs straddling either side of his face, your cunt hovering above his mouth.
A beaded droplet of slick dribbles into his mouth and he has his tongue out n’ ready to catch it. Pryin’ your swollen folds even further apart with his thumb, “Atta girl-” As you leak out at his words- “Atta girl, s’exactly how wet I want you.”
“Hmpf- and you haven’t even kissed me yet.” You point out, stubbornly.
To which Toji only grins - oh, how cute you were. “You wan’ me to kiss you? There-” And before you know it, you’re feeling something cold and wet cling onto your pussy. Only later are you realizing that he’d just spat on your cunt, letting the lewd slurp-slurp-sluuuurp ring out for both your ears to hear. “Those lips happy now, or do you want tongue?”
“You’re just so mean- ngh-”
Another probing press of his crowned thumb, once more rolling over your clit perfectly. “Oh, so you do want tongue.”
And Toji says it so casually, as if he’d just stumbled across an epiphany. As if he normally did communicate through the squelching slurps your pussy was giving out-
Because then he’s delving his tongue into you like an animal.
Barely even prepping you, barely even warning you- not before the scourin’ tip of his tongue then enters past your folds. Striking directly against some tender inner part of your walls, before he’s darting it back out and fucking you with his long muscle.
Rutting.
Again and again and again.
You feel your thighs shiver hopelessly at the sheer length of Toji’s tongue - so fucking long that you could feel his ridged tastebuds aim for your very cervix. As if he could reach. “O-oh my god. How are you so big, Toji?”
“Mmm, and I haven’t even put my cock in yet, doll.” He smiles priggishly, his tongue slurping up every wadded ounce of slick that leaves you. “How are you gonna take that then, huh?”
“I don’t know- ngh.” He’s mazing another inch of his tongue in, thoroughly. And it’s enough to leave your body all loose n’ wobbly with pleasure- stupidly, you attempt to hold onto the towering headboard on his bed, but Toji can’t have that, now, can he?
Not when he was the one pounding your pretty pussy with all his tastebuds.
Glued to the slick-filled orifices of your cunt, he’s unhooking your hands from the headboard and bringing it back down to hold onto his scalp. To pull. To rough him up a little. “Don’t even think about it-” He can’t even speak through the rough, open-mouthed kisses he was leaving on your puckered hole. Wetly. Gasping for air- for more tastes of your candied cunt. “In fact…”
Your hips flinch ever-so-slightly once Toji raises his head up - which, with his powerful body, was absolutely nothing even with your weight on top of him. And through his long bangs he takes a gooood, long look at you.
At your cunt.
At the way you were still hovering your hips, and then he’s spanking his familiar hand down on the tip-top of your clit. Making you gasp- “Did you just-”
“Whoops.” Faux-innocently, Toji acts all nice then - pinpointing the top of his tongue into each of those tender spots you loved so much. He unhinges his jaw even further to make sure that he isn’t leaving a single spot unkissed. Long and hard.
Smack!
And again, you’re finding the most tender outer part of your pussy slapped. “Aww, not again.” Toji has the audacity to pout on your behalf. Meanly, his free hand slides over to grip your ass and pull you down. “Anyways…why don’tcha properly fuckin’ sit, mama. Maybe then my hands will stop- heh, slipping.”
And as if to prove his point, his prolonged tongue skids all the way from your glossy hole to your clit. “I mean…”
“Like- fuck!” Still urging you to sit properly with his hands, on the verge of manhandling you. “Who the fuck do ya think you are, honey?”
You shyly try to listen to what he says, grindin’ your treacly cunt all over his open mouth. And oh- oh, it was like heaven for him. He has his greedy maw unfastened and his tongue slurping all over, stickin’ into every orifice even deeper than he had before. “I worry- hngh! I just worry that I might-” But he still wanted more. Still had his neck craning up n’ down to take in everything you gave him. “-suffocate you if you go on like this.”
And it was a realistic concern- fuck, you were hovering your waist right now and still Toji wasn’t stopping to take a breath. Wasn’t even slowing down.
He’s burying himself nose-deep between your pussylips and letting his mouth do more stirrin’ than talking. And it’s only after a few more vulgar fucking strokes of his tongue, a few more swabs inside your pussy that he can even wrench himself away to answer you. “Ohhhh, I get it.” Tugging on your trembling thighs, “You think I can’t handle it, huh?”
“I didn’t say- oh, fuck-”
Without hesitation, Toji plants a rude slap on your pussy once more. Letting those glittering beads of slick splatter all over, “You think m’fucking weak?” He seethes, half-joking. But half-wanting. “Let me get one thing fuckin’ clear, doll.”
And you’re listening intently - because if he sensed you were becoming too far one on the way his tongue lavishly licks, then Toji would once again swat your cunt. Drawing your attention once more.
The fighter stares deeply into your hazed peripherals as he lets his lengthy tongue flop out. Slitherin’ that honed tip right in- “No matter what you weigh, I can bench press more than five of you.” And he gives your pussylips yet another sinful spank! “Now- fucking- sit.”
You’re being seated with an unceremoniously loud sluuuuurp.
Of his tongue stickin’ deep inside you, his upper lip practically glued to your clit. With you riding his face, Toji fills out every tiny geysering nook and cranny. Grazing every velvety bundle of nerves that makes you see stars.
“Oh- please-” He was just ruthless. As if you didn’t know whether to fuck back or run forwards, you’re jolting your hips sloppily up and down. Slick, needy drags to match his lapping tongue.
Again and again.
Slurp after squelch.
Before you know it, Toji wants more - needs more. Even having you on top of him like this, his mouth was ravenous. Licking. Leaning up from the pillows to let you ride his face; all the way from the curve of his chin n’ up to the tip of his straight nosebridge.
As you come back down from one of these particular gyrations, Toji holds you still and - before you know it - you’re feeling the sensation of something elongated and thick entering your cunt.
“Sh-shit, that’s not your tongue…” You blink away the tears in your eyes and look downwards, where the protruding edges of his joints were stretching you intensely.
Two of them- even though it felt like four, with how big his fingers were.
As you wail n’ wobble on top of him, Toji crushes you to his mouth ferociously. And you marvel at the stretch that keeps you hostage - you can’t do anything but take it. But let your mouth fall ajar, and your head throw back, at the feeling of his probing thrusts.
Sultry tastebuds flickering over your clit- “Mmm, s’not my tongue- good catch, doll.” He snickers, “Thought that such a goooood pussy deserved a little something m-more-”
You catch the way that his dark brows furrow, a slight flush tinting what little you could see of his ears. “Wait- Toji, did you just stutter-”
“No the fuck I didn’t-” He’s snapping back.
And in response, you’re having your gummy walls pummeled with some of the rudest jackhammers you’ve ever felt in your entire life. Oh, he’s just swabbing his fingerpads in so deep, mouth pursing to spit against your entrance once more n’ lick it all up.
Letting himself salivate.
Toji drools down a waterfall of your slick, his fingers tuggin’ apart your tight hole to squeeze-squeeze-squeeze in a third finger. “Don’t make me lose focus now.” Grumbling from underneath you, the fighter pins you down with a big, beefy arm wrapped ‘round your waist. Tight. You’re in awe of his sheer inhuman strength. “Don’tcha remember? I’ve gotta- ngh- win tomorrow, n’ this pretty pussy is the key to it, mama. So let me focus alllll my attention on h-her…”
You gasp, “So you did stutter-” And soon enough, you feel yourself growing even wetter at the implication that the strong, cocky Toji Fushiguro was so pussydrunk right now that he was slurring his words.
Gone on your cunt. The way you clenched ‘round his rovering fingers- oh.
And, of course, Toji wasn’t complaining about the fact that you were soaking yourself even more. Only gaping his maw further open, “Mmm, tch-” His fingers pull out with a squelch to spank the front of your core, “-these lips are much nicer t’me.”
“Hey—” You huff, “Just because I got you all ngh- pussydrunk doesn’t mean- oh fuck!”
“What were you saying—?” And then he’d bullied in four fingers - four. Four entire, long digits- he ends off by hitting his mountainous knuckles against your folds with a smack! Smack after smack. Until the skin on his hands were rubbed all raw, Toji probes his fingers inside your cunt. “Oh yes, I think someone was talkin’ all big w’me. Do you know who that, mmm, might be?”
You shake on top of him, his cushy fingertips were glissading oh-so-close to your g-spot. With every rapid thrust, they inched in—“I-I don’t-”
“I see.” And then he’s rolling his tongue ruthlessly against your clit with a few wettened noises. “Do you know then?”
“What do you-”
“Shhh, not you.” Toji rolls his half-lidded eyes. And his vibratin’ words zap through your entire body - he always did make sure to lean in reeeeal close whenever he spoke, but right now, he was tracing his canines over your swollen clit and lightly gnawing. “M’talking to her- aren’t I?”
“F-fuuuck–!” Just then, he’s striking your g-spot. Thunderously. Just then, he’s realizing he did- and repeating the motion in quick, frenzied half-thrusts.
Barely even pulling properly to tease your elastic hole, barely even letting you register the way he bashes your bundle of nerves before he repeats the act. Toji was just vicious with how he batters in your poor cunt, “Yeah? Yeah yeah yeah- ya like that?” He spits, “Who’s stuttering now, mama? Got anythin’ else to say?”
You whimper, “Mm-mm-”
“Mhm, I knew she was chattier anyway.”
Talking to your pussy, Toji nods along like he’s part of the conversation. All those pretty, pretty sounds that he almost wishes he could record and listen to on loop.
So it was only a matter of time before he’s feeling the way your clampin’ walls reach a feverpitch, the way your damp noises only seem to get damper.
And the fighter looks up at you with a glint of excitement in his partially-lidded eyes, “Oh, she’s close, doll.”
“How did you-” Your breath catches- fuck, he’s only accelerating his thorough pushes. The only thing you could register at this point was the perfect way he knew how to work your pussy, all those deepest, most fragile spots.
Quickly enough, those twinges of pleasure at the pit of your stomach are turning into waves.
And you can feel your thighs tremor on top of him, struggling to support your body when your orgasm quakes. “Toji, m’close-” You tug on his sweaty hair, “I think m’gonna c-cum soon.”
“So cum on my face, then?” He answers, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Determined, you don’t even need to hold up your own self anymore - he’s doing so with one hand glued to the side of your hips, the other pressing and probin’ until you’re being fucked by both his mouth n’ his fingers- straight into your high.
Crash-landing into your orgasm, it takes you entirely by surprise.
You jerk your cunt against his mouth, and Toji groans with delight. Back arching. Toes curling. You close your eyes and see entirely white as the surge of euphoria takes over your body.
“Oh my- ngh, fuck. M’cumming, m’cumming m’cumming and it feels so good-” He’s just digging his veiny fingers against every sensitive ridge on your walls, just the way you liked. “Right there, keep going just like that, Toji.”
And usually this would be the point where he says something to tease you. The point where he says something to make you whine n’ try to shut him up with your bloated pussylips.
But he was fucking you so thoroughly through your high that he doesn’t even have the time for that anymore, doesn’t have the patience.
With his scarred lips smoochin’ away at your clit, Toji lets his plump fingertips hit your g-spot. Constantly. With those keen senses of his (honestly you blame the reflexes from MMA), he pinpoints the exact tempo of your high.
Every peak- he bashes in with a swat! at your bundle of nerves. Letting his mouth salivate all down your runny slit, drinking up every sip of your sweet, sweet juices. Like honey. “And you called me p-pussydrunk, heh.” Toji titters away, noticing the glazed look in your eyes. “As if you’re not the one gone on my tongue, doll. As if you’re not the one salivating all like that. As if you’re not the one with the pussy that’s fuckin’ ruined me- fuck.”
Both of you register what he’s said at the same time.
Toji with a sudden gasp, and you with a smug smirk. The strongest of your high has bated by now to nothing more than a few tingles, and you have half the mind to look down at him and ask. “So…ruined you, huh?”
“Sh-shut up.”
That pussydrunkness - oh, Toji Fushiguro was fighting against it. Trying not to cave in. But alas, he couldn’t be in denial any longer after your orgasm has ended, and you’re trying to pull off of his mouth- only for Toji to hold onto your thighs and chase after your cunt.
You whimper from overstimulation as he licks at your teary crevice a few more times, before you the pleasure is too much and you really have to push his sweaty crown away.
“Toji- ngh, m’sensitive.” You squeal, to which he grunts in nonchalance. Still addicted to tastin’ you. Realizing this, you finally huff, “If you let me go now, then maybe I wanna take a shot at- hah, paying you back…”
And that finally makes him pull off. With a raised brow, “Cheh, go easy on yerself- you can’t take me that easily.”
“Oh? Scared?”
“You wish.”
In fact, there was a hint of challenge in Toji’s dazed eyes. In no time, you’re plopped off of his mouth with the most lecherous noise. Seated on the edge of the bed, he got off and tugged down on the flimsy fabric of his sweatpants.
Resting his fist on the dark curls at his base, you’re being introduced to Toji’s proud length.
Tanned. Rock-hard.
Even larger than you’d imagined from all his…accidental erections during your sessions. Long. And he wasn’t lacking in the girth department, either - the plumpest tip, all covered in a layer of creamy pre. It dripped down the nozzle of his cockhead, n’ allllll the way down his shaft.
Body moving before your mind, you’re reaching out to grab at his tannish cock. The flatness of your thumb easily smears the lines of precum he was leaking out, letting them glide along the veins that decorated either side of his shaft.
So textured, you wondered how it would feel inside-
“So?” Toji grunts out from above you, peering down. You notice that he still has the remnants of your slick plastered all across his chin, mouth, all the way up to his cheekbones. Worn like some medallion. He sinks his fangs into his lower lip to stop from making too many needy noises as you inspected his sheer size, “Not too late to back out now, doll- heh- oh.”
You’re making him swallow that cocky laughter of his back.
Because in a few sultry split-seconds, you have your mouth pointed right above the divot on his shaft. Spitting. You let the dollop of spittle ooze down his shaft for a bit, before immediately taking his tip into your mouth.
Oh, he’s reaching for the roof of your mouth instantly.
So thick. So plump. You shut your eyes and groan at the salty-sweet taste that greets you, it’s surprisingly not unpleasant.
And Toji lets off a low whistle at the slobbered display, “Oho?” Looking at you through his lashes, you stare up with doey, teary eyes and he feels himself throb at near the back of your throat. “Sh-shit- dooon’t fucking look at me like that. Oh, you know what you’re doing, woman.”
“Mmmpf-” You moan, your lips ‘round his sensitive slit. They send sinful vibrations that makes the larger man hiss.
“Fuck yeah, you do.” With a mean hand, the fighter grips onto the back of your scalp. Manhandling you slightly, “C’mon, doll. C’mon- let’s see if that slutty mouth o’ yours is just talk.”
And then he’s rutting slightly upwards - gently.
At least, for him. But for you, you’re clawing down the lines of his toned pelvis, struggling to catch your breath-
“Oh? Some claws on ya, girl. Don’t tell me you’re tapping out already? I haven’t even fucked ya dumb yet.” And he has the audacity to make that mocking pout again, “Y’know I’ve been fuckin’ my cock to the, mm, thought of you for months now. And- oh, fuck- keep doing that with your tongue—ngh.”
Your jaw aches, and yet you unhinge it even deeper to let the tip of your tastebuds trace patterns all across the line of his slit. All pinkish and slicked with precum.
He continues, “You wanna know a secret?” It was such a heavenly sight, watching you try to nod with Toji’s fat cock stuffed between your lips. Hell, you hadn’t even taken him all yet. “Right before you came here-” Leaning in, whispering. “-I was jerking my cock- oh-”
“Mhmm—?”
“-to your text, doll.”
Oh, fuck.
You’re plucking yourself off of Toji’s thick crown to gasp- but he doesn’t let you get too far before grabbing you with one hand at your throat. Lightly putting pressure at your sides, he’s crashing his lips onto yours.
“Mmm—” He groans against your lips, tasting you, tasting himself, tasting you. “Get on the middle of the bed, all fours. Wanna see if those other lips of yours are just talk, too.”
“They’re not.” You huff, but do as he says anyway.
Those overworked bedsprings creak as you both reposition yourselves: you on your hands and knees, your face pushed into one of the pillows, and Toji right behind you.
His rough hands bend your spine into a cute lil’ curvature, and then proceeds to bang the ends of his fingertips against your weepy pussy. “Easy there, mama.” Toji coos once you buck with a whimper, “Toji’s here n’ you just have to be my good girl and take it, alright?”
You’re nodding, “Just shut up and fuh-fuck me already.”
“Tut tut, greedy girl.”
But he’s doing as you say anyway - oh, he’d do anything you say, to be quite honest. You’re inching your needy cunt closer to where his erection was upright, and Toji holds onto the base of his cock to just slightly eeeeease his way in.
His plump, puckered tip pries apart your folds.
From his honed end, all the way down to where his cockhead swells, you’re feeling him stretch you wiiide open as he enters. “Oh my- fuck! You feel even bigger than you looked-”
“Why, thank you…heh.” And you swear you can feel his red-hot girth throb even bigger. Wider. Since Toji was rock-fucking-hard, you could sense any and every change in his size. “Now don’t run, alright?”
“Why would I-” You’re cutting your own self off, feeling him give the slightest half-thrust from behind. And it’s enough to make you lurch your hand out and grab onto one of the spindles of his headboard. “-oh- oh, I get it now.”
“Mhm—knew you’d wanna run, all talk.” Shaking his head and his shaggy strands, Toji had to have some extra, extra precaution, you see.
Just a warning wasn’t enough. So without further ado, his beefy forearm reaches out to hold tightly onto your neck. Squeezing either side of it, he feels the way your pulse thunders underneath his touch.
Throat strangled with spittle and whines. “Oh my god-” Even more so when he starts rutting his hips like an animal.
“Easy there, eeeeasy there.” He’s reassuring you from behind, as if his achingly hard cock wasn’t splitting you open incredibly. “S’just the tip, doll. You can take it- shhh, you can take it.”
“Whaddaya mean this is just the tip?” You gasp, feeling your body being pulled into his like a ragdoll. He manhandles you as if you’re nothing, constantly grinding your hips back against that scruffy happy trail of his.
“Well, just the tip aaaaand…” You’re quickly learning that whenever Toji elongates his words, he’s dragging out his thrusts, too.
Letting the thick, vein-covered length of his shaft gliiiide all across your walls and then right back. Baaaack and forth. Baaaack and forth. With a sensual pace, he’s inching his way in- the fat, bulbous end of his shaft acting like the headlight. Spearing. He snickers, “-an inch more. Two.”
Tears stream down your cheeks, and Toji’s lavish tongue careens out to lick at them deliciously. “A-and- oh, how much more is there?”
He casually leans his weight back to check, and the fighter’s greedy gaze gets stuck on the sight of your pussy suckin’ him up. Slurping him.
It’s like your pussylips were stretched apart so widely and struggling to take his merciless pace- yet still clamping down, still glistening with wetness after each one of his rugged strikes. “Oh, just about two inches…three…four-” Toji whispers hotly against your ear, “Y’know what- how about I just tell you after you’ve taken all, mm, nine inches, doll?”
Nine inches?
Oh, you were done for.
You weren’t walking out of this very penthouse.
“Yeah, you’re not.” He confirms your thought- shit, you’d said that out loud. Just so dickmatized by the way his flared ridges were swervin’ all around your tight walls.
The curvaceous line of his cockhead nudges apart your channel, and you feel his hold tighten even further. “But the good news- you’re gonna take- ngh, my entire cock, won’t you?” Breathy. He was speeding up his cadence now. Long, thorough strokes. “Gonna take e-every single inch?”
“Yes-” You claw at the headboard, “Yes yes yes yes-”
And then rings the loudest squeeeelch ever as he’s fitting in a few more inches, “Mhmmm, and you’re gonna- ngh- love it.”
Both you and your sloppy pussy do - and he can tell.
All that arousal. All those cute noises you were making. You’re feeling the exact way the zig-zagged pattern of his veins massages your cunt, just perfectly scratching every carnal inch. And he’s almost bottoming-out, almost feeling his reddened tip hit the back of your pussy-
Before you clench around his rude cock—
And you hear the exact, shattered moment that Toji’s breath catches. “Oh fuck-” He stills, “Oh fuck, this won’t work-”
Blinking over your shoulder, “Toji?”
“Fuck.”
His bass cracks at the tail end of that profanity.
And in a mere instant - so fast that you don’t even have enough time to compute - you’re finding your head trapped in one of Toji’s infamous headlocks.
Sure, he’d often used it in a much less attractive way with his opponents.
But never had he used it like this. And you’re choking at the restraint of his flexing muscles, all bulged and big. His biceps digs perfectly against the front of your throat, and you feel your saliva come out in heaps- “Toji- Toji Toji Toji- oh, I can feel you hit my c-cervix.”
Sure enough, he’d dragged you back to bottom out.
The curvy tip of his shaft cutely bumpin’ your cervix, you feel a sticky layer of his precum drip out at the fact. Pulling back, back, baaaaack - right until his plump crown kisses your hole, and then all the way back in again.
In and out. In and out.
So thoroughly, he’s fucking his rock-hard cock into you. Leaving absolutely no hidden spot unturned, leaving your fuzzy brain in absolute shambles.
“You said- hah, you said I didn’t kiss you, right?” Toji rasps against the shell of your ear, his heated proximity making goosebumps run down your spine. And, honestly, at this point you can barely even remember the conversation that’d led up to him saying this. “Well, here I am now-”
“What you do…oh.”
His cock was hitting your cervix- smooching it. Hard, wettened kisses.
Over and over. Toji smashes you back against his pistoning hips, and with his other hand he’s sliding slithering a hand down to your pussy - spanking. “See? M’kissing her, too, now.” He’s tittering, so thoroughly proud of the way your mouth waters.
“That doesn’t cou-”
Smack!
“What was that—?”
The force of it is so pleasurable that your body automatically holds onto the headboard and tries to heave yourself upwards. Thrashing. To which Toji turns his beady eyes down at the futile escape route-
And immediately slams his hand down on the flat top of the headboard.
“Speak t’me, mama- what was, ngh, that?”
Splitting it straight down in two.
You gape stupidly at the way the bed frame easily cracks underneath his strength, and Toji’s taking the slight distraction as an opportunity to lean back onto his haunches.
And he’s taking you right with him.
Toji’s sitting back on his heels, his buttocks resting on the balls of his feet. And you’re somewhat seated on his lap, still having him fuck upwards into you- with this position, he’s reaching his globular tip so deeply.
Even further than he ever had before, he wetly glissades his tip to pierce your womb. “Ngh- fuck.” Grunting in your ear, “You can’t tell me that doesn’t count, doll.” So he did know what you were about to say.
Stirrin’ up your goopy insides, he feels like velvet inside. And you think he’s slowly molding your cunt to his exact size, every line of his vein, every inch. “See? One kiss.” Toji counts out, and immediately you’re feeling his cocktip swipe your cervix. Thudding. “Two kisses.” Another one. “Three kisses-”
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven- it’s on this one that his glistening wet tip manages to locate your g-spot. Since his shaft was more right-leaning, it was oh-so-easy for him to constantly glide down that one spot.
“E-eight-” You count out, by yourself.
And if you could see him right now, you’d have noticed the way that Toji’s predatory eyes widened with pleasant surprise. Oh, you were cockdrunk. He holds you down to him, “Oho? You can count it by yourself now, huh? Then- haaaah, how about- this?”
“Nine-” You blurt out, saliva sploshin’ down the entire front of your chin. “Ten- ngh, eleven.”
“That was actually twelve, but close enough.” He rolls his eyes - he couldn’t punish you too much for that, just a few sodden spanks at the forefront of your cunt. And that was it, really. He’d decided to go easy on you this time, really. Now for him to smoothly shovel his shaft into you, until you were idly reaching your second orgasm of the night.
Hah- as if.
After two slaps to your clit, the fighter edges himself close to your ear and mutters out. “If you can’t do that- could you at least, mm, fuck back into me.”
You whine, “Do I have to? But you do it so good…”
“Spoiled brat.” Yet another swat down on your slit, he caresses your clit as if making up for it. And before long, you’re feeling the spearheading tempo of his cock slow down. “C’mon now- up! There we go- get to work, doll.”
“Mmpf- you’re gonna pay for this.” You growl, doing your very best to try and get your legs to work. They’d been taking it for so long, limp at the pressure, that your hamstrings were positively screaming now. “Shit- but I wanna go faster, oh.”
Toji rolls his eyes with a scoff, “So go faster, girl. What’s the hold up?”
“It just feels so- so- oh.” It just felt so good is what you wanted to say - but you don’t sputter out the words right at that moment (you didn’t want to feed his ego too much).
“So so oh?” He mocks, “Didn’t I say this pretty pussy of yours was- oh, chattier? Think she might just be more articulate, too- heh.”
“Sh-shut up.”
And as if to prove a point, your sloppy drags only made your cunt echo out even louder. The skin on your ass cheeks burned after each slam against his hips, and Toji was just so ripped that every rut left the indentations of his v-line stinging.
“Ngh- fuck.” You arch your back and attempt to slide down his thick cock easier, rubbin’ that part of your g-spot against where his veins were most prominent.
You hated to admit it, but your limbs were growing all weary. And Toji lets out a huff of breathy laughter as he noticed the way your cadence seemed to be slowing down, “Mmm, feelin’ tired, are we? You’re not tapping out any time soon, m’kay?”
“But- but I’m so-” You whine, your fingers fisting in the silk bedsheets. They seemed to be the expensive type, yet ruined with a damp layer of sweat n’ slick. Soon enough, you’re dropping to the bed with a weary mewl. “-shit, I don’t know if I can go any longer-”
You don’t even get to finish your sentence.
You don’t even get to finish the lone, sloppy thrust that you were stumblin’ across
Not before Toji’s then taking over. He gets up off his haunches, pushing you rudely onto all fours again.
And this time? He wasn’t holding back.
“Allll that talk- cheh.” Toji’s spitting down at your pussy, lubricating it once again despite you not even needing it. Before long, you’re being pounded by his long, heavy cock- feeling every single inch in your throat. “But your Toji just has to finish this pretty pussy off, hm?”
“Yes- yes-” You don’t even feel slightly embarrassed in admitting, “Jus’ wanna cum, Toji- ngh, I’m so close.”
“Oh, mama, I know.” Two rugged pads of his fingers come down to slap your clit, smoothing it over with a few gentle rolls. But you’re so far gone at this point that even that makes you see stars- “And you’re gonna cum allll over my- hah, cock, alright? All over.”
Nodding pathetically, you were just drippin’ in spit and sweat. Body shaking with the pangs of pleasure already- “All over b-but you then you have to cum right in here, okay?”
His breath catches, “Wh-where?” Toji stutters.
Blissfully ignorant, you point down the front of your stomach. Drawing a line right where you could feel his rotund tip bottoming out after every thrust, “I don’t think m’gonna last that long.”
“Oh.”
There was something broken in his voice as he registers what you were just telling him with your actions - that you wanted him to finish inside. To pump you so full of cum that it’ll drip out of you. To make sure you feel him from the outside and the inside.
He’s fucking you so hard that the skin ‘round his pelvis had begun to rub raw, slightly overstimulating his tip against the softness of your cunt. Toji pushes down on your body, pinning you down with his weight.
Manhandling you.
So much manhandling.
In this mean doggy position, he leans down and pinches your clit. “Oh, doll, you can’t even imagine what m’gonna do to ya-” Ruined. Shattered baritone. “-don’t even know how far m’gonna fill you up with my cum. You’re gonna be- ngh, overspilling.”
“Yes yes yes- I want it.” And now you’re gyrating your hips back into his- hah, he could almost tease you for it. So you had the desperation now? “Please- give it t’me-”
“Nuh uh, you have to cum first.”
“But- ngh.” A pinch at your clit, a puckering kiss. And Toji hits your g-spot so hard that you swear you see the pearly gates of heaven: you’re cumming.
Wave after wave of your white-hot high.
The pleasure thrums in your veins, and you’re crying out as Toji hits every precious spot with his globular tip. Pinpointed precisely. Your knees weaken- you were mistaken earlier, this was the best orgasm you’ve ever had.
He’s not too far behind.
With a grunt, Toji cums. And after every riveting peak of your high, he’s pourin’ out in sticky wads of cum. It’s like an ivory sap that takes over every inch of your insides, hot and wet.
You squeal as you feel the gluey layer of it stuff you to the brim, ultimately ending up formulating a ring of white around the girth of his hilt. “Cumming-” You blabber tearily, your brain foggy with the feeling of him cumming inside you. Turning around to face him, “I’m c-cumming, Toji.”
“Mmm, you are. So pretty takin’ my- ngh, cum.” Toji’s rough lips kiss down the line of your spine, and his fingers dip from your clit to tease your creamy slit. “I love this view.”
The more he’s swiping away the droplets of cum that pour out of your pussy, the more that keeps sprinkling out - and he honestly doesn’t know whether that’s his fault or yours.
Letting the treacly glaze drip down to his wrist, Toji brings his sticky hand up to your mouth. “Spread those lips f’me, doll- yeahhh, like that.” He murmurs, thickly. And you whimper as he sticks his adhesive-like fingertips into your mouth, making you suck on the salty sap.
Cleaning it off.
It feels like years - almost like eons - until Toji’s finally finished riding out his high, just as strong as yours. He hunches over as he cums-
“Oh, we’re not done y-yet, doll.” Too soon, you’re being dragged back into his hulking body. And since he was finally done with webbing up your insides, now came the fun part where he was fucking it in. Each n’ every gooey wad seeped into your innards. Those earlier specks that’d leaked out from before? Well he’s using his fingers to push those in, too. “You didn’t think that a world-class fighter had a stamina that low, did ya?”
Gasping, you don’t think you can trust your very eardrums right now. “So you mean to say…”
“Mhm.” Toji’s fucking you into utter stupidity- easily flipping you over, you’re being folded into the sloppiest mating press in existence. He mutters to you as he throws your legs over his shoulders, bending you down. “Y’know…MMA championships have five rounds.”
“Oh- and?”
Toji just grins, drilling out a heavy thrust. “One down, four to go, mama.”
.
.
.
“Wow! That was a mean right hook, I definitely wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of that strength.” You bite back a grin at the commentator’s voice—oh, how you knew. “Toji Fushiguro sends Naoya Zenin flying–”
You can’t bring yourself to wince as the two-tone-haired man lands on the other side of the octagon with a shuddering thud.
Too excited from your seat in the cageside area - the closest you could be to the fighters - as part of the team. It was your first time officially accompanying Toji to one of his big fights, as his physical therapist.
And his lover.
Though, that part was a secret (more or less, you swear you’d seen most of the gym giving you knowing looks whenever you clocked into work walking a little funny, or whenever Toji had sauntered into the locker room; hickies, nail marks, and all). But for now you settled into your role as the alert physical therapist, watching out for any points in which Toji showed signs of discomfort or soreness.
“Can you hear the crowd- they’re in uproar!”
“Well, it’s no wonder. Toji Fushiguro’s comeback has been long-awaited- ouch, that’s a nice uppercut from Toji.” Another voice bellows.
And the others hum in agreement. “And after his unfortunate streak last year, the champion found his footing once more. With a winning streak that’s one of the longest recorded in recent years, the man is unstoppable!”
“I guess the million dollar question of the night is - can he win the finals tonight?”
Though your efforts were likely for naught, because your boyfriend was at the top of his game.
Without letting Naoya even get up (some rookie hotshot, according to Toji, who had to be put in his place), the older man is pummeling him with a right hook, left hook, right hook, left hook. Until that cocky face of his looked mangled.
And the referee is rushing to his side- about to crouch on the floor for the countdown. The commentators have their announcement of his win on the tip of their tongue. The crows is already reaching a fever point-
It’s in that moment that Toji looks at you.
Towering, the lone fighter standing in the middle of the cage, he stares.
He smiles.
He points.
“Aaaaand the countdown is over—Naoya Zenin down! Toji Fushiguro has won the title of world light heavyweight champion once more! It’s a historical win for Toji!”
You’re all on your feet. The team claps each other on the back, the commentators are shaking hands. Shiu catches the way that Toji immediately heads for you - barely waiting till the heavy golden belt was draped across his body, barely letting the referee raise his hand in the air. Victory.
And he chuckles, “I already knew.” Taking a celebratory drag of his cigarette, “Guess I’m winning the bet.”
Your eyes bulge, “You guys bet on us?”
“Ever since the first day you walked in, sugar.” He chuffs, and lightly nudges your shoulder with his. “No go to him- before he tears down the cage, that is.”
Shiu was right to be worried. By the time you’re reaching the edge of the octagon, Toji has already jumped down from it- and you’re barely registering his brilliant grin before you’re in his arms. His face crushed into the nook of your neck. Arms looped around your waist.
In the distance, it seems, you can hear reporters and fans alike scream questions about you and your relationship. Something you’re sure will end up on every headline and front page of those sports gossip magazines that you now read. Hell, you can even hear the members of your team catcall and howl from the sidelines.
But right now, it’s as if Toji’s voice is the only sound in your ears. “We won.”
You smile, “You won.”
He shakes his head, “Come off it, silly girl. We won.” And even in front of everyone else, even in front of the cameras, he nods down at the very obvious bite marks on your neck. The way your knees were slightly weak. Your core was slightly sore. Evidence of last night. “And m’gonna win a whole lot more tonight-”
“Five rounds just like this championship, then?” You tease, squirming in his strong arms. And he only pulls you even tighter to him-
“Actually, I hear the IMMAF is trying to make it six rounds…”
A/N. Listen I don’t condone J*o J*ekyung but Toji?? Gimme.
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.
Part 10 - I've Been near and I've Been Far but there's Nowhere Like Where You Are
AO3 // <<Part 9
Explicit - 18+ // wc 5.4k
Your roommate grew up on a ranch before moving to the City and now she INSISTS that you come along with her to one of the biggest rodeos around. Having moved in not too long ago, you reluctantly agree even though dusty, wide open spaces are a foreign concept to your polished City girl demeanor. By chance, you meet one of the biggest names in pro-rodeo complete with a belt buckle as big as his ego. A cowboy through and through, he hates the City and the people that reside it. Little does he know that lasting eight seconds on a bull is easy compared to fighting feelings for a girl he’s supposed to hate.
Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: slight enemies to lovers, smut, Sukuna is a rodeo cowboy, reader is a city girl, slight mentions of blood/injury from rodeo activities, happy ending, kissing, oral male!receiving, oral sex female!receiving, mating press, unprotected sex, pulling out, angst, miscommunication, 69ing, creampie, dry humping, falling in love, rodeo injuries, memory loss, hurt/comfort
AN: LAST CHAPTER AHHH ITS BITTERSWEET, I hope you enjoy, here's one more chapter of them being cute <3
If you'd like a fun little song to get you in the mood, the chapter title is from Mountain Time by Ian Munsick. His music made up a majority of my writing playlist for this story!
Dividers by @/saradika-graphics. Inspired by @/indiewritesxoxo He's Not My Man.
The announcer’s voice can barely be heard over the crowd. Screams and cheers echo throughout the arena and the second Sukuna’s face appears on the big screen, your gut flutters when he displays a cocky smirk and nod of his head.
“We’ve all been waiting for this moment! For months now, the multi time PBR champion has been recovering from a gruesome injury that we were worried would sideline him for good-”
A montage of that moment flashes up on the screen, making you turn away for a moment. You’ve seen it enough times by now. Even though you didn’t see it live given you were late that day, it was broadcast all over the internet in an endless loop since then, and you weren’t really dying to see it today of all days.
The day where he rides again professionally for the first time.
You knew deep down, there wasn’t a world where he’d never try again. He’s been training like mad for this event, his goal being that he would ride again by the end of the year. His muscle mass was a sight to behold, his mind was sharp, and his old balance and coordination seemed to be back to normal.
Even though you were downright terrified for him, you knew he wouldn’t go out there if he wasn’t sure. He’d promised you at least that much when he first declared he was going to go for it again. Sukuna knew that this whole experience had been just as much hell on you just as it was him, so he wasn’t keen on putting you through something remotely close to that again.
Turning back to the arena, your eyes drift to the chutes where Sukuna is getting strapped in. The sides are clattering on account of the unruly bull he’s slated to ride. If there was one thing about his debut that scared you, it was that he purposefully chose to ride the toughest bull on the circuit right now.
To add insult to injury, he still was riding helmetless.
Even Toji had strongly advised to start easier and work his way back up, but since when has Sukuna ever been one to take the easy way out? In his words, what the fuck was the point in showing up if you weren’t going to ride the best? Your eyes must’ve looked on in horror because he immediately gripped your biceps, murmuring to you once again that he wouldn’t be doing this if he wasn’t ready.
He better be fucking ready, you think to yourself. If he loses his mind again, he might just have to find a new woman to help him gain it all back.
“Nervous?” Gojo asks to your right. He wasn’t riding this weekend, opting to take a break to see Sukuna back on his debut ride. A small entourage accompanied you this time including him and Sukuna’s family in the row behind the two of you. Toji was barking something down into the chute from his position atop the adjacent fence.
“I’d be lying if I said no,” you murmur, burying your face in your hands.
Gojo chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you closer to him. You appreciate the comfort, finding it almost grounding as your mind starts to race with possibilities. A highlight reel of sorts is running on the big screen, no doubt aiding in hyping up the crowd that was already deafening.
Sukuna surely was loved in this sport.
“He’s fuckin’ crazy, but that’s what makes him the best,” Gojo lets out a chuckle. “He’ll be just fine.”
“You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?” you retort, knee bouncing your foot on the metal bleachers.
“I mean, partially yeah. I’d never admit out loud that he’s the best unless it was for a good reason,” Gojo answers, now making you laugh.
“My uncle’s gonna win!” Yuji’s shrill voice chants at a similar age child, Toji’s son Megumi, who sits next to him.
“You’ve been sayin’ it all morning,” Megumi snaps back, black hair falling into his eyes.
“Yuji put your drink in the cupholder when you’re done drinking!” Jin’s voice barks just as you notice the soda dripping down the child’s arm from sloshing over the cup sides.
“Sorry dad,” his voice softens, doing as he’s told. “I’m sticky now though, help!” he holds out his arm to his father, earning a grimace from Jin in response.
“Nope, you gotta live with it until Uncle Sukuna is done,” his father smirks at the boy and for a moment you see your own boyfriend in the normally docile man’s face.
Not to say your boyfriend isn’t docile, it's just that it’s usually reserved for something super domestic between the two of you that no one else would see.
“He’s about to go,” Gojo tugs your sleeve, pulling your attention back to the arena. The dirt is all torn up from the prior riders, and considering Sukuna was saved for last, the competition results hinge on these last eight seconds.
The buzzer sounds, chute flies open, and a mottled white and black bull charges out faster than should be possible.
Sukuna’s face is pure concentration once the first buck hits him, jerking his body to take the impact of the bull’s back against his own.
His cowboy hat shifts further up his head, revealing pink strands plastered to his face. Another sharp buck from the animal forces Sukuna to shift to the side, still keeping his free hand from touching the animal and avoiding a penalty.
“Nice!” you hear Wasuke shout from behind you along with murmurs of approval from Gojo and Jin.
You wish you could cheer and shout, but all you can do is watch and pray that each time the bull throws its backside into the air that your cowboy stays on for another second.
Each thud of the hooves into the earth feels like a beat of your heart hammering in your ears. Your grip on the metal bleacher below is starting to get painful, fingers tensing up under the pressure.
The buzzer blares, signaling time up.
Sukuna is still on the bull, starting to detach his riding hand.
Then the crowd roars, chanting his name so loudly that the announcers need to wait to start speaking.
Sukuna vaults himself off the back of the bull, landing gracefully in the dirt, red chaps flapping against his legs from the impact. The bull sees the color immediately, staring down Sukuna and for a moment, your breathing stops. Of course it charges your boyfriend and his stupid choice of color!
He dodges with ease however, launching himself up onto the arena barriers until the bull is wrangled and ushered out of the ring.
“What a finish!! The king is back folks, if any of you doubted his return, you can see yourselves out now because Sukuna has just scored a 93.5, taking first place for the night!! He’s won!!”
Sukuna jumps back down, running out to the center of the arena and raising his arms in a motion to pump up the crowd.
And boy does it work, the sound is deafening, Sukuna’s own grin spreads wide as he scans the grandstands, taking it all in.
You’re up cheering now too, partially that it’s over and he’s alive and also because seeing him in his domain, crushing the competition, makes you more proud than you can describe.
The whole concept of rodeos isn’t exactly something you love participating in, but seeing the man you love doing what he was born to do, loving every second, makes your chest swell.
He turns to your section now, sauntering over with a cocky strut until he’s at the edge, beckoning you over to him.
Startled, you look around like he’s motioning for someone other than you, because you aren’t used to this. It’s the first time he’s acknowledged you publicly post ride, but you figure this is now your new normal.
Running towards the railing, you jump into his arms, letting him pull you into his chest. The hard material of his padding meets your body and the scent of musk and spice from his cologne envelops your senses.
Wrapping your arms around his back, you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him do the same. Leather from his hat chafes against your neck, but you hardly notice, opting to squeeze the man as hard as you can.
“I’m so proud of you,” you mutter loudly over the crowd, fingers twisting in his shirt. “You did amazing, I’m so glad you’re okay!”
“Yeah?” he pulls back, voice raspy and eyes lidded as he stares down at you. He carefully positions your feet so you’re standing on his boots, helping you avoid the muddy floor as much as he can.
His hat brushes your forehead as he cocks his head, leaning in to kiss you. It shocks you at first, but you quickly melt into it, kissing him back, keeping it G rated of course.
The way he nibbles at your lip though, you can tell he’s fighting it. In return, you give him a fast nip on his lower lip and with a dash of your tongue, pull back in a flash.
The cameras can’t see, but down here, the way his crimson eyes darken is unmistakable.
“Have like 10 minutes till press,” Sukuna mutters against your mouth, pressing bruising kisses against your lips after kicking the door to his suite shut.
He’d dragged you off the dirt into the restricted area, telling Toji and staff NOT to come with him much to their dismay.
Toji only shook his head, a knowing smirk the only response.
The only thing remotely usable is the couch, and that’s just where Sukuna moves toward, making stops along the way to pin you against various objects, raking his teeth down your jaw and neck while working you both out of your clothes.
Eventually you make it to the couch, Sukuna down to his hat and jeans, while you’re totally naked.
You wish you could take a picture of the sight. Sukuna’s already laid down on the couch, propped up against one of the arms, one leg splayed along the length and the other foot resting on the floor. His cowboy hat is still on, tipped back so he can see you with his championship buckle unlatched and barely doing anything to keep his jeans from sliding down his hips, V lines on full display.
He looks like a damn model, eying you hungrily with a cocky smirk twitching at his lips. His chest and abs, shredded from all the training, now rise and fall from his heavy breaths.
“Take’em off,” you tap his thigh, helping him slide his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his heavy cock from its confines.
Staring down, the heat in your core ignites, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to find some friction. The man eyes you up and down, letting his gaze linger on your tits, licking his lower lip before digging a canine into it.
“Y’gonna just stare or come take it?” he teases, cocking his head.
“Sorry, you’re just…so distracting.”
And incredibly hot knowing he just dismantled the competition after so much time away.
You shake your head at the stupid words that tumbled out your mouth, but right now, you can’t be bothered to care.
Moving to straddle him, Sukuna’s cock twitches where it lays on his abs, a spurt of precum coating his skin and soaking his happy trail.
“Excited?” you tease, coming to straddle his thigh, leaning against the couch. You spit in your hand, reaching down to grip his shaft, letting the sticky evidence of his arousal help you glide up to his tip.
“Shut up,” Sukuna hisses, involuntarily jerking his cock into your hand. His pupils continue to grow, taking over the reds of his eyes as they dart between you lazily jerking him off and your face.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” you coo, speeding up your movements until a wet, squelching sound appears each time your hand squeezes his reddening tip.
A low groan from Sukuna has you starting to squirm, grinding yourself against his muscular thigh.
“Shit,” you mutter, feeling your clit catch on a ridge of his quad. The way your slick is pooling all over his skin has your bud sliding easily over the thick muscles.
The pressure is delicious, the fire in your core rapidly growing. The hotter you get, the more your pussy leaks, just exacerbating the situation.
Then Sukuna flexes his thigh, and the additional friction has you shuddering, gasping at the bolt of pleasure shooting down your legs.
“Kuna fuck!” you cry out, momentarily forgetting about his cock throbbing in your hand in favor of riding his thigh now.
Sukuna doesn’t seem bothered, much more interested in your own pleasure. His hand reaches out to twist your nipple, sneering at the way you’re now shamelessly humping him. The more attention he gives to your tits, the faster you move, his whole thigh now dripping as your arousal starts to coat the couch too.
He flexes again, pulling another shameless moan from your throat. That simple move puts you on the trajectory towards the point of no return.
“Keep doin’ that,” you pant just before high pitched whines start to pour out of you. The pool of desire grows and grows like hot water threatening to boil over.
“You like that huh?” Sukuna’s deep voice rasps in that gritty tone reserved for times like this. “Fuckin’ usin’ me like that?”
You can’t verbalize a response, hoping that biting your lip and nodding your head is enough.
“Keep goin’ baby, wanna see you cum all over me,” he groans, planting one hand on your hip, anchoring you to him to force even more friction and when the other goes for your nipple again, everything goes white.
The tension in your core snaps as hot pleasure erupts throughout your body, giving you such an intense orgasm that you collapse forward like you no longer have a bone in your body.
“Whoa there baby,” Sukuna catches you before you faceplant on him. His natural musk smells stronger, now realizing he’s lowered you to his chest.
“You need a shower,” you mutter, letting the aftershocks pulse through your body, jerking against the beast of a man beneath you.
“Nah, that’s how you know you’re fuckin’ a man,” he shifts you around until you feel him prodding at your entrance with finger.
“No!” you sit up, grabbing his wrist and forcing it above his head.
“No what?” he smirks, not fighting you because lord knows he could’ve overpowered you.
“Wanna feel you,” you whisper, leaning close to his face, letting your hand support your body by using his wrist as leverage. You push his other arm up over his head, securing them with one hand before reaching between your bodies, hand brushing against his course pubes as you find his throbbing erection.
“Yeah?” he whispers back, kissing your neck while “letting” you restrain him.
You know this is going to hurt. Sure you’re wet enough, but when he doesn’t finger you, the stretch is insane. You always thought bodies get used to being with thick cocks if you’re with one for a long time, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. While you get used to the feeling of being split open, the burn never really goes away.
“Ah, shit,” you wince when his thick cockhead breaches your entrance.
“Fuuuuuuck,” Sukuna sighs, eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling as he slowly sinks into you. A faint blush dusts his cheeks, offsetting the black ink lining his jaw.
It takes a few moments of you working yourself up and down his thick length, but finally you both sigh loudly when your ass makes contact with his thighs.
“Fuckin’ Christ, I love you,” Sukuna groans, grinding his tip against your cervix while you adjust to the incredibly full feeling of your walls wrapping snugly around him.
That gives you some motivation to start riding him, remembering you’re in a time crunch.
“We gotta go baby,” he grips your hips, helping support you while you control the pace, the intense friction becoming something more comfortable and pleasurable once you start to mold to his cock.
“I’m tryin’!” you squeal when you find your sweet spot, angling yourself to ride him faster. “You’re too big!”
“Ha-ah, I tried to help ya. Miss independent over here…” he sucks in a breath when you lean back, taking him deeper and giving him a great show, eyes glued to where you are connected.
“God, you’re fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, spurring you on. Your thighs are starting to ache so you lean forward, planting your hands on his slicked up chest, nails digging into his skin.
“Sorry, I’m getting tired,” you admit.
“Tch, poor thing,” Sukuna chuckles, giving your ass a firm smack.
He takes the hint, tugging you off his lap, cock slapping back against his abs with a wet plop. He repositions himself so both feet are on the ground and he’s sitting upright, turning you around so your back is flush with his chest.
He hooks his beefy arm under your knees in a full nelson, lifting you up just enough to guide his cock back inside.
“Lean back, not trying to have anyone else get concussed in this family,” he plants a kiss on your cheek.
Your head lolls back against his upper chest and thank god you do because he begins pounding into you relentlessly.
“Fuck Kuna!” you cry out, the combination of him immediately drilling your sweet spot and his wet balls slapping against your clit has you hurtling into another realm of pleasure transcending what you experienced earlier.
“Yeah? Like that?” he utters through grunts and pants in your ear. His vocalizations drive you crazy, loving how he’s never quiet when it comes to you, especially because you can’t see him right now.
But fuck, you can feel him. Everywhere. His bruising grip on your thighs, hard, sticky chest pressing against your back, heavy breathing in your ear accompanied by the occasional kiss on your neck that ultimately turns into a bite.
“Ye-yeah, feels good,” you force out, hips starting to move on their own accord as you attempt to meet his thrusts. His fingers come to clamp down on your clit, making you gasp in his arms.
A bolt of heat shoots down your legs, making your whole body jerk as you try to process the additional stimulation. Everything in you is winding up like a coil threatening to snap, body clenching up as you brace yourself-
Until his thrusts come to a halt, the sparks you thought would fly fade into a tingle through your core. Whining with disappointment, you wriggle in his arms, desperate for him to keep going.
“What-why-“
“Shh, trust me,” he coos.
He starts to move again, now thrusting slow and deep while dragging lazy circles around your clit to match the pace. Your eyes flutter shut, head falling helplessly against his upper chest. Each languid plunge of his cock into your soaked pussy winds the coil of pleasure once again. This time it’s measured.
Controlled.
Letting you savor the build up while his fingers bring you closer and closer to the edge.
You feel like you’re on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the precipice, held on by a single thread that’s going to snap under the tension.
You can’t take it.
“Kuna, I-mmph! Su-“
“I know, can feel ya gettin’ close,” he whispers, making you tighten around him even more. The man lets out a guttural groan when you start trembling, the coil seconds from snapping.
One more deep thrust.
Another.
And then you see white for the second time, body flooded with pleasure as the looming orgasm finally comes. You can barely even utter a sound, like your vocal cords are locked up to divert energy to the rest of your body attempting to contain the heat threatening to burst through your skin.
Sukuna begins to thrust frantically, slamming you down onto his length, chasing his own release.
“Oh fuck, shit, fuck fuck!”
He presses his cock into you impossibly deep, filling you with his thick load. Hugging you tight against him, he moans through each pulse, cock twitching through each spurt.
Your legs feel like jello once he finally releases them, knees splaying out into the couch.
Sukuna’s phone starts buzzing from the pocket of his jeans which are still technically on, but shoved down just enough to be out of the way.
“You’re gonna be late!” your voice perks up, but your body is too tired to do anything about it.
He digs into his back pocket, holding up the phone in front of you both, scrolling through multiple messages essentially saying “where are you?”
“They answer to me, I’ll be there when I’m there,” he tosses the phone to his side, opting to adjust you both so he was laying down on the couch with you balancing the same way on his chest. Your eyes flutter shut, now heavy as your body starts to relax.
His arms wrap around your back, holding you close while pressing light kisses into the top of your head. The buttons of his jeans are hard where they rub up against your waist, but given how tired you feel all of a sudden, you quickly forget about it.
Another round of buzzing his phone now indicates someone is calling him.
“Won’t you get in trouble?” you murmur, vaguely remembering something about media commitments being part of his contracts.
“Tch, I’ll pay the fuckin’ fine,” he snorts.
Your chest feels heavy with the smug weight that settles in. The man would rather pay a fine than stop cuddling you.
His money his choice.
Sukuna snatches your hand in his, pulling you out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk with him.
“Ready?” he asks, smoothing out his dress shirt while you do the same to your evening wear outfit.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, earning a small smirk from the man in response.
Tonight is the first time you are publicly accompanying him to an event. As the winner of the bull riding competition earlier today, it was even more imperative that he attend.
Looking toward the building that is now your destination, you see a hoard of people bunched around the front doors. Sukuna’s PR team had warned you both that the paparazzi knew this was the first time he’d be attending something like this with his new girlfriend on his arm.
From where you stand, it’s unclear whether these are just attendees shooting the shit before continuing on inside or people lurking to try to get a glimpse at the famous cowboy’s relationship.
“Woman!”
“Huh?? Why are you raising your voice at me?”
He chuckles, hooking his arm in yours.
“I said your name like four times but you were off in fuckin’ space,” he answers, cocking his head to peer down at you.
“Sorry, was just thinking…”
“Better off not doin’ that right now,” he laughs. “Now com’on.”
You allow him to guide the two of you closer to the commotion. A bourbon company was hosting the post rodeo gathering in a high end lounge on the top of the tall building. Sukuna said these types are the best, way more low key and no forced walking around and mingling in stuffy cocktail attire.
Unfortunately they were requiring the attendees to go through a step and repeat area to get inside, but Sukuna said he’d take care of you.
Shoulders back, stand up straight, and smile. Easy.
Some cameras do flash when you approach, but thankfully they are roped back from actually approaching the two of you. You almost start laughing at how many high pitched squealing voices are calling for Sukuna. It’s ridiculous how desperate they are for an ounce of his attention.
“Damn, you had all these women around the world throwing themselves at you and you chose the one trying to get away from you,” you snicker to him, making him burst out laughing.
“Would’ve been boring, I already think I’m the shit and glaze myself enough, don’t need another person doing it all day,” he flashes you a grin, pulling you into the queue.
Makes sense. In a way you’re the same way with him. Being so different is healthy because it gives you just enough space, independence, and individuality to be your own people so that when you are together, all your focus is on each other and your shared interests.
At the end of the day, you are both two driven, confident people. Clingy partners just wouldn’t fly for either of you.
“Hey now, I do think you’re pretty cool,” you nudge his ribs with your elbow in a playful way.
“I know, you make me work for it though,” he responds.
“Oh, so is the Ryomen Sukuna saying he tries extra hard in hopes of impressing his girlfriend?” you get on your toes to whisper in his ear.
He answers with a shrug and a wink, sending butterflies straight to your stomach.
“Next!”
“Our turn, time to look pretty,” Sukuna tugs you along.
Everything feels like a blur. You’re guided to different spots along a backdrop of logos, seemingly for the bourbon company and some others you don’t recognize. Flashes of light temporarily blind you, so you can only hope you are photographing well because there’s definitely no one giving on the spot feedback.
“Sukuna you were practically glowing in the post rodeo press conference, looking happier than we’ve ever seen you! You must be very proud of how you were able to get right back on top after all this time away!” a shrill voice calls out.
Yeah probably because he was getting his dick wet right before he went out there, you internally roll your eyes.
“I never expected anything less from myself,” Sukuna responds cooly, hand slipping around your waist to pull you closer.
“How are you adjusting to becoming rodeo royalty?” another woman calls out to you, surprising you. PR had said you might get called out, but you truly thought Sukuna would be the main focus of everyone this evening.
“Honestly, it’s a lot,” you answer, smiling nervously. The woman responds with a kind laugh but nods, urging you to continue. Sukuna’s thumb rubs circles over your lower back, soothing away some of the nerves.
“But, I’m sure it’ll get easier. I’m with an expert after all, I trust he’ll take care of me,” you chuckle, tilting your head in Sukuna’s direction.
“Yup, and if we do look stupid in front of the camera, at least we can go home and laugh about it together,” Sukuna adds, making everyone laugh, including you.
“Well you both look stunning tonight, and you’re doing great sweetie,” the woman beams before turning to the next group coming behind you.
Once on the other side, you both go off to the side to get your bearings.
“Wow, why were you so happy in the press conference Kuna?” you tease, jabbing him in the ribs.
“I dunno babe, seemed like announcing that I was ‘bustin’ a nut with my girlfriend in a full nelson’ wouldn’t have gone over well, especially with that your first press experience ever,” he blushes, pushing his tongue into his cheek, trying to suppress a smirk.
“Now stop remindin’ me and let’s go, you’re making me get a boner.”
“Sukuna!” you gasp, looking around, noticing a few people scattered about where you are standing. “Watch your mouth!”
“Really don’t think anyone would be shocked to hear I get boners and have sex with you,” he barks, shoving his hands in his pockets.
You just roll your eyes and follow him to the elevator.
The party has a very chill and relaxed vibe, very different from the chaotic scene downstairs. Sukuna immediately gets a bourbon on the rocks while you opt for your drink of choice. You spend time doing a lap around the establishment, Sukuna introducing you to numerous others in the rodeo industry.
After meeting plenty of competitors, you determine you definitely have the hottest cowboy in the room.
Eventually you both grab a high top table on the periphery, finding it to be a great people watching vantage point.
“Look, buckle bunnies in the wild,” Sukuna points to an area with leather couches near a fireplace.
You look in the direction he gestured, finding three dolled up girls dressed in more revealing clothing. Looking closer, you see another person…
“Is that Gojo?!” you exclaim, recognizing the white hair because who else looks like that.
“Sure is,” Sukuna laughs, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Is that normal for him?”
“Pretty much.”
“Is he missing his partner in crime?” you shoot him a look, a playful lilt in your words.
“Hmph, I’d wingman for him, but rarely partook. I have high standards for where I put my dick, it’s an exclusive privilege,” he cocks a brow, eying you over his glass.
You almost spit your drink out, what an absurd statement.
“God you’re such a pompous ass,” you huff out with a laugh.
“Not sure what you’re laughin’ about, you got immediate access,” he shrugs, giving you a cocky smirk, swirling his drink in his glass before placing it on the table.
“Wow, grateful, thankful, blessed over here,” you kick his shin under the table, even though deep down he’s by far the best fuck of your life and it’s not even close.
If you let that slip though, his head might explode from his overinflated ego.
It’s late, but you’re finally back at the hotel. You immediately change into your pajamas and head straight to the bathroom to wash your face.
The warm water is soothing, reminding you that a warm bed awaits you on the other side of the door, so the faster you were in here, the sooner you could snuggle up under the covers.
You glance up at your reflection to see if there was anything you missed just to be met with Sukuna leaning against the doorway, arms crossed in a loose t-shirt and his boxers.
“Can I help you?” you ask, grabbing a dry wash cloth to begin dabbing at the moisture on your skin.
“Nope, just watchin’,” he answers simply, expression and posture remaining unchanged.
“You like the show?” you giggle, grabbing your moisturizer to finish off your work. Washing your face had to be one of the more boring things he could watch you do.
“I do. It’s special cuz only I get to see, and it means I’m getting closer to one of my favorite parts of the day cuz when you’re done, I'll get to go to bed with you.”
Your chest flutters with butterflies and you swear your vision goes black for just a second, unsure if the universe glitched because you were not expecting him to say something so sweet.
“Aw, well I’m almost done,” you respond, voice a little shaky, remembering you still had to rub the cream in.
“Very good,” he smiles, eyes blinking heavily before turning around and leaving you to it.
You’re not far behind, climbing into bed and settling close to his side. Like routine, he pulls you in against his chest, securing you snugly as the little spoon.
“Thanks for coming with me tonight,” his husky voice rumbles against you.
“Of course, it was actually kinda fun,” you answer. “Felt nice to go out as a couple, show everyone we’re doing this together…doing life together”
A brief pause follows before he answers.
“Yeah. Life together. I love the sound of that.”
A warmth blooms in your chest, radiating down through your extremities.
“Me too Kuna,” you sigh, burrowing your face further into his arm.
Together.
Whether it’s like this, holding each other tight, or miles apart, tethered by your hearts until you can meet again-
It’s your together, a shared future you’re building, and for that, you couldn’t be happier.
It's left open-ended, but my headcannon is that they get married in a cute little country wedding, have some girls, maybe a boy (Sukuna girl dad coded always), and raise their little family on Sukuna's ranch land. Reader and the kids go watch Sukuna compete regularly, but he's cut down greatly on brand deals and sponsorships in favor of much more family time!
This is my fourth(?) story I've finished and I think this Sukuna is easily up there in my favorites! Thank you everyone who read this story, liked/commented, etc! Your support has meant the world.
instead of getting the girl, gojo just got her pregnant! how's he supposed to win you over when you only seem to see him as the baby daddy?
synopsis: when the frat president becomes the father of your daughter, the last thing you expected were his brothers to start bidding to be the step dad! can he prove that he's serious about starting a life together for the three of you - or will someone swoop in to steal both his girls?
pairing: frat!gojo x milf!reader x frat!geto (also starring frat!sukuna)
content: mdni!! fluff, angst, and smut, college au, unrealistic frat depictions, parties, drinking, accidental pregnancy, raising a baby, they all want to be the daddy, lots of pining, gojo being lovesick and stupid, denying feelings, possessive geto + gojo, titty sucking, lactation kink, heavy jealousy
art cr: @zeilorene0 on x div cr: @/tsumiinum
Going on a date with your baby daddy's best friend was probably not the smartest thing you could do.
"Would you like some wine?" Geto murmured softly, peering up at you from above his menu, the dim lighting in the restaurant casting shadows across his sharp features.
"Um, no thanks," you declined, glancing awkwardly around the restaurant as you felt the weight of his stare settle on your exposed cleavage, hyper aware of the low cut of your dress and the way your breasts were beginning to ache from how long it'd been since you pumped. "I'll just take a water."
Had Gojo remembered what time to feed her? Was she cranky right now, crying and wailing and beating on his broad chest waiting for you to come back?
"Thinking about Umi?" He softly asked, his honeyed voice soothing the ache in your chest as you offered him an apologetic smile.
"Is it that obvious?" You asked, swallowing the lump in your throat as you shoved down your discomfort, adjusting the straps of your chest and praying that your tits wouldn't leak through the nipple pads you slipped inside your bra.
"It's cute," Geto reassured you, reaching across the table to snag your hand, drawing a delicate star over your skin as you tried to match his smile. "You're a good mom."
You wanted to take the compliment.
But your brain was still unfortunately stuck on the white-haired father of your child who was probably pacing your apartment praying for you to come back any second.
Who would most certainly freak the fuck out if he found out where you were - and who you were with.
It's not like you meant to start sorta seeing Geto.
You weren't even sure if you could qualify it as dating.
He'd been around maybe even more than Gojo had since you got pregnant, and stayed afterwards. Staying late whenever Gojo wasn't there, helping you wash baby bottles and rocking Umi to sleep when you were too exhausted to keep your eyes open. Folding your laundry and keeping up with the chores, insisting that you shower and rest and take care of yourself first, murmuring softly that you were working hard enough as it was with that casual, crooked smile of his.
Until one afternoon, instead of your daughter falling asleep in his lap, you had, waking up to him stroking your hair with one hand and cradling Umi in his other.
And some awful part of you asked yourself what if he'd been her father instead?
Gojo might have flowers delivered to your door and fuck you when he wormed his way into spending the night with the excuse of helping on the night shift with Umi, but he hadn't been there before.
Not for half your appointments. Not for your labor.
God, if it hadn't been for Geto, he would've missed her birth.
He had been the one you met first. The one you knew better before his best friend went and knocked you up. The entire reason you even showed up to that party, chasing a stupid crush you were sure wouldn’t even notice you.
But he wasn’t the one you ended up sleeping with - or the one whose name was on the birth certificate.
"You deserve a night for yourself," Geto coaxed, and you knew that he was right. That you couldn't be there for her if you couldn't take care of yourself. Or let someone else help you do it.
Besides, wasn't it half Gojo's fault she existed anyway?
Maybe he’d worn the wrong condom size, but you were the one too stubborn to ask him to pay for a Plan B after it broke, clinging to your stupid pride. Too embarrassed to even face him after you hooked up until you absolutely had to, showing up to his frat house expecting him to shoo you away to get an abortion and slam the door in your face.
Perhaps if he had, you wouldn't feel the hints of guilt creeping in that you were sitting across from his second-in-command now, letting him say your name in that suave voice of his and tell you how pretty you looked in a dress that didn't quite fit your tits anymore.
Not that Geto seemed to mind, judging by the way you caught his stare drifting down to them no matter how chivalrous he was attempting to present himself tonight.
"It's just weird being away from her for this long," you shrugged your shoulders self-consciously, pulling back your hand to pick at the paint on your nails that was already flaking off despite the fact you'd done it only a few hours before your date.
You dropped Umi off with Gojo earlier, but he'd never watched her this long on his own either.
Would it start to become a more common thing? Afternoons or nights you swapped her so the other could go out and date around?
Despite Gojo swearing he only wanted to make this work with you, you had an incredibly difficult time picturing the campus's favorite playboy not pouring body shots on pretty girls all those Friday evenings he attended parties for his 'frat duties'.
You were sure that was just code for fucking other sorority girls and playing condom roulette to see if your daughter would get a half-sibling.
"She'll be okay," Geto reassured you, deliberately avoiding broaching who, exactly, was watching her right now.
That was the one topic the two of you tended not to discuss.
You wondered if it bothered him at all. Made him feel like shit when he held Umi and decided he'd rather be the stepdad instead of a supportive uncle figure.
Truthfully, you still couldn't understand why he decided you were worth fracturing his friendship with Gojo for.
If he had been courting you a year and a half ago, you probably would’ve been over the fucking moon. Thrilled that someone like him wanted you, but you simply weren’t the same girl.
It hadn’t slipped past you that all of Gojo's friends suddenly seemed to want you after he had you.
"Geto," you swallowed, unsure how to broach any of the thousand worries floating through your head as you worked up the nerve to bring up what had been looping through your head since he first started carving his own spot in your life for him. "You know Gojo will be pissed if he knows what we're doing right now."
"You didn't tell him?" He asked, amusement glinting in his dark eyes as you flitted your stare down to the tiny print on the menu below.
"You don't care?" You returned the question, sighing as you reluctantly looked back up at him.
"Do you want to be with him?" Suguru pressed, but you could tell be the curve of his smirk that he thought he already knew the answer, he just wanted to hear you say it.
Being with Gojo had never been a part of your previously well-thought out life plan. You had him pegged from the moment you saw him at a frat party your friend dragged you to during your first year here, surrounded by beautiful women and yes men, alcohol being poured in his pretty mouth. The kind of spoiled, stuck-up prick who breezed through life like they were used to winning first place just for existing. Handed the world on a silver platter.
And now he thought you were a prize he deserved simply because he got you pregnant.
But still, you weren't about to just make it easy for Geto either.
Not when you didn't even know if he really liked you, or the idea of stealing something from under Gojo's nose.
"Why do you want to be with me?" You returned his question rather than answering it, arching up an eyebrow and waiting for his response.
Even though you appreciated his help, it wasn't like you needed your support system of frat bros hanging around if all they wanted was to get in your panties.
Before he could reply though, a baby began to cry, and your head snapped up, scanning the restaurant as if it could somehow be yours, the ache in your breasts returning with a vengeance, a lot fucking harder to ignore when your tits were already confined in the tight dress you'd chosen tonight.
Maybe it was just how much you were missing her, your brain playing tricks on your ears, but it really did sound like her too, your heart squeezing and wrung dry as you glanced from table to table trying to spot where the baby was.
Wincing as you tried to readjust the strap of your dress, swallowing hard and cursing yourself for not bringing a pump or expressing the milk before you left your apartment, knowing that you'd probably have a clogged duct to deal with later. But before you could spot the baby, your waitress was returning, a practiced smile plastered on her face as she looked directly at Geto instead of you.
Probably sizing up the fact that a guy like him was a bit out of your league, or that this was a first date as she leaned over to his side and grinned at him, "Have we made up our minds?"
"I think we'll just get our food to-go," Suguru returned a polite smile to her, and a surge of panic spiked in your chest until his palm slid over yours with silent reassurance, his eyes narrowing as he slyly stole a peek at your chest like he knew why you were squirming before clearing his throat. "Baby's waiting for us back home."
The waitress's face deflated almost instantly.
Wrongly assuming that the two of you were more than just something casual. Thinking that the baby belonged to him.
"Oh, sure," she nodded numbly, regaining her composure. "What will it be?"
He ordered for both of you, and you just shuffled in your seat, caught somewhere between relief that he was freeing you from an hour and a half of discomfort and disappointment that your date would be ending like this.
But perhaps it was for the better.
Maybe it was a sign that this wasn't going to go anywhere.
And when she walked away with reassurances that she'd bring it out as soon as possible, you were about to apologize, but he just squeezed your hand as you started to softly say his name, "Geto-"
"How many times have I asked you to call me Suguru?"
You wished he didn't disarm you so effortlessly. Stalling your excuses with just a single look, with a simple motion of his thumb over your knuckle as he treated you like you were his girlfriend.
"Once the food comes out, I can go take care of you," he promised, and it wasn't until you were walking out to the car that it struck you how serious he was about that.
"You know, you don't have to-" You started, glancing down at the way he was still holding your hand in the parking lot, his fingers tightly gripping your hand and keeping you glued to his side as you tried to sound more collected than you really were. "I can just pump at home or-"
"I thought you liked it when I helped," he slyly said, teasing you in that soft voice of his, mouth curling up when your face flushed.
So what if maybe you let him get rid of your clogged ducts a couple times when Gojo was busy with work or class?
His big hands were good at it, thick fingers massaging and working the breast tissue as his lips latched on to you.
Besides, you liked the way Geto looked at you, even if it sort of scared you. The intensity in his stare, how he studied you like he was interested in every detail. How he spoke to you like you were something soft to be cradled, not just sloppy seconds or someone’s leftovers. The way he listened, his head tilted to the side as he nodded along with patience you’d never really received before.
You didn't need anyone.
Not Gojo. Not Geto.
Not even Sukuna, even if he was debatably the best when it came to helping with her or soothing her when she started to wail.
You could do it on your own.
But something about Suguru made you feel like it might be okay to be taken care of too.
“You know you can find someone better,” you bluntly blurted out as he held the car door open for you. He stopped, squinting down at you as you slid into the passenger seat.
Someone without stretch marks or, y’know, an entire baby with another man. Someone who would have all the time in the world to worship him without wanting or needing all the things you did.
“We need to work on your self-esteem,” he remarked, arching up an eyebrow with a sigh as he nodded towards your seatbelt to remind you to buckle up.
And before you could retort back that he hadn’t disagreed, he was shutting the door and walking back around to his side.
Like he could somehow anticipate what you were preparing to say, his mouth had already parted when he got in too, “If you want me to tell you how much I like you, all you have to do is ask.”
Suguru knew exactly how to shut you up.
And five minutes later, he had your dress pulled down, both breasts freed and exposed as he groped and squeezed and sucked you dry. Thick fingers dimpling your skin as he sank them in deep, his lips wrapped around your sensitive nipple and greedily drinking up every ounce of milk you leaked out.
Tongue dragging back over the peaked buds whenever any escaped, your fingers lacing through his dark hair as you tilted your head back and scrunched your eyes shut. Trying not to moan at the way he was holding you, one arm slipped around your back to pull you closer as he leaned across the center console to suck on your swollen breasts.
The to-go boxes half-forgotten in the backseat, the radio playing some slow, soft song as he groaned into your nipple, his sharp teeth grazing over it to send a sharp shudder through your body.
Glancing up at you with delight glimmering in his stare, possessively pulling you in as he popped off your chest.
“You’re wasted on Satoru."
And even though he didn’t say it, you could feel it.
Geto thought it should’ve been him.
ꕤꕤꕤ
Gojo wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel until the air bag went off.
Maybe if it broke his nose, he could get enough sympathy points from you that you’d stop seeing Suguru. And he’d never have to see his best friend sucking on your breasts from across the parking lot.
Umi was asleep in her car seat in the back, leaving him to his own embarrassing thoughts as he forced himself to turn the key in the ignition. To start the car after he completely and utterly failed the mission he should've never gone on in the first place.
You'd maim him if you knew he was spying on you with Suguru. Maybe accuse him of being a creep and somehow think even less of him than you already did.
And despite how much it fucking sucked, he forced himself to pull out of the parking lot and leave you there with your tit in Suguru's mouth, feeling like a moron for thinking tonight would ever end any differently.
Suguru was a good guy.
Didn't have the reputation he did. Was quiet where he was loud, soothing where he was brash. Wouldn't make you wonder where he was or what he was doing or who he'd been with before.
Of course, you'd choose him.
Gojo guessed he should just be grateful you'd have to at least spend the next eighteen years co-parenting with him. Attending parent-teacher conferences and planning birthdays and holidays.
But even when he made it back to your place, warming up a bottle to feed Umi, watching her big blue eyes sleepily blink up at him as her chubby little fingers still tried to grab it, he couldn't fucking imagine having to share her with Suguru.
Seeing her look up at his best friend and babble dada to him, at the apparently growing possibility he might miss her first steps, her first words, her first everything and Suguru might get them instead.
Spiraling long after he put her back down in her crib, laying flat on your couch and staring at the ceiling to count the seconds until you came back.
God, since when had he gotten so pathetic?
Why couldn't he just figure it out and fix this? What would it take for you to give him a try?
Did you want him to grow out his hair? Start watching pretentious foreign films?
He still didn't have a clue by the time he heard your key in the lock, sitting up straight and smoothing out the wrinkles and spit-up stain on his shirt as he automatically started walking towards the entrance, nearly running into you when you walked in.
"Hey," he muttered, running his hands through his hair and pretending he didn't notice how your lip gloss had smeared, or how stray strands of your hair were sticking out as you peeled your purse off your shoulder and hung it up by the door.
"Hey," you murmured, wiping the back of your mouth just to stumble a little trying to slip off your heels.
And even though he knew you didn't need his help, he was still holding out his arm for you to hold onto him and steady yourself while you took them off.
"Enjoy your dinner?" He murmured, and you cringed a little, looking up at him with the slightest hints of apology in your smile as you held up a to-go box in your other hand.
"Who told you?" You asked, even though he could see it in your stare that you already suspected the answer.
"Sukuna mentioned it," he admitted.
"I should've said something," you cleared your throat, the closest you could probably come to a sorry.
"It's fine," he lied, no matter how far he really was from it.
"Do you want the rest?" You offered, as if your leftovers were some olive branch.
One he'd gladly take it.
"Sure," he shrugged, grabbing it as you let go of his arm. "So, are you guys, like a thing, or-"
"It's not like you're not seeing other women," you defensively muttered instead of actually answering, scowling at him as he went slack-jawed.
"I'm not," Gojo huffed, unsure what the hell he had to do to get you to understand that.
Wear a fucking cock cage and give you the only key?
"Gojo," you said his last name, bottom lip pushed out all pretty, and he wished he could make you believe how badly he wanted to make it yours too. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
He actually thought you were incredibly smart.
Gojo would give up everything just to breathe in the scent of your soft skin every day and listen to your voice as you talked about your studies as he stroked your hair and nuzzled his nose against your neck.
But instead, all that came out was a stuttered, "N-no?"
"You're at frat parties every weekend," you pointed out, holding your nose up high as you exhaled, walking past him like you had come to your conclusion.
"B-but only as the president, I'm not-"
"You don't speak to the pretty girls that come up to feel your muscles and offer to play stepmom?" You sarcastically asked, and Gojo wished you could look a little less gorgeous when you were glaring at him.
"I mean, I only talk to them," he tried to explain, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say when you just scoffed and shook your head.
"Me and Suguru just talked then," you huffed, and Gojo hated how you said his name. Loathed that he probably got to hear it while he was still relegated to Gojo.
Especially when he had seen first hand what you meant by talking.
His mouth opened, but it never seemed to be able to form the right words to get you to see him.
"I'm going to bed," you stubbornly insisted, padding barefoot back to your room while he hopelessly stared at your shrinking figure.
What would it take to be the one you wanted to go to sleep with?
And how the hell could he make sure that Suguru never got the chance?
series | latest oneshots | patreon
p.s. everyone go check out this lovely art of baby daddy drama gojo
Synopsis. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Look up out—it’s Supergirl. The villains fear you. The headlines hate you. The Justice League doesn’t understand you. And no one cares except for perhaps…Nanami Kento from the investigative journalism department. Tall. Blond. And sweeter than the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.
But he doesn’t know that.
The problem is that the villains now do.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!Supergirl!reader, journalist!Nanami, DC AU, Supergirl AU, he’s Iowk like genderbent Lois Lane, nerdy Nanami, journaIism, headIines, inhibitions, you’re hated by the pubIic, but he Ioves you, saving people, saving the worId, more about finding yourself acc, miId vioIence, feeIings, aphrodisíacs, Nanami is PÚSSYDRUNK, hand j’s, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, x-ray vision, heat vision, YOUR powers, manhandIing, matíng presses, he’s FÉRAL, he’s big, making it fit, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, cervíx smooches, struggling to take it, making HIM break, creampíes, s with feeIings, confessions, getting together, happy ending, Kenjaku mentions, Nanami with glasses, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.7k
A/N. Haven’t watched the new Supergirl movie yetttt but I just KNEW I had to do an AU.
MEET THE NEW GIRL IN SPACE!
SUPERGIRL: THREE A-LIST VILLAINS AND THEIR HENCHMEN DOWN IN SHINJUKU TRAIN FIGHT. DESTRUCTION PRICELESS—!
SUPERGIRL FLIPS OFF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE MID-AIR?! TAKES DOWN THEIR VILLAIN FIRST. ACCUSED OF STEALING THE SPOTLIGHT?
SUPERGIRL HANGS ZENIN CONGLOMERATE HEIR—ZENIN NAOYA—BY HIS SHOELACES FROM TOKYO TOWER! CITES ‘CHAUVINISM’ (EXCLUSIVE)
SUPERGIRL—THE NEW FACE OF HEROES OR A DARK TURN FOR JUSTICE?
That last particular headline makes you scoff.
Your eyes are darting to the byline; and immediately afterwards they’re on the verge of rolling. Who else would write such a rag of an article but Usami from the sports journalism department? And it’s not like Supergirl even had anything to do with the latest football scores or which manager had been sacked recently.
But you suppose everybody wanted a piece of you now.
“It’s rotten, isn’t it?” A voice trundles behind you—low and lightly husked. “They beg for a saviour, but in the face of one it’s revealed that what they really want is perfection. But with everyone’s definition of perfection being different…”
Nanami Kento.
“-isn’t what they really want just conforming to their mold?”
You’re turning around.
A faint smile on your lips. “Then what can we do about all the different molds?”
Nanami nods. “No one person is correct. It’ll never be good enough.” He lets out a soft sigh before pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses; they were a delicate kind that seemed to have a faint glow whenever they caught the light filtering in from Tokyo’s busy morning. Perfectly paired against Nanami’s handsome face—in the sort of classical, movie-star manner that might have caused him to be hung up on posters in teenage bedrooms or emblazoned outside of theatres.
Or so you’ve heard human customs tend to do so.
And yet, here Nanami Kento was: standing in a cream-colored suit with ink smudges on his fingertips. It often surprised you how a perfect Earthling like this was simply tucked-away in a little cubicle at Daily Planet Newspaper.
You certainly have never seen another like so.
But you got to see his face everyday—so you weren’t exactly complaining.
Nanami’s eyes drop at the growing smile on your face, and he pushes up a strand of golden-blond hair. That was just about as mussed-up as that perfectly slicked hairstyle of his would ever become. “Apologies. It’s just- it really bothers me to see the shit being written about Supergirl with no basis. Especially in respectable newspapers.”
“Well, it is the gossip column.”
“The sports section?”
“Same thing.” It was all human mish-mash to you either way. Beside him, the corner of Nanami’s lips give the faintest twitch. You’re flipping through the latest print of Daily Planet to another page; this time one with your (Supergirl’s) face plastered centrespread. Mid-air and your red cape flying behind you. It’s been only a few years since you’d landed on Earth after the destruction of Krypton. Then only a few weeks since you’d debuted as a superhero: stealing the spotlight from Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League as you swooped in and defeated Metallo.
Ever since then it’d been an explosion of newspaper headlines and television shows and even sketches; both good and bad. Mostly bad. You weren’t sure what got you off to the wrong foot. Maybe it was the uniform that too-closely resembled Superman’s? Maybe it was the crude words you’d spit out at villains mid-fight? Maybe it was that one time you flipped off the Justice League for being too late to the fight?
In your defense, you thought Earthlings said something about early birds getting the villains?
And maybe all those were correct.
But whatever it was—they would tear you apart. Then piece you back. Then tear you apart again. You weren’t the family-friendly image of a superhero that most were; and it made something at the pit of your stomach feel saturated and dark and useless to have to edit such articles time and time again. To have to write them yourself, if you wanted to get approved by your higher-ups.
Perhaps that was a part of human culture?
Fuck those windbags either way.
You didn’t understand how any other hero did it - then again it wasn’t as if you could easily ask them. You weren’t an official part of the Justice League—and you didn’t see yourself getting welcomed with open arms anytime soon. So you hid yourself away and semi-hypnotized those at your workplace to see a forgettable face whenever they looked at you - not Supergirl—even so, it was brittle at best.
Kryptonian hypnosis wasn’t as powerful as Martians. What you could merely do was suggest. “So- you don’t think Supergirl’s too crass?”
Nanami looks up, brows somewhat furrowed. “I quite frankly don’t think it matters. Who am I to judge?”
“Oh yeah? What about too destructive? Too disrespectful of the Justice League?”
“Again, who am I to judge?” Now, Nanami’s taking a seat—his desk was opposite yours, your backs to one another as you tap-tap-tapped away at new articles everyday. “Maybe she could do with a little less destruction of public infrastructure and that’s fine, but if she’s too crass then she’s too crass. That’s just her. Just as I’m not forced to like it—it’s silly to expect every superhero to conform to the ideal. Not one person nor mold is completely correct.”
From his seat, he tips his head up and looks at your standing self.
“But, personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Green Lantern in the first place.”
This time, it’s your turn to attempt to keep a too-big smile off your face.
You give him a pointed look. “I dunno. I heard she steals candy from babies—says so on Page 9.”
“Ridiculous.” Nanami cocks his head and beckons for the newspaper from you; after you hand it to him he flips through to that very page and scans it. “And precisely without proof. This is why I’ve been investigating Supergirl, beyond what these pages or secret sources say—”
From where you were, you could hear Usami loudly bragging to his colleagues a few desks over about the ‘exclusive source’ that gave him that little tidbit of information. You wanted to roll your eyes again.
“-and I’ve been working on something.”
“What is it?” You lean over to look as Nanami unlocks one of his desk drawers and pulls out a thick file. Unmarked. Your heart leaps to your throat as he sweeps it open to reveal pages upon pages of…pictures of you.
Not you—
—but you as Supergirl.
You mid-flight amongst thunderclouds. You amongst rubble. You pushing a kid behind you in order to shield him from a villain. You with your face twisted in fury as you’re pummeling that very same villain with a ferociousness that scared most - even civilians.
Which explained the headlines.
You skulking off into an alleyway before the medics and police could arrive, as you always did.
You. You. You. You. You.
And around them were notes scribbled in Nanami’s own neat hand.
Hero analysis:
Best skills: Superhuman strength, superhuman speed (comparable to that of the Flash), heat vision, physiological control, martial arts (see more on…)
Costume is that of similar style of Superman however with the added adaptabilities of…(sketch on back)
—one of the strongest debuts of any superhero in history. The supervillain Metallo has been terrorizing—
—though at odd relations with the Justice League, it seems that clashes over justice enactment—
—train—
—the greatest—
Female. 20’s to 30’s. Features may be changeable with Kryptonian powers (follow up with…). Suspected resident in Tokyo—concentration of fights here; in close contact with the Justice League who has headquarters here in Tokyo. Furthermore, seems familiar with the alleyways for her ‘disappearing act’ (for more thorough analysis see more on…) and mapping (more on…) has revealed that Supergirl tends to head in the wider direction of—Kabukicho.
(Follow up).
Your eyes widen.
Fuck.
You have to change up the bars you hit after fights.
And just when you think your heart can’t leap any higher; he flips through a few more pages and stops on one particular piece of evidence - the biggest of them all - a frontpage newspaper clipping of you…and him. Nanami all dust-covered and dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, as you threw his arm over your shoulders and helped him out of Tokyo Downtown Bakery. You had your face twisted in fury, and Nanami…you never noticed it before, but Nanami was looking at you like you were the Sun.
The fight had happened just last week: you’d been heading home after work when your superhearing told you something was off. An explosion downtown.
Tokyo Downtown Bakery was a favorite of gods, mutants, aliens, and other non-humans alike. Known for it, in fact. And there was only one villain you could think of that wanted to take down such non-humans—Kenjaku.
You’d zipped there as fast as your flight could take you, and only once you were there had you heard a familiar heartbeat. More frantic now, of course. But familiar.
Nanami was trapped underneath the rubble.
Kenjaku saw your momentary distraction - the realization that made your blood grow cold - and had taken the chance to disappear into the shadows.
After making sure that every other customer and employee didn’t have to be flown to the hospital urgently, you dropped onto your knees in front of the mountain of rubble and dug and dug. And dug. And dug. You dug until you felt the control over your physiology slipping, and small cuts started to apply at your fingertips—healing over instantly. Then getting ripped open all over as you just kept- on- digging.
In reality it must have been less than five or ten minutes, but it felt like months, before you finally flung away the last block of debris from a soft body. And Nanami Kento stirred.
That was what had resulted in the photograph, and the headlines that followed.
SUPERGIRL A WEEK INTO SUPERHEROISM AND ALREADY LETTING VILLAINS ESCAPE?
SUPERGIRL PAUSES FIGHT FOR BREAK?! MORE LIKE LAZYGIRL (Exclusive)
SUPERGIRL SAVES THE DAY AGAIN—BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE?
SUPERGIRL SAVES RUBBLE-TRAPPED CIVILIANS: “I owe her my life.”
That last one boasted the picture. And the byline of Nanami Kento.
You try to control your breathing.
“Ever since she saved me, I’ve been trying to understand Supergirl better. That fury on her face…I’ve been trying to figure out who she is-”
“To…expose her?”
“No.” Nanami shakes his head. The both of you were breathless - though for very different reasons. Excitement practically makes him glow, “To maybe try and interview her- personally. I want to see what she’s like beyond all those cashgrab headlines and the rumors. And…”
You’re silent as he pauses.
“-and I want to thank her personally.” So soft.
“Oh.” Your voice sounds small. Smaller than you’ve ever heard it.
He’s then closing his file and looking up at you so sweetly—“And if you’re interested, then maybe we could work together on it? I actually got a tip that I’m about to go do some field work on right now.” A sudden burst of shyness makes Nanami’s cheekbones burn a pretty rouge as you stare at him intensely. That was one thing you loved about humans - immense control over your physiology meant Kryptonians couldn’t blush unless you made yourselves. Humans couldn’t control when they blushed and it was just the sweetest thing to you. Was Nanami’s heartbeat picking up? “That is…if you would like to? I know you likely have better articles to work on, but just in case…”
He trails off and you’re trailing behind your head and your heart.
Your heart that wanted you to say yes.
Your head that made you say—
“I’m sorry.” You feel your heart fall. There’s a simmering of anger at yourself; soothed partially by the understanding that the more time you spent with Nanami…the higher the chance was of him finding out who you were. There were countless people out to get you: villains, henchmen, reporters. And the second-best thing to getting you was getting someone you cared for that knew you. About you.
The only powerless humans that knew about you were Clark’s- Superman’s adoptive parents.
And whatever misery that might put you in - you’d take it twofold if it meant keeping one more normal Earthling like Nanami safe. You’re taking a step back and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s just I have this really ah- riveting story to write about the erm- tax refunds and the economic implications of Supergirl’s last fight and…”
“Oh!” Nanami nods fervently, pushing his glasses up. Embarrassment radiated off of him like a miniature Sun, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him this was on you. But alas. “Oh, right, of course- I wish you luck with that.”
“Thank you.” You smile, lips pressed together to prevent a sigh. “I’m going to need it.”
“A journalist like you? Not in the least.”
With a nod of graciousness, you’re just about to leave Nanami’s table and pretend that the latter half of this interaction perhaps never happened. You almost wished Kryptonians had the ability to hypnotize themselves as they could to others. And you’re considering a much more interesting article about that before you’re stopping in your tracks and half-glancing at Nanami over your shoulder.
He was hard at work gathering his things for what you assume to be the extra field work regarding his Supergirl article.
You feel your heart clench.
“Nanami?”
He looks up eagerly. “Yes?”
Your words are slightly less than steady once you speak again. “If- when you discover Supergirl’s identity…you might be…disappointed. They say she’s nothing like Superman.”
“She doesn’t have to be.”
As Nanami throws his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands to leave—“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.” But he calls everyone that, doesn’t he?
“And I’ll…be working late.”
“Be careful not to miss your train.”
You don’t look at him until the very last second. When his tall frame is ducking beneath the doorway to the Daily Planet journalism department; cream-colored suit and golden glasses; old movie star looks drawing eyes, but not too close so he’ll never know that you stared at him from afar. Never.
You sink into your chair.
“What was that about?”
Had your superhuman senses not told you about Shoko’s nearing presence, you would have been startled. But you’re throwing in a slight jump just for the sake of it.
“Oh- come on.” Shoko says with a roguish grin. There was a slender cigarette tucked between her index and her middle finger; as was wont to have if one was Ieiri Shoko. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever seen her without one. “Not dramatic enough. Next time try throwing in a little gasp there.”
It seems that you still had work to do on your human reactions…“What have I told you about the cigarette smell getting on the papers?” You grimace at her - this particular human pleasure was especially sensitive to your nose.
“Can’t remember.” She replies, blowing out her last puff of smoke.
Shoko was perhaps your one exception to humans not knowing about your true identity—for the sole fact that she wasn’t your average human. Smooth. Silent. And stupidly intelligent - Shoko was perhaps the best investigative journalist Tokyo had to offer.
Which was to be expected, of course, given that she was the protégé of The Question.
A normal human journalist—just with enough combat skill and power to get him inducted into the Justice League. The Question had been a master in hand-to-hand combat even amongst the most trained superheroes; which paired well with the depth of investigative journalism that he would do. He exposed criminal underworlds that led to likely half the lodgers at Tokyo Island Penitentiary.
When you’d been reading up on the superheroes of Earth - both current and inactive - it was his sheer heroism as a mere human that’d inspired you to become a journalist as well.
The Question had hand-picked Shoko as his successor—and for good reason. After his passing due to old age, Shoko quickly proved herself to be a master with the pen; she cracked her ink like a whip. Just last week, she’d exposed that damned Lex Luthor’s embezzling which at least got him out of Superman’s hair for some time. And despite the publicity of the event, the covert nature of her heroism meant she didn’t have to deal with the constant headlines.
Shoko was no different than those at the Justice League. Than you.
But she was an enigma.
So you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have walked in on you hurriedly changing into your supersuit in the cramped cubicle bathrooms at the Daily Planet - there was a train about to go off-course a few thousand kilometers away - than Shoko.
“Oh.” You remember it like it was yesterday. The door had swung open as you had one foot into the suit. “The lock’s broken.” She’d said.
“Uh…occupied?” You’d murmured then, in a voice higher-pitched than usual. You considered hypnotizing her twofold- no wait, there was some power to do with amnesia even though you weren’t sure whether it would be—
“I know what you’re thinking.” Shoko had smiled then. “And don’t you dare try - not because I’d say anything, but because the Justice League’s paperwork is a pain in the ass when you try to fight another superhero.”
Your jaw had dropped. “Another…?” You’d shove that paperwork up their asses- but another superhero?
“Haven’t guessed it already?” Shoko shoved a hand into her long jacket, pulling out a square piece of what almost looked like rubber. It was in the exact shade as her skin tone, and when she placed it over her face—
“Featureless.” You’d gasped. Pseudoderm. “Just like The Question.”
“Flattered you know us, Supergirl.”
But there was no more time for chit-chat—that train you’d been hearing was dangerously close to going off-tracks now, and you’d hastily begun stuffing yourself into your supersuit. To which Shoko hadn’t flinched - instead appraising you curiously. “Why don’t you just wear that underneath your suit?”
“Because…” Because you were too afraid of someone sneaking a peak at the suit underneath. Because you were too afraid of being Supergirl when you were your ‘human’ self—hated. At least as a human you weren’t hated. Because you were too afraid of walking around as two halves making up one whole, when one half was all you needed at a time to feel content.
Ultimately you settled for not saying anything at all. “Listen- please don’t-”
“Yeah, yeah- I’ve already been through this song and dance.” She waved you off absent-mindedly. “Don’t reveal your secret identity to anyone. Don’t make it obvious when you’re off saving the world.”
You felt a smile come to your face at those last few words.
“You don’t think I’m…ruining justice instead?” A rush of embarrassment ran through you for even asking.
But Shoko merely cocked her silky head. “Hah, no? And who cares what the Justice League thinks? Now go do superhero things, superhero.”
The train and its passengers were saved in record time that day. And just like she’d said, Shoko hadn’t spilled a word.
Though for all the secrets she kept- she did love hearing them.
“So…” She relights her cigarette. “Did Nanami finally ask you out and you rejected him?”
“What-” You’re turning to her with a yelp. “He did not—” She takes the moment to blow a cloud of smoke at your papers, and you’re snatching the cigarette from between her lips and snuffing it out on one of your ceramic desk decorations.
“Hey…” Shoko whines.
Finally you’re whispering to her in a low tone - “He did not ask me out. And I did not reject him.”
“Then why’d he leave all sad and puppy-eyed?”
You’re turning around—almost as if expecting Nanami there still. “He didn’t…did he?”
“Maybe. I didn’t see. But you looked, didn’t you?” Chuckling. The Question takes the cigarette back from you, and holds it out of your reach.
“That was only because you-” You find that you don’t quite have much to say - at least not something that Shoko would pay heed to. And so you’re settling for a few grumbled curses—“No. He just asked me to be part of one of his articles.”
Shoko looks up in interest. “Oh? About what?”
“Supergirl.” You cross your arms. “He said he wanted to figure out who she was so he could interview her- I said no, of course.”
Shoko - who’d now newly relit her cigarette - takes a long drag and lets it free into the air. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why’d you say no?”
You take her cigarette and put it out again. “Because the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to…find out. And with everything going on, I can’t risk putting him in danger.”
“Hm…” Shoko thinks for some time. “Putting him in danger? Or putting his image of you in danger?” She stares at you intently. “Are you really afraid that he’s going to be captured by villains you’ve been defeating time and time again these past few weeks? Maybe.” Then she’s gently tugging the cigarette from between your fingertips - to light it again. A final time. “Or are you more afraid that once he finds out who you truly are- he’s going to be just like the rest of them?”
You don’t bother reaching for the cigarette anymore. “I…”
But Shoko wasn’t done just yet. She blows her smoke into the air and lets it linger. “It’s just like these papers and this smoke. When the nicotine sticks to them, it’s invisible but it’s there—even if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change its contents. Nor does that make it any less worthy than any other article here.”
You crinkle your nose. “But others won’t like it either.”
“So fuck them.” She stands. “It’s gonna be printed into a damn article, it doesn’t need to smell like rainbows and roses. No two newspapers are printed the same.”
And with that said, Shoko striding off. Cigarette and all.
And you’re left staring at a blank paper—ready for typing.
.
.
.
Nanami Kento had never quite been to this area of Tokyo.
It was one of the seedier places; an amalgamation of everything your mother advises you against. Past the bars and the spas, past the graffiti-tattooed walls and the alleyways that seemed to stretch into darkness endlessly. Past men slouched on roads - drunk or dead. Past the rattle of trains in the distance and rats who chittered at the only abode they truly ruled. Where even those cowered standing next to—and one goes to share the same fear doused upon this neighborhood, doled, perhaps to replace that of their own.
Then again, there was a strange beauty in it itself - like a giant wound mending itself.
There was a stun gun in his pocket. He wondered what this place would look like in daylight.
He ignored the knot in his throat as he kept on walking.
It wasn’t the place you’d expect to find a superhero - then again, Supergirl didn’t listen to anyone’s expectations of her.
Often after fights, he’d see you disappearing into the shadows of a building or a lone alleyway such as these. As if never there. You didn’t wait around for any authorities or paparazzi. And it was only after weeks of investigation that he’d managed to narrow it down to one district that you were frequenting: Kabukicho.
Even afterwards, he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t simply the entertainment district that you were fond of.
You were fond of hiding.
Asking around for sightings of a person of your description took Nanami meters away from actual Kabukicho, and down narrow alleys and underground streets. Into clubs and behind hotels. Into the seediest, smallest establishments hadn’t even the faintest waft of a main street. Currently he was heading towards a bar he was directed towards by an anonymous tip; the tip had said that you came here at least once a week or so. Sometimes not even to drink - just to people-watch.
And if Nanami Kento knew anything about you: it was that you found humans fascinating.
He’d seen it after fights, when you’d watch families rush to one another and embrace. He’d seen it even during fights, as you analyzed villains that were easy prey.
And he wondered…did you find humans interesting as much as they found you? Or at least, he did.
It’s after a few minutes of walking down this small street, lit only by the angry neon signs of underground clubs, that he stops before a squat bat. THE CHAMELEON—the sign said.
He pats the stun gun in his pocket.
And with a deep breath, he’s walking in.
The stench of liquor dances a frenzied waltz with cigarettes; it reaches his nose though he doesn’t cringe as he weaves between closely-pressed tables. Patrons hunched over nursing their columns of glasses look up at him suspiciously as he walks past them. He knew he should have changed out of his cream-colored suit.
It was barely visible in the bar, due to the faint light buzzing solely from a few spots on the ceiling, surrounded by wine-drunk flies, but Nanami managed to sit himself down at the counter. A bartender with long greyish-blue hair wiping greasy glasses with an even greasier rag looks up at him.
“Ah…” Nanami’s eyes fall to the glass and the rag - he himself was a good drinker, though the establishments he frequented were nothing of this sort. “Just a beer, please.”
The bartender asks, “Mmm, tap?”
“Do you have bottles-”
“No bottles.”
“Then ah- just a water, please.”
“No water either.” He says in a strangely melodic voice, “Just cider. Just cider. Apple, peach, and pear~!”
Nanami looks at the man warily, “Then…a peach cider please.”
The bartender shrugs then takes the rag—blowing his nose into it- before he throws it somewhere over his shoulder and fetches a peach cider for Nanami. It pools condensation onto the counter as it’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it even a single millimeter.
“What are you trying to find, young man?”
Nanami almost flinches.
The voice comes from the seat next to him; gruff and gravelly like when one has smoked far too many cigarettes for far too long. As he turns—the man next to him laughs. He had a white, wide-rimmed hat tipped low over his face, and was wearing an equally stark white suit. It was just about the only things he could make of him - nothing of his actual features.
And though Nanami didn’t know the man, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of kinship as the two patrons of the bar that didn’t seem like they belonged there.
Despite this, however, this other man’s fingers found a chip in his cider glass with familiarity.
“There are only two reasons that folks come down to a bar like this: either to lose something—pain, memories, fatigue; or to find something.” He nods his head over at the younger man, but still doesn’t reveal a sliver of a face. “And since you haven’t touched that cider of yours, young man, I’m assuming…”
“Finding something, I suppose.” Almost robotic, Nanami grasps his glass.
He thinks he sees a flash of a smile from the other man.
Nanami continues, “Maybe you can help me? Would you happen to have seen someone come in tonight-” His heart thunders as he lists off the features written down in that file of his—and the man keeps nodding with each one. “-perhaps around my age, though-”
“So it’s love problems.”
He stops short. “What?”
“Love problems.” That man clucks out a wet laugh, then takes a swig of his cider.
Nanami responds hesitantly. “I’m…afraid you misunderstand. I’m just trying to find-”
“I know perfectly what you mean.” He displays a set of paper-white teeth, gleaming. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slaps something down on the marble counter. “Her, right?”
Nanami peers in and finds it to be a blurry polaroid of you at this very bar, taken like you hadn’t known it was happening. And you weren’t revelling like one would have expected you to after a constant winning streak against villains. You weren’t even lamenting your woes with your fellow bar patrons.
You were just…watching.
Alone at a booth. Nothing in front of you but a water- perhaps that bartender had lied to him.
It was a night livelier than this one, evidently, as bachelor celebrations and 21st birthday parties and seemingly drunken singing surrounded you from all angles. But you simply watched. Waited. There was something so sorrowfully beautiful about you that it made Nanami’s heart ache.
“It’d been my buddy’s divorce party and someone had pulled out the polaroid. He snapped a picture and somehow I just couldn’t find it in myself to part with it…there’s something so haunting about it.”
Nanami merely stares speechlessly, running his finger down the edge of the picture.
“Trying to understand someone is, too, an act of love isn’t it?” The other man says. Before Nanami could respond, he’s polishing off the last few drops of his cider and getting off the chair—he seemed much taller when he was standing. “Come now. This Supergirl of yours is quite the party- after draining The Chameleon she tends to head East towards the Golden Gai. Finish up your cider and then we can go.”
“R-right.” Nanami’s hand almost falls to pat his stun gun reassuringly- but under the man’s scrutiny he reaches for the cider instead. “And sorry- what was your name again Mr…?”
“Come now, come now. We can save the pleasantries for when we walk there, young man.”
“Right.”
Bringing it up to his lips.
Almost. “But how did you know I was searching for Super-”
He sighs. “You journalists ask too many questions.”
And with a forceful shove, he’s making Nanami chug down the cider - blood and peaches coating his tongue. And the sharp shot of something else he couldn’t place.
“And you can call me Kenjaku, young man.”
And then it’s black.
“I saw the way Supergirl—” Spit. “—looked at you. And I must thank you for leading her to me.”
Kilometers away, you’re in the middle of heading to the train station with Shoko. You’d both gotten off work late and were lamenting what a pain it’d be to get up tomorrow morning—
Your head snaps up.
You’re immediately looking behind you.
“What is it?” Shoko asks with no small sense of emergency.
That gasp. That thud.
You’ve never heard it; yet you’d recognize it anywhere.
“Something bad has happened.”
.
.
.
Alleyways. Bar. Rats. Love Hotel. Alleyways. Bar. Bar. Alleyways. Alleyways. Alleyways.
Why did you have to go down so many alleyways?
It was a bar that you’d only been to once; the shadows were long and the cider was sweet—but ultimately you’d decided that you didn’t want to return. It was the day after you’d saved Nanami Kento.
And now you were doing the very same thing.
THE CHAMALEON had wound down for the night by the time that you skidded to a halt before it - with the tar road cratering beneath you as you stopped. There’s a thundering noise that echoes down the gloomy streets of this forgotten part of Kabukicho. You don’t waste a single second longer before kicking the door open and storming inside—
“Ah~ my lovely Supergirl.”
“Kenjaku.” You spit. The bar was empty save for the man seated at the counter - a dark waterfall of hair, darker eyes - and in his hand he held a single glass of what you assumed to be cider. “Where is he-”
“Slow down, my dear.” He croons. “Why don’t you sit back? Have a drink or two? And then maybe we can-”
“Where the fuck is he.”
It happens instantaneously—in a jerky movement you’re picking up an entire table by its leg. Using a mere fraction of your strength, you chuck it at the man - not quite to hit just yet - and it flies past him with naught a hair’s breadth of space between the side of his head and the table. Crashing against the wall of alcohol bottles in the back; liquor and shards of glass explode behind Kenjaku, yet he doesn’t move a single muscle. Not a single muscle.
Not even his lips to speak.
It infuriates you that he can remain sitting and sipping his cider without a care in the world- and so you’re striding towards him. Though striding was perhaps a kinder word.
Grabbing a bottle off the counter, he breaks its end and attempts to stab you.
You dodge.
He stabs.
You dodge.
He swipes your cheek—
“Motherfucker you better know that I don’t care what you do to me-” Each word leaves you like a dagger. “I don’t care how you hurt me-” And within a few seconds, you’ve closed the gap completely to grip him by the collar and raise Kenjaku a foot off his chair. “But what the fuck have these innocent people ever done to you?”
Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he starts laughing.
And you’re only watching in stunned silence.
You only can watch—Kenjaku laughs long and unabashed, with a strange hitch like a crow’s call - he laughs so hard that he has to wipe away a tear. It sends red-hot fury curdling in your veins.
You reel your fist back.
Tightly-coiled. Trembling with anger.
And you’re just about to swing—
When Kenjaku raises a single finger - the gesture humans often do when asking for a moment of your time - that makes you halt in your tracks. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, you didn’t want to risk anything that might put Nanami in danger.
And so you wait.
And you watch.
As Kenjaku’s eyes fall to the glass of cider that had been kept on the counter. He takes it in his hand. He clears his throat, “You should have been here earlier, oh- your little boyfriend was just drinking away his woes. Something about his love being a filthy alien, you see?” Those deep amethyst eyes—they were so dark that they seemed to leave a stain where they then turned to look at you.
You can’t take your eyes off of him - even as you bring your raised punch back and instead grasp Kenjaku’s neck with both hands. If you can’t pummel him to death, you were ready to strangle him.
Your hands tighten.
“O-oh.” Kenjaku’s hands claw down your forearms, but he’s powerless against you. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
They tighten.
“And you already know it’s true, don’t you? You know that deep down—you’re everything they say you are- you’re everything and worse-” They tighten. His skin starts turning blue then purple. “Why else would they hate you so? They know- they know it and you do, too.”
They tighten.
And even though you had the upperhand, seemingly, Kenjaku seems to crane his head down to whisper to you.
“You were nothing. You are nothing. You will always and forevermore be nothing.”
Your breath hitches- and Kenjaku knows he’s got you.
Unbidden from your senses, you’re letting go of him - he stumbles to the ground but manages to catch himself on the bar counter. Throwing an arm over it to steady himself, Kenjaku looks down at his cider glass once more, with only a few drops at the bottom of it.
He throws back those last few ounces and holds the glass out to you- “Be a dear for me, and help your little boyfriend get me another glass, will you? It seems he’s gotten his…hands full.”
Shit.
Shit.
You’re forgetting to even fly down to the bar—you’re breaking off a leg of a nearby stool then bending the metal into something that resembles a handcuff, quickly restraining Kenjaku for the time being before darting downstairs. There was a dingy staircase in the corner of the room, of which the rusty handrailing bends and warps as you grip it with your superhuman strength.
As you do, Kenjaku calls after you…“But do be careful not to miss your train~!”
It doesn’t take long before you find yourself at the bottom of a damp cellar- running to a Nanami Kento who’d been hopelessly bound and gagged. His golden hair falls in front of his face. His skin glistens with sweat.
And as soon as you reach him, you’re noticing the sheer heat that radiates off of him.
It was as if he was on fire—
Was this…?
“Nanami- Kento.” You’re hissing - you don’t need to untie those cloth restraints, you’re tearing straight through them. Removing the fabric gag and cupping his face, you look deep into his eyes. “Kento- oh, are you alright? Speak to me-”
“Go.”
“What-”
“The train.” Tears fell down his handsome cheeks. His bottom lip was trembling as though he was cold - even though he felt like an inferno to the touch. “My darling, don’t worry about me worry about the train-”
You insist. “What about the train, Kento?”
“Kenjaku- fuck, I overheard him telling his henchmen to destruct the Yurikamome line on the Rainbow Bridge- the train is going to go over it any second now—”
Brows furrowing, you focus your supersenses. Hearing. “But that can’t be, I should hear…”
The zooming of a train. The distant rattling of train tracks that sounded different than usual - too different, too distant.
Then it hits you.
“Kento, while you were here, did you encounter anything…strange?”
He strangles out. “The peach cider he gave me- a-after that I just…”
“I understand.” Your mind was racing a mile a minute—Kento. The train. Kento. The train. Kento. “Kenjaku probably laced it with something to weaken you, and amongst that he must have added…”
Your blood goes cold.
“Hold on tight.” And without another word, you’re scooping the man into your arms - a princess carry. You hold him to you like the most precious thing on Earth and Krypton as you crash! through the top of the cellar—past several stories without a single scratch nor ache. Past bottles of liquor and ceramic tiles. Past layers of concrete and your fear.
Once you’re out into the wild night, you’re taking in incredible lungfuls of crisp air, soothing the burning sensation in your lungs.
You could almost ignore the gasps around you- as people whip out their cameras. This time, you don’t shy from them.
Gently; you’re hovering down to the street below and setting Nanami down. “Are you okay, Kento?”
“Yes- yes.” He’s gasping as he struggles to stand- you’re attempting to help him, only for Nanami to back away as though afraid. Something painful twinges inside you.
And he must see the breaking of your expression - because he’s immediately rushing to answer. “The thing that was in that cider…it was Kryptonite, wasn’t it?” Your silence is enough of an answer. “You have to go.”
You step towards him. “We have to get you to a hospital. The Kryptonite-”
“The train-”
“Just let me-”
“The Kryptonite will poison you before it ever even thinks of poisoning me. Do you really think I’d ever- fucking ever put my life above yours?” Nanami Kento doesn’t exactly yell—but his voice carries to your superhuman senses above anything else. Anything else. “Save the people on the train. Save the world. Save yourself- for everything I love, please please leave me- save them, Supergirl.”
You’re straightening.
“I’ll be back for you, Kento.”
Stumbling back a few steps; you have to shake your head to do away with the fogginess of the Kryptonite.
And then you’re in the air once more.
Wind whipping your face. Cape thrashing behind you.
The clouds stick to your features and form condensation with how fast you’re flying to the train- fuck.
Once you get there, you’re seeing exactly what Nanami had been talking about.
The train track where the Yurikamome Line was going on top of - the lower deck of Rainbow Bridge - was completely obliterated in the middle. Throngs of metal sticking upwards. Train track rattling like a wounded snake. The train was charging full speed ahead, the driverless transit unaware of any anomaly in the track.
Just enough of a gap that it would prove fatal to the 160,000 passengers aboard.
Just enough of a gap that you could zip down—as fast as you could go. As low as you could afford. And as fearful as any human would have been in that moment - and just as foolhardy.
And as the Yurikamome Line heads towards the broken railroad, you’re lifting the train once it passes. The dip in the train track; you’re making up for it with your hands and your shoulders—never letting the Line falter even a single decree—it stretches and stretches and sinks its heavy metal body down onto yours. Rolling over your shoulders. Like nothing you’ve ever felt before- you have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up.
Your body was indestructible. But you’re feeling cuts on your palms. But you’re feeling the strain on your core and your deltoids.
Every single axiom in your body was screaming—
Towards the middle mark of the Yurikamome Line, you feel a dip- fuck.
Gritting your teeth, you let out a clenched groan as you push the train up. From inside you can hear passengers scream. And from the horizon, you can hear news helicopters thundering.
Please.
A tear runs down your cheek. You struggle to move.
Please. Please. Please.
You’re pushing the train upwards with all your might.
Humanity above, only you know how strong you can be.
Be strong.
.
.
.
Birds are twittering.
You would have assumed that the afterlife had no shortage of birds, too; but it’s a bit odd to you that they’re singing a tune so jolly.
Personally, since you were dead, you’d like to sing something more lamentable.
“My darling?”
It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear it - but of course, you do. You’re Supergirl—and you hear everything everyone says to you whether you want to or not. But this one in particular sounds quite pretty in your ears - even prettier than the spring melodies of birds - and it makes you realize ah- angels…
But at the same time you’re realizing that angels didn’t exist on Krypton.
And then you’re shooting awake.
“Fucking fuck!”
Your graceful resurrection is marked by knocking your head with none other than Nanami Kento - whom you found quite understandable to mistake for an angel. As you’re clutching your forehead and letting out a few swears, he lets out nothing but the sweetest, soft chuckle—and as your vision slowly grows used to the light and unblurs, you’re seeing the most beautiful smile on his face.
His eyes crinkled at the edges, framed by golden glasses. His cheeks had one faint dimple each. And he was looking at you with something humans had never looked at you with - love.
It couldn’t…
Was that your heart thundering or his?
“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re awake.” Nanami whispers, as if afraid to break this fragile piece. This suspension in a place that didn’t quite seem to be Earth nor Krypton. He presses his forehead to yours—“I wanted to thank you first, my darling.”
“Thank me…for what?” You ask- your voice is incredibly hoarse. How long have you been out for?
Once you clutch your throat, Nanami hastens to pluck a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. And as you drink- you’re looking around the room. The next time you speak, it’s with a slightly steadier tone. “And where are we?”
“Ah- I guess I should apologize first.” Nanami says, sheepishly rubbing the blushing back of his neck. “We’re at my apartment. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours now.”
Your lips part.
He hurries to explain. “Chief Yaga from the police station wanted to keep you under their protection at the hospital, the Justice League insisted on keeping you at one of their quarters- your fan club wanted you all to themselves but…I…insisted you wake up in a place that’s somewhat of a home.” Eyes darting shyly downwards. “Just until you wake up- I asked Shoko and she wasn’t sure where you lived, either. You’re a very private person, Supergirl. And Superman is in outer space right now so…”
“Oh…I…I see.” You hold the glass limply in your hand. “And ah- fan club, you said?”
Nanami nods - you don’t see any humor in his eyes. “Your rescue of the train was shown on every channel and program- every breaking news. The Daily Planet won’t stop printing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That…” You feel strangely numb. “I don’t even know what to say. And the casualties-”
“Zero.”
“How did you get to the hospital?”
“Just after you left, Shoko arrived with the police to save me and arrest Kenjaku. Did you know that she’s a vigilante?”
You bite back a smile. “I did.”
He unabashedly smiles, as if meeting you for the first time. “And did you know that I know?”
“I figured by now.” Cocking your head.
“I always had a suspicion but…I don’t know what hypnosis you did but it just wouldn’t make sense in my mind. But when you came down to save me at the cellar, when you were affected by that Kryptonite it just…clicked.”
He’s reaching a hand up to softly cup your right cheek.
“It wouldn’t have made sense to be anyone else.”
It’s warm in Nanami’s bedroom. And it’s even warmer underneath the thin nightdress you’re wearing- you wonder where he got such a thing? And when you’d been put into it? It seems that he catches the questions in your gaze as it dawns upon you what you’re wearing—“I bought it for you after you got discharged at the hospital.” Nanami says. “Shoko helped you into it- althought…I did help.” With a shy blush, he’s looking away.
And you’re closing your eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand. “Thank you.”
You don’t need to specify for what.
“And then there’s that.” Nanami surprises you as he says, reinvigorated. And how completely correct you were in him having those old movie star looks - that smile of his, with the soft little dimple on each cheek, should be on the big screen. He has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Thank you for saving me- that time at the bakery.”
You feel a little breathless. “It’s no problem.”
“No but it was- it’s how Kenjaku managed to escape. And I know how much you got torn apart in the papers for it—” His jaw clenches. “I saw it everyday.”
You look down at your hands, clasped on top of Nanami’s sweet cream-white sheets. “It’s nothing.”
And slowly - but surely - at a pace that matches the hesitant staccato of your heartbeat, Nanami’s own larger, roughened hands are sliding across the sheets. Intertwining with yours. “It’s not.”
Your gaze was now flickering between your tangled hands and his unyielding gaze—you didn’t know which was more beautiful.
He continues, “And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. I know you don’t feel as if you’ve done enough to be thanked, but I can assure you- w-well, I don’t know how much my word will mean to you if anything at all, but just-”
“Kento.” You cut him off. “Kiss me.”
His lips meet yours and you never wish for them to leave; he tastes like coffee with a hint of honey and everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel as though you can finally breathe.
And he feels as though he can’t—and he’s searching for his first breath between your lips. Nanami gasps as you clutch his baby-blue button-up.
Nanami’s hand caresses the back of your neck, and he’s cockin’ your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. Eventually you’re feeling that initial sweetness of first contact melt into somthing…more…something that makes your skin simmer, as he’s letting his pinkish tongue brush your lower lip.
With a gasp you’re welcoming him inside.
And before you know it, you’re being laid flat on your back with Nanami hovering on top of you. With a tap at his broad shoulders, you signal him to get up—and when Nanami’s on his knees before you you’re letting your hands…wander.
“O-oh.” His breath hitches. His Adam’s apple bobs. And a sizzling heat takes over the man’s body as your fingers trace the line of this throat- the valley of his pecs- the bumps of his abs.
All your knowledge of human anatomy led you to believe that he must be hiding immense strength beneath suits too-big for him, but even this was a surprise.
And then lower, lower, lower—until you’re reaching his rock-hard erection.
“Shit…” The soft grunt escapes the back of Nanami’s throat—unbidden. He immediately brings one roughened hand up to his mouth, chewin’ on the insides of his cheek as he watches your workings down below. Watches through half-lidded eyes as your palm’s meeting the bulge of his perfectly plaid pants. Cupping. Caressing.
Nanami’s breath grows more n’ more ragged as you keep palming- fuck, he was so big.
You don’t even have to use your x-ray vision to figure that out - but you’re doing so anyway. And what you’re seeing are about seven- eight? Inches of his swollen cock, all throbbing and pulsating underneath your touch. And beads—no, puddles of precum were constantly tearing out from the top of his shaft, creating a mess underneath that made Nanami feel shy.
You swear he’s growing even bigger once he feels the staring.
“A-are you using your…?” Nanami asks, pushing his thick glasses up.
“Mmm, maybe.” You’re cheekily replying. And in mere split-seconds you’ve used your heat vision to incinerate Nanami’s fabrics without actually hurting him.
He gasps and instinctively goes up to cover his aching erection-
But you’re stopping him with a hand of your own. Those fingers of yours wrapping around Nanami’s pale pink cock—he’s oh-so-thick at the base of it, surrounded by a scattering of golden tresses that graze the bottom of your hand.
You’re squeezing the hilt of Nanami’s shaft and he lets his head drop backwards with a moan- “Fuh-fuck. I could cum right here and right now, you know….”
“So do it.” You’re tugging his cock- until you’re reaching the mushroomy top of it and wipin’ away a speckle of precum. It feels so warm underneath your touch—he was just melting for you. “But just know that this is going to be a looooong night, Nanami Kento.”
He gulps.
Meanwhilst you’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s while you keep a constant pace fisting his length. Breaking off from the heated kiss only to lean down and spit-
A direct glob of your saliva gluing to Nanami’s puckered tip.
He’s shivering as it gleamingly trickles down his length—then reeling you into a kiss once more. “Mmm- I can hear your heartbeat, Kento.” You smile into the kiss. “Any reason why it increases when you’re around me?”
“I’m in love with you and I cannot lie about it.” And you don’t know what you expected - banter? Denial? But it certainly wasn’t outright confession, and it certainly wasn’t for Nanami to pant against your lips—to push you back onto the coiled mattress, and shuffle his body down until he’s between your legs.
With languid movements, he’s pressing your legs to the side until each one is pinned to the soft cotton sheets. And you let him.
Your peripherals locked with his. Nanami’s gold-rimmed glasses tracing your skin. You’re running a hand through Nanami’s blond mane as he presses a line of kisses up your right thigh, up your left thigh, before finally…“May I?”
“Please.”
The next sound escaping you is a deafening trill—as in that very moment Nanami pushes his face nose-deep between those legs. And his tongue’s darting outwards and swabbin’ up - eating you out as though he was starving.
Almost wolfish.
Mouth gaped wide open. Honed canines stickin’ against the opened sides of your folds.
Your eyes dart to the back of your head- as you’re feeling the dots of his tastebuds push through your nightgown. He was eating you out through your nightgown—
“Kento, take a breather.” You’re whispering down at him, peeping at the ravenous man through struggling lids. The pleasure was consuming every inch of you rapidly; and before long you snake a hand to lift up the nightgown. “Let me just take this off-”
“No.” Nanami’s warm hand comes gripping yours - with surprising strength for a human. “Please- please keep it on.” He struggles.
To even speak.
To even keep his breathing even.
To even unlatch himself from your pussy for the mere moments he has to speak- he didn’t want to waste a single second. And it’s with carnal ferocity that he’s stuffin’ himself back between your legs, flattening his tongue and pressing it against your hot folds. “A-at this point, it might just be the only thing keeping me sane, my darling…if I feel you in all your entirety then I might just-” Nanami’s voice cracks. “-break.”
“What do you mean, Kento…?” You’re breathing.
There was something…off about the handsome man. Sure, it could’ve just been the heated proximity that was warping your perception of him; but—
But that couldn’t explain the nearly-frenzied pace of his heartbeat - 112 BPM to be exact - or the furious red flush creeping down his neck, or the way he was plastered in a cold sweat. Golden tresses gluing to his forehead and the forefront of your pelvis. One of those beads of perspiration runs down his attractive nosebridge n’ ends up positioning where he was pushing and pushing his sensual face into your puffy folds. Cheeks hollowing as he’s sucklin’ on them through the barely-there barrier of your nightgown.
And you’re swiping your thumb across it - feeling the slightly-sticker consistency of his sweat.
More so than normal.
And somehow…sweeter?
It doesn’t take your heightened senses to realize—you start to tug on Nanami’s sweaty scalp- but he’s hesitant to remove himself. Merely parting an inch or so with the most agonized groan. “Kento- Kento, don’t you feel a little different right now?”
“Hmmmgh?” He asks with his bleary eyes struggling to focus on you.
“A little different? Maybe a little…warmer?” You watch as he has to think a little bit before nodding. “Don’t you feel like you’re going to- hah, shatter on my pussy?”
“I do.” Nanami spits a glob of spittle down on your cunt, kissing it away before it trickles. “Fuck, I do.”
“Mmm—” Your back arches as his tongue straightens then starts dragging up and down your sopping slit languidly. “And aren’t you wondering h-how exactly I know?”
“How do you know, my darling…?” Sounding barely awake as he questions so.
“It’s because…” And then you’re sitting up and starin’ down at his movie-star face, eyes half-lidded and his blond hair a mess. A few strands of it were falling in front of his gorgeous eyes—so you’re pushing them away with your hand- and Nanami shivers as though just splashed with cold water. “-I’m feeling the same way.” A shiver runs down Nanami’s spine. “That aphrodisiac seems to be contagious.”
“A-aphrodisiac?” Nanami’s eyes widen behind his spectacles.
And you’re giving him a soothing nod. “Mhm. Back at the bar, it seems that what Kenjaku spiked you with was a Kryptonite solution. But what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that sometimes…Kryptonite can have a bit of an…aphrodisical effect on humans.”
You’re leaning down and kissing his pussy-drenched lips. “Mmm, yeah, I can taste it on you still.”
Nanami’s immediately lurching back- but this time, it’s your turn to be reeling him back in.
Keeping him delightfully hostage between your legs. “And where do you think you’re going, Earthling?”
“But the Kryptonite-” Nanami pants. Even though his eyes kept constantly flickering down to your cunt as if his favorite baked good set out right in front of him. Syrupy-filled. “It can’t be good for you-”
“At the weakened state it’s in now, it’s not bad for me either.” You smile. “The aphrodisiac shouldn’t impair you, either. But if you do not wish to fully continue-”
“I do.” The words can’t leave Nanami’s lips faster. He’s shoving your legs further apart and whispering. “I do I do I do—”
Then pressing such a harsh open-mouthed kiss against your swollen folds - so hard that it honestly felt as though he was trying to permanently imprint its outline against your pussy. And then when he’s pressed hard enough and long enough and deeeep enough—Nanami jerks away with a wrangled moan.
“But then since I’m already broken…”
And in robotic movements- he pushes your nightgown up until your tits- and he’s plastering his hot lips aaaaall over your cunt. Tongue swiping urgently between your folds and fuckin’ inside like a damn animal.
“Shit—” Moans bubble to your throat- seeping out with bubbles of spit. You’re clawing through his sweaty locks, holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, shit, shit- I didn’t expect humans to be so…”
“S’this your first time on Earth?” He peeks up at you through his long lashes.
“It is.” You’re nodding. Biting onto your lower lip.
And something seems to shift behind Nanami’s darkened eyes; he fixates them on you and doesn’t waver a single second as he lets his tongue fully out. Lavishes the tender in-betweens of your pussylips with all his sensual kisses- “Then I better give you a proper welcome to Earth.”
And it’s with absolutely no warning that he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts.
Flarin’ that sopping wet muscle out so that it stretches out your first ring of muscle- you can feel the sides of Nanami’s tongue slide-slide-sliding all down your channel. He was just so thick- you were feeling him so perfectly like this- and you can’t help yourself…you’re activating your x-ray vision to see how deep Nanami’s really going.
“A-a bit more to the left, Kento…” You murmur. “And a little deeper- ngh.”
He looks up at you in slight surprise. “Oh? You can see where I’m going, my darling?” Experimentally, Nanami stabs a few more thorough probes- deep.
“X-ray vision, remember?” You gasp. Buckin’ up in a sloppy staccato every time Nanami’s nearing with his tongue and his prominent nose- fuck, you loved how the tip of his nose pressed into your clit every time he surged forwards. “Just a bit deeper- oh, your fingers?”
With two of his calloused fingertips slidin’ up and down your vertical slit - accumulating the dewy droplets of slick you were letting out - he smiles. “I may not have superpowers, but something tells me you’re going to like this, Supergirl.”
“Oh- shiiiiiit.” It’s letting out the sloppiest squelch to have Nanami’s fingers easing inside.
They’re so large- oh, your mouth drops as he’s burgeoning inside. Through your x-ray vision you could see that he’s scissoring inside- stretching aside that velvety channel- letting the doughy tips of his fingers probe inside like two searchlights attempting to pinpoint your most treasured spots. He’s rovering in deeeeeep- and you’re letting your face press into the damp mattress. “You’re enjoying this, Supergirl?”
“I-I am.” You huff. You’re humpin’ up into his pretty face so hard that the bedframe was creaking and moaning. Just as you must have been.
“And is your- hah, favorite Earthling making you feel good—?”
You’re levelling a half-hearted glare at him. “Bold of you to assume- but yes.” His fingers are just so close- “To the right…”
And he’s immediately heeding your every word- meanwhile, his mouth seemed to have felt a little lonely. Because Nanami hastens to latch his kiss-bitten lips around your throbbing clit. “Good. Because I’m just made to make you feel good, my darling. I need this. I need this. M’made for this.” Huffing. “Don’t be afraid to fuck my tongue as hard as you want- don’t be afraid to s-suffocate me, because m’here just to make you—ngh, feel good—”
Pushing up into you.
Pressing himself between your legs even harder.
“I don’t need to breathe- I need you to tell me where that g-spot is.”
Your head’s throwing backwards, thighs trembling around him- you’re soon wrapping your legs around Nanami’s perspired head and locking your ankles around him. Digging his tongue even deeper- he crashes and crashes them against your clit in time with his probin’ fingers. “A little more-”
“How much more?”
“Just about an inch- oh.” You’re squawking out in a way that’d be so embarrassing if it was anytime but now. “And to the left…upwards.”
He notices that you’re almost shying away from his touch with every plap! of his palm hitting the forefront of your cunt. Harder. Faster—even though he may have been a gentleman, Nanami’s fingers were decidedly not. They’re ravenous; managing to curl against the side of your walls, with your direction perfectly locating that one spot you’ve been aching to be touched this entire time. And the human wastes no time pushing against it- you think you’re seeing stars—hey, was that Krypton?
Too occupied to come up with a concrete answer, however, you’re simply basking in the pleasure that Nanami was pouring through your veins.
And he only seems too happy to have your hips hikin’ higher and your pussy pushing up all the way until his nose- with every single thrust he was battering. Your gooey insides are shuddering at the sheer force, you’re feeling a tightness start to formulate at the pit of your stomach.
Something sore - blissfully so.
“I think…” You gasp. “No I know—” And the thing about being Kryptonian was that it came with immense control over your physiology- which also meant that you could cum on demand. But oh, how much better it felt when it was being drawn out of you by Nanami’s sweet sweet fingers.
Plunging - each time from the rounded tips of his digits and down until those knuckles, reddening at the persistent skin-to-skin contact - towards your g-spot every time. Multiple times a second.
“-Kento, I’m going to cum—”
“So cum f’me, Supergirl-” Nanami spits against your cunt. He sounds ragged- he sounds gone. His tone was a barely-there husk of what it had once been, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on anything but the pretty soakin’ pussy right in front of him. He kept his mouth so fucking full of your throbbing clit as he continued speaking. “Cum f’me…my girl.”
Shit—he’s blushing just saying it. But the effect on you is undeniable - you’re throwing your head into the fluffy pillows and finally letting loose.
Wrenching on Nanami’s hair. Squeezing his head till he almost suffocates- you’ve got the feeling that he gladly would. Dragging your slick-glazed folds against his face and cumming and cumming.
As your euphoria rips straight through you - Nanami leaves his mouth further ajar and swivels his tongue inside as well. In addition to his fingers, he’s now attempting to squeeze his tongue inside to fuck you silly- to make your dazed peripherals roll to the back of your scalp. “This is what I’m made for.” And you’re unsure whether that was him or the aphrodisiac talking. “This is all I ever wanna do now—mmm—” He moans as syrupy juices stream down either side of his mouth and he’s sucking in your pussy. “My darling, you don’t know how badly I mean it when I say m’made for you. For this pussy.”
You whimper as he perfects his tonguing thrusts to the rhythm of your orgasm. Hitting every single peak. “Sh-shit…it’s becoming sensitive…”
“My darling, I’d rather die than leave this pussy from now onwards.”
“Never expected a gentleman like you to be so filthy.” You huff- rather difficult, considering how much he managed to take your breath away. As he prolongs your high until you’re dizzy—
And then some.
“Mmmm, I’m sensitive.” Fondly; you tug on his golden strands. Nanami lets out a rumble of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move a single inch - merely grazing- not even properly eating you out anymore, he’s just sloppy grazing his hungry mouth against your sensitive cunt.
Lapping up the last few dredges of your slick.
Occasionally wishing to feel the clench of your hole- and letting it dip inside—
“Hck!” Tears start to well up behind your eyes. And you have to speak to something deep and carnal within Nanami - otherwise you’re getting the feeling that he’s never going to part his lips from your own drenched ones. “Kento, you can stay here if you want…”
“Mmm-” He eagerly runs his tongue between your velvety folds again.
“-but I was really thinking that we could use my x-ray vision…” That seems to finally pique his interest, and he’s looking up at you. “-for something else. Something bigger, hm?” Pointedly, your eyes dip down.
He knows exactly what you’re talking about.
And in no time, Nanami Kento’s shuffling up your twitching body - still oh-so-sensitive from your previous high. And his hips are closing towards yours, his ruby-red tip is slipping between your legs and sandwiching between your pussylips for a few thrust-thrust-thrusts—“A-are you sure, my darl- oh.”
Before you claw at Nanami’s muscular back and crush him against your body.
Against your hips- your readily awaiting cunt.
Just that sopping, sap-covered tip of his manages to fit inside in that moment - and you’re feeling it throb like he’s always wanted to be here. Filling up the cavern of your cunt and making your toes curl- such a delicious streeeetch—! you’ve never felt before. And Nanami watches as you’re on the verge of shattering just as he already has—and he leans down to press a quick press on the edge of your chin. “M-mmmm.”
But it’s hard even think let alone fucking speak with your soaking wet cunt wrapped around him like this. His very own taste of heaven.
Nanami’s letting escape a few botched moans- before he decides to preserve whatever is left of his dignity, and bites down on his pathetically wobbling lip. Trying his very best to keep any noise from leaving him as he experimentally moves his hips behind and probes back inwards with his plump, puckered tip. Just the round girth of it openin’ you up even more. “Sh-shiiiiiiit—my darling, am I even…”
You’re looping your arms around him and dragging him even closer. But Nanami’s too far gone to even kiss you properly- and his lips end up sliding around your jawline. “Even what, Kento?”
Bleary eyes damn-near popping out of his skull. Skin flushed ever-redder due to the aphrodisiac or simply just…you. Cock spurting out wad after wad of eager precum—he just couldn’t stop himself.
“Alive…” Nanami rasps out.
And your jaw drops at the question. “Is that…is that a joke, baby?” Although you already knew the answer- Nanami Kento was never the type to just joke.
And just as you’d expected, he’s furiously shaking his head and pumping out a few more overeager semi-thrusts. So overeager, in fact, that he’s ending up plopped out of your wettened cavern- and Nanami almost blows a fuse trying to get himself back in.
“Let me help you with that, Kento.” You giggle. Pushing aside his fumbling fingers, you’re wrapping your own around his incredibly thickened base - enough to make your mouth water.
Pointing the globular top of his shaft towards your cunt, you allow him to push inside once more. Breath hitching. Thighs shaking. Pants erratic as he does so- “Are you alright, baby?” You ask him—this time opening your legs wider to let his furious inches shovel in. “D’you think you can handle it if I use my powers to bring all of you inside?”
“Yes but…no.” Nanami admits. He wears a sheepish smile on his face - almost shy. Which was in direct contrast with the way he’s scrapin’ his right hand down your core and resting it atop your womb. He looks at you with raised brows. “Here?”
You nod. “Right there.” Then you’re wiggling your hips down in order to take him deeper—
But Nanami’s stopping you with a hand at your waist- practically glued onto your skin. He’s firm in his touch though not unkind. And Nanami’s boring deeeeply into your eyes - your very soul - as he’s giving you light, shallow thrusts. Poking himself past that ruthless squeeze of your entrance. “I…hah, I’ll need your superpowers to tell me where I am, my darling. And exactly where you want me.”
Then Nanami plants you with a particularly hard strike that sends his long cock digging. His sides were decorated with a zig-zagging pattern of veins that massages your delicate insides.
“But as for fitting inside…” His mouth fucking waters at the prospect - and you already know with your senses. The gentleman leans down and spits in your mouth. “-we’re gonna do it the human way, okay?”
“Please-” Your nails start to dig into the shifting muscles of his back. “Please-”
And he’s not doing it the human way—not instantly. Before that; Nanami removes your palms from his shoulders and pins them above your head. Using but a single hand of his.
And you know you could easily overpower him - you just know it - but in this instance it makes something carnal twitch inside you to have the calm, soft-spoken gentleman shatter in this way on your pussy. It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac: he was using one hand to restraint yours- so hard that you feel his nail marks, he was using the other to push your knees up until they hit your tits, he was pulling his cock out until it was juuuust the pretty, pinkish top of his shaft.
And then plunging back in.
As deep as he could go - until he’s feeling the little tightness of your entrance. Then reeling back out to repeat. And repeat.
And repeat.
And repeat.
Nanami Kento was stabbing you with his cock nearly a dozen times a second—and he wasn’t sweet with it- he wasn’t fucking gentle.
He was utterly pussydrunk and fucking you just like it. “Please, please, please—” Nanami’s attractive baritone hitches at the very end of his sentence, breaking into a million pieces just as he was. “Sh-shit, it’s like the deeper I go…the more I can’t- hngh.”
“Think?” You flutter your lashes up at him.
“Yeah.” He breathes. “That.”
And you can’t help but let out a little giggle—the way his flared tip rubbed your insides was addictive. He was so wiiiiide above his sensitive slit, and that was pushing forcefully into every one of your hidden spots. “You’re so close to my- hck! favorite spot, Kento. Do you remember where that was?”
“Mmm, my darling- remember?” Nanami looks down at you with crazed eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”
“Then I’ll guide you.”
Though your arms were pinned to the bed, you’re able to careen your hips up into his. And that ruggedly handsome v-line of his was slowly growing redder at the repeated contact- to which you’re only pushing up even harder. “Just a little deeper- two inches?” You’re using your x-ray vision to map out the perfect route to your g-spot. “And then a little more- fuck, angle your hips a little more to the left.”
“Like this?” He asks. Beautiful hazel eyes almost fluttering shut at the onslaught of sudden squeezes that your cunt was blessing him with. “Fuck, how are you squeezing me even- deeper?”
“My superhuman powers?” You’re joking- joking.
But that doesn’t stop Nanami from asking- “Then does that mean you can…snap my dick off with that pussy, my darling?”
At first you’re in disbelief that such words could have possibly left Nanami Kento’s - the Nanami Kento’s - mouth. And then when it’s finally sunken in, you’re debating whether he was actually serious about it—he looked serious enough. “Ah…” Your lips part. “Kiss me.”
He does.
And as he does, that winding restraint of your legs tugs n’ tugs him ever-closer. Ever-deeper.
That bulbous tip of his was openin’ you up so fucking well—hidden nooks you hadn’t even known existed. And after a few more jerky thrusts, Nanami breaks the kiss with a rather lecherous slurp! and moves to huff against your ear. “I-is it all the way in, my dearest?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that?” You’re chuckling before looking down using your x-ray vision once more.
“Tell me, my darling- tell me.” And Nanami Kento was always rather the stoic man—never combusting, never overreacting. But at this moment, it feels as though the longer he’s not fully stuffed in your cunt, the more and more he’s fucking losing it-
“Well…just a few inches longer until you’re gonna be- hah-” Untangling one of your hands from his, you’re running it down your core. Your womb. “-here.”
And Nanami can’t hurry up enough to pin your hands back on the mattress, replacing it with his own. He fucking moans when he realizes that - if he presses down hard enough, perhaps through your superhuman powers - you can make him feel himself bumpin’ thrusts from the outside. You continue. “But you’re actually pretty close to- ah.”
Just then your words are taking on a trilling tone.
Almost matching his in terms of neediness.
Nanami’s running his lengthy cock so deeeeep inside that he ends up rubbin’ his flared tip along either side of your channel—perfectly massaging that one spot you’ve been yearning for this entire time. It’s like a pretty target then that he’s never failing to hit over and over and over again- until you’re throbbing and raw inside.
And every one of his thrusts end up puncturing that spot. That sweet bundle of nerves that makes his mouth water- you’re shattering around his shaft every time he repeats the motion. “Deeper.” Nanami chokes out. “Deeper- now I just need you to take me even deeper. I don’t just want it- I need it.”
And pressing your legs apart with his strong pelvis- he’s murmuring as he hones in.
That target at the back of your pussy.
That gummy surface that just seemed to be calling to him.
That area at the very bottom that just seemed soaked in his never-ending precum—“I need it. I need it. I need it so fuckin’ badly.” He was slurring on his words by this point, and Nanami noses down the column of your throat. “It’s like every atom inside me is burning up. Not just because of the fuck- aphrodisiac.”
“Not just…?” You ask with widened eyes.
And he’s grinding down on the heavenly spot between your legs - so hard that the scruff of his happy trail massages your clit. And it’s such a primal sensation that you don’t think you’d ever be able to replicate—not even with your hypercontrol. “Not just.” He dips his face into the crook of your neck, hair sticking to your clammy skin. “My darling, your body’s liquor.”
Harder and harder.
With a few more thorough strokes, Nanami’s finally - finally - bottoming out.
You feel the moment he empties out those thick, throbbing inches with a rough bang! The velvety end of his tip swipes across your cervix- and you’re shivering at the rope of goey precum he’s leaving behind. “Sh-shiiiiiit.”
“Have I…?” Nanami’s pupils dilate. “Have I…” And he keeps fucking you in merciless thrusts.
You smile, “Why don’t you see for yourself, Kento?” He seriously didn’t realize, yet?
Nanami blinks dazedly a few times- before he’s slowly ducking his head downwards and staring at the place where you two were connected. Where your puffy pussylips were struggling to swallow down his red cock—and his heavy balls were thwack-thwack-thwacking away. And it’s enough to make his mouth water.
“Oh.”
His breath hitches as he sees that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.
And Nanami falters his hips - for just a split-second - so that he could reach down and give that tummy bulge a kiss—a fucking kiss. Coming back up with the most accomplished smile- “I-I think m’close, my darling.”
“So then cum, Kento.” You’re breaking free of his restraint to throw your arms around him again. “And I’ll-”
“No.” The blond man already knew what you were going to say. Shaking his sweaty head, “I won’t let you make yourself cum using your powers, my dear—this Earthling is going to do it himself.”
So you’re keeping your mouth shut and giving into the pleasure - and on Krypton you may have had to use your physiological control to get yourself off most of the time- but Nanami was hellbent on making you feel better than he already was. He’s slammin’ away into your g-spot. He’s using his now-free hand to roll over your clit.
Again and again and again—
As many times as he needed to in order to push you towards your high - even if it meant rubbin’ his reddened cock raw against the sopping hot insides of your cunt. In next to no time; Nanami has your toes curling at the sheer amount of pleasure shooting up from them.
And you’re babbling away into the grove of his neck, “K-Kento, I’m close…”
“Please-” He sounds very much ruined by how he’s had to push his own orgasm for yours- gladly, at that. “P-please…” A ribbon of spit glides from the corner of his mouth, and Nanami pushes down on your tummy bulge using his chiselled abs. “Cum on my cock, my girl.”
You’re both reaching your highs at the same time - Nanami’s with a few more choked-up groans and the sloppiest thrusts you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and you with a few more replays of his name and the bed frame shattering underneath you. It’s solely from using your super strength to fuck back into Nanami’s cock - something you hadn’t even realized you’d been doing.
Your brain feels completely fried by the crescendo of your high- getting every peak of it smacked! by Nanami’s ruthless hips.
Again and again—he’s pumping out scalding white globs of cum.
It empties out midway down your walls and smears once he’s hittin’ your cervix. “Cum on my- cum on my…oh, fuck.” Nanami’s pupils tremble- “Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before…”
“Mmm, me neither.” You coo up at him. Your own orgasm was taking over you nerve by nerve—flooding it with white-hot pleasure. Back arching. Knees trembling. It thrums inside of you - and you’re wondering just how potent that aphrodisiac is, because your heartbeat’s almost concerningly fast—
“S’that so?” Nanami slurs. Pressing a chaste peck to your lips as he fucks his cum inside you. “Because I’m not just talking about the sex.”
Oh.
The realization hits you like a freight truck - or maybe a block of Kryptonite. Your heartbeat wasn’t increasing just because of the aphrodisiac. Not at all.
You’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s once more, and you can see yourself doing it over and over and over again.
“Me too.”
And then after a moment, you laugh.
“Kento, we broke the bed.”
.
.
.
SUPERGIRL SAVES 160,000 AT RAINBOW BRIDGE—A TIMELINE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE’S NEWEST ADDITION.
EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)
SUPERVILLAIN KENJAKU FINALLY ARRESTED! REVEALED TO BE BEHIND RAINBOW BRIDGE SITUATION AND SLANDER CAMPAIGN AGAINST SUPERGIRL…
“I spy with my little eye…” Shoko’s knowing gaze flickers between you and Nanami. “-a smile. Two smiles.”
Nanami’s warm gaze turns to you. “Ah, what’s there not to smile about?”
“Considering I’ve finally cleared up my name.” You respond. And it was true; ever since the highly-publicized double heroism in which you saved both Nanami and managed to prevent the Yurikamome Line accident, the headlines couldn’t get enough of your name. Except this time…it wasn’t a bitter taste on their tongues.
Were we wrong about Supergirl? Was Kenjaku behind the hate campaign?
(Partially. You don’t doubt that that man had his fingers in every pot and scheme possible, but you don’t doubt that most of it was pure human vitriol. And you hoped Kenjaku continued seething…from Tokyo Island Penitentiary.)
It was sweet.
And you weren’t naive enough to believe that the criticism would stop immediately - or in fact ever - but that was alright now. That was fine.
When you were you.
And you had Nanami beside you—
He intertwines his hand with yours- and Shoko pretends to gag at the sweet, sweet act. The both of you are shaking your heads at her dramatics; which you know she didn’t mean considering the cover page that she’d been staring at at that very moment.
That second headline.
EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)
By Nanami Kento.
Underneath those words were a picture snapped from the night you’d save Nanami for the second time.
You’re crashing through the ceiling of Kenjaku’s bar. You’re carrying Nanami Kento in a princess carry. You. You. You. Powerful and precise. And the way that Nanami was staring at you- oh, he had stars in his eyes brighter than the night sky in the background. His arms were holding onto you like a lifeline, and you were unfettered as you held him close like a star himself.
It was the very picture of heroism.
But to you, it was also…
“Love.” Shoko whispers. “You’re in love.”
And you’re opening your mouth in response - but you’re spared from answering, as you hear something in the distance—a scream. Downtown Shibuya. There was a mugging in occurrence and the perpetrator seemed to have a weapon.
You’re looking at Nanami and Shoko, and both nod as they recognize the hardened glint in your eye.
They’d come up with some believable excuse for your absence, surely. And if they didn’t…
You’re sweeping a glance at the mundane cubicles to make sure no one was watching- then ducking out of the nearest open window as fast as light. On strong summer winds, you’re flying off to save someone—and underneath that grey coat of yours flapped your iconic suit. You tear it open at the chest to reveal the ‘S’ underneath.
You're a young college professor teaching English Lit and history, you don't live an insanely exciting life - no, you enjoy spending time at home with a good book and a glass of red. You're perfectly content until a certain student sets his pretty blue eyes on you - senior Satoru Gojo. Obsessed with you, Satoru starts following you everywhere, observing and waiting. He just wants you to realize that he's the only one for you, and he'll do anything to make sure you throw your 'ethics' right out of the window.
pairings - college student! Gojo x professor! reader
warnings - absolutely MDNI! this story has yandere content (babytrapping/stalking) Satoru 22, reader 30, reverse professor trope, power dynamics, push and pull. this part - breed kink, breed kink, breed kink LMAO - like no, he rly needs you pregnant I'm so sry - so a LOT of cum, oral (m receiving) dom/sub elements, yandere, psycho ass Gojo who wants to chain you up, thigh fucking, overstim, possessive red flag behaviors
tysm for @lizatonix for proofreading this chap for me!!! <3 I love you SO MUCH! I only have one more chap after this ahhhh my bbs!
<<<part six - masterlist - final part(soon)
part seven
It’s too intimate once Satoru Gojo gets to the front porch of your home, the never-ending rain still pounding on your awning, lightning illuminating the sky behind Satoru’s tall body. His lips are descending onto yours as the two of you drip onto the little welcome rug by your front door, heart pounding, your eyes looking up into Satoru’s now – dark with need.
“It’s always raining with us,” he murmurs, you can’t help but giggle breathlessly at that, watching the lightning flash, highlighting his perfect cheeks, his plump lips in a little smile.
“It always is,” you tug him inside, and of course Fluffy the traitor just cracks one of those cute blue eyes open, all curled up on the little fluffy bed Satoru bought her last week, that tail wrapping, flickering just a bit. “Yeah, Fluffy – I know.”
Satoru laughs and kicks the door shut, the sound echoing and mixing with his sharp exhale, as he studies your silhouette, the way your dress was literally clinging to every curve of your body. “She loves that bed, hmm?”
“She does,” Satoru slips off his jacket, letting it fall with a thud – his white dress shirt plastered to his chest from the spray of rain, outlining every muscle until your throat goes dry just looking at him.
His hair is a dripping wet mess, the usually fluffy strands plastered against his forehead, those lashes dripping and spiked together. You ache more for him than you knew was possible, all the thoughts of what was happening before, of his parents, of your career fading to this singular moment.
You’d do anything to have him look at you like this forever.
Saroru’s long fingers trace the line of your jaw, ever so gently, but he’s trembling just a bit, his hands shaking as he cups your face, leaning low – so big, his hands, his body, everything about him making you shrink just a bit. You always feel small with him, and it’s addictive, like somehow he will protect you from everything.
Even though that’s fucking insane, isn’t it?
“Turn around, sweetheart.”
You eagerly listen, and he laughs softly.
“You’re being such a good girl now,” he murmurs, his voice low and much darker than usual, one hand brushing the damp strands of your hair aside, you feel the coolness of your fan against your soaking wet skin. “You’re finally listening to me, hmm? You do wanna be a good girl?”
“Yes,” you are never in control with him, not really - it doesn’t matter that you’re the older one, that you’ve lived eight years longer. Satoru controls you, and you want it, you want to be a good girl as much as you want to not listen.
Let him smack your ass till you do.
Let him chain you like he threatens.
Loving Satoru was dangerous, it was insanity, blinding like the lightning that pours in as his hands move to the delicate zipper on the back of your gown, noticing your tag then, toying with it.
“You kept the tag?” You blush as his knuckles brush against your spine, just where he is unzipping, following it like a little trail, making you throb.
“I can’t afford this-”
Satoru rips the tag off, you gasp and look back, seeing his glare. “I’ll give you the money to keep it.”
“Toru…”
“You deserve everything, pretty lil goddamn body in this dress? Think I’ll let you take it back? Hah,” he tugs that zipper all the way down, the silk is so heavy with rain it just falls, pooling at your feet around your ankles. “You’re keeping it.”
“You shouldn’t buy things for me…” You shiver, not just from the cold, but from the intimacy of every moment, with how his lips brush against your ear, and he presses his own cold, wet clothes against you.
“I’ll make sure you have everything you deserve,” his words are insanity, his kiss along your ear somehow sweet as it is filthy. “You won’t want for a goddamn thing when you’re all mine.”
“You’re s-so anti feminism…” You mumble, he snorts at that, tickling your skin. “You are setting me back generations.”
“You can make your money if you want, then,” he says softly. “Since you’re a stubborn little brat, but I’m paying for that fucking dress. Yes?” He turns you to face him, tilting your chin up now, the rain still pattering against your windows. “Say yes.”
“Yes.”
“Good, doin’ s’good already,” he whispers, stepping back – his pretty blue gaze is devoted, worshipping your body as he looks at you, standing there in nothing but your soaked lace bra and panties. “Fuckin’ perfect.”
You go to cover up just a bit and he smacks your hands. “Satoru!”
“Don’t cover any of your body up,” he murmurs, drugged from you, the very sight of his pretty Professor half naked in front of him now, your tits pressed up as that lace molds to their form, nipples glaringly apparent. “Pretty Professor.”
“Psycho student,” he would laugh at your brattiness if he wasn’t so hard it hurt, unbuttoning his dress shirt, showing his chest, his hard abdomen, feeling your gaze against him. “Pretty psycho.”
“Ya think I’m pretty, hmm?” You roll your eyes, and Satoru steps closer, shirt off and on the floor in the soaking wet mess both of your clothes are now.
“You know you are, ah!” He’s too close now, as he hooks his thumbs into the elastic waistband of your panties, tugging and sliding them down your legs with the sweetest expression, achingly slow – inch by inch. “Toru…”
He kneels as he tugs them down, looking up at you underneath those spiked lashes, pressing a soft kiss to your hip bone as your panties fall right down to your ankles, he helps you step out of them, pressing another kiss to the inside of your thigh. Your breath catches, dizzy from need, from how fucking perfect it feels to have him just like this.
On his knees before you.
You brush his still damp strands back, eyes fluttering shut when he kisses higher, breath ghosting over where you need him the most, he teases a kiss on your hood, on your waist, standing once more. He reaches right around your waist, unclasping your bra with a flick of his wrist, letting it fall down behind you.
“You had lots of practice,” you tease, your eyes narrowing at him, Satoru snorts at that, his huge hands coming up to cup your pretty tits in his hands, his thumbs running circles over your puffy nipples, making them press out against them, begging for attention.
“You sound jealous again, hmm?” He teases, you can’t help but bite down on your lower lip, nipples aching with the coolness of the air against your still chilled skin. “That I have had some practice?”
“Very,” you admit with a pretty scowl, he gets harder, undoing his belt with a loud click as he moans into your mouth, kissing you over and over. “Mmm… maybe I’m a little psycho.”
“You have no idea how fucking insane you make me, sweetheart,” he whispers, his lips pressed against the curve of your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across your neck, your shoulder, hands pressing into your waist, squeezing it and making your heart hammer in your chest. “No fucking idea.”
If you knew.
You know a bit, but you have no clue how fucking serious Satoru was – how he meant it when he said he’d chain you up. His tongue darts against your skin, lapping up the taste of you, even sweeter with that rainwater on your skin. You’re trembling now, breaths coming faster, almost losing your patience as you tug open his belt fully, letting his pants unbutton just so.
“Need you, Toru,” you feel so fucking vulnerable then, but how can you not need him? How can you not need all of him – all of his insanity against you.
“Yeah, do you, baby?” He teases softly, kissing you deeper, the two of you stumbling past your tiny little kitchen, he pauses, frowning now.
You follow his gaze to the small plastic dispenser holding your birth control pills, and you see a damn vein press out from his jaw – a muscle ticking, as if he’s fucking furious.
“Satoru…”
He grins.
Oh it’s a feral fucking grin, too.
“You’re not…”
“Fuck this shit,” Satoru snatches up the little plastic case, walking quickly over to your trash can. He opens it and rips the foil, letting the little pills fall into it.
Fuck he’s insane.
Fuck it’s hot.
You’ll worry about all that tomorrow, about how an independent woman like you is loving this breed kink freak of a student, raising a brow at you, as if asking if you want him to continue.
Your cheeks heat up, stepping closer, seeing his open slacks, those v cuts and the white hair scattering over. “Wanna really fucking keep any?”
“You’re insane,” you breathe out, a soft little laugh escaping your lips despite yourself. “You’re absolutely beyond fucking insane, Satoru.”
“Yeah, I am,” he smirks at you now. “Need to keep any?”
“No, you little jerk,” you mumble.
You wanna be bred by him – give him all the goddamn babies.
Not six.
Maybe three.
Satoru walks over to you and cups your chin, tilting it up now, as you’re naked right in front of him, your own hands on the waistband of his boxers. “Take ‘em off for me, hmm?”
“Yes,” you whisper, easing those pants and boxers down, he’s kicking them off until he’s standing right in front of you, completely naked – he’s painfully hard, his cock jutting out thick and heavy, dripping white pre as you kneel. “Mng…”
You can’t stop yourself from lapping the salty substance, sucking on that reddened tip, eyes fluttering shut, earning a gentle little smack. “Eyes on me, sweetheart – on me.”
You look at him now, naked on your tile floor, letting him guide his thick, veiny cock into your eager, wet mouth with a filthy little moan. His hand tangling in your wet locks of hair, shoving his cock deep in your hot, eager little mouth, all while your eyes stay locked on his, tip gliding all smooth over your tongue, against the roof of your mouth.
“That’s it, love that I threw them out, hmm? Love that I wanna knock your pretty body up?” He’s babbling as you suck, laughing like he’s really gone and fucking lost it, his long lashes fluttering as you swallow more of him, taking him deeper with every mean stroke. “F-fuck…”
You barely get a few more in before he’s yanking you up, picking you up with an arm around your waist, you let out a surprised squeak as he carries you over to the couch, the one you’ve sat down and drank wine on, all alone before he met you. Before he came to invade your space, taking all of you over.
He lays you onto the soft cushions, caging you in with his huge arms, your hands come to grip them, feeling the hard muscles and lines of his body, his knees forcing your thighs apart. His eyes are even darker as he kisses you over and over, and you spread wide for him.
“You love me,” he murmurs, you swallow as he pulls back. “Don’t you?”
“I love your psycho ass,” you whisper, lips trembling – it’s like a madness, a sickness for him that you can never get over. As if there could have been ‘just once’ or ‘just the week’ when he consumes you like this.
“You’re all mine,” he whispers, this is a side of Satoru even you haven’t seen, for every bit of him that’s possessive, psychotic, there is a vulnerability to him, to how he pouts just a bit. “Aren’t you all mine, baby?”
You can only nod, your throat too tight to form words – what would they even be at this point but begging, pleading, babbling? As his hips move, and you feel the tip of his cock against you – slick with your spit.
“Toru!”
“This cunt is mine,” he is lost in how goddamn good you feel, his tip catching that mess that’s dripping down your slick folds, over and over, watching you unravel beneath him. “These tits are mine.”
“Mnh!” Satoru’s bending down as he ruts his cock against your messy cunt, sucking a perked up nipple into his hot, wet mouth and biting down just hard enough to make you gasp, teeth making sweet pain spread through your body.
“Mine, god I can’t wait for these to have milk, you’re done being a stubborn brat, being mean?”
“You’re…” He bites your nipple again, smirking.
“I’ll drink milk right from them,” he tilts his head, tongue long and filthy as it swirls right around, and you’re trembling, hands gripping him so tight, nails pressing into his biceps and leaving marks.
“Drink them!?”
“Fuck yes, mmm… baby will have to share.”
“I can’t with you,” you giggle and earn another bite, and a pretty glare. “You’re serious!”
“Very,” he leans back a bit, his eyes locking onto your exposed, glistening cunt, and he spits right on it with a long gossamer strand – a fucking filthy act, his saliva landing right on your clit. You jerk just a bit as he sighs, using his thumb to smear it around, mixing it with your own wetness that’s drooling out.
“You can’t j-just drink all the milk you weirdo, mnh!” He chuckles, looking at you and spreading your thigh high, propping your calf right on the back cushion.
“Gonna get you so full of me,” he mumbles, already drunk from you – as his tip hits your twitchy lil clit over and over, pulling back just before you can squirt. “Maybe I should punish you for running away.”
“Punish me?” Your eyes roll back when he pulls back, spitting on your cunt again. “Please…”
He lines himself up with your entrance, teasin’ it, just the head popping in only to pop right out, coated in your slick. You whine out desperately now, eyes all pretty, nails pressing harder. “No more running. No more pretending you don’t love me, no more thinking I don’t want only you.”
You swallow now, nervously, parting you lips as if to protest – but it’s as if he can read you like a fucking book.
“But tomorrow-”
“No buts,” he whispers, teasing you again, cupping you with his free hand, your face so small in his grip. “No arguing, you’re gonna be the good girl I know you can be, and let me breed you. Hmm?”
You bite down on your lower lip.
“Say it,” he whispers softly, breath ghosting your lips. “That you want me to breed your pretty pussy, that you wanna give me all those babies I deserve.”
Fuck it.
“I want it,” he whines out, pushing inside your slutty little pussy, bottoming out and stretching you – without the usual play, you’re utterly tight, feeling every fucking inch of him. “Ah! S-so deep I…”
“It’s all me, isn’t it baby? All me in your pretty head,” he is lost as you, your cunt isn’t all it is, your pretty face isn’t all it is – no, Satoru’s need is too much, he will never let you go.
If he has to chain you, he will.
He thinks you’ll probably love it.
“What’s going on in th-that mind, hmm?” You barely manage to whisper as he pounds his cock into you, as he rails you so hard you’re trembling, wondering at the flash of white teeth as he makes your hips jerk with every thrust.
“Do you really wanna know, teach?” He murmurs, slowing just a bit, the white hairs at the base of his cock grinding too perfectly against your little clit.
“Y-yes…. I wanna know…”
Your fucked out whisper is more than enough for him – Satoru didn’t care if you knew it all anymore, if you knew every insane thought he had.
“Wanna tie you up to my bed and never let you go,” your lips part as he grinds again, lifting your thigh higher and pressing it up, making you whine out pathetically. “Wanna lock you away and tell everyone you’re gone, that’s what. Keep you all to my fucking self.”
“You c-can’t…” You really should be scared, but you can’t be – not with that filthy pressure against you that has your toes curling, those heels tugged off by him and clattering to the floor.
“I won’t,” he corrects, smirking down at you. “But I want to, pretty teacher – I want to so fucking bad, I don’t want to share you.”
Your answers are soft whines as he presses the heel of your foot on his shoulder, kissing up your calf and watching the creamy ring form at the base of his cock, with a filthy squelch. “Toru…”
“You feel that? Feel how deep I am? Hah, look at me moving inside you,” Satoru’s irises are swallowed now, you can hardly see a little ring of blue left, the lighting flashing with his feral grin as he watches that bulge move in and out. “Eyes on me, what did I say?”
Your eyes immediately obey before your own damn mind can comprehend he’s ordering you too. “I feel you.”
“That’s where I’m gonna fill you all up,” his lips dart up your neck, tickling you as he folds you right in half. “Gonna paint your fucking walls with it.”
His words are filthy as fuck, but his kisses are reverent, those big hands just worshipping you in a way that makes you dizzy, needy for him. He’s reduced you to a babbling little mess beneath him as his balls smack your ass with a loud thwack, hitting it hard, the squelch of your messy hole sucking him in mixing with the blood that’s rushing in your ears.
He groans out softly, his eyes squeezing shut and fluttering all pretty with those snowy lashes for a moment as you feel him move inside you, before they lock back onto yours. They’re so blue it’s intense, almost glowing in the dim light of your living room, his laugh soft as his fingers leave bruises. “You’re gonna look so fucking pretty, all round and full of me.”
Your entire body heats up at the vision, the words he whispers like that, you can feel your orgasm about to hit, tight in your core with every drag of his tip on your spot. “Close, close! Mng… Satoru…” you whimper out – your nails pressing into his broad shoulders, making him suck in a breath.
“You’re close, hmm?” He whispers, letting his cock drag all slow in your walls, leaning over you, lips a breath away. “Wanna cum just for me?”
“Mhm!” Satoru leans up and reaches down, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, pretty little circles, shoving his cock in deep so it bruises your cervix, his skin glistening with sweat and the rain from outside. “Come on, then, sweetheart. Cum for me. Milk all of it out of me.”
Your back arches off the couch, whining out as that pleasure takes you over – pussy clamping right around him, pulsing and doing just that – milking his cock, gripping him so tight he whimpers.
“Fuck,” he moans out your name desperately, his hips jerky, the way he fucks you erratic now as your aftershocks hit him, his own seed flooding your pussy, white and puffy and hot in your walls.
“Toru!” You’re lost, kissing him desperately, letting his tongue glide along yours as he fills you so full it’s already leaking, he’s laughing softly, grinning like a psycho against your neck.
“You wanted to protect me from what, hmm? From having you forever, for having you be all mine?”
Your answer is a soft, desperate little sound, tears escaping your eyes. “I j-just wanted to…”
He bites your neck hard – teeth sinking enough to make you gasp as it breaks that tender skin. “This is the only thing I want. You – all full of me, carrying all my babies. Knew it when I first saw you in the fucking hall. Before that lecture, before you told me how good I did, hmm?”
You’re sniffling now, tears spilling at his intensity, as he presses little kisses all over your neck, your cheeks, lapping one up and moaning.
“Fuck you’re pretty like this,” he murmurs, pulling his messy cock out to watch that thick, white cum already starting to leak out of you, your own release coating him in gloss. “You’re cryin’ so fuckin’ pretty right now.”
“Weirdo,” you manage to mumble – but you love that shit, you love when he uses the swollen head of his cock to push it back in, filthy as he swipes it down to gather it all, pushing it right back in your hole.
“Ah!”
“Can’t waste a drop of all this,” he murmurs, fucking it right back into you, your thighs quivering as his hands slide up them, cunt already sore. “We’ve got a lot of work to do, sweetheart.”
“Work?” You mumble, incoherent almost from him.
“Mhm,” he smiles all cute and boyish, brushing his hair back like he’s not a deviant. “A lot of breeding to catch up on without those pills.”
“I swear…”
He just kisses you again, until you’re too fucked out to even know what fucking time it is, you lose track of it all when it’s the morning and he’s got you on the counter, kissing up your neck, so many loads inside you’re full. Satoru was not kidding when he said he had every plan to knock you up tonight, clearly, and you’ll just have to push that off for another day, too.
Because currently, you just wanna fucking give him anything.
*****
You spend an entire weekend with Satoru, getting fucked in any and every position the man can imagine, he’s not joking when he says he can fuck you all day – if it wasn’t for you being sore, the psycho could get hard again for you. You’re at his place on Sunday and you haven’t seen the light of fucking day, as if he’s already planning on keeping you all to himself, locked up like he ‘joked’ about’.
The morning light filters through his blinds when you wake up completely sore like you’ve worked out too damn hard, glittering light glowing against the floor in pretty gold. Satoru’s side of the bed is all rumpled, you can smell the scent of coffee, sighing as you stand, your sore ass legs crying out for help.
How many times could a thirty year old get folded in half!?
Satoru is standing, his broad shoulders and that strong back damn near making you wet again – as if you’re not already fucking dehydrated. He’s making a cup in the keurig when you walk over carefully, quietly, hugging him around the waist and making him chuckle just a bit.
“Morning sleeping beauty,” he teases, a hand coming to cover your wrists, as he looks back at you.
“Morning Toru…” You get emotional then.
This would all be over soon.
This bliss, the ease and the domesticity of it all would be over, and that thought hurts so bad you pull back, making him frown, turning to look at you and cupping your face.
“Sweetheart, what…”
“I don’t want it to end,” you admit, you’ve tried so hard to keep it together, to keep any semblance of normal through it all, but it’s all out of the window now, all gone – replaced with the way you need him. “I don’t.”
“It’s not ending,” he murmurs, seeing your pretty, glittery eyes – the ones he’s looked into every chance he could this weekend.
You think he’d let you go?
You think he’d ever let you go?
“Why do you think that, hmm?”
“Because, work tomorrow… your parents are gonna fucking kill me. Kill both of us, and I don’t want them taking your trust fund.”
He laughs.
He laughs.
You smack him.
“It’s not funny!” He swipes your tears and you smack him again. “I’m dead ass serious, Satoru.”
“Have some coffee, professor,” he walks over and puts just the right amount of cream and sugar, your fingertips brushing together. “I have just the solution for the trust fund issue, actually.”
“You do?” You take a sip of the hot coffee, sighing and fluttering your eyes shut at how good it feels on your tongue.
“Mhm,” he takes your free hand and touches your ring finger. “Future Mrs. Gojo."
He says it so casually, like he's commenting on the weather outside or the basketball game last night, watching your mouth open.
“What?”
“Mrs. Gojo!? That’s insane – and… and…”
“You wouldn’t marry me?” You hear it now, the worry – but that’s not fucking it – of course you would.
It’s the fact that they’d never accept you, that they’d give him shit, that-
“Answer me, now.”
His soft order has your eyes looking right up.
“Good girl,” you curse, thighs pressing together. “Don’t let that pretty professor brain think too much. Answer if you’d marry me.”
“Yes, I would,” you whisper now, sighing and shutting your eyes. “But-”
“Ah-ah,” he cuts you off, setting your cup down, barring you on either side, hands on the counter. “I found a special clause in my trust fund – I can get it before I’m twenty-five under two very archaic conditions.”
“Two conditions?” You ask, blinking a bit, seeing his smirk. “Marriage?”
“Mhm, and an heir,” his hand drifts to your tummy. “If I have both of those, I get it before – and I won’t run their dumb fucking company with it either.”
“You’re… not?” You’re so fucking proud of this psycho when he touches your cheek gently.
“I wanna be a professor like you,” your heart breaks, it melts for him – the way his fingers shake just a bit.
“Like me? You wanna be like me, Toru?” You whisper, voice broken, tears slipping from your eyes.
“Yeah, I wanna teach… I always thought there was no fucking point, but with you I just…” He kisses you softly now, sighing. “I wanna teach.”
“I’ve never been so fucking proud, god,” you smile tremulously now. “You wanna make a shitty professor pay?”
“And have shitty hours, be unappreciated, all that,” he teases back, smiling against your lips. “Have no personal life, bring my work home, care too much about my students.”
“So you wanna be me?”
“I do…” He frowns now. “Which means – as much as I wanna lock you up and never let you leave, tell everyone you died and hide you-”
“Satoru!”
“Sorry, aha,” he grins again, as if any of that was a joke, seeing your glare. “As much as I want that shit, and I hope to eventually have it. What better than being a Professor too? Right next to you, so we can be together, and I can make sure no one is hitting on my wife.”
“You’re utterly serious,” you blink rapidly, chest rising and falling. “You’d let me still teach then, hmm?”
“Well, part time. I need you having babies,” you snort a bit. “But yes, I’m willing to let you work since you want to, so goddamn bad – remember, the trust fund is enough neither of us ever have to, really.”
“I would love to teach next to you,” you whisper, hands slipping up his bare chest, shaking your head now. “I’m so proud of you, doing what you want – not what they do. Toru I really am.”
Fuck.
He can’t handle your praise, nothing has Satoru hard like that, and he knows your poor cunt is all beat up from him, he turns you toward that counter, gripping you under your chin, pressing his cock right against the small of your back. You whine out, head falling back, letting him tug you hard, arching your back just for him.
“Your praise is making me leak so much pre, fuck,” you laugh a bit at that, shaking your head as he grips your chin. “It does, you have no idea.”
“My pussy hurts!”
“I could fuck your thighs,” he teases, the thoughts have you biting down on your lower lip. “You’d like that, hmm?”
“Get to the real question, how do we just… get married? They’ll hate that idea and the rest of the semester?”
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs, sliding the big shirt of his you’re wearing up, tugging it high in a knot as he slips his cock from his boxers, you gasp when you feel the sticky cum against your inner thigh. “They’ll keep it quiet, all of it – we’ll reveal we’re together later next semester.”
“B-but you… they’ll…”
“A rumor or two? You won’t worry about that when you’re filthy rich, will you baby? When you’re covered in diamonds and everything I can buy you – fuck your thighs are so soft,” he’s gasping out as he feels them now, pressing on either side of his thick length. “God you are perfect, slutty pussy drippin’ already.”
“Toru!” You’re aching as his tip presses just enough against your clit to make you whine, his shaft gliding between puffy, abused folds as he wraps his other bicep around your waist, lips moving messy up your neck.
“Marry me, pretty professor,” he whispers.
“While you’re fucking my thighs, you’re proposing!?”
“Yes!?”
“God,” he’s slipping faster, gliding through the mess as he pictures it all – you pregnant, married to him, getting to kiss you in every hall, getting to tell his parents to get fucked. With you. “Marry me, pretty please?”
“You can’t act cute mid thigh f-fucking,” he pouts against your skin, and you’re trembling, your hands gripping the counter tightly, every stroke between your thighs pushing you closer. “You wanna marry me? Are you…”
“Yes, god yes – only you f’me,” he mumbles, all pussy drunk as he moves, as his hips snap against the curve of your ass, gripping you harder, using your thighs and your body like you are his little doll. “Just you, fuck just say yes… lettin’ you work and shit, hmm?”
“S-so generous,” you giggle but it’s cut off when his tip hits your twitchy clit, the one he’d sucked and hummed on last night till you squirted all over his face. “Yes, I’ll marry you, but… they’ll be so-”
“Let me handle them for you,” he whispers, even closer as his tip catches your clit again, feeling you gush as he glides once more, he can tell you’re about to squirt all over him. “I’ll take care of it all, sweetheart. Gonna be mine, all mine, yeah?”
“Yeah,” you are done for, a drooling mess as Satoru fucks your inner thighs faster, the plush of them slick from you and his own sticky pre, nails now pressing into his forearms. “Yours, yours…”
Satoru cries out, burying his face in your neck and inhaling your scent, before lifting your thigh, having you gasp. “I’m cummin’ inside, can’t waste any.”
“You freak,” you want it though, when he slams into your hole with ease from how wet you are, pumping your pussy full and pulsing inside you, gasping out your name. “What I can’t s-swallow either?”
“Not til you’re knocked – ah – up,” you feel so good he’s shaking, leaning his heavy weight and pressing you against the counter. “Mmm… then you can again, when I get you pregnant.”
“So generous,” you’re shaking when he pulls back, letting him turn you to him, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. “I’m nervous, Toru. How they’ll take this and… what, do we go get married immediately?”
“I have someone that can next week if you want, but yes… it’d have to be quickly, but I’ll give them some of my time as a CEO, to keep them happy enough. To protect you, okay?” You nod quickly, still shaky as he’s dripping out of you. “You focus on being pretty and pumped full of cum.”
Satoru is insane but god if you don’t fucking love him.
*****
“So, you two actually came,” his parents say that next week in their office, as Satoru shuts the door behind you, a hand on your waist. His parents had gone to Paris for a time thankfully, leaving you and Satoru with just enough time to let that marriage license go long enough.
Oh, and enough time for Satoru to knock you up.
Yep – you’re pregnant, but you think that he may have gotten you while you were still on the pill with the timing of it all.
Little shit was so happy – he even let you swallow his cum as a reward for being so good and breedable for him. The memories of just that had you pressing your thighs together. Keeping it all under wraps and acting normal was pure torture, but the stress of meeting with his imposing parents was enough to make your tummy flip, to turn into knots.
Yet he didn’t move his hand from your waist.
Satoru was serious, and in this case he was no young twenty two year old boy – he was a whole fucking man in a business suit in front of his parents, his lips quirking right up as he studies them. His dad in his big seat in the Dean’s office, his mom sitting on the desk with her legs crossed at the ankles.
“Hey pops, hey mom,” he greets all friendly, you almost snort just a bit. “Have a good time?”
“Looks like you sure did.”
“I did in fact,” his hand tugs you even closer, and your cheeks heat up, heart hammering in your chest. “I’ve been real busy these past couple weeks, actually. There’s so much to catch you all up on.”
“Oh really, I can see,” his dad says, annoyance dripping on his lips. “And just what is this spectacle, hmm? You want her career over? You want your trust fund to be-”
“That’s just the thing – you wrote this cute lil clause in there with your lawyer, if I’m married with an heir, I get it early,” his parents visibly pale.
Maybe they didn’t think Satoru was that insane.
But no, he is.
“So turns out…” He grins now. “Already got the heir on the way, and I’m getting married – don’t worry, it’s a private affair, no need to come.”
“Gojo are you-”
“Very, very serious,” he murmurs, his voice a low hum – not teasing, but also not letting his parents down him. And in that moment you’re even prouder of your clearly psychotic, borderline… fiance? You think he’s a fiance already, yes.
You are proud of him.
But you’re also terrified and overwhelmed, especially when his hand is right over your tummy, and their brows are raised.
synopsis: you weren't looking for a boyfriend - one just found you anyway. but things start looking a little more complicated when the roommate you thought you hated starts cutting himself a bigger slice of your life than you ever meant to let him have.
pairings: husband!Gojo x f!Reader
content: smut + light angst, DOMESTIC IN LOVE GOJO!!!, gojo is our favorite green flag!, choso is heartbroken, arguing with yuji lol, reader is having a hard time, protective/possessive gojo, husband/wife time, unprotected piv sex, kitchen sex, kissing, they want each other so badly, accidental creampie
art by @/keki1205 + div by @/petalpxl
"Tell me he's lying."
You couldn't say that. Just like you couldn't stop Choso's heart from breaking the second it started to sink in for him that there wasn't going to be some second chance for the two of you.
He lost you.
And even in six months, if you decided that this whole marriage thing wasn't for you, you weren't sure you could go back to accepting the love he previously offered.
Not when you knew what it felt like to be chosen now.
To not constantly wonder when you'd be shoved on a shelf, only occupying some secret, hidden half of his heart that he couldn't share with the rest of the world.
Or really, just with the people he cared about the most.
"He's not," you muttered, an uncomfortable lump in your throat as you hesitantly found the strength to meet Choso's broken stare.
"How could-" Choso started, stopping himself to shake his head, dark bangs framing in the face you'd fallen for not all that long ago.
But it was betrayal burning beneath your skin now, hurt and disappointment coiling into a tight ball and bouncing around your chest as you nearly threw his question back at him.
How could you? How could he just stand in the same room he used to fuck you in and look at you like you were the one that left him?
"It's like you're not even the same person," Yuji huffed, as if the two of you had spent enough time together the past few months for him to see you changing.
You were different.
Not nearly as naive as you had been back when you were with Nanami, or quite as foolish as you'd been to think that the thing you had with Choso would ever work out.
Could you really call it a relationship? Truly?
When he would only worship you in silence?
"I'm moving out," you announced, figuring that if they were mad at you now, you might as well make it worse. Just throw everything on the table and leave them to clean up the mess. "I'll still pay my part of the rent, but I'll pack up my stuff soon."
Megumi or Todo would probably move in the moment it was empty anyway. The space you occupied in your best friend's life replaced with ease the second you walked away.
But you couldn't bring yourself to stay when you knew you would be spiraling living just a bathroom apart from someone who shattered your heart.
You'd rather stay with the person devoted to stitching you back together.
"To Gojo's place?" Yuji gawked, guilt swallowing you up as you shrugged numbly at him.
"I was thinking about it before we got married, I, well, I didn't really know how to tell you," you explained, knowing that he probably wouldn't buy it anyway.
"When were you actually going to tell me any of this?" He demanded, and you couldn't help but throw a strained glance back to his brother, not sure what you were even looking for from him.
That had always been your problem, hadn't it?
You could pretend that you didn't know what it was exactly that you wanted, but deep down, you did. Support. To be the one he'd stand up for without hesitation. For Choso to call you his without being so fucking scared of everything else.
But he wasn't capable of doing that if it meant pushing his brother away.
You hadn't forced him to choose, he had just done it anyway. And now you were picking someone else to be your priority above both of them.
"I don't know," you admitted. "I didn't want to."
You didn't want things to change. And everything did anyway.
A chapter of your life was closing, and you were already on the next page, waiting for the rest of them to catch up.
"What the hell?" Yuji asked, while Choso kept to his quiet. What else was there to expect?
"I didn't want to hurt your feelings, but I should've just been upfront with you," you continued, meeting his big brown eyes to see what you had been worried about wavering right there in them. All wounded as he shook his head, pink hair sticking up like maybe he'd been running his fingers nervously through them when he paced around here waiting for you.
"Am I just supposed to be okay with you marrying and moving in with a guy you haven't even known for a year?" He scoffed, as if Satoru wasn't literally his boss. And like he hadn't been in full support before you took him seriously. "I'm your best friend-"
"Are you?" You asked, your voice almost cracking as your throat constricted tight. "Because I don't think I'm yours anymore."
His mouth curved down, but even when you suspected water might be welling up in his eyes next, you doubled down.
“I mean, come on, Yuji, how much time have we really spent hanging out even when we already live together? You can’t just act surprised that I’m leaving when you didn’t care that much when I was here,” you added, forcing yourself to look away at that last part as you silently reminded yourself what you were here for.
To get what you needed and go.
Even if you had to sit on the curb outside and wait for Satoru to come back for you.
“That’s not fair,” Yuji argued, not entirely wrong either. You knew you were just saying that stuff because you were hurt too. But standing here, getting confronted like this in front of Choso was just rubbing salt in all your own wounds. "All I wanted was for you to be honest with me, and you just walked away.”
“You want me to be totally honest?” You asked, a defensive laugh escaping as Choso tried to call out your name, to deescalate when it was his damn fault the three of you were doing this now.
“Don’t-”
He shouldn’t have said that.
“I fucked your brother too.”
And okay, you really shouldn’t have said that.
But of all the things either of you had thrown out there, you knew that was the one you wouldn’t be able to undo.
Yuji’s anger immediately deflated into sheer disbelief, his stare shifting between the two of you like he was trying to somehow picture you together before immediately scrunching his nose up in disgust.
"No, no, you-"
"He broke up with me because he didn't want you to find out and get mad at him," you added, glaring accusingly back at Choso who was floundering for something to say, his muscled arms folded across his chest as hurt that rivaled Yuji's shined in his dark eyes.
"Broke up with-" He started to argue, but Yuji was talking over him, realization setting in that you really had slept with his brother. Understanding creeping into his expression like he was suddenly replaying every interaction the two of you had in front of him the last few months, his jaw clenching and releasing as he waved a finger at you that you just swatted away.
"Jesus, do I have to hide Megumi away from you after you divorce my fucking boss?" He snapped, and you winced at the weight of your...betrayal?
It wasn't like you were the only one who'd done it. And Choso had been more than willing before he decided you weren't worth the risk.
You hoped he was happy now.
After all, Yuji would think you were the bad guy here.
"Is there anything else you want or can I finish getting my shit and go now?" You asked, refusing to bite the bait.
You laid it all out.
If Yuji decided he didn't want to see you again, that this was the end of your friendship and he couldn't find it in himself to forgive you for fucking all the most eligible bachelors he knew, well, you would learn to live with his absence.
How different could it be from how you were already living?
"I want you to stay," he stubbornly insisted.
"Please," Choso added, stepping forward, his calloused palm grabbing your wrist before you ripped it away from him, recoiling from his touch. "You can still change your mind."
He hadn't changed his though.
Choso dumped you.
Why couldn't they just let you do the same to them?
"I shouldn't have to fight with you guys to feel like I'm wanted," you muttered, shaking your head as you brushed past Yuji to get a suitcase from the top shelf of your closet, unzipping it as you threw it on your bed.
Yuji made a noise, this strangled scoff that barely even sounded like it came from him, but you didn't stop, snagging the charger you needed and tossing it in. Moving quickly to pack more of your stuff in it, half-convinced that he'd just start putting your clothes back up in protest.
But they both only stared at you, a thick silence falling over as Choso's stare seared into you, silently begging you to look back. To not do what you had already done.
"I'm sorry," Choso started to apologize, his gruff voice even rougher than usual as you shielded yourself from feeling anything from his desperate plea. "I-"
"Don't," you whispered, rejecting it before he could pierce through and rip open your healing scars.
But he fucking sucked at listening.
"Please, just, get an annulment, okay? We can still fix everything, I'll-" Choso tried to promise, but you were past that.
Like you could ever believe it when he was only offering after Yuji already knew about the two of you.
He could see the resignation on your face, the way you refused to even glance back, his voice painfully breaking, "Please, don't do this because of-"
"I'm doing what I want because I want to," you deadpanned. He could blame himself, or blame Satoru, but it was your decision.
You didn't want to keep struggling in a relationship. To waste so much time struggling thinking that meant you must really be in love because you had to fight so hard for it.
Love could be easy.
If you let it.
And it simply was with Satoru.
There was no questioning. No wondering whether or not he wanted you, or wishing he would choose you. He was happy to have his ring on your finger and you by his side. Proud to be yours, permanently stained with his name on his skin and stuck to his hear.
"Do you even give a shit about our friendship?" Your (former?) best friend bluntly asked.
Would he believe you if you said yes?
"Yuji."
He froze at the sound of Satoru's voice, cold and sharp, silencing him as you both looked back at where he was standing in the doorway, his usual smile traded in for a tight-lipped frown.
Relief flooded you, your body relaxing before he even walked over to you, shoulders slumping as he protectively put himself between you and your roommates.
"You-" Yuji tried to sound tough, but his voice wasn't steady, shaking on just a single syllable.
"Don't speak to my wife like that," Satoru sternly cut him off. You forgot sometimes what that other side of him could be like. Looked over the fact that he was literally a lawyer who spent half his work hours arguing with people, his usually goofy grin and soft stare replaced with an icy mask of disdain as his gaze shifted over to where Choso was scowling back at him.
"You just couldn't fucking wait to swoop in and-" Choso snapped at him, unable to hold onto his carefully crafted image in front of Yuji at the hint of a smug smirk that automatically curled up on Satoru's lips.
"You had your chance, I just took mine," Satoru shrugged, wrapping an arm around you as Yuji just stared slack-jawed at the tension crackling between the three of you.
And you didn't really want to stick around for when he eventually realized that you all had a threesome while he was asleep.
"I'm almost done packing," you muttered to the man by your side, anxiously readjusting the glittering ring around your finger as he squeezed your waist affectionately.
"Can I grab you anything? Or-"
"My toothbrush and stuff from the bathroom," you softly said, and he was already moving to go grab them.
"Is this it then?" Yuji asked, and you hated that you could hear him getting choked up despite how heated it had been a handful of minutes ago.
"Yeah," you mumbled, keeping your head down as you chewed the inside of your cheek, refusing to let on how much it was hurting you too. "I guess so."
You hadn't figured out what that would mean for the future even after you left. Satoru carrying your suitcase for you down the stairs and putting in the trunk of his car, opening the door for you and playing the perfect gentleman as he chattered about ordering some wings with the pizza tonight, maybe some chocolate lava cakes too.
But once you were all buckled and he was back on the road, one hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel, he was glancing over at the first stop sign, his pretty lips parting slowly, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah," you lied reflexively, exhaling as you looked out the window. "I, um, don't know."
He squeezed your thigh, offering you one of those awkwardly apologetic smiles like he wasn't that good at comforting people. But he was trying. "They weren't being fair to you."
Were they?
Or were you all a little (lot) wrong?
You told yourself that at least it was over now.
That you'd done it.
No matter how fucking shitty it made you feel.
Even if your friendship had been beginning to fizzle out, Yuji had been there longer than anyone else. The one you always used to turn to when things were hard, the bright spot in your life when everything was dull and gray and dragging you down.
When had it started falling apart? When he hadn't told you about his brothers? When he started hanging out with Nobara and Megumi more than you? When he found out about you and Nanami?
Or was this just the fate for most friendships? To fade until he would someday be someone you used to know too?
An acquaintance you occasionally grabbed coffee with. A friend you saw twice a year to catch up, no matter how many times you swore you'd see them sooner next time.
Maybe the best thing you could do now was give him time and space. Send him a text next week or leave him a voicemail when things cooled off.
He'd probably chill out if he knew that you had only agreed to giving this marriage a six-month test drive, but for some reason, you didn't really want to admit that. Didn't want to give his concerns any validity by admitting that the morning after you had realized that you might've made a mistake.
Satoru didn't try to push you to talk about it. Gave you the space and changed the subject instead of dragging it out. Taking care of ordering the food for you when you got back to his apartment, clearing out half his closet for you to have more than enough space for your clothes in it, offering to put on a movie you mentioned you liked around him months ago, back when he first started pestering you with text messages.
Even if it didn't seem like there was space left for you in your old apartment, he made this one feel like your place already. Photos from your makeshift honeymoon already printed out and scattered on the counter, new cups and plates purchased like he had you in mind.
You changed into one of his t-shirts in his, or um, your shared room, your suitcase unzipped on his floor as you rifled through it for clean panties and a pair of pajama shorts as you heard him scolding Ijichi on the phone for letting the news about your marriage slip today to Yuji through the shut bathroom door.
Sighing, you walked back through the quiet apartment, peeking in through all the rooms before finding yourself in the kitchen, leaning against the kitchen counter and looking over the photos.
Most of them were of you.
Shots he snuck when you weren't looking, head turned away or distracted. They were all warm, filled with something that made your chest all fuzzy as you found the handful of photos where he had asked tourists to take of the two of you together. His hand on your hips or on your shoulders, keeping you pressed right against him as he beamed proudly, blue eyes glinting as he pointed to the ring on your finger in one of them.
"Food should be here in ten," his warm voice called out, pulling your attention back to planet Earth as you watched him walk around. He traded his button-up and slacks for sweatpants and a plain t-shirt you strongly suspected was deliberately a size too small judging by the way it clung to his shoulders and biceps. "You like those?"
"Yeah," you softly replied, picking up the most normal-looking one of the bunch. You looked happy in it. Had been happy in it. And not the forced, faking it, sort of happy you were used to convincing yourself you were. "I do."
When everything else fell to the wayside, when it was just you and him, you didn't think anything had ever felt better, actually.
"It's okay to not be okay, sweetheart," He murmured, seeing through your struggles, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and letting his heavy chest resting on your back as he squeezed you tight.
"I sorta wish I met you sooner," you muttered, voicing the thought before it had even fully surfaced in your mind.
"Yeah?" Satoru immediately latched onto it, amusement lifting his question as he leaned in somehow closer. "If you met me instead of Nanami, you think you would have given me a chance?"
You smiled to yourself, trying to consider what you might've done if he'd been the one at that bar offering to drive you home. Or if somehow Yuki would've set you up with him instead.
Would you still be his wife right now? Or maybe even sooner?
"You probably would've still had to work to get me," you hummed, a hint of teasing in your tone. He chuckled, and your chest constricted in response, heart speeding up at the warmth of his laughter.
"You think I wouldn't?" He huffed, feigning like you were wounding him with your hesitation.
"I dunno," you shrugged. "You might have decided I wasn't enough."
Maybe, if you had made it easier, he wouldn't have been so interested. You wouldn't be the prize he currently felt like you were if he didn't need to wait so long to have you.
But all your insecurities, the anxieties you were bottling up, were almost immediately dismissed by the next words that left his lips.
"You've always been enough for me."
Satoru seemed to have a knack for always saying exactly what you needed to hear. For being exactly the kind of guy you needed.
For loving you the way you never knew you wanted to be loved.
He brushed the hair off the nape of your neck, and you were already anticipating his touch, craving it. Breaking down the walls you once hastily constructed to board up your heart so that he could fill it back up. Aching for him to hold you and tell you that he wanted nothing more than to be yours so you could allow yourself to be his too.
"Want me to make you feel better?" He murmured, his soft lips pressed against your shoulder just above the collar of your shirt. Ghosting delicately over the tendon of your throat, sighing softly just so his warm breath would send a shiver down your spine.
"Please," you half-whispered back, shutting your eyes as he slowly began to trace careful kisses in a drawn-out line up your neck. It was torture, but it was tremendous and tantalizing and a thousand other things you were struggling to comprehend as you surrendered yourself to the moment.
To your husband.
His fingers touched you with a tenderness your heart no longer had a hard time accepting, his mouth devoted to making you moan and murder his name as he slyly tugged your shorts down, slipping two fingers along the band of your panties and humming happily to himself as he let the elastic snap back into your skin.
"My beautiful wife is sad," he murmured, his head pressed against yours, exhaling like your hurt hurt him too. "What should I do, hm?"
"Keep kissing me," you suggested, your voice coming out pitchy and high as your fingers gripped the counter for support, knees unfortunately wobbly as he used his own to spread your legs further apart.
"Where?" He lightly teased, one of his hands slipping around to the front, his palm pressing down just above your clit. "Here?"
Your face flushed, heat you were sure he could feel blossoming beneath your cheeks as his mouth moved to press an innocent peck above your collarbone.
"Or here?"
God, he knew just how to torment you. To drag it out and make you squirm as he adjusted the pressure on your already aching bundle of nerves, eagerly awaiting your response as a surprised squeak slipped out of you.
"That's not an answer, baby," he mocked, and if he wasn't so pretty and you weren't so tired, you would twist around and tell him that he wasn't being fair.
But you already learned that lesson about Satoru. He was never fair.
He got what he wanted. And that was you.
"I can get down on my knees right now for you," he continued, undeterred by your indecision, unaware that all his sweet talking was unfortunately a little too effective, a damp patch growing in your panties by the second as he talked to you in that low voice. "Suck on your clit and finger fuck you until you forget all about today."
A generous offer, really. But his impatience was beginning to rub off on you.
And there was an emptiness inside of you that you needed more than just his fingers to fill.
"I want you to fuck me," you murmured, staring down at the photos and trying to control your breathing only to hear his own hitch behind you.
It took a second for him to compose himself, but then your panties were being pulled down fast enough you weren't sure they would survive before he was babbling something about how you were killing him and he was trying to be romantic here blah blah blah, but all your brain was focusing on was the sensation of two digits dipping inside you, testing to make sure you were already soaked enough that he wouldn't hurt you.
Unable to resist the temptation to push in further, swirling around as he sighed and whined that he wanted you for dessert later then, his appetite apparently bottomless when it came to how many ways he could have you.
He didn't make you wait long, pulling his fingers back out and popping them into his mouth to suck them clean as you threw him an arched brow over your shoulder.
"Go ahead," he huffed, pouting at you as you resisted a giggle. "Say it."
"You're insatiable," you accused.
"Only for you."
You wondered what it was about you that made him feel that way.
Was it too much to hope it would never go away?
His cock slid between your slick entrance, and he got a little too much in playing with you, pushing it back-and-forth, shimmying his hips while he went back to kissing your throat.
It would be a lie to say you didn't like it. That you weren't about to giggle a little when he half-whispered that he could probably cum just doing this, holding it in just for him to finally slot himself inside you.
You were immediately giving into him, folding forward just for him to grab your hair with his free hand and pull it back light enough to not hurt, but to refuse to let you run or squirm away.
"Uh-uh," he murmured, tilting your head to the side enough that he had better access to sink his teeth into your throat in a heated love bite, inch after inch of his cock shoving in as your body easily acclimated him. Moaning softly at how right all of it felt, melting for him as he easily pushed his way deeper. Familiar territory you were both treading, even though this felt different somehow. "You're all mine right now, sweetheart."
"Just right now?" You asked, although it came out as a thin gasp, eyes rolling back right as he bottomed out, cock stretching you effortlessly out, molding you to his shape as his laugh morphed into a thick groan.
"Forever, if you'll let me have it," he immediately responded, like it was a vow he hadn't gotten the chance to say at your wedding.
Forever.
Since when had it stopped sounding so scary?
He fucked you soft and slow, nudging your shirt up and running his hand over the tattoo you'd gotten for him, rutting into you a little harder every time his thumb dragged over the outline of it.
Drinking up your moans and making a feast out of your neck and jaw, and you couldn't even bring yourself to tell him to not leave marks, not when any word you tried to get out just ended up in a mushy whine you couldn't control.
Thighs trembling, barely supporting yourself when he let go of your hair to start playing with your tits instead, adoring every piece of yourself that you allowed him to have.
Pleasure warping your brain until you felt like a puddle, heat coiling and curling until it was all that you were, bent forward and whimpering for him as he filled you up so completely.
"Y-you can't just make sounds like that, pretty baby," he purred, struggling to sound composed when his voice cracked at the first word, stuttering though it as his hips drilled back down into your ass.
"Or what?" You teased back, a funny tickling feeling crawling up your throat as air wheezed through it.
Your husband wasn't satisfied to just take you from behind, pulling out to hear your soft whine before flipping you around and crashing his lips against yours to swallow the sound himself.
Hands on your ass hoisting you up, picking you up and pinning your body between him and the counter. And you were kissing him back just as hard, tongue slipping into his mouth to taste yourself on it.
And for a second, you almost asked yourself why the hell it had taken you so long to let him in like this.
But then he was pushing his cock back in, some invisible string tying itself in a tight knot around your heart as the rest of the world fizzled out until it was just this.
Just his hands and his mouth and his cock.
Crammed full while he practically coddled you, reaching up to cup your cheek as he murmured desperate promises between kisses.
Claiming you like he couldn't stand the idea of you being anyone else's. Wearing his heart on his sleeve so that you could have it. Maybe it had taken him a little longer to win you over, but he had won.
"I love you," he blurted it out, and you knew he really meant it. That he was not the sort of man who would ever take it back. Not even when he just said it mid-thrust.
But his eyes still widened, all worried like he thought you would ask him to pull out and then never speak to him again, but you just nodded nervously, leaning forward to press a soft kiss against his lips.
"You can say it again," you muttered.
He already had your name on his back.
You sorta doubted he could make this more serious than that.
"I love you so fuckin' much," he breathed again, pulling you closer and practically grinding his cock deep enough you could nearly feel him rubbing up against your cervix, prodding against the spongy spot with a desperation you were a little embarrassed to share.
A fever burning beneath your skin you were sure that he'd soothe, pleasure pulling you closer to a climax as you nodded, unable to actually bring yourself to say the same words, even if you sorta wanted to just so he wouldn't be disappointed in you.
"My girl, my wife," he continued, rambling as his pupils widened, only a thin strip of blue visible as he called out your name like it was the last thread holding him together.
"My husband," you murmured back, letting a hint of your own pride slipping through as you reached up to caress his cheek, gently brushing your fingertips over his soft skin as he let out a long whimper that left your stomach in knots.
And before you fully realized it, he was cumming inside you, warm ropes of cum filling you up as he rushed to start rubbing your clit to get you to finish too.
"S-shit, I'm sorry, oh god," he whispered, his voice breaking as he threw his head back, his thumb twitching while he painted patterns over it.
You'd like to say that it was just that his touch that pushed you over, but it was how cute he looked, his white brows pulled together tightly as he put himself on the same level as you, giving you those pretty puppy dog eyes while you wilted into his touch.
So wrapped up in him you could barely breathe, barely process where your body started and his ended when every piece of you felt so connected.
"S'okay," you tried to reassure him right as stars flashed behind your vision, scrunching your eyes shut as he coaxed you through the wave of pleasure, just pumping his cock in deeper and pushing the cum back in as yours walls squeezed tight around him.
You didn't know how badly you wanted to stay like that until it was over.
Until he started to pull out and you found yourself wrapping your legs around his waist and digging the base of your foot into his back to keep him inside of you.
“I forgot the condom,” he mumbled, burying his face in your throat like he was embarrassed and pressing more feather-light kisses across it like little apologies. “I think I still have that extra Plan B in the bathroom.”
“It’s okay,” you murmured back, repeating yourself and running your fingers through his hair as you found yourself cradling his head closer.
You would take it, and everything would be fine.
A neat little slideshow of the next few months playing in your head as you caught your breath, feeling his cock throb and twitch as you pictured your new routine.
Waking up next to him and showering together before work. Coming home to takeout or cooking dinner. Curling up on his couch and having lazy sex on practically every available surface until there wasn't a space left you hadn't fucked. Falling asleep in his arms.
Would all of that really be so wrong?
Letting yourself get lost in this domesticity? Truly give the whole wife thing a try since you were having such a hard time just being a girlfriend anyway?
"So, do you like rent this place or own it?" You asked, looking around it and picturing whether or not you'd still be living here a year from now when you were having an awfully hard time imagining leaving.
"It's all mine, baby," he proudly proclaimed, leaning down so his nose was nuzzling against your own. "And yours now too."
"We should paint it then," you muttered, tilting your head to the side as he grinned.
"My wife has such great ideas," he hummed, and you couldn't believe how much you were starting to like him saying that.
"How long until you get sick of calling me that?" You murmured, swallowing hard and knowing what answer you were already hoping for.
The Victorian-style house looked a bit creepy, but rather cute. Very pinkish. Perfectly serene for your remote job and longing for silence. And everything would be wonderful if not for this little weird doll that looks like you and a small door in the living room, leading to... nowhere? And what about those two guys who lived here sixty years ago?
˖𖦹 ݁˖ pairing: Satosugu x F!Reader
˖𖦹 ݁˖ content/warnigs for this chapter: ꒰ Coraline AU :: reader is a horror writer :: dark and eerie atmosphere :: victorian house :: mentions of Sukuna :: Shoko is ofc our friend :: weird neighbours :: introduction of Satoru and Suguru :: mentions of cheating :: small town mystery :: 5.4k words ꒱
˖𖦹 ݁˖ notes: Happy summerween everyone! Omg, so excited! I hope you'll enjoy it <3 I decided to post it a day earlier, since I planned to publish a full summerween collection tomorrow.
masterlist ˖𖦹 ݁˖
──── chapter one 🗝
The woodsy smell slipped into your car through the slightly open window. Heavy droplets of rain tapped on the glass as Shoko took another turn along the forest road. It was the middle of the day, yet the darkness spilt over the crying sky, raising a gentle fog that hid the winding road ahead.
It was the beginning of summer, yet the sky ripped apart the moment you entered your new city. The deep, dark forest loomed over the little houses, bending and curving into wicked shapes, and you couldn't count how many times Shoko cursed under her breath when the thin branches scratched her window.
Passing the little town centre, you turned deeper into the woods. The GPS was going crazy, yet there was only one road leading to your new house. After a while, with rain pattering on your foggy window, a tall building finally loomed among the ghastly trees.
"Pink Palace Apartments," Shoko read the wooden sign hanging in front of the house, before letting out a giggle. "It really is pink."
You looked up and saw an old Victorian house painted pastel pink. The wooden planks looked as if they had been freshly repainted, with white decorative elements curling like flowers on the porch and around the windowsills. Your gaze immediately fell on the two turrets with pointed metal roofs.
Long stairs twisted near the porch, leading to another section of the house occupied by a neighbour. On the opposite side, you've spotted stairs descending to the basement – likely belonging to other neighbours.
A dark forest spread behind the house, and in front – a little, withered garden waited for someone to put a bit of work into making the flowers bloom again. It seemed no one had cared for it for a long time, and something tugged at your heart.
Maybe it was time to get back into your long-forgotten passion for gardening?
"Pretty," you whispered, slowly opening the passenger’s door.
"Rather creepy," Shoko snorted, glancing over her shoulder at the moving truck carrying all your belongings. "But I guess it suits a freak like you."
You laughed, slipping under her big umbrella and heading towards the porch. "Not everyone who writes horror is a freak," you murmured, wiping your muddy shoes on the welcome mat, which seemed as old as the house itself. Cute.
"No, but everyone who moves to the place in the middle of the forest and without any signal..." She looked at her phone. "...only to move into a haunted house, certainly is."
"It’s not haunted!" You giggled, opening the white, wooden door. "Oh!"
The inside was as beautiful as you expected. Warmth spilled over the old desks and dark walls, giving the interior an antique soul. The Persian-style carpet under your feet looked as if freshly washed, drawing you towards the centre of the house. Long, dark stairs led to the second floor, while two corridors welcomed you further inside.
Shoko followed you into the kitchen – old and slightly rusty, with rain tapping against the large windows. You hurried to explore other rooms – the living room, a small basement that Shoko refused to enter, and a cosy office with beautiful mosaic windows overlooking the garden. Eventually, your feet carried you upstairs.
The big bedroom, with a baldachin bed and a wide windowsill, seemed an ideal spot for reading in the evening. Shoko grimaced at the old, flowery tapestry covering the walls and the crimson carpet on the floor.
"Has no one redecorated this house since the nineteenth century?" she murmured, and then her eyes fell on the bedside table. "Oh my gosh, is that a paraffin lamp? Are you kidding me?"
Your eyes fell on the little, yellow lamp and twinkled like little stars. It was indeed a paraffin lamp, and you would surely check whether it was still working.
"Oh, come on, it has a soul!" You tapped your finger against a crying window before turning back to sighing Shoko. "I love it. Just imagine how beautiful it’ll be when the garden blooms again."
Your friend walked to your side, looking out the window. The sky was torn apart over the withered trees and flowers, but she had to admit it indeed had potential. With just a bit of care and patience, the whole place could be turned into a fine summer house, with her and Utahime coming over for the weekends.
"I saw a lake nearby. I guess… we could have a BBQ or something," she muttered, and you bounced on your feet with a squeak.
Your arms wrapped around her shoulders, and cheek nuzzled against hers. "I told you! I’ll make sure you love this place. And since Utahime also likes gardening, just bring her over at the weekend."
The moving company brought all your things inside, and when you went downstairs, heavy boxes loomed like wicked trees over the living room. The old crimson sofa seemed a bit dusty, so you both sat on a carpet and began to unpack slowly.
Wind and rain hit the windows, letting the faint tap-tap-tap fill the house. After an hour, you ordered a pizza and stuffed yourself, enjoying the dark, rainy day from the porch. The air smelt earthy, tickling your skin with a gentle chill. A light jumper warmed your goose-bumped arms, and you laughed, thinking how delirious the weather was.
"So does it look like the place to give you an idea for another story?" Shoko asked, taking another slice.
A low hum slipped past your lips as the crispness wrapped around your nostrils. "I can already sense another best-selling murder in a little, eerie town. Or a haunted house, maybe?"
She giggled, nodding slowly. "A haunted house would work," she said, her eyes looking up the long stairs to the attic. "I guess you can ask neighbours about any freaky accidents. Aren’t they like a hundred years old?"
"I don’t know, the listing only mentioned that they’re quiet."
"So maybe they’re dead."
A low tsk escaped your lips, and Shoko chuckled. "I’m just joking. But if they really have been living that long, you should ask them some questions." She wrapped a loose jumper around her arms a bit tighter as a chill wind smooched her cheeks. "This place is so fucking old I wouldn’t be surprised if someone had been murdered here."
A minute of comfortable silence stretched between you before Shoko turned your way, a slight frown on her forehead. "I’m serious. This place was crazy cheap, so what if someone died here? In, you know, the most wicked and horrible way."
Shivers washed over your spine at the sheer thought of someone dying in the same living room where you had just unpacked your things. But at the same time, something exciting bubbled in your belly. Something telling you that the writer’s block that had haunted you for the past few months would finally dissolve into thin air.
That, after all, was the whole point of moving hours away from your previous town. Leave family and friends behind, only to get yourself cosy somewhere, nowhere, in the middle of a forest. In a small, unknown town, living in a centuries-old Victorian house that kept the secrets of the most unknown and dreadful kind.
It’s been a while since you wrote something good. Winning the global charts, an immediate bestseller-type of good.
The past few months had truly been nothing but hellish, with a nasty break-up topping it all. You still tried to kick Sukuna’s body, hunched over some blonde slut, on your shared sofa in your shared apartment out of your mind. His pathetic attempts to coax you up, because he’s been a bit too lonely, simply overly drunk, and he absolutely didn’t mean it.
Three years of relationship ended just like that and a week later, with all the money saved on the previous two bestsellers, you bought this house.
Old and very pinkish, waiting for its owner for a very long time. You didn’t ask much about why. Didn’t ask whether someone had died here or if it was haunted. At that point in your life, it simply didn’t matter. The only thing you were thinking about was how to get away from Sukuna’s begging to bring you back and cut yourself off from your editor’s constant prying about the newest text.
Shoko glanced at your furrowed forehead and sighed. "Here," she said, fiddling with her jeans’ pocket and placing something on the table. "I found it in the drawer of your night table. Maybe you could start by asking about them?"
You looked at the piece of paper before noticing it was, in fact, a picture. Old and a bit crumpled, it showed two young men. The first, closer to the camera, had a loose strand of black hair brushing his cheek. Eyes slightly lidded, looking down at his hands. He looked rather handsome, with a sharp jaw and a straight nose, no more than in his late twenties.
The other man behind him seemed almost ghastly. With white hair and crystal eyes, he looked straight into the camera. Two raised fingers covered his lips, but with only such a bit of detail, you noticed that the beauty of his face was indeed unmatched.
You flipped the photo to see if it had a description. There was something, a few letters, but someone blanked them out with a black marker.
"Previous owners?" You asked, squinting eyes and trying to read what was written under the heavy marker. Unfortunately, to no avail.
Shoko shrugged, chewing another slice of pizza. "A bit young for the owners, no?" You shot her a look, and she chuckled. "Right, sorry. They do look our age. But I don’t think they make cameras like that anymore. It must’ve been taken a long time ago."
Your brows suddenly furrowed, as if you had just remembered something. "You said you found it in the bedside table?" Shoko nodded. "I checked it before, but there was nothing inside."
She stopped chewing, chestnut eyes suddenly bulging. If the plate wasn’t already on her thighs, she would drop a slice of pizza, sauce-side down, dirtying her jeans.
"Don’t joke," she murmured, seeing the wicked smile turning your lips. "Oh my god, stop! I really think there’s something wrong with this house!"
But the thing was – you did not, in fact, joke. After coming into the bedroom and opening all the furniture with handles, you truly didn’t see this photo. It may have slipped to the bottom of the drawer or stuck to one of its sides. You may also have missed one of the three drawers the table had, and indeed didn’t notice it.
Your thumb brushed the old photo. And only then did you notice a yellow, slightly hazy date in the corner.
1966.
Shoko looked at the point your thumb just brushed over and pretended the goosebumps washed over her spine.
"Sixty years ago," she muttered, staring at it with wide eyes. "If your neighbours are that old, surely they will know something about them."
Two hours later, after Shoko helped you unpack most of your belongings and returned to your city – though not before repeatedly assuring you, just call me if anything happens; I’ll get here as fast as I can – you finally found yourself in front of a neighbour's door.
The short stairs led to the ground floor, and you noticed they lived just beneath your kitchen. Thick wooden doors featured a small window in the centre, mostly covered by a curtain. You knocked once, twice, and before deciding to ring the doorbell, you thankfully looked down at the old mat with a don’t ring the doorbell or whistle sign.
"So what am I supposed to do?" You wondered, trying to peek through the blinds.
The inside looked a bit empty, dark, as if no life had graced it for a long, long time. But with a squint of your eyes, you noticed a gentle flicker of the lamp, shining somewhere deep within the house.
"Hello?" You knocked again. "I’m your new neighbour! Just wanted to drop by and say hi!"
But the long silence that stretched between you and the wooden door was broken only by the soft pattering of rain.
And so, with a photo in the back pocket of your jeans and gaze lowered, you turned away and walked up the stairs.
Not a second later, someone fiddled with the handle. You heard a whisper, and the door opened with a loud bang. "Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. Next time, try to knock a bit louder!"
You looked over your shoulder and saw a tall, old woman. With a strange waist-to-breast ratio, you wondered how her back handled the weight of such size. Blond hair, neatly brushed into a bob, and blue eyeshadow smeared on her eyelids.
You tried to suppress a giggle at the pink fur she wore, which made her look more like an old dancer than a senior lady.
"Oh, hello. I’m sorry to bother you, but I just moved in and wanted to say—"
"Of course, sweetie, come in, come in," she turned back to look at someone. "Darling, please boil the water for tea! We have a guest."
And so you slipped inside the dark house, only then noticing that the long corridor stretched further into the place. The woman led you right to the velvet curtain covering the rest of the home, and as she lifted it, a large, dimly lit living room spread before you.
With multiple flickering candles scattered all over the place – decorating the chimney, shelves, and a low wooden table set right out from the sofa. Red cushions swallowed you whole as you plumped down.
Only then did you notice at least five dogs running around the room. Barking, sniffing your slightly wet shoes, jumping on the sofa and trying to lick your cheek. You pushed them away with a low giggle before a blond woman took them all down to the old carpet and joined you on the couch.
"Call me Miss Forcible, sweetie," she said, looking towards the chimney. At the large picture showing two slim women dressed in tight gymnastic suits. "For I was unmatched for a whole life!"
A short gasp slipped past your lips as you looked closer. Both women looked as if they were in their late twenties, with beaming smiles and circus-like decorations stretching behind them. A waterfall of colours, ribbons and lights, and you could almost smell the familiar scent of burnt popcorn and the cheesy melody that mingled with children’s laughter.
You recognised the tall lady with long, blond hair, but the other one, with an arm wrapped around her waist…
"And me, Miss Pink!" A slightly pitched voice filled the dimmed living room, turning your head towards a room that seemed to be a kitchen.
A short, older woman walked out, carrying three cups of tea. A bit curvier than her friend, much, much smaller, she reminded you of an apple. Pink hair curled under her eyes, making her plump face look even plumper.
Three cups of tea were set on the low table, while Miss Pink slouched in the soft chair next to the couch. Dressed in a green bathrobe braided with plastic feathers. Her rosy face smooched with a round, crimson blush, reminding you of those vintage china dolls with cheeks plump like peaches and a round bloom coating their pale skin.
"Oh, our new neighbour?" She asked, looking at her friend.
Miss Forcible nodded, placing a cup in front of you. "Yes, darling, this is…"
You introduced yourself with a giggle, feeling a slightly intimate manner stretch between the two women.
"Such a beautiful name!" Miss Pink gasped, pushing a plate of buttery cookies towards you. "And what a beautiful owner!"
A shy thank you slipped past your lips as you bit into a cookie. Buttery creaminess spilled over your tongue, with a few sugary droplets moving under your teeth.
Miss Forcible nodded and picked up her cup of tea. "So why here, sweetie? Isn’t Pink Palace a bit too… vintage for a young bird like you?"
You swallowed the cookie and took a sip of black, bitter tea. Miss Pink watched you with a gentle smile, like a sweet, caressing auntie.
"I think the house is beautiful. And I just needed a little break from the city’s rush," you half-lied, not mentioning the break-up. "Oh, I’m also a horror writer and thought a Victorian house would be a perfect place to get a few fresh ideas."
A few dogs sat patiently by your legs, waiting for a few crumbs to drop onto the carpet. Something sweet lingered in the air, and the room was much warmer than your house. More cosy, homey, so you let yourself sink deeper into the couch.
"This house is full of ghastly stories!" Miss Pink gasped. "And if you visit a nearby town, I’m sure you’ll find some spooky tales. I think you can still visit the place where they burned witches," she giggled, and you followed. A minute later, a thought clouded her forehead, and thin, pale eyebrows lifted. "Actually, why won’t you ask the boys? They know everything about that stuff."
Your head tilted, and your hand froze over the second cookie. Miss Pink nodded, as if to herself, and Miss Forcible sighed.
"Darling, they moved out a long time ago," she said, adding a sugar cube to her tea. The third one already. "She’s too young to know them."
Miss Pink hummed under her breath, chubby fingers fiddling with a bathrobe. "Ah, right, indeed. I seem to forget how much time has passed," she muttered, taking a sip of tea. "I wonder how they’re doing."
Now your ears pricked up and eyes shone with curiosity. It was a pity you didn’t have a notebook to write down this brief chit-chat, but your brain was already working at full speed to memorise every detail.
"Who knows?" Miss Forcible waved her hand. "Moved out, went missing… They just disappeared one day. It was for the best; enough problems had been caused by their presence."
And then, you remembered. The thing you came here for.
The picture felt like a burn on your skin, as if reminding you of a hidden mystery within its thin, paper-like form. You pulled it from your back pocket and placed it on the low table. A few candles cast a warm glow over the old photo, making it shimmer faintly.
"Are you talking about these two?"
Miss Pink and Forcible leaned in, squinting at the photo. One of the dogs leapt onto the sofa, nuzzling its furry head against your shoulder and waiting to be stroked. You scratched it with a giggle, as it bounced in place. Miss Pink gasped, pointing at the men with her long nail.
"Darling, we made this photo!" She exclaimed, glancing up at Miss Forcible.
"Mhm," the other woman hummed, still squinting her blue eyes. "I remember. On the day you broke your ankle."
"And they needed to take me all the way to the town’s hospital," Miss Pink said, turning your way. "We were fifteen then, just before a local acrobatic competition."
Your head tilted as a few questions began to bubble beneath your chest. "So it was…"
"Sixty years ago," Miss Forcible sighed, setting down her cup of tea. "They lived here for four years before their sudden disappearance."
Candles on the table flickered, though the air stayed still and sweet. Sugary, with a buttery scent clinging to your clothes. But you didn’t mind, taking another cookie from the plate.
"Can you tell me a bit more about them?" You asked, swallowing the sweetness with warm tea.
But Miss Forcible only frowned, her gaze fixed on the low table. Blonde locks were neatly tucked behind her ears, and blue eyeshadow smudged across the eyelids and along the waterline. She looked young for a seventy-five-year-old, though wrinkles did indeed bend and curve across her slim face.
"They were real gentlemen…"
"Only because they were nice to us doesn't mean they may be called gentlemen, darling."
Miss Pink pouted, shaking her head. "Well, they were quite nice indeed. And funny, especially this one," she said, her finger pointing at the white-haired man. "Although I don't seem to remember his name. He always gave me sweets and dolls," she added, this time her wrinkled finger moving to the black-haired man. "Made by him. Oh, and he always spent all day in the garden! It was so beautiful, I tell you, sweetie. I lived in the attic apartment back then, and we always had so much fun!"
A smile tugged at your lips as the image of such a vast space in full bloom suddenly popped into your mind. If only the rain stopped for a moment, you could go and take care of it. Ignore the book you haven't even started yet and your phone, which glimmered with a dickhead nickname at least five times a day.
"But the townspeople never liked them," Miss Forcible added, pulling a heavy sigh from her darling. "Outcasts, you may say."
"Why?" You asked, taking a sip of still-warm tea.
It pooled in your stomach, rising as a fluttering, tender feeling.
But it seemed your question carried a sort of mouth-shutting spell. Both women looked at each other, a sense of something obscure clouding their foreheads in the same manner. A thought, a memory, long forgotten in the corners of their minds, was pulled back with a single question of yours.
And, from their expressions, the memory seemed to be of no pleasant sort. But rather a nightmare that plagued their wrinkled heads, with gazes crossing and reddened lips sighing lowly.
A long minute stretched between you, with warm candles flickering over a single buttery cookie left on the plate, and an old clock ticking tick-tock tick-tock, filling the room with its steady tune.
Then, suddenly, Miss Pink’s eyes glimmered, and a life turned to her flushed cheeks once again. Wrinkled hand petted one of the dogs as she giggled under her nose and glanced at the blonde woman.
"Darling, why won’t you invite the boys over? I haven’t seen them in a long time."
꩜ ꩜ ꩜
Five minutes later, you were standing under the long stairs leading to another neighbour.
The words all of them are old and crazy said by your real estate agent, still lingered in your mind, and thus you simply deduced that Miss Pink simply had a sort of dementia.
Miss Forcible, on the other hand, seemed to know something. Remember, of the two men, whose picture once again burned through the back pocket of your jeans.
After finishing the tea, you decided to excuse yourself, as it seemed your questions were only making one, if not both, of the elderly women uncomfortable. Although it was a pity, as they truly seemed to be the only ones who could tell you as much about those two young men.
The rain was pitter-pattering on your yellow coat draped over the loose jumper. A low huff slipped past your lips, seeing the sky still showing no trace of the warmth you longed for. Although the weather indeed looked rather perfect for indulging yourself in a story.
Or at least its outline.
Or maybe simply opening the draft.
You walked up the stairs, its old, rusty metal chattering under your steps.
You knew nothing of the other neighbour, aside from the fact that he used to work in a circus. A tall man with a certain accent, as Miss Forcible said. Rather weird, smelling of radish and with little footprints following him all around.
So when you knocked on the white door, you expected to hear another wave of barks. Or maybe a low meow, slipping from the endless darkness spilling behind the small window.
This time, you didn’t have to wait long, as the door opened with a creak. If not for your rather quick reflexes, the man, at least two metres tall, would surely have hit your nose.
"Excuse me?" You gasped, quickly jumping back.
Your eyes followed up, and up, through the tight shirt hugging his torso, with a few stains on its white material. Through the long arms and wide chest, till fixing on a thick moustache and eyes squinted like a cat. Sandy irises looking up and down your drenched body, with a yellow hood of a raincoat protecting your head.
"Excuse you indeed, young lady," his voice was low and lined with a sort of bitterness. "Who are you, if I may ask?"
You took another step back, feeling a strong smell of radish emanating from his body. So the weird ladies were saying the truth.
"I’m your new neighbour," you pointed downstairs at the porch. "Just wanted to say hi, and–"
"Hello," he said and a second later, the door closed.
Simply, just like that, leaving your mouth open and fingers digging into the wet palms. The darkness spilt behind the little glass window, with a white curtain covering the inside of his attic apartment.
It’s not like you desperately wanted to come in, but… well. You did want that.
To see the inside of his house, ask about the previous owners from sixty years ago. Although considering the timeline, there was a chance he wouldn’t even know them. And a man looked a bit younger, too, of no more than sixty years.
With a low, irritated sigh and dickhead slipping past your lips, you started walking downstairs.
Stairs felt slippery under your shoes, rain hit your cheeks, and the photo weighed almost a ton. Filling the inside of your pocket like little stones, till you felt each scratch and crumple of the paper.
The hood obscured your vision, forcing you to focus on the metal stairs. Crystal droplets hit your ears, also making you rather deaf to anything else around you.
And thus you didn’t hear, didn’t feel the footsteps following you, until a heavy hand landed on your shoulder.
You turned with a shock, twisting your face and letting a muffled gasp escape throat.
The man who closed the door in front of your nose stood mere millimetres from you. With face eerily close to yours, finger pressed to lips and gaze fixed somewhere. Over your shoulder, down the stairs, towards the porch and the crying windows.
"What–"
"My mice say, young lady cannot open the door," he whispered, still looking anywhere but into your eyes.
As if whatever he said was of the utmost secret.
Your forehead furrowed, and nose squirmed, feeling the strong smell.
"The door? What door?" You asked in an equally whispering tone.
He, finally, looked at your face. A low hum filled his throat and moustache moved with a parting of his lips.
"The small door. Don’t open them."
You didn’t check each corner of the house yet, but did not see any sort of the small door he was talking about.
Old and crazy, you remembered the agent’s enigmatic voice.
But the man… did not look crazy at all. Rather, something flickered behind his gaze, as if the little door he talked about was the centre of his recurring nightmares. The way his fearful gaze slipped between you and the porch of your house quickly spiked your interest.
And it also sent a shiver down your spine as he once again pressed a finger to his lips.
"Don’t talk," bulging eyes quickly glanced to one of the big windows. "They hear everything."
"They?"
He nodded before finally pulling away. His tall, lean body straightened, with a few joints popping here and there. Only then did you notice he was wearing sports shorts. A little too tight, a bit too short.
A face, twisted in fear just a few minutes before, now slipped again into this stony, a bit indifferent expression. As if whatever was plaguing his mind just now, simply withered.
"That’s what the mice say. Sometimes they are…" His finger swirled around his temple, lips whistled. "… a bit crazy. But never wrong. Don’t open those little doors, young lady."
And with that, he once again went back to his attic apartment. Leaving you shocked and cold, with a gentle wind brushing your lips and rain tapping faintly, tap-tap-tap, on your yellow coat.
The moment you slipped back into your house, the first thing you did, as a devilishly curious woman, was to search high and low for the little door the man had been talking about.
With the afternoon long gone, the sun slowly hid below the horizon, bathing the grey sky in dark, purplish hues of the evening hour. A light rain still hit your windows, nevertheless letting a low melody of crickets fill the chilly air.
And when the night fell, the house seemed to change too. Into something more wicked, lined with an eerie sensation, scratching the centuries-old walls. With the scent of all the people who lived here before still lingering in the air. The warm light of the old lamps twinkled dimly, lingering over your body that looked frenetically for the little doors.
Head slipping into the bathroom, bedroom, or even down into the basement, though this time going down the wooden stairs took a bit more courage. The fireplace in the living room crackled and popped weakly, pop-pop-pop, filling the house with a cosy, woody smell.
"Where are you?" You muttered to yourself, standing in the kitchen and listening to the tapping sink.
You would need to call someone to fix it, but your main goal now was to uncover the thing your neighbour forbade you from finding.
And then, while looking through the kitchen drawers – you found it.
A key, black and lean, ending in a small, button-like shape. It felt heavy in your palm and looked quite old, as if it were meant for doors long gone, with a lock forgotten by the time.
A low hum slipped past your lips as you fiddled with it. The doors of the house were already rather old, yet this one seemed not to fit either of them.
Returning to the living room, you plumped down on a sofa with a sigh, eyes still fixed on the key. The black paint coated its long barrel, and it was slightly larger than what you were accustomed to.
The doors must’ve been somewhere – close, at the fingertips, as you could almost feel their presence nearby.
Somewhere… in this room.
The flickering of the flame bathed one of the walls in a gentle glow. The flowery tapestry was rather dark, with multiple ornaments twisting and bending across its surface.
And yet, something piqued your interest.
The small bulge seemed to arrange itself into a low square. Your head tilted, and eyes followed the swollen lines just above floor level.
You slipped off the couch and crawled towards the eerie shape, a key still clutched in your fingers.
The palm pressed against the wall, and you knocked it once, twice, hearing the echo ring somewhere on the other side.
The door.
But it seemed that, for some reason, they were covered by the tapestry. So with the sharper end of the key, you gently traced their outline, peeling the coating from their surface.
A low gasp slipped past your lips, seeing the eerie, faded blue wooden doors in all their fullness. With no handle to pull them and only a big lock awaiting the key gripped in your fingers.
Excitement bubbled in your chest, eyes gleamed, and fingers trembled as a key slipped into the lock. You turned it with a soft click, and dust swirled in the air, rising from the cracks that had been sealed for the past few hundred years.
Your heart galloped, beating against your chest in low thumps until you felt the tremble wash over your body.
Using the fingers, you pulled the old surface – slowly, slowly, till the door opened fully and…
And presented you a miserable sight of a brick wall.
Old and dusty, with red bricks stacked one on top of another, filling the cosy living room with a musty smell.
"You must be joking," you groaned, a low sound escaping your throat as you hit the wall with a fist. "I can’t believe it!"
Because, as you already thought, a new idea for a story would finally slip easily into your mind, all the dreams were shattered in a single second.
And thus your head hung between your shoulders. After a few deep breaths, you took the key from the door and slammed it shut with a furious thud. The wooden surface bounced off the wall, leaving a small gap.
Small enough to allow something, someone, to see you walk away with heavy, disappointed footsteps.
౨ৎ experienced!sukuna x virgin f!reader
[adult boutique au] - ongoing series
❝ chasing your dreams isn't all it's cracked up to be. your apartment shakes when the train passes and eating a scoop of peanut butter and calling it girl dinner is getting depressing. when you finally manage to land a job at a store that sells sex toys, it's possibly the biggest relief of your life. there's just one issue:
you're a virgin.
you don't know the first thing about toys and you don't want your cute and flirty white-haired co-worker to know. against your better judgement, you find yourself turning to your other co-worker for lessons and learn the hard way he's just as much of an asshole in bed as he is at work. ❞
౨ৎ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. fwb but you aren't friends. slow burn romance/fast burn smut. sukuna is 23ish, reader is 24/25ish. reader is sexually reserved but confident, nerdy, and a band geek. arrogant!sukuna. mild love triangle with gojo. dom!sukuna. mild corruption. size difference. sex toys & explorations of safety in kinks. destigmatization of virginity & sex. smut & piv. virginity loss. see masterlist for full cw.
౨ৎ wc ; 11.1k.
౨ৎ art ; ackshuallyvalerie
main masterlist || series masterlist || ⪡ prev || next ⪢
The door rattles on its hinges as the smell of approaching rain floods the shop’s interior. You can’t be sure whether the wind or Sukuna’s hand carries the door hard enough to slam on its hinges, his expression untelling. Little has changed since you asked him to be whatever the hell you are now two days ago, but you have noticed one thing, as small as it is.
His gaze lingers on you.
Not in the kind of way one might hope. You get the feeling that in spite of the fact that he’s still mildly inconvenienced by you, you equally surprised him. It’s as though he thought he had you figured out and now he’s trying to understand what he missed where once he was sure he had you read back to front like an open book.
It’s unnerving. The flapping of wings in the pit of your stomach is exchanged for a more ill-seated churning when Satoru leaves and Sukuna takes his place. Yesterday when you didn’t have the gumption to ask how the hell this arrangement was meant to work, you might have called it nerves, but by only day two, it’s just frustrating.
The brute glances up from whoever he’s texting, visibly fiddling with his lip ring that shifts each time his jaw ticks.
You meet his gaze from behind your phone, dropping the device from your gaze when he doesn’t waiver.
“Do you mind?”
His head tilts an inch, his chin raised just enough that his smirk feels condescending. “Not at all.”
You can’t decide whether you prefer Sukuna when the weather in his world is stormy or when it’s sunny and he’s amused. They’re a different brand of asshole.
“You know, asking you for help was pretty fucking hard to do in the first place,” you begin, frustrated with the theatrics of your co-worker. His brow cocks as you pin him in place with your words. “So I’d appreciate it if you stopped making me feel weird about it.”
His lips press into a thin line, any hint of amusement fading. “Look,” he begins with equal frustration. “I’m not trying to make you feel weird for asking for help. I don’t give a shit how you learn about what we sell, even if it’s because of Satoru. I told you that from the start. If you want someone’s instruction, whatever. That’s fine.” He pushes up off the counter, all six-foot-something of him towering over you. “You’re allowed to ask questions about sex, especially here. But you knew from the start what I’m like.”
The demeanor he carries himself with that gives you the sense he thinks he’s above not just you, but everyone, still simmers under his skin. You can see it in the way he carries himself, like that egotistical mindset never fades.
But you can’t be upset when he’s honest with you, and open too in the subject that makes your stomach flutter. His words aren’t comforting, but they settle your frustration and nerves. Something in the way he’s direct and has nothing to hide reminds you why you ever asked him in the first place.
Pushing his fingers back through his hair, he shakes his head. “Why not just tell Satoru you don’t have experience?”
Your shoulders rise and fall as you face him. “It’s not…” You sigh, your gaze falling. “Just about Satoru.”
“Then what’s it about? What’s getting to you so much that you asked me?”
Running your tongue over your lower lip, you worry it in between your teeth. When it takes you a moment too long to reply, Sukuna grunts questioningly again, pushing for an answer.
“I just…” you stall, scratching your shoulder. “I shouldn’t still be a virgin at this age, right?”
Somewhere under all of that snide overconfidence is a man who was raised right, in spite of all of his shortcomings and his belittling behaviour. His nose scrunches, his head shaking from side to side in short, disbelieving movements. “What? Who fucking cares, that’s your choice.” Then, something else dawns on him as he starts up again before you can answer. “Wait. You’re a virgin?”
“See, it does matter! And whether it’s Satoru, or any other guy, they’re just gonna think I’m a prude or something because I haven’t–”
Running a hand over the faint stubble along his chin, his jaw briefly hangs open as he listens to your retort. When you keep going, at last he interrupts. “No, it doesn’t matter.” He pauses, pinning you in place with adamance. “The reason I’m asking is because I want to make sure you actually want to do this shit with me,” he states plainly, no amount of teasing present in the serious gaze he fixes you with. “I’m not fucking around when it comes to boundaries and consent.”
As much as his condescension and total righteousness is frustrating, you can appreciate his ability to be serious when there’s a need. At least he has a couple of redeeming qualities under all of those layers of snide narcissism.
Shutting your eyes as you try to formulate an answer, you give a short shake of your head. “Look,” you sigh, waving a hand through the air as your lashes flutter. “I don’t know what possessed me to choose you,” you begin, earning a snide huff from the other party, “but I wanna do this. I’ve tried dating apps and things but I feel like it’s so hard to meet people organically and I finally found someone I really like, so I just don’t wanna mess things up with Satoru, okay?” Your shoulders hang as his expression remains largely unreadable.
Your closing remark has your co-worker dragging his hands down his face. When he finally drops them to his sides with a plop as they hit the denim of his jeans, he gives a haphazard shrug. “All this for that asshole,” he mutters. “Why start with an arrangement like this, anyway? Why not go to the bar if you’re so against dating apps? It’s not like some one night stand means anything either.”
You grimace. “I want someone I trust.”
He won’t admit it, but it’s humbling to a man like Sukuna. Not because he doesn’t think of himself as trustworthy, but because he’s given you no real reason to put so much of your trust in him. He’s been cruel from the start and only a few days ago was reminding you that no matter your deal, you aren’t friends.
He’s still for a long time, a genuine disgruntled frown unrelenting.
“Fine,” he gruffs at last. “For the record though, Satoru wouldn’t care that you’re a virgin. If he did, he’d be a piece of shit.”
If only your mind would wrap itself around that concept. Twenty some-odd years on an earth that treats virginity– particularly at your age– as taboo has taught you otherwise.
“Oddly insightful from you.”
Displeased as you throw snide commentary back at him, he takes another step forward. “No matter what you think of me, I wasn’t raised wrong.” His tone is low, almost dangerous, and you’re surprised when warmth spreads to the pit of your stomach. You’re grateful he’s already turned back to his laptop as you find yourself blinking at nothing in particular. “What did you want to try anyway? And you’re buying, FYI. This is for you, not me.”
You hum thoughtfully as you find yourself staring between the gaps in the shelves at the far end of the story. Your gaze briefly stops upon reaching the vibrators, which feels like a fairly low barrier of entry.
“A vibrator?” You query.
Sukuna, leaning over the counter on his elbows with his back facing you, rolls a muscle in his shoulder. “Sure.”
His lack of enthusiasm has you grimacing. “We get an employee discount, right?”
“Half-off.”
“That’s pretty good,” you comment in an attempt to make conversation as you slip out from the counter and walk to the wall to look over options.
He hums his agreement, typing as his eyes skim whatever project he’s working on.
Taking the hint, you let your attention drift back to the wall of silicone and plastic. Although there are a variety of different options, you’d made up your mind a while ago upon hearing Sukuna’s explanation.
With a small black bullet vibrator in a discreet box with a purple-blue gradient in-hand, you make your way back to the counter, setting it aside. Whether out of curiosity or a subconscious movement, Sukuna’s attention flips to you as he evaluates the box on the counter. He languidly shoots you a glance before you fall into nothing more than background noise for him once again. You don’t get much of an idea of his thoughts on your choice, if he has any.
And much like his silence on your choice, that’s how you spend the evening, aside from when he teaches you to close. Over the past month or so you’ve grown to find the dead air less and less uncomfortable and no longer feel the need to fill it. He still shoots you a disapproving side eye every time a customer asks a question that’s left to your anti-social co-worker because you can’t answer it, but it’s noticeably less harsh.
By, like, a fraction. He’s irritated still, but he’s not outright disappointed.
You call that a win.
You’re pretty sure your friends back home would call it sad.
But you can’t talk to Yuki or Choso about your arrangement with Sukuna anyway, so you suppose it’s not worth thinking too hard about it.
By the time you’re flipping the open sign and turning the lock on the door, Sukuna is ringing up the vibrator you chose, along with a bottle of something you didn’t add. He slides the payment terminal towards you as you make your way back. You don’t question his judgement upon finding the label to say toy cleaner. With your card in-hand, you find yourself hovering hesitantly over the payment terminal.
The question atop your tongue feels stupid.
“What?” Sukuna gruffs when you don’t speak your mind.
“Is this… a good choice?”
He sucks in a breath, measured. “It’s a fine first choice. It’s kinda cheap, but it’s a good starting point.”
“I know the quality and how long it’ll last would be affected, but does how cheap it is affect much beyond those two things?”
Another breath, but it’s equally measured. He picks up the box, his gaze darting across the lettering that covers it. “If it was your only toy, I’d say to invest in something better, but if we’re trying a lot, cheap is fine.” His mild expression seems to pick you apart when you’re faced with sanguine irises that flicker across your face. There’s the faintest hint of an upward quirk of his lips when he catches your pout.
“You never actually answered my question,” you mumble snarkily, snatching the box back from him.
No longer tempering his amusement, he shifts to the other foot with a full-blown smirk. “It’s a cheaper plastic or silicone. Less durable, the motor inside will give out quicker, and the battery won’t last as long. It’s louder than more expensive ones, too.” He glances at the box, a thoughtful narrow to his eyes. “It probably runs on watch batteries, which get expensive the more you go through.”
You recall him mentioning that to a customer, but given the circumstance, you suppose he’s right that it won’t matter. Nodding, you tap your card without another thought. He takes a bit of extra time to show you the remaining closing procedures which feels less like a courtesy and more like a curse given that you run on his clock at his will now, but you suppose a couple of extra hours won’t hurt here and there.
Even if you won’t be paid.
Shutting off the lights at the back, you make your way to the door where he waits. “So,” you start, digging through your bag for your keys, “my place is pretty noisy, should we–”
“Where do you live?”
“Oh, uh– I’m next to the station on third street.”
“Good. Meet me at the pub on the corner.”
You blink as he tosses you the store keys, barely managing to catch them in clumsy fingers. Before you can even protest, he’s already getting into the old but well-maintained black Honda across the street.
“O-kay,” you mutter to yourself, turning back to the door as you pull down the security shutter, locking both it and the glass door. His engine has already rumbled long into the distance by the time you finish fiddling with the old finicky locks and get in your beat-up vehicle. “You have to wait for me anyway, asshole.” Your muttering somehow feels better left for the world to hear rather than internalized.
The ride to the coffee shop has you once again replaying every life decision that brought you to this point in life. Maybe you should have given time to that guy who was trying to flirt with you in the library. Then again, you were studying for your final. Maybe you should have indulged the man who told you that you were pretty at a karaoke bar once. Well, no, he was creepy.
You’ve just been focusing on yourself and your fingers have done the trick anytime you were horny.
Not to mention, you can’t help but find that you don’t see yourself in porn and it doesn’t leave you feeling satisfied. That’s not even beginning to mention that much of what you found feels performative, which doesn’t cut it at an adult shop.
Though, that’s a lie too. Because at the end of the day although you are curious and this is something that you’re intrigued by given your environment lately, you’re equally hoping to impress Satoru.
Maybe Sukuna’s right that you should just tell him.
But that also feels like an uphill battle.
Stupid. This whole thing has you feeling like you’re overthinking everything and in an effort to stop thinking so damn much, you shut your car off and push into the pub.
Sukuna’s sitting in a booth at the back, already nursing a drink in one hand. His opposite arm is lazily strewn across the back of the booth, his gaze following you with that striking intensity that never fails to make your hair stand on end. Slipping in across from him, you watch as he leans back, completely at ease. As much as his arrogance can piss you off, his ability to remain calm and even puts out any fires your nerves threaten to stoke.
“Want anything?” He asks, jutting his chin towards the drink menu. Curiously, you flip to the first page before Sukuna’s hand comes down authoritatively, stopping you from browsing the menu he just offered. He flips to the back page confidently. “Non-alcoholic only.”
Fixing him with a scowl, you point towards his drink. “What are you drinking, then?”
He slides it an inch closer to you, an offer to test him. “Non-alcoholic IPA.” He lifts his hand from the menu, finally allowing you to browse your options as he leans back again. “We have rules to go over. Need your head on right and your consent after.”
As much as you don’t appreciate his commanding nature, you can admit it settles your nerves that he’s taking this seriously. He’s so flippant and dismissive when he wants to be that the soberness with which he’s treating the situation is reassuring.
In fact, it’s even a little hot, as much as you don’t even want to so much as think of the compliment. Truthfully though, you appreciate that he knows when to turn the damn attitude down.
Inhaling slowly, you look over the menu, waiting for the waiter to arrive. You order a Pepsi just for the sake of having something to hold and hide your fiddling as Sukuna’s gaze scarcely departs you.
“I thought we went over the rules already?” You ask when you finally have something to focus on. The condensation is cool against your fingers, a much-needed departure from the facetious personality across from you.
“Of the agreement, sure.” He starts, bringing his glass to his lips as he leans back casually. “But I’m not doing this without knowing what you want.”
“I thought I–”
He doesn’t give you the time of day, glass still held between his fingers as he leans forward on his forearm. “You want me in charge, yeah?”
You blink, nodding.
“You understand that that puts me in a dominant position for our agreement, correct?”
Your cheeks warm as you nod again. “That’s kinda what I wanted,” you admit quietly.
He hums, a hint of his teeth gleaming behind a smirk. He lets the moment hang a second longer, basking in the way you squirm under his gaze. Throwing back what’s left of his drink, he sets the glass on the table with a dull clank. “Right,” he begins, “so you’ve never been with anyone before?” He asks, growing more serious again.
His ability to casually swing back and forth between both moods is beginning to piss you off.
“Yeah, you know that,” you reply snarkily.
His eyes narrow. “Not what I mean, sweetheart. You ever done anything with anyone? In any capacity?”
You chew on your lip briefly. “I gave a guy a handjob once,” you admit quietly, painfully aware of the public setting.
Sukuna’s eyes avert for a moment as he considers how to approach things. “That's it?”
“I– Yeah, can you stop asking?”
His throat bobs as he swallows, frowning. He lays his thoughts out plainly, straight to the point and without the arrogant attitude. “Think what you want of me, but I’m not trying to embarrass you. I already told you it doesn’t matter. I’m asking because it gives me a good sense of where to start.”
Sitting upright, you nod slowly.
“Do you masturbate?”
With every question, you swear your face gets warmer. “Yeah.”
“But no toys?”
“No.”
He rolls his jaw, prodding his tongue against the side of his mouth. “Alright. I can work with that. Do you know what you like when you touch yourself?”
“Do we have to do this somewhere so public?”
He snorts. “No one’s listening. The closest table is so sloshed you’d think it’s three in the morning,” he points out, motioning over your shoulder. Admittedly, he’s right. There’s a group of three women and two men all slumped over, eyes red-ringed and laughter bubbling from within.
With a sigh, you turn back to him. “Fine. So what rules do we need to go over, then?”
“I need to know what’s completely off-limits for you.” He taps a finger once on the table. “I’m kinky but there’s shit I’m not into either.”
“Okay, um,” you take a moment to consider the toys lining the walls and some of the porn you’ve seen while browsing. “I don’t know, I guess I don’t think I’d be into whips or spanking.” Sukuna hums. “I know the candles are for… wax play, right?”
“Mhm. Some people like the pain.”
“I don’t think I would want anything painful.”
He nods his agreement. “Anything like that is off the table.”
Tapping your nails along the sides of your glass, you wrack your brain of the items that line the walls at work. “I don’t think I’m into collars or muzzles or anything.”
“Alright. No pet play. You not into being tied up, or just the pet part?”
Your hesitation is brief as you consider the difference. “I think I’d be okay with being tied up,” you muse. “Not yet, but–” you shrug, cracking a smile. “It sounds kinda fun.”
Sukuna smirks. “She’s a little kinky, I like it.” His lidded expression sends heat up the back of your neck and straight to the pit of your stomach. You adjust the way you’re seated, crossing one leg over the other as you focus on the glass in front of you. Amused, your counterpart pushes for details. “What about gags, handcuffs, and blindfolds?”
“I’d be open to those.”
His smirk grows, teeth bared just enough to call it a grin. “Alright. No whips, and pet and pain play are past the ceiling. Anything more intense than that’s off the table, yeah?”
You nod, grateful that he isn’t leaving you to try to come up with things when you’re scarcely familiar with the products at your own job.
“Hair pulling? Choking?”
You take a moment to consider it, but nod. “That’s fine.”
That seems to be the majority of his questions as he leans back in his seat again, stretching his arms overhead. He has that same expression from the day you originally made the agreement, the one that makes you feel like you’re no longer background noise in his world. Like you’ve surprised him and he’s willing to humor you.
“Alright. Anything else we can go over if it comes up,” he shrugs. “I just needed a baseline.” Yawning, he takes a moment to let his thoughts settle as he works out details in his mind. It gives you a moment to reset, gratefully taking the opportunity as you lean back in your seat, no longer fixated on your glass.
It occurs to you in that moment that he’s surprisingly quelled your nerves. You can’t place whether it’s through making a point of doing this in a public setting but ensuring this stays between you, or the way he’s actually maneuvering this conversation in a way that makes you feel open and in charge. Either way, you have to hand it to him that for a guy who’s made it clear he isn’t fond of people, he’s good with them. With you.
He spends a moment thinking things through before at last continuing. “Are you familiar with the traffic light safe word system?”
You meet his gaze, shaking your head.
“I need you to understand that even if I’m the dom, your word is my law. You tell me green and you leave shit in my hands to make you feel good. You tell me yellow and we’ll stop for a bit to figure out what you don’t like or what doesn’t feel good. You tell me red and my hands are off of you. What you say goes, you understand?” He leans forward with an intensity that seeps straight to your bones.
“Okay. I understand.”
“Good.” His shoulders rise and fall as he sucks in a breath, letting it out gradually. “And for the record, no kissing. No making out. No sex.”
As he repeats his rules, you press your lips into a thin line at how much he loves to remind you that you aren’t friends and these aren’t benefits. “You mentioned.”
“I’ll take my shirt off if it makes you comfortable, but that’s all you’re getting from me.”
“How sweet,” you comment dryly as he completely ignores your previous retort.
He grins, shrugging like the chivalrous man he is. “You didn’t ask for love, sweetheart.”
“And if I had?”
His grin stays in place, his chin lifting an inch as he regards you with the kind of expression only someone as conceited as Sukuna himself can manage. “Then you’d be switching to morning shifts.”
You want to roll your eyes, but you can at least respect his honesty, even if it’s painfully self-centered. You suppose it’s in part why trust comes easily with him. It’s not out of respect or friendship, but rather the simple fact that he doesn’t sugarcoat things. For better or for worse, he means what he says and has nothing to hide.
Jutting his chin in a motion to your nearly-finished glass, he keeps that painfully smug expression as he gruffs out a question. “Ready to go?”
Downing the last of your drink, you nod as you make your way to the bartender. She rings up your drinks together, only for Sukuna to step aside for you to pay.
Chivalry might just be dead, after all.
Your counterpart shoves his hands into his pockets with a haughty smirk, watching every micro expression cross your face as realization tents your brow, before twisting into a glare. Sukuna’s gait is entirely casual as his boots hit the pavement outside. When he comes to a halt by his car, his hand settles on the roof. “Send me your address,” are his last words before he ducks into the driver’s seat. The engine rumbles on and his music begins in an instant, a booming bassline that’s faintly familiar, but it’s too muffled to make out.
Sucking in a breath, you let the music fade as you head for your car, sending him your address just around the corner. You take an extra moment to make it to your car, breathing in the cool summer night air. The ever-present murky smell of smog hits you the moment the sharp scent of alcohol dissipates, but you’ve grown accustomed to it by now. The air on your skin is refreshing, and gives you a moment to think.
In spite of his frustrating tendencies, Sukuna treats sex– in all forms– differently from the men you’re used to. Not just men, but everyone. Even your closest friends. It’s not an expectation, it’s not something that requires any pressure. It’s whatever you want it to be, and whatever you’re comfortable with.
You appreciate the fact that in spite of you wanting him to take charge, this is all still at your beck and call. Sukuna says everything like it is. As much as you despise that for how plainly he’ll point out any fault the moment he finds it or throw you under the bus in a heartbeat when he sees himself as a man who’s always in the right, you appreciate the fact that he doesn’t make things into a spectacle either.
How many parties have you been to where ‘never have I ever’ turned into a wave of judgement, or a game where you found yourself lying to avoid it? How many times have you avoided parties altogether, hating the way all concepts surrounding you seemed to change over something that shouldn’t be everything it’s so often perceived as?
Hell, growing up in an era where sex was perceived as something cool and sold to adults through media only to be thrust into a new era where censorship is pushed more than education, it was bound to twist the perception around virginity.
Your own insecurity is an unfortunate side effect of those two very things clashing with one another. Just like your insecurity in the impression you’ve given Satoru, regardless of if you’ve actually spoken to him or not.
Which is why Sukuna’s attitude around sex is a breath of fresh air. There’s no judgement from him that you’ve abstained for so long.
And for that, you find yourself excited as you pull up to your house.
The man in question is parked before you even arrive, standing at the brick staircase by the time you lock your vehicle. The three-story building towers overhead, yet he still looks big at the base of the stairs.
His arms are crossed as he leans back casually, eyes on his phone. The racing jacket he sports hangs heavily over his broad shoulders. It looks like a replica F1 jacket of sorts, and in spite of its large size, the muscle definition beneath the tank top clinging to his skin is still obvious. It’s almost unfair that he’s so attractive and such a dick.
Just as the thought crosses your mind, his crimson eyes lift from his phone screen. He pockets it, looking you up and down once before letting you lead the way. You pull the front gate open without a word, unlocking the inner door and shutting it to latch behind you. Your apartment resides on the second floor, a single room backing onto the subway. Convenient, but noisy as all hell.
You like to think of it as the epitome of what it means to chase your dream, but in reality you know it’s little more than measly tape to cover up the fact that it feels more like failure. You’ve only been here for a couple of months and played at a couple of crappy venues that didn’t turn out well and you aren’t about to give up now, but your apartment fails to feel like home.
When you flick the lights on, it gives a warm glow to the run-down apartment.
“Make yourself at home,” you offer of the small space. It’s nothing more than a studio with a bathroom. A kitchenette sits at your immediate left with a microwave, fridge, and a single plug-in hot-plate, while your bed is pushed into the corner at the back. You’ve managed to fit a small TV on a table in the corner, and a tiny couch beside it, but that’s about all there is to see of your small space. Wallpaper peels at the top corners and there are stains and scrapes over the old wooden floor that could very well be older than you.
You’ve done what you can with the space. Over the couch is a number of signed and framed band posters and by the TV sits a cork board with memorabilia pinned to it. Old concert ticket stubs, set lists, and guitar picks all pinned or clipped in place. A lamp sits behind the TV in the corner that makes the space feel more warm, giving light to the two gaming systems sitting under the table. It’s not perfect, but it’s very you.
As you set your keys and bag on what little counter space you have, Sukuna takes in the sight of the small space, his gaze lingering on the signed posters and memorabilia before landing on your guitar, leaning against the couch haphazardly.
“You’re a concert girl?” He queries. It’s hard to get a read on where the question comes from when his tone lacks any real interest or enthusiasm.
“When I could afford it,” you agree with a wry laugh.
He hums, kicking his shoes off and dropping his jacket beside your guitar on the couch. He plops down on the double bed, picking up a drumstick sat on the small night stand wedged between the bed and the tiny table the TV sits atop. He twirls it on a finger as he continues to look around while you fiddle with the box for the bullet vibrator you got, picking at the tape keeping it shut.
Like a sixth sense, your hair stands on-end when his striking gaze settles on you again. He continues to fiddle with the drumstick, but his expression is otherwise unreadable. His slightly narrowed gaze gives you the idea that something is on his mind. “What?”
“Just thinking,” he mutters, his gaze dropping the full length of your body again.
Standing still at the counter, you chew on the inside of your cheek as he checks you out. Or something similar to that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this question would arise. A part of you had hoped to avoid it, but given the nature of your agreement with Sukuna, the question doesn’t bother you as much as it might from someone else.
“I won’t be offended, you know.”
The drumstick stills in Sukuna’s fingers. “About what?”
“If you ask.”
“Can you be fucking direct?” He sneers, his eyes narrowed to pinpricks as he fixes you with the kind of gaze that would have made your skin crawl a month ago. Back then, you would have taken it for genuine frustration, but you know now that this is a man who finds pleasure in the fact that one look can make someone avert their gaze.
But you don’t budge, turning to face him with the bullet vibe in-hand. “You wanna know why I’m still a virgin if I’m open enough to ask you for this arrangement.”
You can’t blame him. You get the feeling you’re a year or two older than him based on the fact that you graduated already and he’s in his last year. Your reply even seems to intrigue him as he leans forward just enough to show interest. You have his attention, although he doesn’t say it. He may not judge you for it, but you certainly can’t blame him for being curious. After all, your request was a bold one in the first place.
With a sigh, you set the toy on the counter as you manage to free it from its packaging. “You know how I told you I’m from a small town?”
“Mhm.”
“How small do you think I meant?”
He shrugs, having clearly never considered the question. “Ten thousand,” he throws out a haphazard guess.
“Four hundred people.”
His nose wrinkles at the mere thought. Fitting for a guy who seems well-versed in navigating life in a massive city.
“So my options kinda sucked with guys my age,” you laugh dryly, returning to the counter where you set the toy down. You turn to him suddenly, a finger held out pointedly towards his chest. “Don’t even get me started on the older men.”
He snorts, barely more than a push of air from his nostrils that gives way to his amusement.
“It was one of those roadside attraction towns where our whole thing was like,” you wave a hand through the air, looking for the right words to describe it. “Having one of those weird statues or whatever that people will pull over to see.”
“Yeah? So what weird thing did you have, then?”
You crack a smile. “The world’s largest garden gnome.”
He blinks in disbelief, in sudden understanding of the whole situation. One single garden gnome painting a whole picture of who you are and how you grew up. “Damn. That blows.” There’s something so strangely friendly in the interaction that’s unbefitting of everything he is, but for a moment you forget this is Sukuna you’re speaking with.
You laugh. “Yeah. It’s not even the world’s largest anymore from what I’ve been told. So now we’re the ‘original’,” you make finger quotations in the air, “world’s largest garden gnome.”
He snorts again, pushing a hand back through his hair. “No wonder you like punk music. You did need to get out of your town.”
You surprise even yourself at how heartily you laugh. When he’s not being a stick-in-the-mud, it turns out he’s kinda funny. In fact, when he isn’t acting like he’s above you, there’s even a sort of warmth to him that you don’t mind. Whether it’s a public front and he’s dropped the curtain for a moment or he’s growing more comfortable with you is yet to be determined.
Or maybe this is like a one time event that you were lucky enough to witness.
“You must have gone to the city pretty often if you go to a lot of concerts,” he muses. “No interest in hooking up with a guy or doing this shit with someone before now?”
You frown, glancing up from the instructions on the bottle of toy cleaner as you loosely skim them. “I never really considered any of this until the shop. And I’d rather be with someone I know.”
He grunts in irritation before you even finish the first sentence, but he lets it go by the time you finish. At least his frustration with you is purely on a work level. “You don’t know me,” he points out. “You don’t know jack shit about how I am in bed and you barely know me outside of it.”
“I trust you, though.”
His gaze drifts to the floor, something stoic passing over his expression as he allows the thought to sink in. “You trust me,” he parrots dryly, for no other reason than to solidify them for himself. You open your mouth to elaborate, but he’s already talking over you before you can spit out a second word. Infuriating man. “Right. And now you want me to show you the ropes–” he pauses at the irony of his statement, a smug smirk returning to his lips. “Literally.” He stands up from your bed, tossing the drumstick aside in the midst of his amusement.
With a roll of your eyes, you stop whatever narcissistic or teasing comment was about to leave his parted lips, steering the conversation another way before he’s too frustrating to handle. “I can make a guess.”
Sukuna pauses, stepping towards you with curiosity. “About–” he raises his brows. “What I’m like? In general, or in bed?”
“Both,” you shrug. “You like to be in charge. You like to have someone who’s willing to admit that you’re better at something and you like to be mean about it. You like when people feel small around you, it makes your ego feel good like the big man that you are.”
Where you expect offense, you only find amusement, which unfortunately isn’t in your favor either. At the end of the day, he’s still running this interaction like he owns it. His head tilts, his grin unrelenting. The way the muscle shirt he sports clings to his chest as it rises and falls feels unfair. He’s a tease without trying, all because he has the fortune of being hot. “Oh?” His voice comes low, a grit to it that sends heat between your thighs. “Are we guessing, or psychoanalyzing?”
You shrug. “It can be whatever you want.”
His gaze flickers around your face as you move past him to the spot where he was just seated. The amusement laced through sanguine eyes as he watches you sits under your skin in the kind of way that has you grimacing. The way he picks you apart so effortlessly is a shadow compared to the pile of things about him that frustrate you, but you hate the way it gets under your skin.
He has no issues making himself at home either, moving his jacket aside so he can manspread obnoxiously on the couch across from your bed. Your brows tent downwards as he doesn’t hesitate to reach for your guitar either, as though he knows that, too, will get under your skin. “Here, I’ll move that.”
You dart towards him, picking the instrument up before his fingers can graze the neck, setting in on the stand it should have been on anyway. His brow quirks, head tilting as he watches your every movement. The way he moves through life so easily is grating.
When you take a seat again across from him on your bed, you tap your foot a couple of times on the worn wood below. It sounds hollow, even beneath your clothed feet. “So… What should we do?” You query, praying you can find a rhythm with him that makes everything more comfortable.
A smile curls at the corners of his lips. “I told you. You’re–”
His words come to a quick halt, expression twisting into disbelief and clear concern as your apartment rattles briefly, before the obvious noise of the subway passing behind the building follows, and the room settles as it comes to a stop. Unphased, you await his next words.
“You fucking live with that?”
You shrug. “Yeah. I uh– didn’t really realize it would be an issue until I moved in.”
A puff of air leaves his nose, his eyes trailing between you and the window where the train’s shadow cast across the floor moments ago. “How the fuck do you sleep? The subways run all night.”
“They’re less frequent at night,” you offer.
“How the fuck do you get off with that noise?”
Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you shrug. “It’s just background noise.”
Sukuna hangs in a state of disbelief for a moment, crimson boring into you like even he’s questioning how the fuck he got here now. When the moment settles, he runs his tongue over his teeth and shakes his head, muttering a curse under his breath. “You’re something.”
“Thanks,” you reply dryly. The nerves of opening yourself up to someone buzz more as you draw Sukuna’s attention away from the train. Your leg bounces involuntarily, a hollow thump to it as you wait for a reply to your question, no matter how snarky it’ll inevitably be.
But the arrogance never comes. His eyes flicker down to your leg, the previous curl of his lips gone and replaced with something far more staid. With a hand on the couch’s armrest, he moves across the small room with ease, his large frame casting a long shadow over the floor as he blocks the lamplight. Your heart pumps hard against its cage, jumping to your throat when his palm settles on your leg, pressing it to the hardwood to stop its pace.
“Relax.” His voice has a sultry tone that feels foreign to you yet lived-in, like he knows just how to pitch his voice to send it like a shock straight to your stomach. You shift at the sensation, drawn to his gaze as he leans in with a brazen chuckle, clearly pleased that he can affect you in such a way. “Stop talking. Stop thinking. About all of this shit. About me, about the job, the money, the train. Turn your brain off.”
He’s right, painfully so, about every little thing on your mind. But the most relief you usually get is a warm cup of tea on a cool night, and even then it’s disturbed by a train every few minutes. It’s not like you haven’t masturbated, particularly since starting at the shop, but your brain always seems to need something to latch onto and porn feels so performative you can’t get into it.
Sukuna gives you something to focus on, taking the bullet vibrator from within your fidgeting hands as his other hand glides from your thigh to your torso over your shirt. His thumb frames your breast, the sensation sending a shiver straight up your spine. He uses just enough force that you could call the pressure he uses to guide you back onto your bed a ‘suggestion’ rather than a command.
“Give me a color.”
“Green.”
“Good,” he hums, low and smug as you watch his smirk grow into something painfully self-assured and egotistical as he flashes his teeth. You don’t have time to be annoyed when your lashes are already fluttering as he drags the bullet vibrator in his palm over your clothed pussy with just enough pressure that your breath catches. “And it’s not even on yet,” he purrs in that ever-condescending tone.
“I should have asked someone less–”
He grinds the vibrator against your clit in an effort to stifle your attitude, shooting you a smug smirk when it works. “But you didn’t.”
Your scowl barely has a chance to form before it dissipates as he glides a thumb beneath your shirt. The sensation has you shivering as he scrutinizes every micro expression you make when his thumb glides over the sensitive skin of your bare stomach. Goosebumps rise in its stead, inevitable as your body reacts to the sensation. You jolt when his touch is so feather-light that it feels more ticklish than something sensual, and like everything else he picks it up and files it away for later.
When he stops at your hipbone and dips two fingers beneath your waistband, you instinctively suck in a breath, stiffening. His movement pauses, eyes narrowing as he fixes you with a sharp gaze that you recognize as instruction.
“Green,” you breathe.
Something smug in his expression has you swallowing your pride at the realization that submission came easily. He’s too keen to have not noticed how you’re not running your mouth anymore, and you don’t need to read between the lines to know that he enjoys that fact.
With your consent, two fingers drag your pants down, haplessly discarded as his gaze trails the length of your legs slowly. You can’t make out what he’s thinking, your hair standing on end as some part of you longs for warmth in a partner who might revere you, but that isn’t what you asked for. It’s not who Sukuna is.
When his eyes meet yours, they narrow an ounce. “Stop worrying,” he admonishes the thoughts he seems to be able to sense as though your insecurities are written in the air for him to see. It warms your cheeks further than they already are. When he catches the twitch of your brow, whether it’s a tell that he’s correct or some bratty form of defiance, he brings a hand to your jaw, his thumb and finger forcing you to keep his gaze. “I’m serious. Bodies are all different, and–”
“That doesn’t make me feel better, Suku–”
His thumb and finger shift until he’s pressing your cheeks together to shut up your protests. “Everyone is different. You should be. Stop fucking worrying.” He loosens his grip enough to allow you to nod, no longer pursing your lips. “Focus on my hands. Focus on the feeling. Don’t think about the fucking train that’s gonna pass in three minutes. Don’t distract yourself.”
He releases your face, shifting his hand until he’s prodding your abdomen pointedly with a finger. He waits for your gaze to follow before continuing.
“Masturbation is one thing because you know exactly what you want and can make yourself finish quickly, but bringing another person into things changes how your body and brain work.” He moves his hand back to the bed as he leans over you, watching with a faint smirk as the other hand presses the small vibrator, still off, into your clit and you take in a sharp breath. “If you get distracted by all the dumb shit going through your head and don’t stay focused on how you’re feeling, your body won’t let you cum. You’ll go straight into overstimulation without orgasm, or your body just won’t respond. It’s common as shit and a lot of people don’t think they can cum with a partner.”
You blink at how strangely insightful and educational the tattooed prick can actually be. Your shoulders fall into the mattress as you focus on the pressure of the hard silicone pressed into your clothed pussy.
There’s another side to it as well that has your mind ready to reel into something far more tangential, as much as you know you should listen to his advice. The fact is that the very same man who told you not to expect love or care from him is sitting here reassuring you, all the while explaining to you just how much he understands the human body. It’s not just from a biological or fact-driven perspective either, he’s putting your pleasure first.
Sure, it’s worth acknowledging that at the end of the day your arrangement does revolve around your pleasure, but Sukuna’s not just insightful. In one way or another, it’s caring. Whether he wants to acknowledge it or not, you’ve heard horror stories of men not being able to find the clit and it’s driven you further into insecurity surrounding the very concept of sex as someone with no experience.
Sukuna isn’t just skilled or good as you’re sure he’ll put it. He’s put time into this. Not just the kind that comes with being with people, but the kind that comes with research and education.
You knew he could talk about toys without batting an eye.
This is deeper.
He flicks your forehead, eyes flashing with irritation as you protest with a yelp. “What did I just tell you?”
“You’re just kinda being sweet,” you excuse yourself, blinking at him from where he’s crouched over your lower torso.
Something flashes in his eyes. “Don’t fucking mistake being good at what I do for sweetness.” His lip curls, the word dripping in disgust like the very concept is venomous to him. “Or do I need to remind you that this is a fucking deal and the moment this shit’s over you’re nothing more than my co-worker who doesn’t know fuck-all about the product?”
You let out a disbelieving scoff at the way he manages to kill the vibe entirely over what you might consider a compliment. “You’re right. You’re a dick.”
He straightens as he takes command of the situation once more, making himself look bigger as he leans over you. He shifts the reins like he owns your every reaction and can predict the situation. With a flick of his thumb, he turns the bullet vibe on, the vibration a sudden and intense sensation even over your panties. It’s a stark contrast to what your fingers feel like.
“Now stop thinking.” He drags the vibrator from your clit back across your clothed slit, your lips parting as you arch into the sensation.
“How am I supposed to focus when you’re being such an ass?” You grit in spite of the pleasure.
“Now you know why I’m good at this shit.”
He drops the attitude again as he manages to turn you on without the sensual touch or words of a partner, but rather through other methods.
Keeping a steady, albeit low vibration setting over your clit through your panties, he slips a hand under your shirt again. His thumb glides smoothly over your nipple, raising goosebumps along with his calloused touch. Sharp crimson eyes fix on the way your gaze finally shifts from his movements to the ceiling, your hands reaching for the blanket laying over the mattress. Your fingers curl into the cotton as all thoughts of insecurity and Sukuna’s attitude finally dissipate and all you’re left with is a tingling sensation that spreads warmly to your extremities.
“Thaaat’s it,” he guides you in a low tone that acts like sparks in your mind, kindling a fire that burns out whatever last thoughts served as a distraction. At last it’s just you and the sensation of his finger circling your nipple, slow and sensual as he takes the time needed to work your body up to a point where the vibrator won’t be too much.
The mattress dips as Sukuna shifts, his footsteps lost on you as the train passes by the window. It’s nothing more than background noise with your exterior senses dulled to focus only on touch. You blink at the tattooed man as the noise of the vibrator is silenced, lidded eyes watching his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.
“Color?”
You swallow hard. His gaze lowers as he watches the movement, every tiny detail catalogued as he reads your reaction.
“Green,” you reply, breathless.
He gives a nod, fixed still on your expression when he gives the first tug. On instinct your legs twitch to close, so he guides you through the nerves rather than ignoring them. “You’re good,” he gruffs. It’s not soothing, but somehow it settles a modicum of the uncertainty that comes with putting your trust in someone else in such a vulnerable way.
Once they’re over your knees, he tugs the panties off, sending them across the room.
You still can’t help instinctively trying to hide yourself from him, squeezing the blanket tighter between your fingers as the cool air of your apartment reaches your dripping core.
“You want my shirt off?”
The question hangs before you, eyes dipping down to the black muscle shirt he sports, tight over his built chest. It’s the kind of thing you would spot at a gym, but it’s just loose enough over the rest of his torso that it looks less like he’s showing off and more like he effortlessly owns the look and everyone else is just mirroring him.
Pulling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. When you meet his gaze again, it’s smug. He knows every last word that just ran through your head like he’s heard it before and the thought should piss you off, but you can’t be too bothered when he sets the vibrator on your abdomen and grabs the hem of his shirt with crossed arms. He pulls it up over his head with intention, flexing his biceps as he does so and sets it aside. Conveniently, his shirt doesn’t fly across the room.
The tattoos that curl around the sides of his neck snake over his shoulders in thick off-black lines that curve over his pecks. There are another set of bands similar to his wrists on his upper biceps and circles at his shoulders. They sharpen the persona given off by his intense egoism and dyed black hair, but they also accentuate his muscles in the kind of way that has your pupils dilating as you trail over the lines before falling to his abs.
As if that sight isn’t a show enough, at the base of his abdomen is a snail trail that you fix on just enough to earn a chuckle. It’s startlingly pink, matching the roots you spot every few weeks when they grow out.
Your hips shift as your stomach clenches at the sight. The cool air makes it obvious how turned on you are, and when you look back up, Sukuna is smirking. You’re feeding his ego more than you could know.
Satisfied with your reaction, he settles both hands on your thighs, slowly pulling them apart. Exposed to him once again, you find that action has surprisingly replaced your nerves with something far more debauched that has your mind racing.
This time, in all the right ways.
When your legs stay spread, he picks the vibrator back up, flicking it back on in one deft movement. The bed dips when he settles between your legs, dragging the vibrator through wet folds and over your clit, you arch into it with a soft moan. “Now you’re getting it,” he smirks as at last you let go of the endless stress of thoughts and give in to pleasure. “A bullet vibe is too small for much else besides placing direct pressure on the clit,” he explains as though your mind isn’t on another plane. “So it works best with other forms of stimulation.”
He keeps the small vibrator pressed directly to your clit. Your head falls back into the mattress, balling the fabric of your blankets up into your fists.
“You gotta work with me if you want this shit to work,” he continues, his hand pressing your thigh down when he adds additional pressure to the vibrator and your legs jolt shut on instinct. “What feels good?”
“I– hah–” You blink, cloudy eyes fluttering open to drag across the ceiling until they find his gaze, impossibly red and horribly smug as a moan tears your words apart. “The pressure is nice.”
“Nice?” He parrots the word, dripping in amusement. “I’m using a vibrator on you, don’t mince your words.”
You arch into the sensation in spite of his chatter, but he pulls away when you don’t reply immediately. Swallowing hard, you adjust your grip on the blankets and blink as your mind reels trying to catch up to what he wants. “It gets me a lot closer when you press it into my clit.”
He hums.
“But it’s kinda nice when you take it away too, makes the feeling l-last longer,” you stammer over the sentence when he tests your words, pulling it away for a moment. Your hips jolt, but the sensation is nice.
Vibration isn’t like your fingers. It’s far more intense and works you to the edge quicker when Sukuna knows how to maneuver the toy. “That’s called edging,” he gruffs, pulling the vibrator back as he waits for your eyes to meet his again. “This is a pretty tame form of it, but the human body wasn’t built for a vibrator so you’ll cum too fast if I don’t and it’s not as good.” You nod weakly, gaze flickering back down to the small device that he’s still holding away from your body. “Some people like being brought to the edge and coming down over and over, though. If that’s something you wanna try, that’s fine, but let me learn what you like first.”
You nod again, chewing on your lower lip as you buck your hips into his waiting hand.
He clicks his tongue, amused. “Eager.” Before you can retort with something equally cheeky, he presses the vibrator back to your clit as the stimulation curls through your body again, warm and welcome. It blossoms from your stomach to your chest until you can feel yourself teetering at the edge again, only for Sukuna to pull back. “Finger yourself.”
“What? Me?”
“You fucked stupid already?” Condescending prick. “Yeah, you. I told you, a bullet vibe works best with outside stimulation and I wanna see what you do to get off.”
You huff out a sigh, but your fingers slip from the blanket, down your body until you feel slick gather along your fingers. They’re cold, the thin windows giving way to a chill that seeps into your skin. The sensation has you sucking in a breath when they touch your skin, one finger slipping first between your folds, cool and pleasant, and then another. You work yourself open at a comfortable pace and adjust your hips until you find a rhythm and depth that feels nice, though it’s nothing compared to the vibrator.
“Could you cum just from that?”
“I don’t think so,” you breathe.
He hums in acknowledgement, pressing the vibrator with gradual pressure back into your clit. Your fingers stutter, pausing altogether. “Keep going,” he mutters. Even through the fog of bliss, you follow his instructions and keep the pace, your fingers curling into your walls as they begin to convulse around you.
Your breaths turn to soft, somewhat shy, moans with every second the vibrator spends pressed to your sensitive bundle of nerves. The world around you is fuzzy and you swear you can even hear the static that gathers at the edges of your vision. When your abdomen begins tensing and the rhythm of your fingers grows less accurate, more frantic, he uses more pressure to elicit the exact reaction he’s looking for. The sensation throws you over the edge without warning, hitting you in waves far more intense than the best orgasm with your fingers has ever given you.
As your body reacts to each wave of the orgasm, muscles clenching in time, the vibrator shifts slightly and the sensation heads straight into overstimulation. Sukuna reads the reaction and pulls away, letting you come down naturally. Your chest rises and falls heavily as you stare up at the rickety old ceiling.
Letting go and giving in entirely to the pleasure feels good. Your thoughts don’t race. There’s no constant stream of what needs to happen for the rest of the day or when you’ll head to the bar for your next gig. You’re just on cloud nine.
You feel Sukuna rise from between your legs. He moves around the apartment like he owns the place, opening the only door that doesn’t lead out without asking, and returning with a towel.
Pushing up onto your elbow, you hold out a hand expectantly, but Sukuna holds it out of reach. “No. I told you you’re not getting sweet, but I’m not leaving you without aftercare.” He takes a seat on the edge of the bed, folding the towel into something more manageable before holding it out for you to wipe your fingers on. “An arrangement like this,” he waves the folded towel haphazardly between you once you’re done with it, “means that the person in the dominant position should be helping clean up and make sure the sub is in the right headspace.” He speaks so matter-of-factly, you have a hard time believing this is the same guy who asked if you applied for the wrong job.
Tonal whiplash if you’ve ever heard it.
“If you ever have sex with someone who puts you in a submissive position and doesn’t give you aftercare, dump the prick.”
Truthfully, you’re not sure Sukuna has any right to call someone a prick, but you nod regardless. You’re not about to protest when he is cleaning you up and has gathered your panties and pants for you.
Once he’s satisfied, he sets the towel aside and pulls his shirt back over his head. He grabs you a glass of water as you cover yourself back up, and is surprisingly domestic as he checks in on you. “Feel good?”
“Yeah.”
“See what I mean when I say the bullet vibe is best with outside stimulation?”
You blink up at him from where he’s standing, a neutral expression plastered to his face as though nothing’s happened and there isn’t a tent in his pants. “Yeah, I guess.”
His eyes narrow, chin tilted up slightly. “You guess?”
“Sorry. I just don’t know what to do now.”
Unbothered, he simply nods, his gaze passing to the window as a train casts a dark shadow over the apartment, gone in a split second. He runs a hand through black strands of hair, revealing the pink at the roots before crossing his arms over his chest. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been… whatever we are, with someone.”
He snorts. “Can’t say I have either, sweetheart. Just talk with me until I know you’re back in a normal headspace. Tell me what worked and what didn’t.” He brings a hand up to his shoulder, rubbing the muscle along his back idly as he stands a short distance away.
Now fully clothed, you sit upright. “Okay.” Letting out a breath, you navigate the blissful fog still hanging over you in search of something to answer. “I appreciate that you took your shirt off,” you admit, heat climbing your spine as it curls up to your ears. You press on, grateful that he doesn’t make a big deal out of it in spite of his minute smirk. “I liked when you used pressure, but it was a lot when I came.”
He hums. “That’s overstimulation. Was it a lot in a bad way?”
Your brow knits together in thought. It was too much in the moment, but you don’t suppose you’d label it as bad. “No. Not exactly. Just too much.”
Shifting to the other foot, he considers your words. “Overstimulation is a pretty common kink. There’re a lot of people who like being pushed into that territory because it is a lot but the stimulation is also pleasurable and it can push you to cum again pretty quickly.”
“I think I saw that in some of the porn I tried watching.”
“I would say it’s one of the more common kinks in the kink community. Makes sense.”
You nod slowly, considering the sensation as you shift, your body still feeling particularly loose. “I think I’d try it.”
“Sure,” he agrees, seeming to only half pay attention when he pulls his phone out. A dim blue light illuminates the lower half of his face before he shoves it back in his pocket. “You seem good. Feeling alright?”
“Yeah.”
“Great. I’m leaving.” He turns abruptly on his heel, tossing his jacket over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. “Clean the vibe,” he reminds you. “And don’t use it too often. We’re not built for electronics, we’re built for fingers. It’ll fry your nerves and regular stimulation won’t feel as good.”
You nod solemnly, his advice adding up. “Wait!” You call when his hand rests atop the old door knob, the golden paint chipping away as it gives up the facade of luxury. “You don’t want anything?”
“No.”
You shake your head. “Why did you agree to this, then?”
He pauses, turning fully to face you. His gaze travels to the darkened path over the wooden floor where enough steps have been taken that the wood has physically worn away. “It’s convenient,” he offers, “having you take my shifts. It’s…” he trails off for a moment, his tongue running over his lower lip. “It’s helpful, really.”
You’re shocked at the sincerity behind the admission, like in spite of how frustrating and egocentric he can be, he feels he owes you honesty.
“But you’re right.” He lets the words hang, pools of cerise washing intensely over you as your head tilts quizzically. He blinks as he searches for the words to put his thoughts together. “Look, it pisses me off that you applied to this job in the first place, but you’re here now and Jillian likes you.” He shrugs his shoulders. “There’s fuck-all I can do about that and you should have known this shit before applying.”
Your eyes narrow as he repeats something you’re getting real sick of hearing. You can’t say you’re sure how this goes with the statement ‘you’re right’, either.
“But this shit is hard to learn if you don’t have an in.” His hand leaves the door handle with a hollow metallic clang as he takes a step towards you. He’s still across the apartment, but it bridges a gap of sorts. “Sex is treated as something you’re not supposed to talk about and kinks are taboo. So finding resources brings you to all sorts of sketchy sites or outdated books because the resources surrounding it suck.” He shrugs. “You should have a way to learn and experiment without feeling stupid for not knowing shit or for asking questions.”
“You literally called me stupid for asking a question not even ten minutes ago,” you interject.
“I didn’t call you stupid. I asked if I’d already fucked you stupid, because the question was stupid.”
You throw your hands in the air at his brazen reply, in disbelief that he can somehow manage to be simultaneously the most frustrating man on earth and unusually open and honest on topics that deserve discussion.
“It’s not stupid to ask questions about sex, or toys, or rules, or anything that makes you more comfortable. It’s not stupid to ask questions about your body or ask me to adjust to something that feels better.” He begins his clarification as though it helps at all. “It’s stupid to ask who I meant when I said ‘finger yourself’ when you’re the only other person in the room,” he snorts, amused as you shoot him a deadpan expression. “And it’s stupid as all hell to apply to a store where you don’t have any fucking clue what we sell.”
“You’re–”
“Yeah, yeah. Save it for later.” He makes a quarter turn, hand on the handle again. “I gotta go. See you at work.”
And with that, he’s gone.
main masterlist || series masterlist || ⪡ prev || next ⪢
౨ৎ a/n ; helloooo!! thank you all so much for all of the support :') i couldn't possibly have imagined all the love for this series, so it seriously means a lot.
i've gone for what i think is a fun writing challenge for myself in giving sukuna and reader both a very interesting dynamic, while also showing that sukuna's views on sex are very different than traditional ones bc of his line of work. we'll see more of satoru's perspectives as well and where those views come from!! reader, of course, struggles with insecurity in spite of the fact that she is bold and confident and slowly but surely we'll see more of that come into play in further chapters as well as where it comes from.
love without loyalty is just lust - but which feeling lies where between the king you've sworn to serve and the clown who'll never be able to make you laugh?
pairing: king!Sukuna x siren!Reader x jester!Gojo
content: mdni, angst and smut and fluff, medieval fantasy AU, forbidden love, heavy pining, piv sex, very unbalanced power dynamics, messy relationships, love letters, fem reader, light choking, face fucking, oral (m! + f! receiving), fingering, unprotected piv sex, secret relationships, medieval court politics, drama, gagging, restraints, falling in (and out) of love, betrayal, breeding kink, additional tags can be found in each chapter
part one: lust
before: Sukuna
part two: longing
before: Gojo
part three: loss
intermission: Gojo
part four: love
epilogue: Sukuna
comment to be tagged!
the original master list was taken down booooo but here's a new one hehe :p part two is coming in the next day or two <3
what do you do when you think a werewolf is stalking you? have sex with him, of course!
synopsis: you tried to live a normal life on your family's farm. until a werewolf bit you as a child and no one seems to believe you when the same one starts to follow you for years. branded an outsider and browbeaten towards an arranged marriage, you start to think that maybe you are going mad - until a certain werewolf shows up to wreak havoc again!
pairing: werewolf!sukuna x f!reader
wc: 8.0k
content: mdni, angst + smut, porn with plot, werewolf sex, he's hairy and has fuzzy ears + tail for it, unprotected piv sex, knotting, breeding kink, creampie, marking, biting, bonds, sukuna is lowk a yandere and VERY obsessed with reader, reader is an awkward loser, toxic family/environment, a sprinkle of violence against an asshole, kissing, oral sex (f!receiving), scratching, feral lovemaking, happy ending
a/n: the sukuna art is by @winterrbluess ! this was a super fun commission for the lovely @martianzmars <333
There were beasts in the woods.
Creatures the townsfolk whispered about in hushed tones out in the market, a tight hand on their children’s wrists to keep them tugged close as they ushered them back to the safety of their cottages. Monsters made into bedtime stories your mother warned you about before tucking you into sleep at night.
Stay on the trail. Never go out by yourself.
But hunger makes people do stupid things.
And you were no exception.
Just a clumsy child yourself, tumbling over roots and avoiding breaking any twigs as you snuck through the brush, going to check a trap you carefully crafted yourself after listening to your parents complain about not having any meat to preserve for the coming cold days. Not when all your livestock were going missing lately. Stolen or slaughtered by the predators lurking unseen.
They wouldn’t approve of you sneaking out in the woods, but if you brought back any animal, you were sure they’d forgive you for it. You were tired of being just another mouth to feed, something fragile to keep an eye on who’d yet to contribute much to the farm.
So you just huffed and held your tears in rather than start to bawl when you hit the rough forest floor and scraped your knees up, messing up the patched-together trousers your mother just mended last week, a hand-me-down that probably wouldn’t last to make it to another kid.
Biting your tongue as you made it past a familiar trove of trees, steeling your nerves with the thought that at least your trap was close – and then you heard it.
The whine of an animal.
Your hand reflexively reached for the battered hunting knife sheathed tucked in your pocket. You had to steal it from your father’s drawer this morning, but he should be too busy tending to the crops to notice your little theft.
Had it truly worked?
Did you really snag yourself an animal to bring home and brag about?
You swallowed hard, barely containing your anticipation as you struggled to stay silent the rest of the way. Too distracted in your own excitement to realize all the bugs and birds had gone quiet too.
Of course, even if you had, you still never would have considered the cause being what you caught. Who you caught.
Peeking beneath a branch to get a glimpse of your prize only to discover a pup.
And not the cute, fluffy kind the boy down gravel road had.
A werewolf pup. Somewhere between human and wolf, caught between two different forms and completely, totally feral.
With scraggly pink fur and searing red eyes, barking out a low growl at you as he struggled to get out of your trap. There was…something in there with him. A small animal you must’ve snagged before he tried to steal it, only tufts of brown and orange left of it and bits of bone.
But when you looked back at his face, the shape of his quivering mouth and the way his eyes widened with pure panic, you couldn’t help but feel awful for him. He was even smaller than you, scrawny and starving, his fingers trembling as he fought to break free.
“It’s okay,” you tried to soothe him, swallowing hard to quell your own fear. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
You pulled out your knife, moving slowly to not scare him as you showed him the blade. From what you’d pieced together from your parents late-night hushed conversations over the town’s werewolf problem, they were intelligent. Had families too. Made their homes in caves rather than out of wood and stone.
Was he your age? Maybe a year younger?
Did he have parents out there waiting for him to return to them like yours were?
“I’m just going to cut you free,” you half-whispered, careful to keep your tone even as you started to dismantle your own handiwork.
You didn’t know if he could understand you.
But his growling had turned into low huffs.
If you didn’t know better, you’d almost think he was impatient.
You worked faster, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you nervously stole glances back at the pup, hesitant to even think of him as a beast when he was so…scraggly? You’d always thought werewolves were vicious, too smart to get caught by a silly contraption like yours, strong enough to bust their way out of it if they did.
“Okay, there you-”
You didn’t even get to finish your sentence, the second he’d been released, that scraggly body of his was launching off the ground – and on top of you. Knocking you onto your back, all the air forced out of you as you let out a sharp gasp, trying to shove him off only to get the knife knocked out of your hand.
And your wrists pinned by your head just a moment later, his claws digging into your skin as his iron grip bit into your bones.
You were sobbing before he had even leaned in a little, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks as you squirmed and attempted to roll out from underneath him. “Pl-please don’t hurt me, I-I-”
Blubbering like a baby, shaking your head desperately as fear struck a dagger of its own straight through your core, primal terror setting in as you began to sweat. Your whole face felt wet, your lip wobbling as you tried to stammer out another desperate plea for your life, as you realized what a moron you were for having pity for him.
Starving dogs would always bite.
He was growling, barring sharp teeth as his canines glinted in the afternoon light, ready to sink into your throat and tear it out. You had a momentary surge of strength at the thought you really might die, managing to almost wrestle free as you screamed for your family, one hand slipping out of his grasp only for him to lunge forward, his teeth sinking into your wrist to stop you as a flash of white hot pain shot up your arm and-
Stopped?
His eyes snapped up to meet yours, squinting almost accusingly before the hurt morphed into a relaxing tingle, like your body was being bathed in warmth, shivering at the strange connection in his locked stare. All the apprehension disappearing, your anxieties melting as if you weren’t in danger, as if you weren’t surely seconds from death.
And then he was letting go, recoiling away from you like he tasted something rotten, nose scrunched up before he started to sniff the air.
Blood was dripping down your wrist, leaving red splotches on the plants beneath you as you scooted backwards, breathing hard and heavy as you debated on trying to make a run for it now, weighing the risk of if he’d pounce again. Feeling for where the knife landed, unable to bring yourself to break eye contact with him.
His mouth opened again, not in a snarl this time, but before he could bark or speak, there was the rustle of branches behind you, your parents calling out your name with worry in their voices. You glanced over your shoulder, just for a moment, but by the time you looked back, he was gone.
Disappeared deeper into the forest, into the safety of the thick brush.
Leaving you with a wounded wrist and a funny flutter in your chest as you stumbled to your feet after grabbing the knife, stumbling back towards the sound of your parents shouting for you.
You made it out of the woods with your life.
A story that got you scolded for years to come too, not to mention a scar that made the townsfolk sneer at you for doing something so foolish.
And a werewolf who just wouldn’t stop coming around.
Although, it had taken you until your teenage years to figure out that you were being stalked by the creature you made the mistake of saving as a child. You found his fur on your family’s porch, tufts of pink left behind in the mornings your family never seemed to notice. Scratch marks etched against the walls, grooves left in the wood from claws that were meant for slicing through flesh.
You caught glimpses of him. Sporadic at first, spread out between months and weeks. A flash of sharp teeth through the treeline. A phantom stare that seemed to constantly trail after you as you carefully kept your distance from the forest during the days while you tended to the farm. Hair pretty much perpetually raised on the back of your neck as you pretended you didn’t feel like you were being watched the second you walked outside.
The livestock had stopped disappearing, at least.
No more waking up to missing chickens or goats left with gashes strewn across the yard.
Your parents thought that all the werewolves in the area had moved somewhere else. Retreated deeper into the woods or somehow all slaughtered each other, victim to their own instincts, their own aggression.
You knew better. Kept waiting for the beast lurking and lingering around to…well, do something.
Not just watch.
You wondered if he was hoping for your guard to slip. If maybe he liked to play with his food before he scarfed it down.
Every time you’d step foot into the forest, he would seemingly be there. One hand on a silver dagger, not that you thought it would be much use if he’d been able to pin you down back when you were still bigger than him, especially now that he had a massive frame that lumbered between the trees, too big to be stealthy if he tried. Yet, not a single other person had seen him.
But you didn’t really have a choice. Someone had to collect herbs, had to get fresh water from the river, had to bring back branches and berries.
And no one believed your stories of the pink werewolf who just stood there and stared without ever attacking.
Everyone in town thought you were just a crybaby who called wolf.
“Stop staring and hang those clothes up,” your mother huffed, an elbow digging into your side snapping you out of your daze. Daydreaming about a world where they all listened to you instead of ignoring every word that left your mouth. “The neighbor’s boy will be by soon.”
Of course.
You wouldn’t be their problem much longer anyway.
Soon you’d be married off, sent to be the bride of the farmer’s eldest son next door. Most people married their daughters off the second they came of age, became adults who were too much of a burden to keep around, but your reputation had bought you a couple extra years.
No one wanted to wed a woman who weeped about creatures the rest of the folk were desperate to forget about.
Except for the boy with the bad temper you whispered to through the fence.
You had only started speaking to him a handful of months ago, back when you were hanging the sheets on the line and overheard a rustling sound through the rotting wooden planks separating your family’s land from the neighbor’s.
“Hello?” You called out, glancing over your shoulder anxiously, picturing a mass of pink on the other side. Considering the chance that you had gone crazy, cringing as you realized your paranoid mind might just be playing a trick on you. “Is someone-”
“Hello?” A man’s voice had echoed yours, equally uncertain. It came out all gruff, like someone was dragging a wooden rake over gravel, a rough rumble to it you automatically liked.
He didn’t try to sound smooth or honeyed. No pretending, nothing pretty or pompous.
And more important than anything else, real.
“Oh, um, my apologies,” you awkwardly cleared your throat, not sure what to say to him, belatedly realizing it had to be the boy your parents kept bringing up as a potential marriage prospect for you. “I just heard a noise and-”
“Did I scare you?”
“A little,” you admitted, laughing it off as you stared at the wood blocking him from your sight. “There’s a werewolf that roams around here.”
You waited for him to mock you for suggesting it. To dismiss your claim the same way everyone else did.
“Oh?”
He didn’t.
You informed your mother that night you wouldn’t mind marrying him after all.
And before long, you were confiding in him about everything. Sitting by the fence whether the weather was warm or cold, picking flowers while you poured out the years you’d spent looking over your shoulder, scared that you wouldn’t make it through another season.
He never told you your suspicions were stupid.
But he did tell you that if the werewolf hadn’t attacked you yet, there might be another reason it was there. Suggested one drizzly day that the object of your fear might actually be protecting you, that he could’ve scared off all the others that used to wreak havoc on your family’s farm.
You had never considered it before him.
But he made a point you were doing your best to talk yourself into believing.
It had helped calm some of your nerves. Turn your nightmares into something more…managable. They weren’t scary anymore, just, well, strange.
Your werewolf was still there.
But your body no longer tensed with terror when he came close and crouched low. Your heart still thrummed, pounding against your chest as you reached out a hand, but the beast who occupied so much of your brain had begun to let you pet him in the scenes it conjured up. Stroking his surprisingly soft fur as his mouth parted to purr, sharp teeth hidden behind his curled-up lips.
You had told your future fiancé about it, excitedly recounting the details as he gruffly hummed along. You asked about his dreams too, tried to return the favor he’d done you by easing your fears by getting to know him.
But he avoided that altogether, always redirecting the conversation back to your day. What you had for breakfast or what chores your family would be making you do later.
He didn’t flirt, never made any kind of crude suggestions of sneaking over the fence to spend the night — despite the rather unsavory reputation you heard he had around your village.
When you got close, your knees pressed to your chest while you rested your cheek against the wood, sometimes you could almost swear you felt some invisible string tying you to him. A natural pull you had a hard time resisting, reluctant to ever end the conversation or step away when your heart wanted to plant itself on the spot. Fingers itching to pry apart the boards so you could see his face, touch his skin.
You told yourself that it was a pretty fantasy.
Something your mind was weaving to keep yourself from actually going crazy from sheer loneliness.
Despite all of your stolen conversations, the minutes you snuck away to speak to him, you had never met him in person.
Until today.
You hurried to hang the clothes per your mother’s request, hands trembling as you worked and your head snapping over your shoulders as you hoped to hear his voice.
“Are you there?” You called out, aware that you’d look as crazy as everyone said you were if you got caught. It was a miracle in itself that you hadn’t before now.
But you didn’t get a reply.
Brief disappointment burned through you, but you shut it down.
Ignored the way it stung as you finished up, casting a wistful look back before returning to the house, stepping over trampled wild flowers and dying grass until you were climbing back up the stairs to your porch.
Your head hanging low, mulling over what you’d actually say when you got to see him.
“Ahem,” your mother cleared her throat, and your stare snapped up to find her waiting for you with-
Oh.
Your shallow disappointment immediately deepened into a lake you could drown you.
“Hi,” you breathed, struggling not to let your dismay show for the man in front of you. He wasn’t awful looking. No, he was attractive, you guessed, in his own way.
But he didn’t fit what you had in your head. He was too…clean? Normal?
His eyes weren’t filled with the warmth you dreamed they’d have. They were cold. Slipping over your frame cautiously, as if he was calculating what he should make of you.
You didn’t feel that tug towards him, no spark or gravity drawing you in. You didn’t feel anything for him.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you,” he greeted, nodding as his stare dipped from your face to your chest.
He didn’t even sound the same either.
Could a piece of wood really change the quality of his voice that much?
“I’ll leave you two to it,” your mother chirped, disappearing back inside like she wouldn’t be watching through the window.
“You don’t have to pretend like you don’t know me,” you said once you were sure she at least wasn’t eavesdropping. Telling yourself that you were surely just overthinking everything, trying to claw back some comfort in your one safe person. “Speaking to you has often been the highlight of my days these last few months.”
He looked at you incredulously, mouth curling up in a sneer you’d seen so many times before.
It was the one you usually got in the market from the townsfolk who thought you were mad.
The delusional farmer’s daughter.
“We’ve never spoken before.”
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
Would you be mad at him for murdering your fiancé?
Sukuna mused on how hard it would be to catch that imbecile off-guard and slice through his throat as the idiot scoffed and sneered at you.
He always knew it was a matter of time before you figured out your future groom wasn’t the man on the other side of the fence.
But he thought he had a little more time.
To warm you up a little more on the whole werewolf thing.
He heard the fear in your voice when you first talked about the pink beast stalking you through the woods without realizing it was the creature you were so terrified of that you were crying to.
It wasn’t like he wanted you to think he was a fucking creep.
But the longer he stayed away, the harder he fought and resisted the bond tying you to him, the more of a monster he became. Slowly becoming more animalistic, giving into the primal parts of him, pain scorching through every muscle and limb and threatening to melt his mind when he strayed too far from your side.
Werewolves needed their mates.
And you were his.
Bonded from the moment he bit you, his heart claimed to only beat for you from that day forward. Most werewolves had packs to keep them sane. Families they counted on to maintain their control on the monstrous parts of them that would go unchecked without that connection.
He had been an orphan. An abandoned pup who figured out how to survive on his own.
Lone werewolves, the ones like him, eventually became more wolf than man if they never found their other half to hold onto. Too aggressive to ever come close to someone that could tame them.
Sukuna had learned to make due with what he had.
You’d gotten good at avoiding him, running from him the second you caught so much as a glimpse, which honestly, was rather rude if you asked him.
Forced to creep up to your house at night, prowling around your porch to protect your farm from any other predators that might come sniffing around. Sleeping beneath your window at night just so he could stave off transforming into more of a beast, telling himself that he wasn’t being weird as long as he didn’t peek through to watch you dream and drift off in your bed.
He only ended up talking to you through the fence out of impulse.
Creeping along the other side of it to stay close to you and keep his instincts at bay, knowing those morons next door barely tended to their fields enough to notice him even during the day, caught off guard by the sound of your pretty voice calling out to him.
A single conversation was enough to have him hooked though.
And he was nothing if not addicted to the tiniest tidbits of your attention.
Desperate to feel the faintest warmth of your affection.
Sometimes, he was tempted to burst through the rotting wood, rip the whole fence down until he was face-to-face with you, shake your shoulders and beg you to see that it was him, that every part of him belonged to you.
Humans didn’t feel the bond the same way werewolves did, but he wanted to believe you could sense it too.
You had kept coming back.
And now you were standing on your front porch, frozen with a different type of fear that he could feel from here.
Your emotions seeping into his, curdling with his own shame for screwing everything up with you from the start.
He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but he could tell you were stammering, your lips quivering just for the man in front of you to laugh. Reaching out to pat your head condescendingly before jutting a thumb back towards his own property.
Sukuna was silently begging you to shake your head.
To keep your feet firmly planted on your porch.
You were too soft. Too trusting.
The sort of girl that set him free. Let a wild wolf pup loose with no regard for your own safety. And apparently you never learned your lesson judging by the way you began following that fool back to his house.
Clueless that his own family had conveniently left it empty for him to have his way with his future bride.
Sukuna had listened to your complaints about the way you were treated by everyone else. How no one else ever seemed to see what you did. No one else cared to believe you when it was more convenient not to.
You had trusted him.
And now you were putting this faith in that man because he hadn’t told you the truth?
Sukuna knew what would happen if he let you go inside with him, snarling as his claws started to grow, the bones in his fists cracking and popping as they formed a fist, creeping just deep enough to not be spotted as he trailed after the two of you until you crossed over onto his property.
He kept hoping you’d turn around. Tell him that you weren’t sure this was a good idea.
But you didn’t.
Even if the look on your face was nothing short of sharp discomfort as you walked up a winding path to his house.
Shit.
Sukuna was really going to scare you this time, wasn’t he?
But he wasn’t just going to let you stay there alone with an even bigger predator.
One who wouldn’t hesitate to bruise your skin or make you bleed for his own pleasure.
He stepped out, his canines barred as his chest quickly began to rise and fall with heavy breaths, aware that there really might be no going back from this as he waited for just one of you to look back. But no, that asshole just slid his hand down the small of your back, attempting to grope your ass through your dress and ignoring the way you were recoiling from him as you tried to politely brush his arm off.
Rage ripped through him in one hot burst, spilling over and souring any chance of his sanity winning out.
Only half-monster this time, pink fur sticking out across his back as he lumbered forward. He didn’t have a real plan. Or any plan.
Just the deep-seeded instinct to protect you at any cost. To not let another man lay a finger on you.
Your husband-to-be never saw him coming.
Blood splattering across the grass as he hit the ground from just a shallow scratch, whining in pain like a baby before Sukuna delivered a swift kick to his skull.
It wasn’t particularly powerful, but he supposed humans really were just that much weaker given how fast it seemed to knock him out.
“Sorry,” he growled, glancing over to you, expecting you to scream at any second, give him away. But you were stuck in place, those big eyes that had haunted him in his memory for so long finally locked onto his. More tears welling up in them, your shoulders shivering as the explanation on his tongue died.
Your hand reflexively reached for your wrist, the scarred skin there still raised from where he’d clamped down on it as a child, and he flinched, guilt curdling in his stomach.
He hated that he hurt you. Hated that he was terrifying you now.
The bond burned, being so goddamn close to you, able to feel all your fear, all your messy emotions tangled and twisted together, your heart racing so fast he could hear the wild thumps as he tried to force his body to revert back to his most human form.
“He was going to hurt you,” Sukuna defended himself with a low growl, kicking his limp body on the ground for a second time, like it would make himself feel better. A man like that would only waste your life. Force you to work the fields for him, bear his children and still pretend you were the burden.
You blinked, sucking in a broken breath as you stared at him. The terror that had been radiating off of you fading faster than he expected as your pretty lips parted, as if you pieced together the rest of who he was on your own.
“You’re-” You started, unable to finish the sentence.
“I’m protecting you,” he grunted, before you could come to any other conclusion.
You’d given him this life. He was devoting it back to you.
“Why would you do that?” You whispered, unsure of whether or not to stay or sprint as far from him as you could. Your stare quickly shifted back to the body on the ground, biting your lip when you realized he was, unfortunately, still breathing.
“You’re my mate.”
˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀
The werewolf you’d spent well over a decade running from had declared you were his mate – and the man you thought you’d marry was bleeding in the grass.
Great.
You were blinking back tears, torn between twisting away and taking a step closer. Your blurred vision started to clear as you hastily wiped away the damp streak from your cheeks, starting to see the werewolf in front of you as what he might have been this whole time.
Your protector.
Were you a moron that misread everything?
Maybe.
Or were you once again a fool about to fall for his trap?
He’d done it to you before, hadn’t he?
A small voice in your head suggested that you were thinking about it wrong. You had set him free. And now he was repaying that favor by saving you from spending the rest of your years chained to a stranger.
“What did you mean about him hurting me?” You tentatively asked, jaw tensing as you stole another peek at the man bleeding onto the already dead grass.
“You’re not that naive,” he scoffed, his mouth twitching when he looked too like he was tempted to kick him a third time.
Your mouth pressed together in a thin line, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you replayed the way he tried to grab you despite how derisively he laughed at you before. How he commented that he didn’t really care if you were crazy before glancing down at your cleavage.
But you had still walked with him anyway, starting to think that maybe you were losing it, that you were simply so lonely, you’d made up all those long conversations. Convinced that some jerk who just wanted you for your body was the best you’d be able to get.
“So it was you? This whole time?” You asked, trying to make the pieces fit together in your mind as you pictured him on the other side of that fence. Listening to you complain about him. “You never said-”
“Can you blame me?” He grunted, shrugging his massive shoulders up like it didn’t bother him.
“I called you a creep, like, a thousand times,” you pointed out, bottom lip quivering as you found yourself teetering on the verge of an apology you couldn’t decide if he deserved or not.
“Yeah,” he grimaced. “If I stay too far away from you, it’s hard to stay human.”
Your heart lurched.
Eyes lingering over him as you realized that he could almost pass for human.
Disarmed by how different he looked up close. His broad chest outlined with defined muscles, bulky and thick with scars and markings crisscrossed and etched deep into his tanned skin. There were sparse spots of fur that appeared to almost…shrink the longer he stood in front of you.
And not a scrap of clothing to cover his rather large cock.
You’d never seen one in person before. But you had overheard some of the girls gossiping about the men they were seeing in the market, comparing sizes to fruits and giggling about how they rarely seemed to make good use of them.
Were werewolves just more well endowed?
Heat coiled in your stomach, more enthralled than you should be as you got distracted by the shape of it, the way it curved a little to the left, a thick vein running along the side of it as your breath got stuck in your throat.
His tail wagged behind him as he stepped closer, something irritatingly familiar inside you instinctively aching to move towards him too.
That invisible string pulling tight, tensing up at the proximity of his presence, trying to draw you into his space as you felt what little resolve you had to resist him crumbling by the second.
You didn’t want to stay here.
Didn’t want to spend your life as the wife to an asshole or be the disappointment of a daughter your family treated you like.
You were already an outsider in your own village.
Why not give being a werewolf’s mate a try?
It wasn’t like your situation could get much worse.
“So,” you started, clearing your throat as you dragged your stare back up to his face. “What now?”
“Would you run away with me?”
In a strange way, his serious grumble felt romantic, his hand outstretched and all those sharp claws retracted waiting for yours as his red eyes pried apart and pierced through your soul.
Somewhere deep inside you, you knew that you were never going to say no.
That your path was always going to wind back to him one way or another the moment you slid your palm into his.
Still, you kind of thought he’d be taking you back to some poorly-constructed hut in the forest made out of twigs and branches – not an actual cottage of his own.
Buried deep within a twisted grove of trees tightly-spaced, tucked away far enough you doubted any hunters or folk from your village would ever discover it on their own.
It was old, vines sprawling over the walls, the thatched roof freshly-repaired as he pulled you through the front door. The inside was nice, a little small, but comfortable. Furniture mix-matched, most of it either roughly handcrafted or well, stolen, you supposed.
“This is yours?” You asked, stepping inside as he shut the wooden door behind both of you. Slipping off your shoes, not sure if that was considered polite or not in werewolf culture.
“Uh-huh,” he wryly nodded, not even glancing around when his gaze was focused solely on you. Looking at you sort of like you might be his next meal. “
“And I’m your mate?” You continued, mostly just wanting to hear him say it again. Confirm whatever this funny feeling inside you was. The connection that seemed to just intensify with each passing breath, each step he took closer.
“You’re mine,” he murmured, bridging the distance in just two long strides. He didn’t touch you. Not yet. Just let his calloused palm hover above your cheek like he was considering it – and using every ounce of his restraint not to cave in and caress you. “And I’m yours.”
“Do you want to be?” You swallowed hard, finding it hard to hold yourself back too. To not feel how firm his chest was, to not skim your fingers over his defined jaw. “Or is it just part of your werewolf-”
“I want to be,” he shook his head, like he didn’t even want you to entertain any other idea. “I want you. I think I’d want you even if we weren’t bonded.”
Enough to sit there and resist the bond between you for months while you whined and whispered about your boring life.
Enough to stop you from being sent off in an arranged marriage.
You got up on your tiptoes, letting your fingertips ghost over his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his in a timid kiss.
It was meant to be soft and slow.
But the second your mouth connected with his, it was like someone had set your skin on fire. Pleasure you hadn’t planned on racing through your limbs, across your body in one massive rush. Shuddering at how sensitive everything abruptly was, abruptly aware of the breeze in the air, the pressure of his hand as he grabbed your waist and pressed your body up against his.
As if it hurt for there to even be an inch between his chest and yours.
His tongue danced across your bottom lip, asking for entry you quickly granted, exploring your mouth with a flattering fervor.
Your thighs were already pressing together, warmth pooling as your walls clenched around nothing. But in between the heat, you felt a funny throb starting to build, begging for attention.
“W-what’s your name?” You asked, belatedly realizing you still didn’t know it.
“Sukuna,” he muttered, fingers sliding around to splay possessively over your spine, his steps guiding you back as he kissed you again.
His tongue slipped back in your mouth as his hand travelled over the rough fabric of your dress, pausing to tch at how it rubbed against your skin.
Sukuna was quick to pull it up over your head, throwing it down on the creaky wooden floorboards as he pushed open the door to his bedroom.
You had a brief flash of contemplation, wondering whether or not you were really about to offer your virtue up to the beast that had been haunting you for well over half your life.
But then you gave him another onceover, felt that fierce tingle travelling straight to your core, and you were committing to the animal inside you too.
He pinned you to his bed in a flash, although it looked more like a nest. A few of your clothing items, shawls and dresses that had gone missing over the last couple years you assumed your mother had thrown out were all bundled up on the surface along with a tattered blanket, the warmth of his own scent mixed with your sweeter one striking you the second your back hit the thin mattress.
“Are those-” Your voice died in your throat at how alarmingly cute the sheepish expression that crossed his face was.
“I’m sorry,” he begrudgingly grunted an apology, jaw tense as he paused on top of you, his hands on either side of your head, hesitating like you might slip out and make a break for it.
“What else did you steal?” You tried to tease, fingers loosely running over your old shawl close by.
“Nothing,” he grunted, not particularly believable as your lips curled up in a smile.
Was it morally questionable?
Yes, but when you’d wasted so long thinking that no one would ever like you, finding a man obsessed with you was too intoxicating for you to second guess it.
You leaned forward and kissed him again, trying to match the frenzy behind his lips, a fever of your own starting to make all your thoughts feel loose, fuzzy.
Limbs relaxing as your cunt started to ache, your fingers brushing through his soft hair, feeling his furry ears as his tail thwomped against the bed fast.
His cock was digging into your thigh, throbbing and twitching with every little move you made.
“You smell so fucking good,” he groaned, moving down to leave a messy trail of kisses down your jaw, over your throat as he began to sniff you.
Sucking in deep inhales, grunting as he ran his tongue in sloppy circles over your nipples, lapping over your exposed skin with no real rhyme or reason. Skimming his teeth over the sensitive peaks, letting out lewd noises like he was the one being driven mad with his mouth.
Nipping at you lightly, travelling lower until he was hovering over your pussy.
“Jus’ need a taste,” he breathed, and before you could even fully spread your legs for him, his tongue was pushing inside you.
It felt like he was trying to devour you.
Lick up every single drop, dragging his tongue against your walls in messy strokes, dipping in-and-out at a mind-melting pace.
Nails clawing at anything on his bed for grip, gasping for air as he lifted your hips off the bed so he could dive even deeper.
None of the girls had ever talked about this.
His thick digits were digging deep into your thighs, keeping you there as he worked his tongue in and swirled it with a devotion you were struggling to handle.
You were losing it.
Unravelling at a rate you never expected, wiggling and whimpering at how good it felt. How right it was to run your fingers through his soft strands.
And despite it all, you were still greedy for more.
Aching for him to stuff you with something bigger than his tongue.
“P-please take me,” you whined, ruffling his hair as you peered down at his position between your soft thighs.
His dark eyes widened, pupils completely blown, just a thin ring of red left as he processed what you had said.
You didn’t take it back.
Lips parted as you sucked in a shallow breath, silently daring him to do it.
Before you blinked again, your thighs were being pressed up against your chest, squished and squeezed as he lined his leaking length up against your entrance.
“Yeah?” He huffed, eyes narrowing as he saw the sweat starting to drip down your forehead, the way your thighs tensed and trembled before he even slid in. “You want me too?”
“I do,” you nodded, feeling almost like you were making a vow you wouldn’t be able to take back as he pushed the first few inches in.
The pressure seared.
Your stomach twisting into knots as your walls desperately squeezed down around him. He had to go slow, not desperately rutting or shoving, just slowly sliding into your warmth, his saliva and your slick making it easier for him to enter.
“You’ve been keeping this from me this long?” He asked, his voice raw and reverberating through you as you found yourself looping your wrists around his neck. Thick tendons straining and flexing as he unclenched his jaw, your thighs straining from the way his fingers dug into your supple flesh.
“I thought you were going to eat me,” you argued, pouting as he tilted his head back, using every ounce of his focus when his cock slipped in deeper, starting to rub against all those sensitive spots you had a hard time reaching yourself.
Your own hand was nothing compared to him.
“I might,” he chuckled, low and gritty.
Tension thrumming thick in the air as you looked down and realized he still hadn’t bottomed out, your lips parting as you stared at the connection between your bodies.
That intoxicating tingle you’d felt when he kissed you back had returned, your body squeezing and clenching and…changing?
It finally struck you what was happening.
His cock was literally molding you around him.
The bond working its weird werewolf magic to make sure you’d be able to accommodate him not just comfortably, but pleasurably. So you wouldn’t be in pain as he pushed you to your limits.
“Is this normal?” You gasped, not sure if you should be grateful or freaked out as he slipped another thick inch in.
“You’re my first,” he shrugged, the lump in his throat bobbing like he was currently too preoccupied just by the way you were wrapped around him to think straight.
“And werewolves don’t have multiple mates?” You questioned, lips pursed as you felt his cock prod that soft, spongy place in the back, your back arching up off the bed just for him to press you right back down.
“You can’t be serious right now,” he froze, his cock twitching in time with his mouth.
“I’m just asking,” you frowned, but he was quick to fuck your pout off, pounding back into you as you saw something in his face shift.
Crack.
Coming undone as he struggled to slow down once he started, his pace just picking up as he kissed you to wipe away your silly assumptions.
“You’re it for me, got it?” He grunted, the taste of you on his tongue as he kissed you again.
How were you supposed to not fall for that?
Not turn to putty for him to play with when his calloused hand slipped down the inside of your thigh, the tantalizing tips of his claws lightly tracing over your skin to tease you.
Swirling the tip of his fingers over your clit, toying with the bud there too as he ruthlessly rutted into you like an animal in heat.
Was that all the two of you were now?
“M’sorry,” he moaned, his mouth right next to yours as you sucked in a broken breath. “I can’t hold back.”
“You don’t have to,” you whispered back, your voice all airy, half a pitch too high right as he rolled his hips forward, forcing the last few inches in. Your eyes rolled back in response, a whimper ripped from the back of your throat.
Perhaps you should’ve asked Sukuna to reign it in a little.
Because moments later, the base of his cock that already barely fit started to get bigger.
He was knotting you.
And somewhere in your lust-addled head, you liked it. A primal voice in the back of your brain begging to be bred.
For him to fill you up and never let you go.
“It’s-” You started, struggling to get any coherent words out when it didn’t feel like you had any room left in you for anything.
“Too much?” He grunted, starting to slip back out, to release you before it was too late.
But you pulled at his hair, squeezing your thighs and sorta wishing they were wrapped around his waist instead to stop him.
“No,” you spat out, straining to shake your head as he stalled there. “I need it.”
You needed him.
The idea of being apart, separated just a little suddenly seemed hellish, like it would be sheer torment to not feel the full force of him lodged inside of you.
His knot stretched you out, your nails raking mean scratches down his massive back as the base of his cock continued to swell. Unable to so much as squirm, stuck in place as he split you open on his thick length.
And truly?
You wouldn’t trade him for any farmer’s son.
Wouldn’t want to be anywhere other than here, in this cozy cottage being fucked stupid by a werewolf.
He might be a beast, but at least he was wholly yours.
His fingers returned to rubbing soothing circles over your swollen bud, coaxing you towards a climax as he staved off his own. Lips leaving kiss after kiss across your face, your thighs still held against your chest by his weight alone, folded and straining as he fit all of him inside of you.
“You don’t know how crazy you make me,” he growled into your throat, and you were starting to think you had an idea.
Infected with his intensity, itching for release as he dragged you to higher and higher peaks of pleasure.
Sukuna rocked into you hard and fast, those pointy teeth sinking just above your collarbone to claim you, hard enough that you were sure you’d bleed, but it just heightened the bliss still burning beneath your skin. Unlatching just to drag his tongue over it in warm licks, his sniffing not stopping even as he sucked and kissed the sore spot better.
“Make me wanna put pups in you,” he continued, half-delirious and drunk on you alone as his hips smacked rudely into your skin.
“Do it then,” you half-whispered, so close yourself as his thumb pressed down delectably over your clit, the thin string in the pit of your stomach holding you together ready to snap right there with him.
Sukuna’s head snapped up to you for just a second, the fading light of the day casting shadows across his face as he let out a ragged little laugh like you didn’t know what you were requesting of him.
He looked softer somehow, shoulders more relaxed, his thrusts slowing as he stared, becoming more steady as you felt blinding need warping what little sense of reason you had remaining.
You were digging at his shoulder blades, thighs trembling as you leaned up to kiss his throat this time, craving even more of him. Tearing at his skin as you started sucking on his collarbone, leaving lovebites that made him grit his teeth and groan your name while he fought the parts of him that made him so different from you to start with.
“I’m gonna cum, fuck,” he hissed, barely holding on as you nodded along.
His fingers roughly massaged into you faster, to make sure you came right as he did, your body shaking as you broke down for him, pretty little stars splashing across your vision as you scrunched your eyes shut and probably left a fresh set of scratches across his skin, feeling him shudder and shake on top of you as he called out your name again.
You let out your moan, something that was supposed to sound like Sukuna but just came out strangled, too stuffed to really care about anything other than the size of him still filling you up so entirely.
Unable to move back or forward, feeling something wet on your face as the scent of sweat and sex and something sweet invaded your senses.
You let go of his shoulder blades, blinking a few times as you went to rest your arms over your head instead – just for him to snag your wrist and flip it around to examine the scar his old bite had left there.
“I guess I’m your problem forever now, hm?” You asked, the bond between you feeling a little less like a thin string and more like a heavy chain tying you to him.
Unbreakable.
“You’re not a problem,” he wryly muttered, not quite as amused as he tenderly dragged his thumb over the marred skin. “Just a brat.”
Like he wasn’t the one whose cum was plugged up inside you thanks to his still-throbbing knot. Keeping him locked in place as you blinked up at him with damp eyes, tears of pleasure streaked down your cheeks this time.
Sukuna cleared his throat, his pretty jaw tensing as he stared down at the narrow space between your bodies.
Synopsis. 8010—DOKI-DOKI-GF: Are you a complete n’ utter nerd that just can’t seem to find a girlfriend? Have you lied to your family and told them that you’re seeing someone (when you really aren’t)? Do you need to save face at the next family dinner before your uncle makes fun of you until the end of time? Well, call our hotline NOW to access Tokyo’s #1 rent-a-girlfriend service!
Choso Kamo, unfortunately, is all of the above.
Pairing. Choso Kamo x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!rentaI girIfriend!reader, nerd!Choso Itadori family shenanigans, meeting the family, fake dating, UncIe Kuna is MEAN, they’re onto you…, getting kicked out of restaurants, Iove hotels, vírgin!Choso, first times (his), PÚSSYDRÚNK CHOSO, making him crawI, oraI (f + m), fíngering, spítting, bíting, p taIking, scientific taIk HAHA, commands (from you), créaming his pants, making him cúm earIy, multiple o’s (him), MAJOR overstím, pánty-sníffing, ríding, making him whímper, making him cry, somewhat gágging (him), teaching him, creampíes, sIight cùmfIation, implied marathon, getting together, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 12.0k
A/N. HEHEHEH-
“—I’m so happy you’ve found your person, Cho…” Itadori Jin coos- tearing up.
“P-papa, people are staring.” Choso huffs, spooning the syrupy-sweet cherries on his sundae over to Yuji’s.
“I know, I know.” Jin bats a hand, not-so-discreetly dabbing underneath his eyes using his sweater. “It’s just- your uncle and I were getting so worried, y’know?” He gestures at his younger twin brother next to him—looking comically buff in that pretty pink ice cream parlor seat. Jin had chosen this place. “And although we didn’t lose hope-”
“Who’s we?” Sukuna snorts.
“I uh…well.” Jin adjusts his glasses and looks over at Itadori Wasuke - currently scooping out his own cherries to flick into the neighboring table’s cups when they weren’t looking. “Father and I didn’t lose-”
“I did.” Wasuke looks squarely at his oldest grandson, “No offense, kid- but I bet ¥400 that you’d die alone.”
Sukuna nods seriously, “I bet ¥20,000.”
To which you’re finally…reaching over to intertwine your fingers with Choso’s.
…Choso drops his cherries.
And you’re letting out such a sweet, sweet giggle - even sweeter than the linger of cherries on his tongue - before you duck underneath the table to help him pick them up.
Choso was already on his knees crawling after those damn cherries- and all it takes is a single glance at your face oh-so-close to his, in such short proximity, for him to jolt—and bang his head against the underside of the table. So hard that the glasses clink against one another, and Wasuke groans as he misses in his valiant cherry canons.
So loud that half the parlor stares at your little table.
“Oh no.” You’re reaching out in concern as Choso rubs his achin’ head. “Honey, are you-”
“I-I’m fine—!” Choso turns his face away - and the only things you could make out were the frames of his chunky glasses…and the burning red on the tips of his ears. Blushing. Though you’re not convinced, and once you get a little closer- he’s waving you off more fervently than ever. “I promise, I promise! I can handle it…babe.”
You quirk a brow - “If you say so, sugarplum.”
He almost jolts once more- too much…?
However, before you’re thrusting yourself once more into the stratosphere of emotional fathers (at least, one of them) and glowering uncles, you inch yourself closer to the nerve-wracked man - as quick as a flash. And then you’re pressing your lips to his right cheek—just a graze, just a peck.
But it’s enough for Choso to yelp-
And bang his head against the table once again.
“Easy there, tiger.” You’re giggling at him, “I need you in one piece.”
“N-need me…” Choso whispers to himself- perhaps thinking that you won’t hear.
And it’s a small mercy that you’re handing to him - pretending that you didn’t hear that. Instead, you’re throwing yourself back into your seat, and presenting your most-practiced smile at Choso’s eavesdropping family members.
In little-to-no time, Choso’s popping back up and plopping all those floor cherries into Sukuna’s black coffee. The older man swears.
Jin covers the seven-year-old Yuji’s ears.
And then your boyfriend’s excusing himself hastily to the bathroom. Leaving you alone with them.
Unsure how to proceed, there’s a few minutes of silence before you’re speaking first. “Quite the lovely place, isn’t it?”
“Yes- yes.” Jin snaps out of his little reverie—he’d been watching over your interaction with such unabashed pride. Such loving nosiness. Out of all the fathers of clients that you’d happened to meet, you think he might just be your favorite…He beams. “I’m so glad you like it, dear. I mean- the first girl that Cho’s introducing us to-”
“The only one.” Sukuna coughs.
“-I just knew I had to impress. I picked this one specifically because it advertised itself as a place that’s both family-friendly and open to coup-”
“So you met the wimp…how again?” Sukuna interrupts. And he ignores the look that Jin throws at him.
“Six months ago at university.” Choso’s finally finished up at the bathroom, within earshot of the table. He takes his seat right next to you.
“I hope you washed your hands.” You whisper to him.
“Of course, I did.”
The two of you had already repeated this tried and true story at the very start of your introductions. And it was clear that Sukuna was fishing for something…more.
You make a show of reaching for Choso’s hand on top of the table—intertwining your fingers with his. They were fingers much longer and thicker than yours- that you might not have expected. The most sensual calluses from what you assume to be turning pages of books. The softest touch nevertheless.
You squeeze his hand and shoot him a simpering smile.
Itadori Jin just about faints.
Sukuna scoffs at his overdramatic older brother, “S’that so…?” He then crosses his tattooed arms, “You don’t seem like the type to like ah- biology and hemorrhages.”
“It’s biology and hematology, uncle Ryo.” Choso answers crossly, “And no- we met in the campus library.”
Then you’re the one to pipe up. “Cho here- oh, sorry, Choso-”
“Call him whatever you like—!” Jin cries.
As his brother attempts to wrangle him back into his seat, you smile appreciatively and continue. “Cho here was the one that helped me find a textbook I’d been searching for for weeks.” Just to add a little flare to it, you’re squeezing his hand once more and staring deeply into his big, beautiful brown eyes when you speak. “He knew even better than the librarian! And he was just so nervous- stuttering and- and did I tell you that he almost tripped over himself handing me that book?”
Jin, so very interested in your story, shakes his head aggressively.
Meanwhile Sukuna merely rolls his eyes- though you note that he and Wasuke don’t interrupt you for a second.
“Yeah…that was when I knew.” You conclude. Patting lovingly at his arm, “And of course, it did take a few weeks of being friends for Cho here to finally build up the courage. But he did manage to ask me out in the end—”
Sukuna raises one mean, coral-pink brow.
And you’re elbowing your boyfriend.
“-didn’t you, honey?”
It was rather difficult to convince your boyfriend’s family of the story of you two meeting- especially when your boyfriend himself looked as though this was his first time hearing it…Choso kept an expression of sweet euphoria—something soft. Like he was watching a romantic movie play out.
One that was starring in- and you needed him to say something…
“Huh? Yes?” Choso blinks- sense coming back to him. “O-oh, yes.”
And then he straightens up.
Possessively placing his hand on top of yours, “I saw her and I just…knew she had to be mine-”
“See now, that where yer lying.” Sukuna leans over the table with a devilish smile- pointedly ignoring his brother’s swatting. “There’s no world in which Kamo Ultimate Loser Choso—had his first kiss with a biology textbook, asked out the high school lab skeleton before any real person - would be the one asking you out.”
You’re stiffening as he points at you.
“Are you just someone he’s paying to lie? Because whatever he’s paying, it surely can’t be enough-”
You’re plastering on your smile, “If by ‘pay’ you mean love and cherish me then-”
“Then I know my nephew would no sooner woo a damn lab rat than a real person.” Sukuna scoffs, crossing his arms and falling back into his seat. “Especially one so pretty.”
Jin looked tense- and he’d forgone swatting at Sukuna underneath the table to now openly pinching his bicep. Still, the pain seems to do nothing to bate his suspicion.
“More sundaes, everyone? More sundaes?” Jin asks in a strangely high tone.
The only ones unaffected at the table was Yuji currently plucking at his sundae cherries, and Wasuke who stared at them with the internal debate as to whether or not he should fling those at the neighboring table, too. You almost wanted him to—anything to distract from the terseness that had suddenly taken over.
And to your surprise - it’s Choso who’s the first one to speak. “Why, uncle Ryo…” Those doe-like eyes of his narrow into an expression you’ve never seen made by the sweet, sweet boy thus far. “-jealous?”
Sukuna startles- “The hell did you s-”
“Dagnabbit I almost had it this time-” Wasuke gives up on considering and swipes one of Yuji’s overabundance of cherries to throw into their neighboring tables glass. It’s a hole in one.
“Grandma, do that again—!” Yuji squeals and claps his hands.
“Huh, where? I’m grandpa-”
“Everybody silence!” Jin’s voice raises above than the rest - and into every corner of the ice cream parlor. Echoing. He hadn’t realized it in the heat of the moment, but he found himself standing as he stopped the chaos—and rushed to sit down after some apologetic bows at the wider population being subjected to the catastrophe that was…their family.
And his next apology is directed at you. “My dear, I cannot tell you how sorry I am-” Now instead of pinching Sukuna, he outright gives the man a brotherly smack upside the head. Unafraid of doing so; Jin makes it hard enough that even Ryomen Sukuna winces. Now you understand how he kept his title shining as older brother…“-that I am related to a bunch of buffoons, and Yuji.”
“Yuji has been quite the distinguished gentleman.” You’re nodding at Yuji and his ice-cream-covered grin. “But it’s alright, Mr. Itadori. Honestly- promise I wasn’t offended by anything said.”
Your hands have seemed to find a permanent home in Choso’s - at least for the time being - and you squeeze his.
“I understand that you’re just ah- cautious as the first girl to meet you like this but…I get it. Really.” Jin’s expression just seems to melt as you keep speaking. “Cho really is someone special to me. And I want to protect him, too.”
Next to you, you hear Choso suck in a shaky breath.
“Really? And you truly promise that it hasn’t been too much?” He probes with shining eyes. “Ryo here can get a little too mouthy-”
“Hey!” Sukuna starts—then immediately winces as Jin’s fingers twitch towards him again.
“Please do forgive him- it’s in his nature.”
“Absolutely promise. And I don’t hold anything against Mr. Sukuna, either.” You knew to hit juuuust where it mattered - and referring to Sukuna using such a title made the man straighten in his chair a little. “Choso did warn me that his family might be a little…excited. But to be honest with you, I always have had a soft spot for big, loud families.”
“Well…” Jin blushes happily, before reaching across the table and shaking your hand. “You may call me Jin, if you’d like. And I’d like to welcome you into our big, loud family.”
“I’m so honored- thank you.”
“The honor is all ours.”
“Oh no, it’s ours.”
Sukuna glances at Choso and scoffs. Underneath his breath, “That’s as long as that wimp has paid for-”
The table rattles as Jin kicks him underneath it. “The honor is all ours. Isn’t it…younger brother?”
“Ye-yes—” Sukuna wheezes. His large hand comes slamming down- merely something to hold onto his dear life for. “Welcome to the family, girl.”
You beam like it’s the happiest day of your life.
Head rested on Choso’s shoulder, and your head nodding at the flow of conversation. “This is cooler than the Turritopsis dohrnii.” He breathes.
Save for the brief hiccup earlier- you’d consider your first meeting with Choso’s family to have gone swimmingly. And sure, perhaps Sukuna held the faintest inkling of suspicion that what the two of you had was a ruse—but he’d been shot down almost immediately by Jin.
And thank goodness for that.
“Let’s celebrate by getting the double double heart-shaped cones- oh, I wonder how they get them into that shape?” Jin hums. “And then I want chocolate chips, dipped in the bubblegum drizzle and- oh, hello.”
He beams as their server nears the table.
“I would like-”
“Sir, we’ve been getting complaints of cherries being flung into people’s glasses and we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”
“Oh.”
Because of course…Ryomen Sukuna had been completely correct.
As the group gets up to leave - perhaps to another diner downtown or so - you’re refusing to let Jin apologize. And you’re still holding onto Choso as though he was the dreamiest boyfriend in the whole wide world, and you were the luckiest girlfriend—as dreamy as he may be…you weren’t the girlfriend he’d been dating for the past five months.
In fact, you weren’t his girlfriend at all.
In fact, you’d only met two hours prior.
You were #1 Rental Girlfriend in all of Tokyo. And this time, you’d been hired to save face at a family get-together.
Of course, it wasn’t the first time that you’ve had to pretend your way through such a predicament - more people than one would think had less and less time for love. Especially not in this day and age. Especially not when work and responsibilities latched onto you like a starving tick, and though its blood supply might be modest at first, it only grows hungrier and hungrier—greedier, until you’re bone-dry. Bone-dry. Bone-dry. And it still feeds- what’s next? The bones and all?
And society still looks at you with the same standards—yes, the parasite’s gotten bigger, but why are you so frail?
And before you know it, you’re hiring a rental girlfriend to prove to your parents that yes- you can still be a functional and well-balanced adult still!
This was exactly why you continued being a rental girlfriend.
It’d started out as a side-job during your first year of university—your friends were all getting partners or throwing themselves into their studies. And you needed something fulfilling to pass the time.
Then, your best friend suggested getting a part-time job.
You’re sure she didn’t mean as a rental girlfriend.
But you couldn’t help it - it’d been the first advertisement for Hiring that’d popped up once you’d searched online!
And it was meant to be for a few weeks initially- really, you hadn’t planned on continuing this career for so long. Let alone making it a sort of career.
That morning, you’d opened up your approved application for Doki-Doki-Girlfriend and determinedly made your way to the interview section - promising yourself that you’d run at the first sign of anything off. The interview was being held at the Doki-Doki headquarters: this pretty pink-colored building in downtown Akihabara that had formerly been a host club. It’d been dimly-lit and draped in old perfume and even older sex.
Though you’d been nervous the first time you entered, you’d been quickly taken by the Doki-Doki owner—Tsukumo Yuki.
The first thing she asked you was what your type in men was.
And when you’d answered - through your shock - that it was the shy, stuttering type- she laughed that that was about 95% of their clientele. So you’d be lucky, perhaps.
Yuki, as she insisted you call her, explained to you the ins and outs of being a rental girlfriend. To smile. To simper. To be sweet but not overly so.
To never let them pressure you into anything. They weren’t the type of rental business that offered other sorts of services.
What people were searching for above all was a connection- for at least this brief moment in time. And the both of you would understand this transaction: it was the fantasy of a human bond that you were selling, and they were buying. It was your time. It was your emotional investment.
But later…you would come to genuinely connect with most of those you worked with.
After that interview—which you passed with flying colors, you spoke with some of the other girls working there and decided to continue with the job opportunity. Much to Yuki’s delight, who’d taken a liking to you almost immediately. After that was the training period - during which you accompanied some of the other rental girlfriends on their dates.
You were introduced to some as their friend—and as many guys as expected were actually flattered to be seen with two ‘girlfriends’ in public.
You took notes on conversation topics. You watched their behaviours.
You understood how they’d change their approaches according to the needs of their clients, and you absorbed it all.
After a few weeks of observation, you were finally added to the roster of rental girlfriends to go on your own dates.
You just didn’t expect to shoot to the top of the ranks.
#1 in Tokyo.
Perhaps one of the Top 5 in the entire country—only three years after starting, in your fourth year of university.
The clients adored you.
They draped you in gifts. They went on repeat dates - spending extra just for a minute of your time, though you often refused the additional amounts. Of course, there would be no funny business (and this was something you made quite clear within the first few minutes of meeting a new client). And excluding one or two unsavory clients that were quickly blacklisted from Doki Doki, you’d grown rather fond of your regulars.
There was the older woman who’d practice speaking to women through you- for when she planned on getting her first girlfriend. There was the excitable college student who tested out date spots with you. There was the pensioner who wished to take a monthly stroll through the park, simply talking about their day.
It was the feeling of belonging amongst strangers. Connecting with people you never could have imagined finding common ground with before.
And you believe, through this line of work, you began to understand humans better.
Humans were all just…really, really lonely.
Choso had been the same when he came to you.
It had been a working day like any other - you’d been called to the front desk of Doki Doki in order to be given a briefing of your next date. It was all standard processes, really.
Name: Kamo Choso
Age: 23
Occupation: Student
Prior appointments: None.
Prior love life: None.
Purpose: Client seeks a rental girlfriend to sit through a family dinner with his family, pretending to be his girlfriend. Prior backstory required to be able to maintain the conversation and create the illusion of a loving relationship (5 months). Flirting and mild physical affection.
Extra notes: Client says to please be wary of his extra ‘rowdy’ family.
And so, you’d accepted.
You met up with the aforementioned Choso—and found yourself a little taken aback at just how…cute he was.
Nerdy. Nervous.
Pushing his glasses up as he frantically introduced himself - that, too, messing his name up a few times before actually telling you.
Exactly your type. Yuki had been right.
He was your age, and went to - it turns out - the same university as you. Though the two of you hadn’t seen each other before, Choso confessed that that might be because he was cooped up in the library most of the time.
He bowed at least a dozen times through apologies for the trouble- even though you assured him that meeting a family wasn’t anything out of your way. And then he insisted on paying extra, on coming up with a code should you want to leave, on—you shook your head and grabbed his hand. “So, how did we meet, boyfriend?”
You always did enjoy the ones where big families were involved - sure, they might be more awkward in the long run…but those types of dates always did manage to make you feel so warm inside. Big families. Big emotions.
And the biggest, perhaps, of all had been meeting the Itadori family.
They’d been unlike any other family you’ve ever met.
And that was saying a lot.
Thus, you’re letting out a prolonged sigh the moment you’re stepping outside—it was some downtown diner that the six of you had ended up at after your less-than-ceremonious exit at the ice cream parlor. Sukuna had been craving something hearty after living through that introduction on just sweets and coffee - and Jin had suggested one of their favorite ramen places.
It was only after you’d sat down with them at one of the booths - the one they called their ‘usual’ - that Jin had revealed that when they referred to it as ‘their’ ramen place—they really meant the their.
In everything but ownership.
This was the first restaurant they’d gone to celebrate Choso’s first birthday, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Jin’s mother had passed, this was the first restaurant they’d gone to after Yuji was born and Jin was granted full custody.
And you couldn’t help but feel a strange sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach. What was that you said about family-oriented dates being the most awkward in the long term?
At least the ramen had been the best you’d ever tasted- and the conversation flowed freely. Even Sukuna seemed to forgo his initial suspicion to make some conversation with you on Akihabara’s best spots.
And in the end, you were walking out of that ramen restaurant with a full stomach and an even more full heart.
Waving to the retreating backs of Jin, Sukuna, Wasuke, and a sleeping Yuji—you’re turning to Choso once they were completely out of sight. “Your family is…”
“Abhorrent?” He pushes his glasses up with a crooked smile. Choso had eased up around you significantly compared to your initial meeting outside the Doki Doki building, stammering through an adequate backstory for your faux-relationship, though he still seemed to be the nerve-wracked type.
“No…” You pretend to think.
“Overbearing?”
“No.”
“Savages?”
“Certainly not.”
“The servers at that ice cream parlor would disagree.” Choso mutters, “How about aneurysm-causing?”
“No.” You’re shaking your head once again, before turning to him with a smile. “They’re loving.”
Choso says nothing, but the tips of his ears burn.
“They care about you a lot- even your uncle was making sure I wasn’t some stranger just taking your money.” Well…
The long-haired man pushes his glasses up with a sputter of confirmation- or at least something that sounds like it. “I-I suppose ah- in their own…ways they’re rather…” Choso swallows a few times, and you’re watching his face as he does so—the Sun was dipping past the horizon now, and cracking its golden yolk over the grooves of his worried face. Handsome. Choso Kamo was just so handsome.
With his lashes dark and draping over his cheekbones. With his lips pouty and bitten whenever he was thinking deeply about something. With his stature so tantalizingly tall—though he didn’t even seem to be aware of it, as he navigated the world like a newly-birthed fawn.
He was the prettiest boy you’ve ever seen - glasses and all.
“—caring.” Choso finally finishes his sentence.
You’re letting a smile stretch across your lips- and before you can think twice, you’re clasping Choso’s hand once more. You’d been doing it so often over the course of the date that it almost feels- natural now.
“You know…you paid for five hours of my time, Choso. Do you know how much more time we have left?”
“Two hours, fourteen minutes and—” He grows ever-redder as he stares down at you. Were you…leaning in? Pressing yourself against him? Fuck. “-f-fifteen seconds.”
“Mmmm, I do love a smart boy.” Beginning to tug him in another direction from the path to the Doki Doki building - though you leave enough leeway that he can stop should he want to. Choso follows you like a dog on a leash. “I don’t usually do this, but if you want to spend the rest of your time with me then…I know this ah- other place we can go to?”
“Like you want me to c-call my family back for another family dinner?” Choso asks, eyes bulging.
“Oh no, no.” You laugh. “This place isn’t family friendly at all.”
.
.
.
“A-a love hotel-”
“One room, please. Standard.” Interrupting Choso, you smile at the receptionist.
“Will that be for an allocated time or overnight?”
“Hmm…” You glance sidelong at the gawking Choso next to you- looking around the hotel lobby as though it was some sort of attraction. “Overnight, please.”
As the woman behind the desk continued tap-tap-tapping away at her keyboard, you take a moment to look at Choso - now adjusting his glasses to make sure that he was seeing right. That really was a bowl of condoms sitting on the front desk. As the heat rushes up the back of his neck, you’re wrapping your arms around one of his own—and pressing your body against his. “Everything alright, Cho?”
He’d been like this ever since you started heading him in the direction of the glitzy love establishment. Pink walls. Fluorescent lights. He’d agreed to going…elsewhere to continue your date- but he’d expected your apartment or something! Choso had been stunned but allowed you to lead him in front of the love hotel, and once outside you turned towards him once more. It was the first time you yourself was doing this with who was supposed to be a client. “And you’re really su-”
“Yes.”
And that was that.
The lobby was quiet…too quiet. In a way that made your spine tingle with anticipation.
“That’s a…a real bowl of condoms.” He exclaims- earning a look from the receptionist.
“That is. Is this your way of saying that we don’t need any?” You joke…mostly. Then the key gets slid over to you - Room 143 - and you’re nodding at the receptionist. “Thank you.”
The two of you make your way down the lust-pink corridor and take the elevator up to your room - jamming in the key to open up a space that looked as if a honeymoon threw up all over it. Rose petals on the floor. Faux candles flickerin’ on the beside cabinet. Rows upon rows of even more condoms lined on the middle of the queen-sized bed.
If you looked at it from the right angle, it formed a few hearts.
“I didn’t mean we shouldn’t use them…” Choso’s the first one to speak- and he visibly gulps as you close the door behind you two. “It’s just…I-I’ve never done this before.”
Your eyes widen—you’d been suspecting this ever since you entered. But to have it actually confirmed…“No fooling around before finals or anything? Nothing to de-stress?”
He shakes his head n’ bites his lower lip. “Nothing. I haven’t even had my first kiss, to be honest…” Choso looks up at you with those nervous eyes. “Is that okay?”
“Okay?” You smile. Walking over to twist your hands into his lapels- and tug him to you. “It’s perfect. And since you’ve shared a secret with me, I’m gonna share one with you, okay?”
He nods.
And so you’re leaning in so that your lips are grazing - just grazing - his pretty, blushing ears. “It turned me on more than it should’ve, seeing you on your knees in that parlor.”
Choso gasps-
And then your lips are on his.
Then you’re tucking his cute, shivering bottom lip into your mouth—and sucking softly. Choso lets out the most guttural groan at the act- and his hands tremble in mid-air not knowing what to do.
“Don’t be shy.” You’re cooing at him - reaching up and guiding one of his hands to be on the back of your neck—the other one on your ass. You lean into his surprisingly firm chest, “Although…I find it really cute when you’re shy.”
His involuntary whimper gets swallowed up by your own lips.
You’re the one that’s guiding him through the sensual motions of your mouth. Kissing and kissing him till he’s senseless.
Till those thick glasses of him have been knocked ever-so-slightly askew.
Till you’ve left him weak in the knees - literally.
Choso Kamo is melting into you—he’s letting his hands grasp your body as though a forgetting man holding onto his last memory, a drowning sailor holding onto a lifeboat. It doesn’t even feel real to him. And he can’t stop himself as his hands, his body, his knees buckle n’ he’s sliding doooooown the expanse of your body- lips breaking contact with yours with a pained grunt.
Before he knows it, his knees are hitting the floor.
And he’s peering up at you with a desperate expression; brows pinched, mouth kiss-bitten and trembling. Expression something of dazed awe. It makes your pussy clench at just how utterly pathetic he looks. “Everything alright, baby?”
“Ngh- yes.” You watch as one of his hands automatically shoots to cover his crotch - he was rock-fucking-hard already.
“You suuuuure?” Teasing. There’s a devilish twinkle in your eyes that’s reflected through his as utter indigence.
And without saying anything more, you step backwards until the backs of your knees hit the bed. Bouncing a few times. You’re sitting yourself down on the plush bedsprings, crossing your legs- and watching him through half-lidded eyes. Not a single word comes out of you.
But it doesn’t take a single word for Choso to realize what you wanted with a jolt—
He crawls to you.
He crawls to you.
Choso’s letting his features twist into something akin to embarrassment - with the tips of his ears so red that they were practically radiating heat - as he edges closer. As he shifts on his knees. As he crawls just as he had been doing in the ice cream parlor—except this time, the only cherry he was searching for was that cute lil’ wet spot between your legs.
Your dress was short and already hiked up to reveal those pale pink panties.
Was that a little bow on top?
Though it seems like an age before he’s finally able to reach close enough to affirm that- yes, that was a little bow on top. Choso finally manages to without combusting, and looks up at you with wide, pleading eyes.
“Please…” He begs.
You’re softly caressing his cheek- almost lovingly. And Choso’s eyes flutter shut, leaning into the touch in an almost feline manner.
Moving to his jawline. Moving to the back of his sweaty scalp.
And then you’re shoving his pretty face between your legs—and Choso’s letting himself gladly be shoved. Manhandled. His chin sticks against the foamy mess of your panties, so wet with all your leaking juices. His nose digs between the plushest parts of your swollen pussylips. And Choso lets out a hallowed breath as he gapes his mouth ever-so-slightly wider-
“Awww, why so shy, baby?” You’re cooing down at him.
With your hand clasped onto the back of his head- you’re guiding Choso’s mouth to better plaster against your pussy. For him to find his balance.
“S-s’like a second kiss.” Choso sputters out. And you’re grinning.
“Naughty, are we?” You had a feeling that this was going to be a loooooot of fun…
Choso’s mouth was parted. And his lips were rubbin’ incessantly up and down the outline of your cunt—up and down, up and down.
That flimsy fabric of your panties was just glued to your sopping wet pussy, and he’s able to slot his lips over your folds perfectly. Managing to string down a line of hot wet kisses where you needed him the most- “Mmmm…” You’re arching your back with a deep groan as his nose fits between your pussylips—the pointed tip pressing on your clit. “Just like that, Cho. You can go deeper if you like, y’know that?”
“H-how, baby?” He rasps. Those pleading eyes of his were just so cute- and Choso can’t last too long speaking without pressing a few more open-mouthed kisses on your cunt.
“You want me to teach you?” You’re asking him, to which he nods. “Mmm, well open your mouth a little wider- just a little wider-”
And he does- his cute canines snaggin’ against the top of your pussylips.
“You can just start off by kissing lightly, baby. Remember how we did all that kissing earlier?” Nodding once more. “Yeah- just try to replicate that.”
“M’gonna do my best, baby…” He’s starting off soft at first- slow. Almost timid in his movements as he properly slots his mouth over your pussy - over your panties - and kisses n’ sucks lightly.
“Fuck- you study biology, so you know where the good spots are, hm?”
“The glans clitoris a-and the…” Kitten kisses. “-the labia minora contain an immense number of nerve endings.” Chaste pecks—but every single droplet of your pussy’s juices splashed onto his tongue seems to leave Choso Kamo reeling.
Eyes drawing to the back of his head. Ragged pants emanating from the back of his throat.
And he’s pushing himself deeper, deeper, deeper - making out with your pussy so desperately, depravedly that his glasses were crushing against your pelvis—“Easy there, baby. Easy.” The only way to even get him to take a breath is to tug him back using his hair. “We have more than ‘nough time, okay?”
“Mhmmmm…” He nods through a pout- lips sucking off the juices seeped into your panties. “All night.”
“Eager boy. Next, I want you to use your tongue, okay?” His expression turns into something startled. “What? Not scared are you, Cho?”
Choso shakes his head furiously—as though he couldn’t stand the mere thought of it. “N-no.” He hisses, hot breath gluing to your leaking core - the way he was just so…greedy to lavish your pussy left you even wetter. And he was gladly allowing the excess residue to land all over his face and end up sliding off, “No no no- not at all. This pretty labia- Mmmpf—”
Whatever else was on the tip of his tongue gets muffled-
For then Choso’s flattening his tastebuds on top of your pussy. Those swollen pussylips. Movin’ his muscle siiiiiiide to the siiiiiide and then up and down the line of your slit.
You whine, “Oh- just fuck me with it.” Tugging on his locks, “Fuck me with your tongue- ngh, the way I know you’ve been wantin’ to since we met. Don’t think I didn’t see the way you were looking at me…”
“I was…” He pleads. He prays between your legs. Zig-zagging his tongue wildly.
And then after he’s sucked off your panties all clean - Choso reaches one of his hands upwards to try and take off those useless undergarments-
But you’re faster than him.
And you’re stopping him with a searing pull at his scalp. The nerdy man lets out a sudden yelp and looks at you with the prettiest doe-eyes. “Ah ah—” It almost ached your heart to act so mean to him, not giving him exactly what he wanted. But more than your heart- it was your pussy that was throbbing. “Now who said you’ve earned the right to take them off, hm?”
“B-but…” Choso’s peripherals widen - they were glazed-over with lust. “How can I reach the tunica mucosa if I don’t take off—”
“You don’t have to take it off, right?” You hum. “Eat me out through my panties-”
Just the mere sound of that sentence makes Choso moan.
“-and…” And you’re cocking your head to get a better look at where his hips were starting to rut. Against the rickety frame of the love hotel’s bed, he was grindin’ and crushing what seemed to be an aching erection. “-don’t touch yourself, either.”
Choso’s free hand immediately halts in its tracks.
He’s shooting you a pained look- but more than that, it was flooded with pure, unabashed need.
Something dark. Something primal.
Choso’s tipping his head back and letting you plough your pussy against his mouth- in rough, rapid grinds. You don’t wait a single moment for him to catch his breath—and that seems far from his main priority in the first place. He’s merely flopping his lengthy tongue out - so pinkish n’ pretty - and slithering it past your panties.
Riiiiiight underneath, after a few tries he manages to ease it past the rim of your puckered entrance.
You’re letting out a semi-shocked gasp once you feel your convulsing walls streeeeetching at the girth of him. He was thicker than you’d expected- with the ridges of his tastebuds melding to your inner channel. And without any experience, Choso doesn’t know how to ease into it - which works just as well for you as he’s expanding his thick tongue inside of you. And then thrashing n’ thrashing away. “Sh-shit, keep going, Cho.”
“What- hck! what do I have to do?” He manages to somehow ask between heavy gulps. And even that amount of time spent parted with your pussy means that he’s letting out loooong, luxurious licks inside your velvety walls to make up for it.
“H-huh?” You blink down at him through your bleary eyes. “Keep going, ngh- faster, baby.”
“No, I just meant…” Choso blinks those big, beautiful peripherals at you. He kept both hands on your thighs to press himself ever-deeper—he couldn’t get enough. “-what do I have to do t-to take off your panties? I wish to see all of you…that pretty vulva like a flower, the- ngh, prepuce…”
The mere thought has him ruttin’ away against the bed once more.
“How about you make me- haaaah, cum, baby? Hm?” You smile down at the desperate man, “And you have to do it before cumming yourself, m’kay?”
He can’t remove your panties.
He can’t touch himself.
He can’t cum before stuffin’ his face between your legs and making you cum first—
Choso was in heaven.
Even through the obscurement of his now-fogged glasses, Choso’s features twist into something primal- and he lets out a looooow whine before drag-drag-dragging his tongue into your clingy walls again. Thrusting in and out at a frenzied pace—the nerd was eating you out like a man starved.
Almost wolfish.
Choso was suckin’ and biting and snarling deep into your cunt. His glasses stick against your clit, and every single time he was forced to part with your pussy in order to breathe felt like fucking torture to him. “The clitoral nerve network consists of about 8000 to- ngh, over 10000 nerve endings-” Before you know it, he’s spitting. Letting it smear down your panties. Then dragging one of his calloused thumbs down that buttony nub. “-and baby, I need you to feel every single one.”
“Ohhhhh, fuck.” Your back arches deeper into him. Hands planting against the mattress in order to steady yourself, “A man that knows anatomy is dangerous.”
“And then the tunica mucosa…those spots there are also-” Such a priggish smile spreads across Choso’s mouth - one that you’re feeling on your cunt - as he swabs his tongue inside and stimulates some of those sweet nerve endings he was talking about. The hooked end of his muscle pushes apart your clingy walls, and somehow manages to find those sensitive areas so easily- “-effective…”
“Shut up and eat me out.” Pushing him deeper between your legs.
“A-and that’s not to mention—” But of course, you should’ve known that it isn’t easy to shut a STEM major up when it comes to their subject of interest. Choso most of all. And that nerdy man is babbling away whilst he’s slipping his tongue in and out, in and out, of you at a furious pace- until it was nothing but a pinkish blur squeezing away between your pussylips. “-the Gräfenberg spot-”
“You mean the g-spot?!” You’re wailing out.
“My favorite.” Choso nods, with your clit sucked into his mouth. Holding your panties to the side. He now alternates between rolling his tongue over your sensitive nub, and pushing it deep into your hole—stretchin’ you out juuuuust enough for his fingers to slip n’ squelch their way inside.
You’re letting out the shrillest keen as two of his fingers scissor apart your cunt’s walls, pushing up into their spongy surroundings to mold his sheer size into you. He’s softer on the tips of his digits, and rougher against the sides - “Easy there. Fuck, easy…” Choso’s sucking in a harrowed breath.
“I should be the one saying that to you.” You huff. Because Choso wasn’t dry-humping the foot of the bed whilst eating you out anymore - he was way past that.
Now solely keeping himself pushed- wedged in one place because just a little more friction and he’s bound to be cumming. “I-I’m alright, baby.” He tells you, “The Gräfenberg spot is located on the anterior wall, so right…up…”
Just a single press up into the roof of your cunt makes you buck - not having pressed on your sweetest spot just yet but-
“And then about two- three inches deeeeeep—” The loudest, sloppiest squelch! echoes across all four corners of the love hotel room as he eases inside. Roverin’ about inside your tight, wet channel for a few strokes before an explosion of pleasure runs right through you. “-right- there-”
“Fuuuuuuuck, oh.” You simper out. “There- right there- ngh.”
And then he’s thump-thumping his perfect fingers inside your cunt- accurately pinpointing that one spot inside you with his digits like a searchlight. Again and again. And don’t think that his mouth wasn’t working overtime—Choso kept his maw permanently gaped on top of your clit and had his lips hollowed with a constant suctioning motion.
Letting out broken moans off into your cunt all the while-
Choso manages to slip in a third finger- though those damn panties kept getting in the way. “Baby…” There’s a rasping, almost guttural tone to his words that you don’t recognize at first- you’re even raising onto your elbows to make sure that this was the same Choso Kamo.
But it sure was.
Glasses pressed up against your cunt—getting wetter by the second. “Baby, you’re experiencing vaginal contractions and tremors. Your pulse is faster. Your transudate is leaking even more- you’re getting wetter. And your clitoris is growing even, mmm-” He savors the feeling of your nub being pulled n’ dragged into his mouth. “-more swollen.”
“A-and that means…?” Though you already have an inkling of it.
“You’re going to orgasm, baby.” He never sounded more confident than when he was speaking science between your pussylips. “And I need you to cum aaaaaall over my mouth, okay?”
“Was planning to.” You whisper-
And it’s with a few more strokes, with a few more gashes of your pussy against his face, that the pressure that’d been building in your pelvic region finally explodes.
It thrums through your body faster than you can announce it—making every single vein, artery, and axiom within you vibrate until they’re sizzling at the sheer pressure. It felt as though your body was on fire. And the hottest it could get was at your sopping core- shoved against Choso’s pretty plush mouth and getting draaaagged through the violent peaks of your high.
The best you’ve ever had.
Choso manages to locate your g-spot right when the pleasure was hitting you the most - and you’re getting the faint suspicion that he was counting your throb-throb-throbs until he’d timed it just right. “One…two…”
Thrashing his fingers deepest.
Damn-near tearing your panties.
Shoving his erection against the bed.
And his tongue would move over your clit in an almost soothing motion- “Your vasocongestion m-means you’re sucking me up even- ngh, more. Fucking tight.” He spits. “Myotonia and contractions. Your orgasm’s strong, baby.”
“Didn’t need science to tell me that.” You comment.
Thrown through your orgasm.
It’s a crescendo then a plateau, and then when you’re finally done - Choso keeps jabbing his greedy fingers into you just for a few seconds longer. Fucking you through it. Fucking you past it.
You’re so sensitive by this point that you’re sobbing- pushing on his sweaty forehead. “Baby—oh, baby I’m done.”
“Done…?” He rasps. Eyes bleary as he raises them up, seeing you on your elbows. “Oh.”
“And you did as I wanted.” It takes much more effort than you expected to detach him from your quivering pussy - still a little sensitive from your previous orgasm. It was incredible. A part of you almost couldn’t believe that it’d been poor, inexperienced Choso Kamo that pulled that out of you.
He’s setting your cunt free with a whimper n’ a loooooud slurp!
Watching slack-jawed as you peel off your soaked-through panties and throw it right at him- it makes you gasp when Choso catches it with one hand…
Then brings that flimsy fabric riiiiight up to his face to sniff, to suck off the remnants of your syrupy sap. Not a speck of regret.
“Filthy.” You leer.
And then you’re tightening your hold on him—merely than sound was enough to wrench out a yearning croon from him. Preventing Choso from chasing after your cunt once more, “Now now…you don’t want to continue losing that virginity of yours, baby?”
“I-I do.” He eagerly nods.
“Good. Then get on the bed f’me.” You’re patting at the space beside you.
Soon enough, your positions are somewhat flipped - Choso finds himself lumbering onto the bed. Back against the mattress. Skin searing at the heat that your body had left behind.
He lies where you did- and you’re making quick work of discarding his graphic t-shirt (proudly claiming ‘I found this humerus’ next to a picture of a bone) and his trousers. The tent in his boxers was jaw-dropping—Choso stood proudly erect, thick and looking heavy between his legs, his bulbous tip kept trickling out more n’ more precum the longer you stared.
And had he just…
Taking off his boxers to make sure—you’re revealing his cock. Long and rock-hard.
It slaps against his soft core, and leaves a heart-shaped mark of sap. Just about seven or so inches in length- though the longer your gaze lingers on him…the longer he seems to look. Shit, was he about nine inches, maybe? And he wasn’t too thick - just flared enough at the tip that he’s sure to make your walls feel it.
But Choso had an abundance of pretty, long veins decorating down the shaft—underneath the tip, creating patterns down to his base. One which had a few sparse tufts of curly brown - almost black - hair.
Yet what you’re interested in the most was how Choso was so damn hard that his blushin’ red tip looked just about ready to fall off—
“I c-couldn’t help myself, baby.” Choso admits shyly. His hands reach downwards to try and cover his mess- but you’re waving him off. “Having you cum aaaaall over my mouth made me- ngh, want to cum as well.”
“I can see that.” You smirk.
“I didn’t mean to.” He insists, voice growing urgent as the silence stretches - fearing that you’d perhaps refuse to continue as he somewhat broke his promise. “P-promise, I didn’t mean to! It’s just that your tunica mucosa was squeezing me so tight- and your vaginal lubrication just tasted so sweet-”
“Choso?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Shush.”
“I- oh.”
Because, initially, you’d planned on riding the man senseless. But now you were leering yourself closer—almost sake-like in motion.
Staring deep into Choso’s widening eyes once you’re hovering yourself over his shivering legs. His long abdomen. And pressing a cute peck right on the top of his frothing tip—the splashes of his precum were syrupy-sweet. And they were combining with Choso’s cum from earlier to add a salty tint-
“So messy.” You’re whispering as you run your tongue ‘round and ‘round the top of his shaft. Cleaning him off until he was shining. “Are you gonna make a mess like this inside me too, hm?”
“D-don’t say something like that…s’gonna make me cum again.” Choso pleads.
And he really was serious - his words were on the verge of shattering.
You’re letting out a giggle- right into his aching hot cock. The vibrations sprint through his body and make him buck up into you—body before his mind, he doesn’t even realize until he’s doing so with a startled yelp. “My apologies-”
“Mmm, keep going. Get some practice in before the real deal.” You hum once more.
Choso seems as though he’s about to sob - this was too good for him - as he fucks his cock into your mouth a few more times. You relax your throat to take down most of him, and the parts that you can’t get milked with one hand.
Once. Twice. Thrice and quadruple before his flared tip starts twitchin’ wildly—draaaaagging up the soft insides of your throat, he leaves a salty aftertaste behind that makes you realize…
You’re pulling off of his cock with an emanating pop! “But you’ve got to save that up for inside, got it?”
He’s nodding so hard you idly wonder whether he might get whiplash. “Yes, baby. Anything for you, baby.”
“Mmm…” Climbing up the expanse of his body, you’re kissing Choso squarely with the same lips. “Just how I like it.”
And then your knees straddle Choso’s slender hips, your thighs press against his sweltering skin - you reach behind you to grab ahold of his cock’s base—and the sudden squeeze is enough to make him jolt. Bodily. He’s letting out a visceral shiver, “B-baby…”
You guide his ruddied tip to you—and just the barest, briefest smooch of your sweet pussy makes him jolt. Just feelin’ his hardness press up against your softness.
It makes him drive his hips off the mattress suddenly.
“Ah ah-” You warn. “Take it easy, baby. We have all night, don’t we?”
“But…” Choso’s eyes flicker between your face n’ where the two of you were about to connect. Something in him seems to almost break. So close. So close- “That’s so unfair. Your pussy feels like this and you’re expecting me to take it easy?”
A hand claws down your arched spine.
“Not even the textbooks could replicate how good it feels- m’not even inside you yet and I feel like I’m going insane.”
You swipe a thumb down his throbbing tip—catching a bead of white that was threatening to pour out. “I told you. As long as you keep it inside, Cho.”
And then you’re letting your hips lower - aiming to seat yourself down on that toned pelvis of his. “Ohhhh, fuck.” Your back bends, your head tips backwards as you’re taking in the inches of him. It’s a slow process - given that Choso was much larger than average - and you’re wrenching out primal moans as his thick length invades your core. A sweet prodding vein down the side of him was already massaging your insides—“You’re so big, baby. It’s always the quiet ones, huh?”
If he heard you, then he doesn’t make a show of it.
Choso’s handsome features scrunch up into something of pure ecstasy as he dives his cock deeper into you. Hands flying to your waist. Bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “Inside-” He whispers.
“Hmmm?”
“Inside- inside.” Choso gets out through heated pants. His mouth was moving a mile a minute- fuck, even his mind was. But he couldn’t possibly juggle any single coherent thought when his cock was sucked between your soft, soft pussylips and getting practically drained already. “A-am I really going inside? Or is this just a dream, baby?”
Without waiting around for an answer- he’s pinching his arm.
It leaves an angry red mark that proves to him that no…life really was this sweet.
“I am?” As though still in disbelief.
As though this in and of itself would be enough to make him cum and- oh, shit.
He really was cumming.
It seems to take the both of you by surprise, and Choso’s lunging his hips completely off the mattress - slamming his cockhead into the springy back of your cunt.
Bouncin’ off at the sheer force for a few seconds- it isn’t long before he’s then scouring deep into your walls and letting his bawling divot run free. Cumming in less than a single stroke inside you. “Oh- oh, shit.” Choso’s mouth waters, a single line of spittle running from the corner of his lips. “I’m sorry I…”
But he doesn’t have an answer.
He really, truly doesn’t.
“Pussy got your tongue?” You giggle.
This was his first time - and your pussy just felt that good all wrapped ‘round him and keeping him hostage.
His cum’s flooding you with a warmth, spreadin’ from the in-betweens of your legs and then right upwards. The satiny tresses of it rush uuuuup your walls n’ then right back down—those goopy layers then getting fucked back in by his desperate semi-thrusts.
Squelch after squelch as he accumulates the cum like frosting on top of his swirling tip. Shoving.
Choso scrunches his eyes shut and tears start to well up behind- now he was crying, too? Crying just by putting it in?! Buried like this, he feels like he’d do anything for you right now. He feels like he could lay his life on the line for you right now. He feels like—like—he could really truly ask you to become his real girlfriend now…
“Baby, I think I love you.” Choso blubbers up. “Do you want to marry me?”
“Let’s get dinner first.” You giggle, lovingly patting his cheek.
“Oh…”
If you could feel the way his ruddied tip twitches inside you (and you could) then you’re not teasing him for it…much. Simply a smirk before you’re veering your hips down until he’s bottomed-out.
Clit massaging against the scruff of his happy trail. Pussylips struggling to squeeze around his sheer size. “Fuck.” You’re groaning, starting up a lecherous pace that keeps Choso’s toes curled - his head thrown back into the pillows, his skin blushing. He was flustered.
But more than that- he wanted more.
And sending a silent word of gratitude to the chance of the universe and science itself, Choso slithers that same right hand of his between your sultry legs. Sheened with slick.
You were making such a mess fucking him whilst you’re still keeping his cum inside you—he scrapes his calloused thumb up, up, uuuup the few inches of his cock still left to fit inside. Collecting the slimy layers of slick up until the folds of your pussy. Reaching it up to his mouth-
“Now, now.” You tut. “Are we just going to waste that, hm?”
“Oh…you’re right.” With a quiver of his lips, he then plunges it back inside. Then repeats the motion again and again until you’re feeling stuffed to the brim—with both his cock n’ his sappy fluid. Like you said before, it all deserved to stay inside.
And you better keep it.
The rickety bedsprings creeeeeeak—! as he meets your pace.
Choso continues, “Not just cum.” His curvaceous thumb swipes your inner folds again, “But that bulbourethral fluid deserves to stay inside, too. How else m’I gonna fill you up, baby?”
“Oh, of course.” You coo, something sensual. “But don’t think that that’s going to be your last time cumming tonight, Cho.”
His eyes damn-near bulge out of their skull. “E-excuse me?”
“It’s not even your last time cumming in this hour.” Oblivious - or so you pretend to be - to his growing concern n’ his gaping mouth. You’re bowing your body into his—manoeuvring your hips in somewhat of a circular motion, the slightest figure-eights and curves, that drag his tunneling cock juuuuuust right against every nook and cranny of your walls. Every hidden spot. “You’re gonna cum for me at least twice more, right?”
“I-I—I don’t know if that’s even possible!” Choso sputters, pushing his glasses up with his free hand- it was glossy with the excess of your slick from earlier.
And without warning, you’re leaning down to lightly lick off a bit of that glittering sheen.
Choso moans n’ feels his overly-stimulated length jolting away inside of you. “Baby, just consider the refractory period. Has it even been a few minutes since I last…?”
“Just about.” You’re smile. “Should be enough, no?”
“Though it varies based on age and health- when I can cum next depends on the blood redistribution, and how long prolactin and serotonin lasts in the body.” Choso admits then, albeit a bit sheepishly. “And I’m still fuh-feeling so goooood, baby- fuck I can’t—”
“But my smart boy’s gonna find a way, right?” Even if he couldn’t cum again, however - it was just too cute to watch Choso squirm like this. “When I said I wanted it inside, I wanted it stuffed inside, Cho.”
“S-stuffed…” He breathes - almost hypnotized by your pussy.
You’re grinding and swervin’ and clenching around his vein-loaded length in ways he could’ve only ever dreamed about before…“Mhm. Need it pouring out of me.” You beg, putting your best pleading expression on. “Need it up until…”
Hands scouring up his front to press down on your stomach- almost up to your chest.
“-here.”
You pout.
“If m’not bloated with your cum, Cho, is there even a point?”
“No there isn’t.” Choso’s jaw drops—as though the epiphany had just dropped on him. And no sooner are the words leaving his worry-bitten lips, he finds himself pumping wispy ropes of cum deep past your entrance.
He doesn’t even know how he did it.
His body just seems to listen to you more than himself - and Choso jerks his pelvis up in synchronization with the faintish strings of cum that escape him. Thoroughly into your cunt. Thoroughly coating it on top of your womb.
You’re shivering as you feel the thin excess thwack! against your deepest innards. Such a lecherous feeling that cannot be replicated.
Every time he strikes your spongy cervix, Choso lets out a sudden whimper. He sobs. He groooans. He’s fighting to clamor onto your body in any possible way that he could - your waist, your legs, your tits. It doesn’t matter where, Choso just needed to grab ahold of you and perhaps try to get you to fucking slow down—
“Please.” Every single letter in that word is botched with a cry, “P-please. Baby, keep riding me like this and you’re going to make me cum again-”
“Isn’t that the point? Third time’s the charm?” You ask.
“Oh…” It’s then that he remembers that you’d said twice more- he has to cum twice more. Hiccuping, “You’re going to be the death of me.”
Cocking your head with a smile, “And would you like to stop?”
“Not at all.”
Then you’re planting one hand in the middle of his defined chest for balance. Throwing your head back and ridin’ him silly.
Choso cries beneath you. Choso babbles. Torn between the pleasure of having those sweet, sopping lips wrapped ‘round him- and the insanity of his orgasm just barely bating before you’re attempting to hurtle him into another one. This was almost too much for his just recently-lost virginity, but Choso begs for more, more, more. “Please- please- that anterior wall of yours is so clo-”
With your other set of fingers then shoved into Choso’s pretty mouth- spit splashes from the sides of his lips. But he’s taking you so happily—“No no, keep going.” You tell him once his brows raise in surprise, “I just wanna watch my poor boyfriend struggle just a bit.”
“Mmmmpf- soooo good.” He lets out an agonized moan, muffled through the intrusion of your digits. You’re swirling them ‘round his mouth and watching him lightly choke on them. “I need to c-cum just once more, huh?”
Choso’s tears were enough to wash off the fog from his glasses lens.
And he blinks those teary eyes up at you - a few times before one of his hands slithers between your legs. Almost difficult, considering how the space between your two sweaty, crashing bodies was practically non-existant—but his long fingers find a way to thumb apart your puffy pussylips. Nearly swollen shut.
He runs the doughy tips of his digits across your clit, “Around it…just light kisses.” Choso murmurs to himself. “Juuust a little- ngh.”
A single squeeze of your fluttering walls leaves him reeling.
“And then the good spots-” Peering down at your glossy cunt through his glasses, his half-lidded eyes. “The primary erogenous zones are the clitoris and introitus. Then the periurethral surrounding the urethra is also…oh…” Alternating between bashin’ his swollen cocktip against your g-spot, and thoroughly massaging every good spot he’d memorized.
“Shit…” You suddenly clench around him. “Keep going.”
He was seeing stars at the mere action. “And then the- hngh, even the perineum…” Fingers dipping just a liiiittle downwards to roll over that spot. He was unabashed - not in the state to be as he usually would. “And then fucking- at least as much as I can…here…” Slack-jawed, gaze unfocused. “My favorite is the clitoris.” The nerd presses the crescent pad of his thumb down on that knob.
Your hips are stutterin’ at the sheer amount of pleasure overwhelming you. Choso has taken up stimulating your clit in constant circular motions now. “I th-thought you said your favorite was the g-spot?”
“Both.”
As if on cue, he’s banging his thick tip against that ooooone spot.
Choso was stimulating you almost too well. Leaving you the one speechless as he drills his hips into you at a relentless pace—almost painfully desperate.
“Good boy.” You whisper.
“Just need to make you- mmm, cum soon.” He states. “Because if you cum…then I’m sure to cum, too.”
Shoving a third finger in his mouth, he moans as he sucks. You hum, “And you’re sure you’re a virgin?”
“S’just everything you t-taught me.” He insists, mouth full yet listening to every word you said - if you expected an answer, then he was giving you an answer. “And sometimes…I’d search up…things online…”
“Online? Poor, innocent Choso Kamo watches porn?”
“Not that, I get too shy.” Choso responds. He blushes all the way down to the roots of his hair, “But using my textbooks, I’d- hah, read through them…study them…look at all the diagrams…”
You smirk. “Ever jerked off to a textbook, Choso?”
His jaw drops. “No…” Although you remain rather suspicious of the ever-deepening blush that seems to invade his cheeks—all the way down to his collarbones. “But I did jerk off just today.”
“Today?” One of your brows raise, “Don’t tell me this was- hah, before we met or…?”
He shakes his head. “After. After.” Big, bulbous tears make their way down his cheeks - and Choso tastes the salt on them as they splosh across his lips. You do too, as you kiss him. “S-snuck right into the bathroom at that ice cream parlor and- oh—”
“And what for? Saw a pretty someone at the neighboring table?”
Shaking his head even harder- “It was…you.”
“Me?”
“You said that thing- fuck, you said you needed me.” Choso’s dark chocolate-brown eyes glaze over as if he’s reminiscing the very moment. Living in it. “Under that table. And I couldn’t run to the bathroom faster to r-relieve myself.” Ah, this was that time then…
Your faux-boyfriend’s brows are then knitting.
His cock tunnels into you at an even more accelerated pace - one that leaves your head dizzy. Flinching at every run of his thumb down your pulsing clit.
Choso finishes, “But I only lasted two pumps- the thought of you, ngh—” Thrusting in so deep that it felt as though, if he could go past your gooey cervix, then he long since would have. Choso thumps against the back of your cervix and remains there, “-wrapped around my cock and usin’ me to make your anterior- pussy feel pleasure was just too good of a fantasy for me.”
It’s a lewd admission.
It’s almost startling to hear this from Choso above all.
And it’s exactly what’s making you cum—just in time that he is. Your orgasm is prolonged and has been building up ever since he tickled your g-spot for the first time- “C-cumming—!” Belatedly, the announcement leaves your lips.
But Choso already knows.
He can already feel the rhythmic clenches of your sopping wet walls - the soft thing he’s ever felt. They’re tightening around him and tuggin’ on his pistoning cock like you didn’t fucking want him to leave.
Toes curling. Back arching.
The bang after bang after bang right on that target of your g-spot meant that your orgasm was being intensified. Every peak left your thighs clenching around his waist, and you bounce your hips up n’ down furiously. Up n’ down. Up n’ down. “Yes- yes, yes, yes—and you’re c-cumming too, Cho.”
“I am?” Choso blinks his teary eyes down at your lower halves. The smacking of skin-against-skin was deafening, and Choso’s pelvis was rawly red due to the sheer friction.
But more than that…he was feeling his even redder tip twitch a few times. Once. Twice. Thrice- before the warmth of bliss takes over his body. It’s a wave of euphoria even stronger than the last few, and it makes the nerdy boy flinch his hips up into yours- agonizingly good. He was hammering into you so animalistically- jabbing short, sloppy semi-thrusts. “I am.” Choso gasps out. “I’m cumming-”
He’d predicted as much earlier, but it actually worked?!
“M’filling you up, aren’t I?” Choso blabbers, a crazed smile on his face. “This virgin…I was able to stuff this pussy full.”
Lovingly patting your cunt.
“So much so that- hah, look she’s even struggling to- ngh, take me. That cervix uteri is all flooded, huh? All drenched in me?” Through the waves of your high, you’re feeling your orgasm fizzle and pop as he rolls his thumb doooown your clit a few more times. “And these pretty labia of yours are all swollen- bloated with my cum, hm?”
“Mhm…” Before you blink a few times. “Oh- this one was shorter than the last though, wasn’t it? Maybe we need to go again- heh.”
“S’it already done? I…but I’m still…” Choso jabs out numerous more thrusts before he’s pulling out.
And whilst you’re interested in the squelch! and the feeling of hot, wet cum splashin’ out of you and onto his toned hips—Choso himself is more interested in the way his cock twitched n’ feels like he’s cumming…but nothing is actually coming out.
“Orgasmic anejaculation?” He states in shock. “Baby, you’ve made me cum dry—”
“Oh.” Lips parting, you look down to watch as his pretty reddened tip jolts about irritatedly as though he was in the throes of his orgasm - and he was. It’s just that nothing was coming out.
“I-it’s likely that this is due to the lack of semen replenishment. Thus, if there’s none left to-”
“So fourth time’s the charm, right?” You cock your head down at him with a smile.
Another time?!
His half-hard length twitches in interest.
“You really are going to be the death of me.”
Choso really, really needed to ask you out after this.
.
.
.
Ryomen Sukuna knew that the two of you weren’t dating.
He knew it.
He just had no way to prove it.
That is…until one day, just a week after that initial introduction to you, Jin had bothered Sukuna into visiting his nephew. He’d made some cookies—some of your favorites that you’d briefly mentioned at the ramen place, and Jin had immediately gotten to work scouring through his recipes. Flipping through some of grandma’s old cookbooks - he really did get his love for cooking and baking from her.
And then trialing batch after batch of cookies in order to make the perfect one.
And Sukuna hadn’t minded, of course - no one in the house had. They each got to scarf down the ones that Jin deemed as ‘failed’ and they turned out as great as ever. Sukuna honestly didn’t know what more perfection Jin was searching for—especially not for someone he knew Choso was surely paying you in some manner…
There was no conceivable world in which his nephew - as much as Sukuna respected him, for the sole reason that he was related to him (and anyone in some proximity to the great Ryomen Sukuna can’t be all that bad…) - would ever have enough courage to ask a real person out. Let alone someone as electric as you?
Let alone have you say yes?!
Something was up. And Sukuna was on the case.
At least after he finishes this mountain of cookies…
Either way, it took an entire week for Jin to perfect his cookies. And once completed, he’d thumped Sukuna over the head with a couch cushion and told him to go deliver them to Choso.
Unfortunately they hadn’t managed to catch your address or anything of the sort - and there was no telling when Choso would have enough time between his studies and library-haunting to visit. Thus, it’d be easier to just have Sukuna (who was far too busy doing a whole load of nothing) drop the cookies off at Choso’s apartment and let him give it to you.
Jin could trust Choso with handing them to you safe n’ sound.
He couldn’t trust Sukuna not to swallow them whole on the way, however…
So it was with a tonne of brotherly intimidation and threatening brandishes of that cushion that Jin waved Sukuna off—‘you better not eat those cookies, Ryo.’
But Sukuna promised. He promised.
He had other, more important, things on his mind - like cornering Choso into admitting that the two of you actually weren’t dating. Maybe if he didn’t relent so easily, he’d even look around the apartment to check for signs of you or anything you’d left behind—after five months of dating, surely, there’d be some evidence, wouldn’t there?
And then maybe he’d eat the cookies- hah!
The perfect plan.
Ryomen Sukuna what a genius you were, what a mastermind—who said that Jin was the smarter brother?! It was Sukuna that liked literature and poetry (wait, was nerdiness genetic?) No one should underestimate the sheer underappreciated brilliance of a prodigy like-
“Choso’s uncle?” He gapes as you answer the door- and you’re just as beautiful as he remembered you. And oh, alright—Sukuna admits you’re beautiful. Gorgeous, actually.
Which is also why he found it hard to believe that Choso could ever manage to bag you- sure, he wasn’t bad looking…but that’s only because Choso was related to him.
Then again, he wasn’t any Ryomen Sukuna.
A Ryomen Sukuna that was feeling rather…a lot…small as he looks at you.
Your eyes widen as you recognize who your visitor was, though your smile never falters.
“Oh, Cho should be right out. Please come in, have you eaten breakfast yet? You should join us!”
Opening the door even wider, though he stands as still as a statue.
“Is…everything alright.”
No movement once more. No answer, either.
“Ummm, maybe it’s more comfortable there then?” You’re awkwardly smiling at his lack of a response - this certainly wasn’t the Ryomen Sukuna that you’d met at the family dinner…And perhaps at the same time, you’re realizing why.
Because you weren’t just answering Choso’s apartment door—you were doing so in nothing but sleep shorts and a humerus-related t-shirt that was most definitely not yours. And above the hem of that ratty t-shirt were a series of bite marks, nail marks down your neck…such an obscene display that makes you immediately yelp and tug your neckline upwards.
Though Sukuna remains gawking. “I uh…”
“I am so sorry.” You’re blubbering away, and when your neckline fails to cover you adequately without showing off the similar marks on your midriff- you’re reaching your hands up instead. “We’d just been making breakfast, and I’d completely forgot-”
“No, that’s fine uh…” Goodness, when has the rough n’ tough Sukuna ever floundered like this? “It’s my fault for coming unannounced um…”
“What’s this?” Another voice sounds from inside the apartment.
Soon enough, Choso’s joining the two of you at the door—he’s in JBA sweatpants and pulling on a t-shirt as he walks. With whatever mercy that the universe had granted Sukuna, Choso sneaks up behind you, so he doesn’t see whatever similar markings might have been left on him as Choso finally wears his t-shirt properly.
There’s amusement in Choso’s tone as he adjusts his glasses and speaks, “I never thought I’d see the day that you apologize to anyone, uncle Ryo.”
Choso throws an arm over your shoulder - the intimacy was palpable. Something far more different than at the ice cream parlor, and yet…Sukuna should’ve recognized the same admiring glint in Choso’s eyes back then, too.
The apartment behind was messy in that domestic way. There were eggs frying on the stove.
“Sh-shut it.” Sukuna spits. “This is all your…girlfriend’s fault.”
Ah, you really were his girlfriend. The great Ryomen Sukuna has been wrong. How could this be? How could he fathom such a thing?
track twenty-four: i want you | prev track< | setlist
three rockstars! one you!
synopsis: your best friend has always been an asshole - whether it's in his band or in his bed. him ditching you? nothing new. but when one bedroom door closes, another one opens
pairings: rockstar!Suguru Geto x f!Reader x childhood fwb!Sukuna (+ rockstar!gojo!!)
content: mdni, angst and fluff, rockstar au!, complicated relationships and messy emotions, avoidant attachment, HEAVY PINING AND YEARNING, denying feelings, reader is a mess, sukuna is desperately trying to win her back lmfao, protective men, emotional hurt, not much comfort to be found in this one, therapy
a/n: art by @winterrbluess !! div by @/anitalenia
"It's always good to see you, Sukuna."
Yeah, you were pretty sure his therapist was the first person to ever say that to him.
But you kept your mouth shut, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, one leg folded on top of the other as your stare shifted from your best friend to the man he'd brought you to see.
"How's Muffin doing?" He followed it up, leaning forward with a notepad in his lap, as if he wasn't being paid to inquire about his life.
"She's fine," Sukuna gruffly responded, pulling out his phone - and opening up his photos, proudly pulling up a photo of a fluffy gray cat mid-yawn.
Sukuna. The cat dad.
It didn't make any sense.
Nothing did.
"What are you going to do with Muffin when you're on tour?" You spoke up, fiddling with your painted nails as you looked down at your lap.
It came out kind of snappy. More than you meant it to.
"I'm not going on tour."
Your head snapped up. The shield you shined just for today cracking not even two minutes in as your throat threatened to shut.
"You're going on tour," you said, clinging to it like an idiot. Because deep down, despite how much he was trying to change, it was hard not to see Sukuna as a rockstar first. Everything else second.
He went on tour after every album.
Once this one was out, he'd be gone again.
"I'm telling the label no next week," he shrugged. "I don't give a shit if they don't sign us again."
Us.
Of course he was only acknowledging the band as more than just him when he was being what? Stupidly stubborn? Selfish?
“Why the fuck would you do that?” You blanched.
“I’m not leaving you,” the stubborn asshole insisted.
No.
This wasn’t what you wanted at all. It never was.
You felt like you were going to puke, a lump forming in your throat as you blinked at him in disbelief.
"Do not put this on me," you shook your head, ignoring the way his therapist tried to speak up, to prevent your bickering before it really got started. “What about Choso? Yuki and Uruame? They’ll be-”
“You can’t seriously think I care more about them than I do about you,” Sukuna scoffed, his jaw set in a tight line as his dark stare seared into your side.
“Like you were even willing to admit you cared about me at all six months ago,” you muttered under your breath, that bitter pill still lodged in your airway no matter how many times you tried to swallow it.
“Okay, I think we should take a step back here,” the therapist managed to interrupt, loudly clearing his throat as you turned your attention out the window. Rain was falling, droplets racing down the pane as you picked at a stray thread of the couch someone else’s anxious hands had already worked undone.
You knew you should be trying harder for this.
That therapy only worked if you were willing to try.
But you’d been so stuck in all this muck, sucked down deeper the more you tried to squirm your way out of it, you couldn’t even tell which way was up anymore. Searching for any sign of familiarity when everything had already changed without you.
What if all there was for you to figure out here was that they’d left you behind?
Suguru would learn his lesson and treat his next girl better. Satoru would find someone who could return all his love.
And Sukuna would fix himself just to find out he never needed you at all.
“Do you want Sukuna to go on tour?” His therapist softly prodded you, snapping you out of your spiraling.
“I don’t know,” you defensively answered, too on edge to match his polite tone.
“How does him staying make you feel?” He questioned, and you could only shrug your shoulders.
“Don’t be like that,” Sukuna grumbled, and you shot him an annoyed glare.
You were only here because of him.
Was that not enough to see you were at least trying?
“It makes me feel irritated, I guess,” you begrudgingly admitted. “Like he’s throwing away everything he's ever given a shit about when I never asked him to.”
You wanted to be included. To be a part of his life and not a piece of furniture in it. To be there by his side when he succeeded.
Not have him give it all up just so the two of you could make each other miserable just for the slim chance you managed to work out.
"I'm not-"
"He always makes these dumbass decisions without me and just expects me to go along with whatever it is," you added, ignoring him next to you as you finally met his therapist's gaze.
He had introduced himself when you first walked in and you hadn't really paid any attention to it, a twinge of guilt seeping through at the amount of understanding behind his eyes.
"So you feel left out," he concluded, and you immediately revoked your remorse.
"No," you lied, a traitorous little huff escaping your lips.
"That's not what I'm trying to do," Sukuna argued, seeing through your shit. "I, fuck, I just want to be here for you, okay?"
You wanted to accept that.
So so so badly.
That piece of your heart that had belonged to him from the start was already trying to tug you towards him, begging you to just stop being a brat and go back to being his.
But you weren't the girl you'd been before.
Not the one who warmed his bed or waited for him after his shows or wished for a happy ending.
And you no longer knew if you'd ever be able to be the partner he needed.
Shouldn't he be with someone he wouldn't have to cancel tours for? Someone it didn't hurt him to want? Someone who wouldn't wreck the world he worked for?
"What happens when you wake up a few years from now and realize that you shouldn't have stayed? Or when we break up?" You argued, getting the awful sense it would be the last time you'd be asking either question. "You're going to resent me."
"For fucks sake, I'm not," he flat-out denied it, annoyance creeping into his harsh features at the fact he had to say it.
But it didn't make you feel better.
What were you supposed to say to make him see what you meant?
"All we've done lately is make each other's lives worse," you muttered.
Your sex tape was leaked. He assaulted your ex-boyfriend. You slept with your ex's best friend. He was cancelling his tour.
This wasn't sustainable.
God, he'd even gone and bought you a fucking apartment like the guilt of fucking Satoru was still burned into your skin.
"You have been the only light in my entire life," Sukuna half-growled, reaching across the couch to grab your hand, his calloused fingers gripping you like he needed you to believe him too.
You hated yourself for not being able to.
For thinking of all the times you'd seen him smile at someone else, or smirk up on an illuminated stage, hearing his voice calling out to an adoring crowd. Knowing that you only got the pieces of him he chose to gave you and being okay with it for so fucking long.
And because you had a habit of making every situation infinitely more terrible, you directed your attention back to the therapist who felt a lot more like a referee as you stiffly rolled your shoulders back.
"Did he tell you about my sex tape?"
The next four seconds could probably get an award for the most awkward silence imaginable, you staring at the therapist, who was looking over at Sukuna, who was surely scowling at you.
"Do you think that's seriously relevant right-
"I mean, I just wanted to know how much he already knew," you bickered back, trying to sneak your hand away from his only for him to hold on tighter.
"I would prefer if we stopped interrupting each other so we can have a more, ah, productive conversation," his therapist piped up.
Your skin was itchy.
Invisible bugs crawling over it that you were desperate to scratch and peel off, every word exchanged and sentence that sunk in just making all of it more unbearable.
Familiar indecision crippling you, twisted and contorted as you tried to resist falling into the trap of falling for Sukuna again and refusing to let yourself get hurt by him.
Were you just going to lose in the end either way?
"Do you think this, uh, sex tape is going to be an issue if you resume a relationship with Sukuna?" The therapist continued, and you at least knew the answer to that one.
"Yeah," you muttered, loathing the defeat in your voice.
"Why is that?"
Because it'll be over the day he watches what's on it?
That was it, wasn't it? What everything boiled down to?
Your own fear that if you accepted his love, he'd take it back the second he saw another side of you.
"Are you scared to say it?" His therapist unhelpfully prodded, and you had the distinct feeling of your heart being dissected. Layers of you peeled back and pried open until they were watching it beat and bleed.
"Whatever's on it, I-"
"You'll hate me," you murmured.
Oops. You guessed you interrupted him again.
"I'm not going to hate you," he insisted, and without even looking to your right, you could picture his expression. The gritted teeth, the grim stare. Eye twitching as he restrained himself from rolling them.
"I told Suguru I loved him in it," you confessed, as if that was the worst of your crimes.
Sucking on the inside of your cheek as you stared down at your bare wrist. Aware of the bracelet that had been stolen from you.
Torn away like your chance of a happily ever after.
"Sukuna," the man across from you evenly spoke, maybe sensing the tension crackling between you as your words sank in for him as he scribbled something down on the paper in his lap. "Does that change how you feel? Or-"
"It just makes me hate him more," he grumbled, and you shrunk closer to the edge of the couch. But what he said next just left you wishing you'd never shown up at all, "Makes me hate myself more too."
"Why do you think that is?"
You shouldn't be here.
You shouldn't hear this.
"Because she never would've fallen in love with him for the first place if I hadn't been such a dickhead in denial when I had her," Sukuna snapped, his raw voice threatening to crack. "It's my fault she even met him."
"You can't blame yourself for everything," his therapist tried to reassure him, but you were casting a cautious glance over to see Sukuna scratching the back of his hair with an emotion that looked a lot like shame on his face.
So distracted by how foreign it felt to see him like this, your brain didn't even realize the man across from you was speaking to you until he repeated his question.
"Is there anything you feel that you might be culpable for here too?"
A lot?
It would be a pretty long list if you started just naming off every messy thing you'd done since you decided you were done sleeping with Sukuna.
"This is a safe place where you can be honest and we'll work through it," he added, offering you a smile that actually seemed sincere.
Your lips slowly began to part, ready to just ruin it all. Put it all on the table and lose if you had to.
At least you wouldn't be in this limbo anymore.
"I had sex with Satoru," you admitted, hot tears you hadn't been expecting starting to well up before you blinked them back. "He was there in the tape too, but uh, we didn't really do anything until he showed up on vacation."
"You slept with Gojo?"
And there it was.
The rage.
You'd spent years trying to tame him, dousing him in water before his flames could turn into wildfires.
But maybe you were just fueling it.
"We were both drunk and just having fun, and I don't know, I asked him to come inside my room," you offered an explanation, not sure if it was even owed or if you were throwing gasoline on him once again.
"What the fuck?" He hissed.
You waited for him to say he was going to murder or maim Satoru, to make threats or ask what the hell were you thinking.
To ask why.
"I'm sorry," you swallowed your pride, offering a pitiful bob of your shoulders. "I know we're not together but it was still shitty of me to do."
Sukuna wasn't your boyfriend.
He'd never been your boyfriend.
But you weren't stupid enough to think that it made what happened totally fine.
Completely forgivable.
And maybe, some part of you didn't want him to forgive you.
Craved to not have to make the hard choice at all and force him to do it for you. To abandon you the way you had always suspected he would.
"Why would you-"
"It seems to me that you're trying to sabotage your relationship with Sukuna by sleeping with someone you know would upset him," the therapist hummed, and you faltered.
Physically flinched as you reflexively itched to reject it.
Yet you couldn't.
Just sitting there like an idiot and blinking back.
"You're scared of being with him."
You were.
But did he have to actually say it out loud?
You were bending over to snatch your bag from the floor rather than deal with it, ignoring both of them saying your name as you started towards the door, shoving it open and leaving rather than hear them break down all your inner thoughts.
If your head was clearer, not so clouded and stuffed full with him, you might've figured you wouldn't have made it out of the building without Sukuna catching up to you.
He grabbed your hand right as you reached the door, trying to stop you from going, but you just shook him off, stepping out into the rain as he followed suit.
“Can you please stop for a second?” Sukuna groaned, and you were once again reminded of another night you’d been shoving down.
One where you asked him if he loved you and he couldn’t answer.
“I don’t want to talk right now,” you childishly mumbled, convinced that if you do, you’d start crying, and if you crumbled, you’d let him console you.
“Then I will,” he stubbornly insisted.
The immature urge to cover your ears and pretend you couldn’t hear him was incredibly tempting, but you just paused in place, limbs threatening to tremble as the rain soaked through both of you.
"Just forget about the fucking past," he scoffed, grabbing you by the waist and spinning you around practically straight into his chest. “Can't this be enough? Can't I be enough?"
"How am I supposed to forget?" You retorted, poking a finger against his annoyingly firm muscles as you tried to pull back. "You don't get it. I literally lost everything, I-"
"I lost you," he snarled. "The albums, the money, the fame, they’re nothing to me.”
Now.
Why couldn’t he have realized that a year ago and saved you both the heartbreak?
“You’re my everything, okay? What the hell do I have to do? Get on my knees for you? Carve out my fucking heart and hand it over on a silver platter?” He was rambling, raindrops clinging to his lashes as he grabbed your finger and pulled it down.
“You’re supposed to be mad at me. I fucked Satoru while you were out buying me a beautiful apartment. Shouldn’t you be like, shouting or screaming, or something?” You argued, a fresh stab of hurt joining the rest seeing the way he recoiled from you when you pointed it out.
“So what?” He tried to sound tough.
Like he didn’t care when he so clearly did.
“Maybe you should watch the sex tape,” you shrugged, struggling not to shake, to be strong enough to say everything you needed to say. “See if you still think you love me then.”
“Stop saying shit like that,” he snapped, and it just made you more sure of your suspicions. “You are sabotaging us.”
“I think I need some more space,” you mumbled, knowing he was right and still refusing to admit it.
“You’re just running away from me. And I’ll be back at home tonight wondering whose fucking arms you’re in and why they’re so much better than mine,” he accused, finally letting a hint of that anger out. You felt a tiny hint of pride, knowing that he was finally getting the full experience of what he put you through for years.
But the truth was you were running away.
Avoiding him to avoid hurting yourself any more.
You only seemed to hurt him more when you were with him anyway.
Without you, Sukuna was doing great. He’d always been perfectly fine to fend for himself.
You didn’t want to stick around for when the sentiment wore off and it struck him you were the source of all his woes.
“Don’t be an idiot. Go on tour. Be there for the band,” you added, resignation replacing your regret as you sold yourself another half-truth that you were doing what was the best for both of you.
“Come back inside so we can actually talk about it,” he said, teeth gritted.
“I can’t,” you swallowed, shaking your head.
The idea of turning around and walking back into the building was too much. Sniffling as you wiped a wet streak from your face.
“I miss being your friend, but I really don’t know how to be anything with you right now,” you confessed, pulling yourself away from him even if it felt like you were cutting some heavy invisible cord connecting your soul to his.
It was selfish.
Impulsive.
Acting like a scared child ducking under a table just from a thunderstorm, before any lightning had even struck.
But it was the truth.
You loved Sukuna.
You just didn’t want him to destroy himself by trying to love you back.
He had been enough for you.
But now you weren’t good for each other.
He didn’t follow you this time.
Didn’t trail after you when you stormed off.
Sukuna let you go.
You didn’t stop until you were several blocks away, the drizzle from earlier turned into a torrential downpour, hair soaked and sticking to your face as you struggled to contain your tears.
How the fuck were you supposed to go back to the apartment he bought you?
Go sleep in that bed or curl up under the covers when you’d be seeing that haunted hurt look on his face every time you closed your eyes?
They were right about you.
You wished you were different.
Wished you could just be okay with all of it and pretend to be totally fine moving forward instead of standing on the sidewalk completely soaked as you stifled sobs.
Someone passed by under an umbrella, their shoulder nearly knocking into you as you looked up just in time to see them snickering and snapping a photo.
Disgust coiling bright and hot and unbearable at the realization this stranger had seen you naked - and now had the audacity to laugh at you for it.
Rather than panic, you reacted on impulse, taking the phone out of the dickhead’s hand and throwing it onto the concrete before stomping on it for good measure. Glaring right back at him as you dug the base of your foot into the shattered glass as you forced the lump back down your throat.
“I think you dropped that.”
“You fucking whore-”
Yeah, you were sure people were saying worse online.
But nothing could really compare to leaving someone you loved behind because you were too fucking terrified to let them love you too.
You shut him out the way you just shut Sukuna out.
Walking without really thinking until your teeth were chattering and it hit you that you weren’t sure where you were anymore.
Déjà vu washing over you as you looked up at the stormy sky, bottom lip quivering as you pulled out your phone to call the same person you had last time.
Suguru.
a/n: not gonna be online much in the next couple days but hope you guys enjoyed this
synopsis . Your new boyfriend realizes you're quite the strange woman. content . afab!reader, established relationship(s), cuckholding, voyeurism, filth, mentions of perv!toji (help idk how he got here), rough sex, a hint of chojo, semi crack fic, masturbation, spit, dirty talk, teasing, creampie, etc.
With your hips working to slam your sloppyyyy pussy down to the thick base of Choso's blushing cock, you had the man an absolute mess of sweat 'n tears beneath you. He should've known from the day he met you that you'd drive him insane, considering you managed to out-perv him.
Though, that was a story he'd dwell on another time since right now he was much too focused on pinning the pads of his fingers into your skin so he could hold you correctly as you rode him like you wanted him to impregnate you or something. He'd never had a woman ride him this good until now. You'd only been dating for a few days, but he swore he was already in lov—
“Oh, and who’s this?” A rather soothing voice enters your bedroom and Choso's body freezes, his grip on you growing impossibly tighter.
When he looks past your sinful frame for a moment, he makes eye contact with some white-haired man who seems to be awfully casual about walking into your bedroom while you're clearly... occupied. Not that he moves to pull out of you or make you stop riding him, though.
“Nngh," You moan sweetly whilst letting the tips of a fresh manicure run down the smooth display of abs beneath you, "This is my new boyfriend Choso.”
Choso's brows furrow slightly and his grip on your hips falters slightly as he watches that same man pace into the room as if you're not literally naked and in the middle of fucking someone. Panting, “H-Hahh—are you two like-, r-roommates or something?” He asks you.
The guy that Choso's all curious about comes over to the side of your bed and pulls out a chair from god knows where before nonchalantly taking a seat. Running a noticeably ringed hand through his white hair as he chuckles, “Cute, but no. I’m her husband.” Gojo explains for you.
“Huh.” Choso gapes, cock throbbing inside you in some weird form of shock. Then those dopey brown eyes of his get wide, and he shoots you a panicked look. Huffing, “You didn’t tell me you were married?!”
Instead of reacting to him like any sane woman would in a situation where she's caught cheating on her husband and boyfriend(?) at the same time, you merely tilt your head to the right and snicker. Teasing him as you say, “Mmh, did you jus’ get harder, Cho?”
His chest caves in a little and for some odd reason, none of this newfound information is making him any less horny. Hell, he's still holding onto your hips and guiding you up and down the veiny length of his dick while he stammers, “What? N-No,” before swallowing down a groan as you neatly clench around him. He turns his head over to meet eyes with Gojo and sounds truly apologetic as he puffs, “Hey man, look, m’sorry.”
“What for?” Gojo deadpans with this weird smile on his face, leaning back into the chair he's pulled out for himself and letting his meaty thighs sprawl out.
Your eyes quickly shoot over to the display of his already forming bulge and Choso's left to unintentionally whine as you glide your pussy upwards along the stretching curve of his cock and then squeeze around him again. Struggling to figure out where exactly he should keep his eyes, the brunet exchanges glances back and forth between the both of you before finally managing to reply.
“Uhm, fucking your wife?” He explains in between something short of a grunt.
Gojo's smile widens out across those rosed lips of his before he raises a thin, unconvinced brow, “You don’t sound sorry.” Then those azure eyes of his floats down to where Choso's burried inside you and he notes how the man is helplessly bucking his hips into you—earning the squelchiest sounds from your cunt. “And you’re goin’ faster now despite apologizing.” Your husband points out.
Choso’s face twists up and he can't help but whine, “She feels really fuckin’ good, m’sorry.”
Leaning forward, Gojo tips his head to the side as if to get a better look at how pretty your pussy looks being nice 'n split open by the rude viscosity of Choso's cock. And the curve he had on him... fuck, your husband was able to catch exactly how the man's tip knocked against your cervix—just bullying his poor wife's pretty pussy.
He can't help but palm at the erection he's managed to gain from watching so far, “God, this would be terrible if I wasn’t into this...” He hums.
“Y-Yeah," Choso redirects his attention to the same place that Gojo's eyes have fallen to and his lashes flap over upon seeing the gorgeous globs of your slick getting dragged up and down his shaft as you bounce on him. Barely even coherent as he mumbles, "...Probably would.”
It didn't take a rocket scientist for him to realize your husband happened to be a cuck. And considering how he just started dating you only a few days ago and was only getting harder from being watched by said cuck husband, Choso figures he might just be one too!
At that, and in an honest attempt at not blowing his load too soon, Choso's hips slow down and he goes back to letting you do most of the work.
Of which Gojo notices immediately and scoffs, “Hey, don’t slow down now.” He directs, earning Choso's gaze for a moment. Gojo looks almost disappointed now and challenges the man directly via meeting eyes with him and cocking a brow, “You wanted to fuck my wife, didn’t you? So fuck her.”
A whimper nearly jumps out of Choso's throat and his fat tip kisses somewhere deep inside you—earning a thoughtless moan out of you while he questions Gojo in return, “You’re just gonna... ngh-, watch?”
“Yeahhhh..” Your husband's voice is sleazy by the time he replies considering he had driven his focus elsewhere. Pulling his dick out and messily spitting on the palm of his hand—nice ‘n filthy like he always does whenever you bring in a new boy-toy. “Fuck her real good f’me.”
Before he can do that, you start to angle your body up and lean yourself back, placing your hands behind you and on his thighs so you could fuck yourself stupid on him. This sudden change only makes Choso's head spin whilst he loses his grip on you for a second, grunting, “Shiiiit.” in reaction before he can control himself.
The sound reverberates throughout your bedroom, and the mattress the two of you are mounted on seems to creak and dip deeper inward with your unexpected movements.
“And baby?” Gojo murmurs while lightly rubbing his hand against his drooling, pinkened tip—precum trickling and glistening all the way down to the fat of his achy balls.
You whine as you meet eyes with him and try your best to avoid looking at his cock, “Yes ‘Toru?”
Your husband gives you the prettiest smile before nodding his chin at you, “Let him cum in you this time.”
Choso’s dick twitches further upward and your body nearly flies up some with that forceful rut of his hips. Stuttering out an all too innocent, “W-What?”
Meanwhile, your eyes seem to have lighten up as your rickety hips go to bash down impossibly harder, fucking him right back down after feeling him attempt to do the opposite to you.
Then you clasp your lower lip in between your teeth and bite back a whorish little smile, "Ohmygoddd, finally.” Peering over to your husband and taking one of your tits into your hands to grope, "Thank you, 'Toru." you purr.
Your boyfriend(?)—he's still confused as to what exactly you relationship is and will become after all this—repeats his actions from earlier and looks back and forth between you both, “Do you two do this—fuck, jus' like thaaat..." He chokes, tugging your body forward to aid your desperately grounding hips and feeling his dick ram all around every corner of your sweet walls," D-Do you two do this often or something?”
“Yes.” The both of you say in a synchronized moan.
After which, Gojo lets out another laugh in between the continuous strokes of his cock. He was trying to match the pace of your pussy swallowing up Choso’s plumpy length, but his voice was getting shakier as he spoke, “Last week I came home to her gettin’ railed by our repair man.... Nngh-, what was his name again, sweetheart? The one that stole your panties after the job? Was it Kento?”
“No, no—mmph! Kento’s my boss." You explain indifferently between your needy bounces, "The repair man for last week was Toji, remember?”
“Oh yeahhhh," Gojo enthuses, his hand growing unintentionally quicker as he thinks back on it, “He left you sore for quite a few days too.”
The way you two are talking about this weird... routine of yours has Choso's face twisting up slightly and a mumbled, “What the fuck…” ghosting past his lips.
Gojo suddenly nods at him while he talks to you, “Where’d you find this one?”
You giggle, “The back of Spencers.” and Choso grimaces, trying to distract himself from your strange conversation as he instead focuses on pounding his nearing release up into your rather noisy hole. It sounded like you were getting wetter from being fucked like this, “He was—s-shit, right thereee, Choso. Good boyyy.” You praise naturally as you look down at him and send him a warm smile. Still going on to continue with your explanation seconds later, “He was groping himself while watchin’ me buy a new toy, I just had to bring him home.”
“Perv.” Gojo says.
Though, you’re not sure if that was directed towards you or choso.
Choso’s eyes roll to the back of his head right after hearing that word and he's groaning shamelessly loud, “Gonna cum.”
“Bet you are,” Your husband teases, steadily thrusting his hips up into his fist, “Mmmh, how full do you think you can leave her?”
“H-Huh?” Your poor boyfriend(?)—seriously can he even call himself that after this?—gasps.
“I wanna fuck some cum out of my wife when you’re done, if you don’t mind." Gojo elaborates with that same, cuck-happy grin on his face again. The head of his dick is already smeared over with a gloss of his creamy seed and he's clearly reaching his own orgasm whilst giving Choso directions, "So make sure to leave a nice ‘n creamy load in there for me, yeah?”
Okay, this had to be the strangest fucking couple Choso’s ever encountered. He doesn't think he'll be coming back after this.
banner art from; "Kubitsuri Danshi to Nikushoku Joshi" || perm general tags (1/2):
