♡ ๋࣭ ⭑ yana ꒱ nana. caribbean they/them princess with an obsession with the strongest sorcerer! full-time invinci-girl in mark graysons fantasy world! jjk centric nsfw 𖥔 slight-angst.
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˚₊‧꒰ა i write both afab!reader and amab!reader & descriptions of black features.
— JJK addict, ask to be on taglist + ask to be anon! not spoiler free and contains nsfw content. ageless + blank + minor blogs will be blocked. do not use any of my works for AI.
YANA WRITES
:: Jujutsu Kaisen, One Piece, Gachiakuta, Dispatch, Attack on Titan, Chainsaw Man, Tokyo Revengers, etc.
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
satoru gojo—the blessed one throughout heaven and earth—is, without contention, the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, and your best friend.
years of shared history allows you to discuss almost everything without hesitation. he’s privy to your most sordid sexual fantasies, and the two of you have traded disgraceful mental smut, building a rapport where no topic is strictly off-limits.
a platonic friendship of total transparency (or so you pretend.)
satoru bitches to you constantly about the drought of his sex life. you constantly remind him that there is no shortage of women and men more than willing to end that dry spell, to which he counters with a sassy, “helloooo? i have standards! i’m the strongest, hottest, sexiest sorcerer alive... plus, nobody knows me like y—ahem, i mean, like i do.”
upon receiving no more response than an eye-roll from you, he sighs plaintively and tactfully crossed a leg over to hide his growing tent. well! he can’t tell if you’re being purposefully obtuse; even his six eyes seem to fail him in this regard.
“ever considered that it might be a you problem, satoru?”
after at least six shared orgasms and not a lot of brainstorming, you’ve reached somewhat of a conclusion. the musky, cloying sweetness of sex mingles with the crisp cologne he always wears, and it smells right. feels like home.
you trace the hard, slick ridges of his abdomen with a fingertip, counting every shallow rise and fall as his breath catches up to him. the man lying next to you is a wreck, yet somehow, he still manages to appear angelic. his snowy fringe is plastered to his damp forehead, forming a blinding halo against the white pillows. undoubtedly he’s staring up at the ceiling, the sex-crazed mania ebbing away, tranquillity in its wake.
he stretches, making the muscles beneath your touch ripple. when he finally turns his head, god. those eyes—all the blue skies in the history of the world coalesced into two irises—seem to hold space for nothing but you. satoru offers a boyish grin, then gently grabs your wrist, rubbing his cheek against your palm like an affectionate cat before pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“an us problem, apparently,” he then wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer so your chests are flush. the cum-slick sensation of your thighs sliding together in the cooling air.
clan head!gojo, who finds it mighty hilarious—and even more adorable—that his wife gets all flustered about the servants discovering the cum-stained mess on the shikibuton kaba. sitting up and stretching, he makes grabby hands and whines for you to get your cute lil’ ass back in bed… he promises he’ll wash the linens himself, adding with a seductive wink that he’s more than happy to let you squirt all over the futon again
clan head!gojo, who finds it mighty hilarious—and even more adorable—that his wife gets all flustered about the servants discovering the cum-stained mess on the shikibuton kaba. sitting up and stretching, he makes grabby hands and whines for you to get your cute lil’ ass back in bed… he promises he’ll wash the linens himself, adding with a seductive wink that he’s more than happy to let you squirt all over the futon again
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 prefectly 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 - yandere content, Satoru is completely obsessed with reader, bit of an age gap - Satoru is 22, reader is 30, reverse professor trope, power dynamics, push and pull, explicit sexual content. this part- masturbation (m and f), stalking, manipulation, a fk ton of sexual tension, Satoru being a menace to society, fingering, squirting, self loathing, possessive behaviors and dirty talking, hints of breed kink. wc- 10.3k
masterlist - part two>>>
part one
Satoru Gojo loves to sit in the back of class.
He is actually a little far sighted, even with his glasses, but there's a particular reason he sits way back in those stacked benches. One, a perfect view of your tits in that blouse up here. Two, he can palm his aching cock over his jeans and no one could see.
It's for you, anyway.
He's picturing gripping your tits in his big hands, spitting on his tip and fucking his cock between them. You're so cute you'd probably blush, you'd whine out, probably be nervous until he makes you filthy for him.
Little goodie good, he drives by your house at night - you're his favorite teacher, after all. You're always curled up on your couch with your fluffy white cat, reading a book in one of your cozy sweaters. Even on a Friday night, he'll find you there, like you're waiting for him, and he knows you sense it, the connection. The pull that makes him want to desperately beg to slip up your pencil skirt and lap up your cunt.
He's so sure it's pretty, like all of you is. Your eyes briefly meet his while he palms himself, smiling and watching you shift just a bit when you sit on your desk, crossing your legs just so. He barely bites back a whimper, stroking his cock torturously, picturing making you squirt all over your well organized desk.
Bend you over and cum inside you, yank that little perfect bun and pull your hair, smear your pretty pink lipstick across your cheeks. Satoru’s white lashes flutter, when he almost busts those pent up white ropes of cum from the visions of you, when your murmur - 'class is over'.
Satoru Gojo quickly snaps back to reality then, it’s not just the two of you, like it should be.
You don't know you're his just yet.
He gathers his things, cock sticky against his boxers, the amount of times he cums for you every day is ridiculous, but he can’t help himself, he needs you so badly. Ever since the moment he first saw you, he decided to take another English Lit course he didn’t even need. It was well worth going through the same things he knew to hear your voice read those stories.
He’d do any lecture you wanted, fuck he’d recite all of the Shakespeare and Edgar Allen Poe you wanted against your cunt with his tongue, trace every letter of that nonsense you light up for while he fingered you. Make you recite your favorite poems while he had you gushing across his hand, your eyes all rolled back in your skull.
He hardly can stand being near your scent and not just dropping to his knees for you, and it’s driving him crazier every day that passes. Where once, he could semi function and exist somewhat normally, now it’s all consuming – where are you, what are you doing, who are you with? Things he must know about the only person for him.
He’s the only one for you, after all.
You don’t see him that way fully, he knows that the little difference in age and you being a teacher holds you back, but he doesn’t miss the quickness of your breath, the way your nipples harden under your blouse. Nothing goes unnoticed about you by Satoru Gojo, including the little ticks you have, tapping that pen, uncrossing and crossing your legs, clearing your throat a little when you’re nervous.
Every time he’s near you, he notices more of your body’s reactions, you’re trying to hide it but you can’t fool him, not when the evidence is in the arousal he can damn near smell on you. He knows it would take almost nothing to make you fold, touch those panties you’re getting soaked just being near him, press a kiss against the crook of your neck.
You wear a simple little chain on it every day, the same one, he’d make sure you were littered with diamonds, glittering against perfect skin. Satoru knows one day he’ll have to take over his family business, what better little wife than you? Sweet little english professor, so put together and modest, they’d adore you – and he’d love to fill you with babies.
Surely you’ll be ready for that.
He casually knocks over a pencil, and it clatters to the floor down by your little black pumps, you are so absorbed in writing something down it takes you just a moment to notice. You hear it, feel Gojo near you suddenly, and he smirks when he sees your knees pressing together.
"Teach, you dropped this," your student Satoru Gojo bends down right in front of you where you sit, his breath hot against your thighs.
You don’t acknowledge what being near him does, you absolutely refuse.
He looks up with brilliant blue eyes and a little smile, your heart thuds quicker and quicker in your chest. You haven't gotten used to those eyes and the myriad of shades in the couple of months you've taught this class. You try not to look into them, to focus on your work, but Satoru stared directly at you always.
His eyes flit down your body briefly, you wonder if you're imagining that look, maybe he's just the type that makes too much eye contact, you yourself learned a long time ago that doing so was important. But no matter, he certainly was not more than a student, and anything else were thoughts shoved deep.
You could never be that way.
Being thirty and a professor made you more relatable in ways to the students you taught - mainly Juniors and Seniors in college, but in other ways, it made things harder. Not taking you as seriously, at times you come off a little too laid back and friendly, but never was it more of an issue than with Satoru Gojo putting a hand on your thigh.
He uses it to stand, his fingers long and thick, resting tight above your knee, when he does stand straight with a smile. He has thin wired glasses propped on the bridge of his straight nose, a contradiction to his letterman jacket from football. He did have the top grades in college, and was an easy student to teach, yet his frat was rather notorious for being troublesome.
Satoru Gojo came from the family that practically owned this university, the halls were named ‘Gojo’ so of course he made sure to never get involved in any of that trouble. Despite the little glint in his eyes behind the lenses, and the way his lips quirk up in a knowing little smirk, he was ultimately a perfect student.
A student, that's it.
You were not about to end up on the news as the professor who got with the Gojo family’s son and lost her career. Fuck it was nonsense to think about.
"Thank you, Gojo." He tenses a bit, looking down at you, so tall your face is right in front of his lap damn near, making the images churn in his heated mind.
Imagine tugging your hair out of that little twist, letting it fall across your face before he pulled it, making you cry out while he fucked you throat. He can't help but smirk as he pictures it, leaning a little too close now, hand on the desk while your lips part just a bit, and your eyes dilate behind those glasses.
"You have something…" Satoru's fingers brush against your collarbone, making your breath catch. "Here, got it."
"Oh, um," goosebumps rise where he'd just brushed, you stand quickly, clearing your throat. “Thanks.”
“Hah, was just a hair, don’t worry,” he teases, standing too fucking close to you.
“Right, I'll see you next week, bright and early!” You put on a pretty smile while you start to gather your things.
"Ah, of course you will, you're my favorite professor, you know," Satoru's grin is charming, but there's just something lurking, something that makes you tense up.
Surely, it's your imagination.
"Am I? Not Coach Yaga?" you tease, he picks up a few things for you and helps you slip them in your bag. He usually stays and helps you push in the chairs, or helps you grade papers, so it's not uncommon for you both to be alone, it just feels… different today.
You really need to go get laid, and stop binging love island on your couch with your cat.
"Nah, no way, definitely you," he watches color dance on your cheeks, you can't avoid that no matter how much you try. Satoru can damn near feel the heat between your thighs when you go to move past him, clutching those books to your chest. "Maybe I could get some tutoring this week, if you don’t mind?"
"You should tutor me," he laughs again, moving out of your way so he can watch your ass twitch underneath your modest little pencil skirt, one he can't wait to slip up your hips. "You're good at every subject, top of your class."
"All thanks to you."
"Gojo, you're ridiculous, how much extra credit do you want? You have an A already," you tease, the two of you walking out of your class room, you lock the door, turning and suddenly get too close to him, almost bumping into his chest.
"You could call me Satoru, teach." He draws out those words, you hastily look down for a moment, collecting yourself.
"You should call me Miss," he smiles, murmuring your last name with the Miss title, and it just does too fucking much to you. "If you want, I will be on campus Saturday, but I doubt you want to come here on the weekends. Don't you have your Sigma Alpha whatever parties?"
Satoru chuckles at that, walking through the empty halls side by side, towards the front of the building, holding the door open for you. "I am not that interested in the frat parties, no. Maybe back in Freshman year."
"You're still young, you should have fun on weekends before life really gets you, not coming over to be bored with your teacher."
He can't wait to show you how much fun you could have, tie you up and keep you. He sighs, the sun is reflecting off your pretty face, your hair glimmering just a bit. He can’t wait till he can brush the little tendrils back that have escaped your bun. "You're young too, stop acting like you’re not."
"Mmm, I remember there being no netflix, so I'd say I'm not that young," Satoru laughs again at that, brushing his silvery hair back a bit.
“You’re right, that’s ancient.”
“Hey!” You laugh a bit with him, tension eased while he slips his hands in his pockets, leaning against the building. "All right I'll be here Saturday at noon, feel free to come in and we'll go over some things for the test, but I’m really only well versed in English and History."
"No, that’ll be perfect," he leans too close, far too close, his snowy lashes lowering over cerulean eyes that catch light and reflect into even more pretty shades of blue. "Have a good night, professor. Drive safe."
"Yes, you too," you can finally take a breath when he walks off, slipping into your volvo, trembling just a bit.
You shut your eyes, shaking it off.
You need some wine tonight.
Satoru lets you drive a little before he follows you, he has to make sure his future girl gets home safe. Isn't that what a good future boyfriend does?
Good future boyfriends make sure their pretty professor gets in safely, and make sure to sit in their cars and observe them just a bit. How else was a future boyfriend to know what she likes? Satoru wants to make sure he has you figured out in every way he can, like how the curtains don’t fully hide the silhouette of your body in the evening.
He’d have to fix that, once you’re his, the way people could catch a glimpse of your pretty body, one that ultimately is his. The swell of a breast, or the hint of your hips, and between those curtains he catches little glimpses of what you wear – he already knows your favorite type of panty, he eyes them any time you uncross your legs while you’re doing a lecture.
Normal cotton ones, when he’d deck you out in delicate blue lace, rope your body so he could feast on you without any interruptions or protests. The thought, along with the silhouette of you makes him hard all over again, god but when isn’t Satoru Gojo hard for his professor?
He releases his thick cock, resting his head back against the seat and moaning your name softly – practicing it against his lips while he spits down, a trail of saliva dripping onto his reddened tip. Precum leaks out of the little hole there, beading at the center, he can’t help but imagine pressing it across your slit, sinking into your cunt and stretching you out.
He knows you’re alone every day, he knows by studying your socials that your last exes weren’t anything, you’ve gotta be so needy, but that’s all right. Satoru has been saving up so much for you – he doesn’t even fuck anyone at this point, it would just be disloyal, and he has no issue waiting.
Picturing how you’ll cry out when he fucks you makes him stroke himself, twists of his hand in circles, eyes fluttering shut while he’s hidden with the dark tint of those windows in his sports car. He’s stroking faster, thick veiny cock leaking so much pre, like it’s ready to fill you up, and fuck he would. He’d fuck you so good you couldn’t leave his bed.
You would never leave.
“Professor, f-fuck, so tight,” he murmurs, it’s a devotion to you really, sitting outside your home, cumming just for you. “That’s it, you can take me.”
He’s whimpering ever so slightly, wondering how good it’ll feel to bottom out inside your perfect cunt, hit your cervix till you drool, make sure you remember his shape and no one else’s. Your name keeps dancing on his lips while he strokes faster and faster, more spit mixing with his precum, the sounds wet and filthy echoing in the little car.
“That’s it, you want it all, don’t you sweetheart, hah – I’ll give it to you,” Satoru Gojo gasps out when he pictures your face, mouth wide open, eyes rolled back, and thinks of how he’ll pump your eager cunt so full. White ropes pouring across his big hands, he can’t help but think how you’ll clean him up, eagerly. “Such a good girl for me.”
After cleaning up, he grins at the sight of you on that couch with your glass of wine and your cat through your living room window. You’re nothing if not consistent, like you’re just waiting for him, surely you feel it too – the connection, the aching need to be constantly near you.
He can’t wait until you realize how badly you need him – you’re not there quite yet, but he can wait for you.
*****
It’s Saturday morning, you’re stopping by your favorite coffee shop right next to campus, just to run nearly into Satoru Gojo’s chest. You pause and gasp, bracing your hands on it for a moment, he catches you with an arm around the waist with practiced ease, steadying you. He watches you get flustered, not pulling back as quickly as you should have.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he teases, before he grabs the two cups he ordered off the counter. “Here, I was bringing you this anyway.”
“Oh, you’re so sweet! You sure?” He shrugs and hands money to the girl at the counter, she’s swooning over him but he doesn’t seem to pay much attention.
You suppose he just gets that constantly, and why wouldn’t he? If he wasn’t your student, and you just ran into him – you’re sure you’d be too shy and nervous to even talk to him at first. Because you are his professor, it opens up a bit to see him in a different way, not as the gorgeous, tall man he is but as someone intellectually challenging and enjoyable.
You imagine he likely doesn’t have people realize just how smart he is, which is a shame. As the Gojo family practically bought their way into the school, people would assume Satoru didn’t earn his way, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. No one has test scores like him.
“You don’t have on your glasses today,” he murmurs then, walking outside where it’s starting to patter rain lightly. “Why not?”
“I got contacts recently, I thought I’d see how I like them… you don’t have yours on either.”
“I really just need them to read,” it’s too easy to talk to him, it’s too easy to walk next to him. The comfortable yet completely nervous way you feel, heart hammering when he tugs you close. “Careful.”
You realize you almost stepped right into a huge crack in the sidewalk. “Oh god, thanks, I’m clumsy.”
“I noticed that,” he notices everything. The scent you’re wearing today is a different one, a little more floral, it fills his senses while his hand reluctantly drops, and he eyes the sky. “Did you walk from campus?”
“I did, shit…” he knows you did, Satoru made sure to fuck with your car before he got here, while you were still in your class.
“Come with me then,” you hesitate, then slip into his sports car, while the rain starts falling a little more, parts of the sky still blue as his eyes, the others darkening slightly. You hold onto your coffee cup carefully, studying the rim while he makes the quick trip. “You’re quiet.”
“Am I?” He nods a bit, you peer over to find him looking at you in a way he should not. “I’m a little tired.”
“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he turns the steering wheel, parking right across from your car.
“I guess I didn’t, but this coffee will help. Mnh, and it’s yummy,” you take a sip, a little foam on your lips. He leans forward and runs a thumb across them, making you jerk back. “Gojo…”
“Sorry, foam,” he smiles and brings the frothy concoction to his own lips, ruining your fucking brain. No twenty two year old man should be doing that, actually, no one should. Especially Gojo. “Yummy.”
Fuck.
Why are you ovulating this week!?
Focus – studying.
“Let’s run in!” You hop out of the car and dart before he can stop you, scent lingering in the air of his car, he can’t stop his soft little whine at having been that close to you.
He runs after in just a moment, umbrella above him, he shakes it out. “You don’t use one, do you?”
“That would be smart, I’m afraid I always leave mine at home,” you’re a little breathless, blouse slightly damp from the water – white and thin. He can see the delicate design of your bra that’s cupping your tits, a little trail of rain dancing across your chest. “You ready?”
“I’m ready.”
You lead him up to your class, the campus is mostly empty save for a few weekend classes, and your building doesn’t have very many. Maybe five students pass that all say your name, you smile at them all, making light conversation, making Satoru irritated, fist clenching the hook of his umbrella.
“Oh, thanks, I’m so glad!” You say to one of the boys there, who makes eyes at you.
Satoru wants to gouge them the fuck out.
Even the girl there makes eyes, he’s used to it, you’re the pretty new professor, but they all need to stop looking at you, girl or not. Satoru barely composes himself enough to feign the ease he needs to, smiling at you when you open your classroom door, flicking on the lights.
Soon you all are going over every question, open text book as you sit side by side with each other. Of course Satoru nails every question, you expected no less really, you’re not sure why he’d want to study more aside from high expectations. You know his family is pretty ridiculous with them.
It’s been almost an hour, when he’s just a little more relaxed, and his fingers trace patterns along the delicate skin of the back of your hand that rests on the desk when you’re reciting something. Your heart races, his casual touch seemingly natural, as if he wasn't intentionally fucking with your brain. Making you think the most inappropriate things.
“Bet I can guess your favorite Poe quote,” he murmurs, looking at you with a smirk that makes your tummy flip. You pull back your hand, pressing it between your thighs along with your other. “Something wrong, teach?”
“No, you think you can guess it huh?” You plaster on a smile. “Go for it.”
Satoru turns a little, resting his chin on his fist, elbow on the desk, he takes so much space with his long limbs, like he's taking your desk over. His knee brushes your thigh, they press together, practically trembling when he licks his lower lip and smirks just a bit.
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.” You falter, he spits the words that have been your favorite since middle school out with ease.
Surely you've read that to them, but to know it's your favorite?
“What,” he chuckles and sits up, leaning back in the chair. “Did I get it wrong?”
“No, it is my favorite… but how could…” your eyes lock with unspoken questions, Satoru leans far too close, cupping your chin. “How could you know?”
“I told you I'm pretty observant, I saw how your eyes lit up as you read it, how your lips moved…” Worse than desire would be feelings, of being seen for the first time, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.
Fuck.
You quickly stand, ignoring the need pulsing hot through your body, images that should not be there. Imagine ending your career, you have to keep playing that in your mind, never being able to teach because you couldn't keep it together.
“I um… I have to go,” you manage, when he stands so damn tall over you, grabbing some of his books and slipping them in his bag. “We can study more later, but you're already so good at it all.”
“You gotta go, have any plans?”
You better not.
He almost had you - kissable lips just begging for his mouth. That heat spent close, your entire body is warm as he looks down at you, smiling with ease and watching you just fall apart.
It was really all according to his plan, to make you needy, weak and wanting, to let your control slip. God how do you unleash when you drop this goody good act, and let your every desire come forth? When your back will arch as you ride his cock, begging for his cum.
You're flustered, not meeting his eyes.
“No plans, I'm kind of… a homebody.”
“Are you?” You nod shyly, and he is feigning surprise like he doesn't know every night you're at home. “I'm surprised, so many people love you.”
“I guess my social battery taps out after work,” you clear your throat, tossing both empty coffee cups in the trash. “Thank you again for that. You know, that is what I always order.”
“Really,” of course he knows your order. What sort of man would he be if he didn't learn everything about the woman he loves?
“It is!”
“Good guess then.”
“Very,” you lead him out, locking the doors behind you both. It's pattering again outside, he's getting his umbrella out. “I'll see you in class Monday?”
Before he can answer you've darted over to your car with a quick wave, he smiles as he pops the umbrella up, knowing you're not going anywhere. But you try, and it's pretty cute, as the rain starts drizzling, you're shivering a bit, opening your hood.
He notices you use some stick to hold it up, frowning at the entire state of your car. He'll make sure you never have to drive again, you can ride in the back of a limo, or next to him in one of his cars. This is purely unacceptable.
“Need help?” You gasp and turn, the rain pattering the umbrella, but he already can see the dampness of your white blouse, your glaringly apparent nipples. “Why are you using a branch to hold this up?”
“The thing broke,” you mumble, sighing then. “It may be the starter going out, sometimes I have to drop the thing into neutral to start it.”
“How long has that been going on?” Satoru hands you the umbrella to hold, you watch him bend over and peer at your car. In a polo, sweater and khakis, he looks too country club to ever do that, yet he has no problem.
“Like six months?”
Satoru peers at you and raises a brow. “You just let it… stay that way?”
“I mean it’s fine! Sometimes the battery gets corroded too, but I pour coke on it.”
“What now?”
“It works!” He sighs then, shaking his head at you.
“I'll try something but if not you'll have to tow it to a shop.”
“Shit, okay…”
“Go sit in the seat and start it when I tell you.”
You do quickly, but it's of no use, the car just won't switch over. You sigh, covering your face when he comes over, polo drizzled with water droplets, some have clung to his silky white locks. His umbrella shields you both from the now pouring rain, so loud he almost has to shout.
“You should let me take you home, I can get your car fixed tomorrow and bring you.”
“No. That's too much! I can call a tow and…” you sigh, realizing your phone has no bars. “Shit, it must be a bad storm…”
“Come on, before we get soaked,” he holds out his hand, you hesitate, even as the rain starts pounding, and the lightning goes off in the sky. It illuminates his tall, imposing frame, those blue eyes darkening. “You'll get sick in that car waiting, especially with no heat.”
“All right,” you take his hand carefully, sighing a bit. He rushes you over to his sports car, opening the door for you. “Thanks, Gojo.”
He slides in beside you then, the windshield wipers quickly turning on and flicking water side to side, the slow hum of his engine softly purring underneath you. You’re shivering a bit from the chill of the rain that’s soaked into your skin, his own hair flicking little clear droplets when he runs a hand through it.
That’s when he looks at you.
You were in his car earlier, but somehow the rain makes it even more intimate, trapping the two of you together, his heated gaze drifting across your body ever so slowly. There is no smirk or little smile, he’s quiet then – his pretty lips parted – you shouldn’t think like that!?
‘Pretty lips’ isn’t what your brain should concoct, especially when his snowy lashes lower and you realize exactly where he’s looking. You gasp a bit when you look down, seeing the thin white material cloying to your figure, showing the lacy little bra you’d bought yourself last week, the first time you’ve worn it.
“Oh god I’m sorry…” You murmur, covering your chest with crossed arms and turning away.
“For what?”
“For…” You curse internally, still shivering. “I’m so cold.”
“Let me turn on the heat,” he leans over, arm brushing against yours, turning it on quickly. “I have a couple shirts if you wanna put one on.”
“No!?”
He chuckles then, raising a brow at you. “No? Wanna get sick?”
“Yes… no… I can’t just get dressed!?” You feel so nervous, as if he’s the experienced thirty year old, and you’re the hopeless twenty two year old obsessed with her teacher.
Something about him makes you feel too much.
“All right then,” he continues easily, starting to drive, his veiny forearm far too pronounced with that dusting of snowy hair dancing across it. You swallow, arms falling a bit, now fiddling with your books, just a little damp from the rain. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just embarrassing you saw…” You can’t even finish the words, his hand slips to your bare thigh, the contact heating your core up, you eye it carefully, knowing you should move it, yet you don’t.
It feels good on your skin.
Satoru can feel your thigh tense under his touch, see the goosebumps rise on your skin, it’s quiet save from the pulse racing in his ears, and your little sound from the back of your throat. He knows if he slips his hand up just a bit that you’ll let him slide your panties to the side, you’ll let him thrust his fingers deep.
He can’t stop his visions of your throat stretched around his cock, he’d chuckle while you’re just so hoarse in the voice at your lectures – maybe the class would think you had a cold, but he’d know that it was all from him. You’re not there yet, but he knows how desperate you will be for that soon, begging to swallow all his cum like the good little professor you are.
“Embarrased about what?” He asks softly, thumb running in circles, you all come to a red light, barely visible in the storming gray view.
“That you saw me like that.”
“Saw your pretty tits, those nipples? That lacy little bra you’re wearing?” You gasp at that, until now it’s been Satoru teasing you, he’s not fully said even a hint of what he wants yet. “Hmm, don’t be.”
“You… just said… I…” You scowl at him now, earning his snarky little chuckle. “You can’t say that!”
“I can’t say they look pretty?”
“No!” His throaty, full laugh undoes your resolve, while you cross your arms again. “Surely, I misheard you.”
“No, you didn’t, but I can say it again if you want, does it get you excited, professor?” His fingers slip higher, the car starting to drive again, you grip his wrist to stop its trek, but still don’t let it go. “From what I see, at least, you can show me them fully if you want my expert opinion.”
“You’re ridiculous,” you realize you don’t even know where Satoru is currently taking you, his grip tightens under your hold as he turns smoothly with one hand on the steering wheel. “How do you even know where to take me?”
He pauses just a moment, you’re nothing if not smart, but a couple brushes of his thumb on your inner thigh changes that, your lips parted as if they’re waiting for something to suck. He’d give it to you soon, what you so desperately want without admitting it, what he knows you need.
He can’t say he comes to your house every day, can he?
“You mentioned your neighborhood in class, so I figured I’d head in that direction, but you’ll have to let me know exactly where it is.”
You wrack your brain for a moment, perhaps you did share that. “Oh… of course, I think I remember. Do you have friends there?”
“I do have a couple.”
“Girlfriends?”
He smirks over at you. “No.”
“Why not? Look at you - I mean!?”
He’s laughing again, leaning over a bit when he turns the car to the left, like he knows exactly where to go without thinking. “Hmm, look at me, do you?”
“Of course not, it’s just I see… the girls are always giving you so much attention. Even at the coffee shop. I figured you had a little harem.”
“A harem?” He laughs again. “No, I’m afraid I’m a one woman type of guy, but I’m not currently interested in any of the students there.”
“Ah. Well, you’re young, all the time to find someone,” your eyes shut when his fingers start dancing across the little lace garters you put on.
What a day to try to feel sexy, stuck in a car with off limits Satoru Gojo while you’re ovulating. You finally had a date tonight, but your car has made that one have to get cancelled. So now your mind is rushing, his touch feels too good, his scent is too intoxicating, some cologne that’s likely a hundred dollar a spray. Even his car smells too good, it’s too clean, too put together – like him.
When you’re falling apart.
Focus, you’re almost home.
“Do you date anyone?” He asks softly, your lips part in protest, then he raises a brow. “You asked me.”
“Right… um no, I broke up with someone I’d been with for a year a few months ago. I was going on a date tonight but…”
“The car.”
“Yeah. Um but I don’t know him, my friends are all determined to hook me up with him.”
Satoru wouldn’t let you hang out with these ‘friends’.
His jaw tenses at the thought of you with someone, even he did not know about that. Imagine, seeing the woman that’s his in the arms of some loser? Someone who wouldn’t deserve you – only Satoru deserves to have any part of you, your body, your laugh, your pretty eyes looking up at him.
Soon enough it will all be him.
He looks down at you when you're at a red light, the soft red casting a glow on his face, shadowing it in that color. You swallow nervously when he is leaning close – he’s too close, hand moving higher, until he feels your heat, that trickle of slick the telltale sign how ready you are.
He wonders if the change of lingerie style is purely for ‘your date’, but no one would see these but him. He moans softly as he pictures it, seeing your body fully. You look at him then, eyes almost black with how blown out your pupils are. “Y-you shouldn't do that.”
“No?” You nod quickly, when the light goes green, he turns his gaze to the road, the tension so palpable you can hardly breathe. “Why not?’
“Why not, well for one, I’m older than you,” he laughs at that. “I am, you’re young.”
“You’re barely older than me.”
“Eight years.”
“You look twenty two,” you heat up, he notices, eyeing you from the corner of his gaze, watching your flushed cheeks. “I don’t want someone my age, unless it was you I guess.”
“You should, and should stop that,” you shove his hand down, but it slips right back up, this time higher. You feel dizzy from how wet and needy you are, the heat blasting and giving you this fuzzy, heady feeling. “Fine, we aren’t that different in age, but I’m your teacher.”
“My favorite teacher,” he murmurs softly. “Who’s soaking wet.”
“Gojo!”
“You want me to touch you, to tell you how pretty you are.”
“I don’t,” you bite back a cry when his thumb hits the inner part of your thigh, right where your cunt is, so close you can’t take it, eyelashes fluttering.
“You don’t want it, huh?”
“I can’t,” you finish softly, the car is too small, you’re too close, it’s suffocating his presence, filling your every sense. “You can’t.”
“Why can’t I?”
“You just can’t,” his fingers tighten a bit, he feels you press your thighs together, hears your little whine, his thumb finally brushing the soaked material of your panties.
“Why don’t you take my hand off, if you don’t want it?” You can’t come up with a good fucking reason, other than you’re thinking with your cunt, your ovaries, your muddled feelings rather than your damn brain.
This isn’t you.
You’re cautious, you’re careful, you’re the girl who has always played by the rules. Never got in trouble her entire life, a good girl for all intents and purposes, one who even in relationships has been picky, careful. You can count the men you’ve been with in your thirty years alive with one hand, and they were all established relationships, built over time.
You didn’t just fuck in cars with your damn students.
“You’re not acting appropriately, Gojo,” he grins, his teeth white and glinting, touch lifting so that his fingers get sticky with you. “You’re forgetting I’m your teacher, clearly, a lapse of judgement.”
“Oh, I’m not forgetting you’re my teacher at all,” you take his hand off finally, that took far too long because you want him to.
Fuck.
That self loathing fills your damn brain, surely you can act correctly, but every sound makes your tummy flip. It’s been too long, cunt just drooling against the cotton on the gusset of your panties. Yeah, it’s been forever, and yeah, your sex life was not something to write home about – but there’s not an excuse.
Who would you be if you let your twenty-two year old student just finger you? What would that make you?
“Where exactly is your house, we’re close I think.”
“Oh,” you blink and try to focus, it’s hard to see still with the way that rain is pounding. “Turn right here.”
Satoru lets you guide him, acting like he has no clue that he’s not constantly staring at you for weeks now, parking right in front of your little house – it’s cute and quaint, but just wait till he gets back to his mansion. He’ll make sure you have a staff that’ll take care of everything for you, and if you ever want to go work, he’ll give you so many kids to occupy your time.
You have such a nurturing instinct, really, it’s more than the fact that he wants to fill you with cum, fuck it back into you, and then put more inside. More than he wants to see how flexible you can be, what you look like folded in a mating press under him – and more than the Gojo family line.
It’s because you’d be so happy.
Truly, it’s all for you.
“Here we are,” you manage a shaky smile, gathering up your things hastily, hands trembling. He takes one carefully, undoing your seat belt, fingers brushing your skin. “You should wait a few minutes, let the rain ease up, hmm?”
Satoru murmurs your first name then, ever so softly, a hand cupping your cheek and feeling the heat seep through. “You shouldn’t call me that.”
“No? Aren’t we pretty close though, sweetheart?” You bite down on your lip, he gently tugs it out of the grip of your teeth. “Can I not call you that either?”
You shake your head, not trusting any words at this point, whose to say you don’t beg him to fuck you then and there? His eyes slip down like a caress, across the blouse that still shows too much. The rain is pounding that windshield, bouncing off the glass, enshrouding you two in darkness, the sound of the hard drops hitting mixing with distant thunder.
It feels like you’re completely secluded, and you suppose you are, like this car doesn’t exist in typical space of time, no it’s something inexplicable. His hand on your cheek is cool and firm, big hands with long fingers that just ruin your mind more, picturing how they feel, then cursing yourself for doing so. Satoru clicks those wipers off, letting you both further descend into this car all alone, cut off from everything.
“Question professor, if I may?” He asks, taking your hand and pressing a little brush of his lips on the back of it. All you can do is nod, unable to speak anymore, feeling drawn more and more with every breath you take. “If you met me somewhere, say some book fair you went to, would you kiss me then? If we were just two people, and I wasn’t your student?”
You can’t answer, it’s so glaringly obvious, all you can bring yourself to do is pull back from his grip, looking away. “Don’t ask me that.”
“Sweetheart,” he turns your chin, gripping it tightly, and your eyes still won’t meet his. Satoru runs a hand to the back of your hair, gripping it at the nape, earning your little gasp. “Need you to focus. Can you do that?”
He shouldn’t talk like that, look like that.
“I need to go.”
“Ah-ah, focus,” he forces you to meet his gaze, taking over your body with how big he is everywhere. “Answer me, pretty professor.”
“So what if I would, it changes nothing.”
“Answer, then.”
You scoff, blinking rapidly, his hand slips out of your hair, trailing down your spine. “You shouldn’t want me, you’re-”
“Excuse me?” He glares now, arm wrapping your waist, tugging you against his hard body. Your nipples press out against his chest, it feels far too good. “The fuck you say?”
“I’m older, and… I’m boring, all right? You should want someone younger, exciting, not some teacher who just… stop looking at me like that, Gojo.”
“Like what? Like you’re the prettiest fucking woman I’ve seen?”
“No,” you shake your head quickly, tears pricking your eyes, some mix of desire and frustration. “It’s not true.”
“You know what I’d do, if I got you to myself?”
You just look down, at his jaw, his lips. “What?”
“Fuck every insecurity out of that head, if one round didn’t work, well I’d eat your pretty pussy till you’re ready for another,” you gasp, eyes darting up, his own are so bright they’re impossible to focus on, shaking in his hold. “Then if you had any left, I suppose I’d fuck you till you passed out, cock drunk and fucked out.”
“Satoru Gojo!”
“Mmm, yes… call me that,” his lips are just a breath from yours, you taste sweet mocha from earlier, breasts pressing together even more with his chest. “I like when you use my full name, professor.”
“You can’t know that it’s all pretty or-”
“I’m sure every part of you is,” he slips that skirt up your thighs, ever so slowly, material brushing your skin, you should stop him, but you can’t, especially when long fingers find you over your panties. “Fuck, you’re soaked, I haven’t even touched you yet. Tsk, are you so easy? If I say how pretty you are, you’ll drown me with your cunt?”
“You’re ridiculous,” your thighs spread, making his smirk widen, there’s no willpower, like the heat and Satoru have sapped it. “You can’t say it.”
“But you love to hear it,” you shake your head. “I can tell you every part of you that’s pretty while I worship your body.”
“While you… Gojo,” you push him back gently, but he doesn’t budge, hands gripping the material of his shirt then. Your breaths come in quick pants, lost in the feeling of his fingertips on your slit. “Even if I want it, we can’t.”
“Why can’t we?”
“Ethics- ah!”
“Mmm,” he’s grinning now, pressing that material closer and snugger against your eager cunt. “Ethics makes you wetter, huh?”
You don’t answer, the squelching wetness filling the car speaks enough, you just spread your thighs a little more, for his fingers to slip under your waist band and find your slick heat. That’s when you don’t hold back the little moan, sweet and filling his ears, earning his once he finally gets to touch you, slipping down till he’s right against your hole.
“Gojo…”
“Satoru,” his name comes out breathy. He presses his fingertip inside you teasingly, feeling how tight you clench it, groaning softly, his head resting on yours. “You’re so tight.”
“We can’t, you can’t - ah!” He slips a finger in a little further, leaning over you, your back pressed in that seat.
“Feel her grippin’ me,” he huffs in wonder, he’s never felt anything like you. He’s been with women before you, many back then – but once he saw you it was over, he knew he needed you, and you feel this good? “Could you even take my cock? Cunt is so fuckin’ small.”
“You’re… crazy y’know that, you – mnh!” He’s got it fully in, just that your cunt struggles to take, his fingers longer and thicker than the men you’ve been with. You feel so full and needy, his plump lips trailing across your jaw.
“Let me make you feel good, hmm?” He asks, the windows fogging with your breaths and the heat surrounding you, sucking your breath away while he curls that finger meanly in your walls.
“You can’t,” you’re rocking your hips, head tilting to allow him more access, while he pictures stretching your tiny little hole out, he’s so thick he bets he’ll barely get it in, but he’ll make it fit. “Ah!”
“You work so hard, don’t you sweetheart? You’re always so…” he curls that finger up again, tongue lapping at your skin, the flavor even sweeter than he could ever imagine. “So stressed, so tired, let me take care of you.”
“Gojo-”
“Satoru, when you cum f’me, huh?” You’re blinking rapidly then, dizzy and falling into the madness that’s your batshit crazy student with stupid long fingers, pulling one out and then teasing another. “Can you even take two, your cunt is so pathetic, have you never been stretched out?”
His free hand yanks down your top, still clinging to your skin, bending down to lap at your nipple over the lace, trails of saliva seeping in. Your back arches at the sensation, his fingers barely able to penetrate with just how thick they are. He pulls more of your slick out, eliciting a pornographic sound you’ve never fucking made, gushing down him.
“Let’s see how pretty they are,” he whispers, looking up at you with glossed lips and fucked out eyes already, like he’s just as fucked as you. He slips your nipple out, moaning softly when the bud tightens, his mouth sucking it in. Your hands grip his hair, not pushing him off - no you’re tugging him in.
“This is c-crazy, we can’t,” your words don’t meet your actions, not when his two long fingers press this spot you haven’t even felt, making you see stars. “Oh my fuck.”
“Teach, you have a bad mouth,” he pouts, looking up from where he’s left a round, glossy mark on your tit that’ll bruise. Strings of spit dissolve from where he’d hungrily been sucking on your tit, he moans and gently smacks it, smirking when you jump a bit. “Your tits are as pretty as I could have imagined.”
He’s… sweet, oddly?
“They’ll look so pretty with my cum drippin’ on ‘em.”
Never mind.
“Satoru!” You glare, but that image burns in your fucking brain with his wicked grin, moving his fingers deeper now, until you swear they hit your cervix. “So deep…”
“You can take it, just for me though, okay?” You shake your head, but he’s lost in you, sucking your other nipple, starting to pump into your cunt. “She was waiting, just wanted my touch.”
You’ve never felt whatever the fuck he’s doing to you, cunt squelching and messy, louder with every thrust, so much pressure in your tummy you almost can’t take it. His mouth trails up your skin, across your neck, lapping it up while his fingers wreck your senses. That arousal drips down his hand, making every stroke easier.
Gojo can feel how good you'll squeeze his cock soon, how those gummy walls will just grip him, your cries making him so hard it hurts. He almost cums just touching you, just looking at your pretty face, lost and hidden in the torrential downpour surrounding you both. Your eyes are lidded, when you’re close – and fuck, he can feel how close you are.
“You’re so loud, professor,” he taunts, your brows drawing together while your lashes flutter. “Your cunt, it’s so needy, so desperate f’me, huh?”
You shake your head, he chuckles even while he’s pulsing and leaking pre against those boxers, dying to drag you right down his length. You try to glare, it’s honestly adorable, the lightning flashing and illuminating the car, showing the expanse of smooth skin and your pretty breasts.
You cling to his forearm, whining out. “It’s too much.”
“No, it’s not, you can do it,” you shake your head, feeling his muscles tense with every movement.
He moves that middle and ring finger up and down faster and faster, exhaling against your lips as he watches you. “S’too much pressure, mnh!”
The lightning flashes and hits his pretty face, he looks psychotic in that moment, beautiful and insane, he grabs the back of your neck, tongue lapping a filthy trail up to your ear. “Oh, you’ve never really cum before, have you?”
“I h-have! You’re doing too much and – can’t take it, ngh!” Satoru’s soft laugh tickles your neck before he sinks his teeth, sharp and painful.
“You’ve never really cum before, but don’t worry, I can teach you, hmm?” He pulls back, seeing you sniffling, tears in your pretty eyes, barely able to cling to his shoulders, thigh propped right up on that dash so he can get deeper. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.”
That’s when whatever was holding you back the slightest snaps.
You should regret your next actions, dragging him down for a kiss, he’s kissed your tits and neck but not your mouth, and you fucking need it. Need his desperate whimpers against your lips, his tongue delving into your mouth and swirling. Satoru loses it right with you, whatever control he kept.
He presses you back against that leather seat, storm rattling the little car as it pounds heavier, his knee propped on the seat, tongue hungry and desperate. You’ve never felt anything like kissing him, like his messy, sticky fingers coated in your creamy essence, and you feel that knot in your tummy about to release.
“Cum,” he orders softly, kissing you again, biting at your lower lip. “Cum pretty professor, lemme feel you.”
Satoru exhales and eases back, watching the woman he’s dreamt of fall apart under his touch, cunt just gripping him like a vise, watching you begin to shatter under him, lit up just in moments as lighting dances across the street. Your moans are just a bit deafened, but your face, fuck he couldn’t have pictured that.
“Waited so long f’you,” he whispers it so soft you don’t hear, you’re too lost in the pleasure he’s eliciting, so much you panic as you begin to pulse, tightening. “Ah- ah, let go, come on sweetheart, you can make me messy yeah?”
“Satoru,” he moans at that, you crying out his name as you begin squirting all over his fingers, nails digging into his shoulders, he hisses at the pain, looking down at where the clear streams of liquid pour. “Oh my god… I… that’s…”
“Fuck,” he stares in wonder for a moment, before smiling just a bit. “Look at you, huh? You listened to me, now I need you to cum one more time.”
“C-can’t - mnh!” Satoru eases his fingers out with a pop, rubbing your poor neglected clit, so sensitive as you clench around nothing.
“You can, look you did so perfect for me, look at you,” he cups your face as his eyes turn black, just a ring of blue left, before gripping under your chin. “One more time, be a good girl, would you?”
Good girl.
His audacity knows no bounds, but you’re embarrassingly quick to cum again, he moans and pulls back, sucking you off him then, eyes fluttering shut. You gasp at the action, thighs shaking violently, heart racing when he smiles just a bit.
“Open.”
“Open!?”
“Listen for me, would you?” You do it, you don’t know why, maybe you’re too fucked out, but you open wide for Satoru Gojo – your fucking student – to spit in your open mouth. You gasp, but he grips your face tightly, shutting your jaw close. “Swallow it.”
You do that, earning his filthy little moan, making the sweetness of your cunt dance across both of your mouths. Tears spill down your eyes at the release, at what he’d just done to you, which you can hardly comprehend. No amount of that rose vibrator and smut was doing anything like this psychotic student grinning down at you.
“Did I make you feel so good, hmm pretty?” You just nod in a jerky motion, still tasting your own arousal and his spit in your mouth. “You listened so well, and you told me what you felt, you’re just such a good little professor, aren’t you?”
He kisses you again, stroking your hair almost gently. “Satoru…”
“Shh, don’t worry,” he adjusts your panties, your blouse, your skirt so sweetly, like he hadn’t just taunted you, spit in your mouth, fingered you till you were embarrassingly gushing all over. “I’ll bring you to school, and fix that car, yeah?”
You blink rapidly, the rain slowly dying off to a patter, as it all fucking syncs in of what you just did. “We can’t do this,” you hastily try to button your blouse, but he moves your hands away. “We can’t.”
“You need me to help, don’t you? Your fingers are too shaky,” he adores that look on your face, the fear and the tears, you’re realizing you’re all his, and he can’t help but enjoy this moment, smiling with bright blue eyes. “There.”
“Can’t again,” he ignores that, just being so bright, chuckling a bit as he kisses your lips. “Satoru.”
“I love when you call me that,” he murmurs your name, just to fuck you up further, with a lidded gaze. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?”
He watches you rush out with a dopey grin on his face – he’d masturbate, but he already came when he sucked your juices off, so he instead just cleans up quickly, sighing. He makes sure you get in safe, of course, that’s part of being your everything – but he knows that he’ll have to act unaffected.
You’re not seeing the vision just yet.
*****
It’s been two weeks.
Two weeks since Satoru casually showed up with your favorite coffee, grinning big at you. He’d already had your car fixed, thoughtful and kind, just being friendly like he was before – and nothing else. You suppose you should be thankful he’s listened to you, that he knows that can’t happen again, or it’ll lead to more, and the consequences for you would be heavy.
He’d even joked about it on the way back to campus – ‘So worried I’ll tell everyone our little secret, huh? Nah, no way.’
He’d been completely normal since, aside from little touches, little brushes against your skin in the hallway, being everywhere and anywhere at the same fucking time. Every time you turned, Satoru was there for you to bump into, or he was around to look at you, and you could feel that gaze like a physical touch.
You should be glad he didn’t say anything, that it’s over, that you came sure but nothing you can’t get back from. You’re not having some affair with your student, the namesake of the fucking University. Having to meet his stuck up, distant parents last week was hell enough.
You couldn’t stand them, truth be told.
They’re neglectful, they’re terrible, they don’t seem to give a fuck about Satoru aside from his name, his accomplishments, and worse than desire was the affection you felt when his jaw tensed during that conversation. The way you could see he so clearly felt ignored by the people who should love him.
You can’t feel this.
Yet with every mere brush of his fingers, you’re losing your mind, losing all the caution – fucking throwing it to the wind all for a moment like that again. You touch yourself at night, not to the thought of him, but then he seeps into your mind, you can’t get him out, fingering your hole desperately with no results.
It’s like only he can make you feel that way.
Class is over, and everyone’s saying good bye to you, Satoru lingers like he always does – always sits in the back, observing you with a knowing smirk. You sit there, waiting for him to descend, and you hate yourself for what you do next… or, you should hate yourself.
Satoru’s getting up to walk by, the rest of the class is filing right out, he gives you that little smile, like he wasn’t the man spitting in your mouth two weeks ago, having you squirt for the first time in your life. Like he wasn’t the one biting your lip, tugging at your hair, kissing down your breast – no, it’s as if everything is perfectly normal.
Isn’t that what you asked him to do? To forget it ever happened, because it damn sure cannot happen? Yet you casually knock your pen off with a little flick of your hand, letting it clatter down to the floor in a click that echoes in the room. The door is shut with a resounding, heavy sound, when Satoru pauses, looking down at your bare legs, setting his bag down on your desk.
“You dropped your pen, Professor,” he murmurs, leaning down and kneeling on the floor, his breath right against your inner thigh. His eyelashes lower, when his hands slip up them torturously slowly. You know it’s insane, wrong, but you can’t hold back a soft whine at how good it feels. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”
“N-no, nothing’s wrong,” Satoru spreads your thighs, inhaling you practically, seeing you’re wearing lacy panties today, a first. They’re darkening as his head dips, spinning you in the chair ever so slightly. “You shouldn’t call me that, Satoru.”
“You shouldn’t be this soaked from your student,” you bite down on your lip, he slips up that dress and sighs at the sight. “I can smell how turned on you are.”
“Get my pen, Satoru,” you whisper, thighs trembling when he chuckles a bit, face damn near right against your cunt, but not touching, nose a centimeter away.
“Right, your pen…” he picks it up, when your hand entangles in his white locks, his lips get glossy when he licks them. He drifts the pen up, the cool metal tip slipping up your skin. “Professor, you’ve got something there.”
“Do I?” You shouldn’t fucking do it, you know better, when the pen slips your panties aside for the briefest of moments. “Ah!”
Satoru wants to devour that pretty, slick cunt he didn’t get to see properly before, he knows you want it, sliding that pen down those panties, and watching slick drool out of your little hole. His cock is aching to be inside you, but you’re not quite desperate enough, not quite needy enough yet. You still seem to think you have the upper hand, and though he’s desperate, he also is patient.
He can wait until you realize you need him.
For much more than making you cum, you’ll need him for everything in time, to take care of you, to hold you, to keep you locked up in his home – well, it’ll belong to both of you. Kids, in time, the Gojo family line being remade from the pretty cunt that’s begging for his touch, his mouth, his cock.
“Satoru…” you’re so pretty like this, your brows together, your cheeks flushed, he just pulls the pen back and adjusts your panties with his fingers, just enough to get them coated in your arousal.
“Here you go, teach,” he smiles easily, standing and leaving you on edge, slipping your dress back down. “You all right?”
“Y-yes,” you’re hastily standing, taking several breaths, cursing yourself internally for fucking acting that way. “I’m… um, sorry I dropped that.”
“No worries,” he brushes your hair back behind your ear, leaning low over you, so tall and imposing, yet his touch is incredibly soft. His thumb brushes along your jawline delicately. “I’ll see you in history tomorrow.”
“You’re… taking history too?” You ask, voice a breathy squeak damn near. Seeing him once a week with those vivid memories was torture enough, but twice a week!?
“I sure am, I can’t wait to…” he leans down and his lips brush against your ear, making you tremble, sending shivers down your spine. “Learn lessons from you. You’re just my favorite, you know?”
You can’t talk, when he pulls back to smirk at you, when you realize you damn near were begging for your college student to eat you out. Pathetic, the most unethical thing in the world, and he’s acting nonchalant, like nothing is even bothering him. You’re as embarrassed as you are soaking wet, as self loathing as you’re willing to say fuck everything and give in.
You can’t do it.
“I’ll look forward to seeing you, Gojo.” He frowns a bit at the use of his last name, as you try to gather your wits. “Class is at ten.”
“I’ll be there, teach.” You both walk out of those heavy doors, eyeing each other for just a moment. His gaze slips across your ass when you turn, darting up to the delicate curves and lines of your body.
He’ll give you what you need soon, but not until he’s much more than relief, or something to cum to.
He needs to be your everything, and he’ll make sure it happens.
After all, isn’t that what good future husbands do?
Kofi link if you wanna buy me a glass of wine - it motivates the smut!🍷
summary- finally home, the heavy weight of fear, regrets, and repressed desire spill over as he clings to you with the utmost desperation, as if you're the only thing granting him life. and you? got no clue what's going on. you're just happy your husband is home.
warnings/tags- trans man reader, some afab language used including clit and cunt, a couple of beautifuls alongside the handsomes, overstimulation, cockwarming, sleepy sex, somno maybe? you fall asleep while he's still inside, praise, emotional sex, crying, SO soft and loving, teasing, marking, aftercare, please let me know if i missed anything!!
word count- 7.3k
this all started because i wanted leon to beg you to cockwarm him. now this is my longest fic ever and my first time writing full sex scenes so tips are appreciated!! songs that inspired this are venus doom-him and mama saturn-tanerélle
the first thing you notice as you wake up is that you're not alone on the couch, the second thing is the arms wrapped around you holding you tight to a built chest, and lastly that leon, your husband who for the first time in his life refused to promise to come home to you, is finally back in your arms, warm and alive.
interlacing your fingers with the hand on your hip you bring it up to your lips gently, but you can't help the gasp when you see that the skin is completely clear, no longer marred by infection.
the gasp jolts him awake, eyes open and locked to yours within a second, but when he doesn't see any tension in your face, just amazement. it has him relaxing and taking a moment just to stare. he couldn't believe he almost missed this, almost didn't survive to hold his husband in his arms once again, so he can't help but stare at you, trying to sear the image of you into his mind.
fuck, he was a goddamn idiot, leon thought before breaking the short staring contest between you two by tilting his face up, lips meeting yours gently at first, but quickly turning desperate.
needing to feel the softness of your lips, the safety he feels with you, it makes him pour out all the conflicting emotions he has into the softness of your lips. how greatful he is that he gets to be with you again, how relieved he is to have you safe in his arms once more, something he never believed he would get again, that he didn't deserve to have, he thinks as his unoccupied hand comes up to cup your face.
you unfortunately have to pull away from each other to take in gasping breaths,, but as soon as his lips leave yours he's leaving a trail open kisses across your jaw and neck, breaths fanning across your skin. "fuck. sweetheart, i was wrong, i was so wrong" he mumbles into your collarbone with regret clear in his voice. his hands both move to your hips to pull you to straddle him as he lays flat.
his desperate kisses on your neck and shoulder start trailing even lower as you sit up fully on his lap and ask in a teasing tone despite your tears, unable to contain the joy spilling out of you "what were you wrong about this time darling?" you yelp as he playfully pinches your hip in retaliation turns to a chuckle while continuing to lavish his attention on your neck, able to feel the vibrations of it.
“well i was certainly wrong to leave you at home like this. what was i thinking when i've got a personal weighted blanket, it's even heated.” he smirks into your skin.
despite the teasing he remembers what he needs to tell you and sobers up, clearing his thoughts as he pulls back to look deeply into your eyes. pinning you in place with the intensity in the piercing blue gray as he tells you truthfully, "i'm sorry i didn't value my life as much as you do" one hand trailing up over your spine slowly with a featherlight touch, moving up to cup the back of your neck.
“and i'm sorry it took so long for me to realize that fact, that you're right, there's more to life, than.. than this shit, the atonement turned martyrdom. the people i couldn't save deserve someone to live and keep their memory alive even if it's only me" he tells you as his hand grips onto your neck, not pushing, just holding on like he's drowning and you're the last life float.
he's unwilling to hide from you after surviving raccoon city syndrome, something he thought was going to steal this life from him, the life you built together, the lives of the people he loves, his own life. thought it would rip everything away from him, destroying any semblance of peace he has, consuming everything and everyone in its path in the same way raccoon city has done for years.
but after meeting grace, he refuses to allow it to continue to let the fire keep consuming. he won't allow it rob him of everything he cares about, to continue to control how he feels about his own life. not this time.
“oh leon..” you choke out with a tight throat and tears welling in your eyes, “my love.. you've done so much more than honor their deaths and keep their memories alive.” your hands coming up to grip his face so he finally understands. “you have done your best to give them justice, respect, even in death. they would be so proud of you.”
you're both crying at this point, but you're not done talking yet, thumbing at the tears rolling down his cheeks as you continue, “i’m proud of you, for finally valuing yourself as much as you value others, for valuing your scars, your successes, your pain, as much as i do” you're honored at his vulnerability with you, it's something that you had vowed to never take for granted long before your marriage to the man.
laughing wetly through your tears you ask, "so who finally convinced you i was right all along huh? i need to thank them personally.” making him huff out a laugh to match, “oh you don't think i could've figured it out on my own, huh?” he jokes back with a croak in his voice.
he nuzzles into your hands on your face, rough stubble rubbing against your hands as he closes his eyes for a second, before the hand on your nape moves to gently brush aside your hands from his face. leaning up he brings you in for such a gentle, soft kiss that it has you melting back into his chest.
"the girl i mentioned before, her name's grace. she.. she showed me exactly how wrong i was. it's not that i didn't trust in you, i swear that to you. it's just that- it's one thing to know something, to change your beliefs on a psychological level, and it's another to see it, to see someone prove, without a shadow of a doubt. that what i was taught was wrong, that i was wrong." he tells you in a devastating tone, pain and frustration clear.
your tears start back up at his words and you lean in to press your forehead against his, eyes locked, sharing each others breaths you tell him, "well, i certainly need to thank her for that don't i..."
you trail off with a hum before bringing one hand up to card through his hair, "im so thankful that despite everything that's been taken from you that you're back home, safe. that you chose me and yourself over the mission, that's all i've ever wanted.”
as soon as the words leave your lips leon is leaning his chin up to connect his to yours passionately, only stopping to mumble in the small intimate space between y'all "how did i get so lucky..." before his mouth is back on yours, swallowing every noise he pulls out of you. tilting his head to a better angle for you to bite at his bottom lip playfully in the way he knows makes you smile into the kiss.
"i don't know either, it certainly ain't because you're an incredible person, even if you're incredible person that also happens to be a self sacrificing idiot" you try to pull back to say more but his big hands settle on your waist, keeping you in place.
he lets out a genuine laugh against your lips and you can't help but smile at as the sound vibrates through your own chest, but before you can get another word in his hands move to your thighs, gripping them firmly as he sits up and stands with you still on top of him, making you squeak at the sudden shift of being lifted up so easily.
"not so funny now is it?" he says as he leans back in to capture your lips, purposely ignoring your eyeroll and slick "i don't know.. it's pretty fun in this position" comment at his words, easily carrying you to your shared bedroom.
walking through the door he breathes out a reverent "fuck, i can't believe i'm here with you again.." as he places you down gently before he's immediately crawling on top of you. strong arms that just carried you next to your head propping him up as he runs his hands up along your sides while kissing you passionately, his stubble rubbing against your face in a familiar way you can't help to smile at.
his hands move to rest on your hips as he shifts his attention to your jaw. lavishing the skin there in open mouth kisses and the occasional nip you can't help but let a gasp out at every time. "god leon, more. i need more.. missed you so so much while you were gone, please don't tease." you say desperately, making him smile against your skin at the reaction.
he follows your directions without any complaints, mouth continuing down to your neck, then your collarbones, thoroughly marking the skin there with gentle bites that have your hands coming up to grip onto his shoulders.
then he breaks away, the hands on your hips moving to grip the bottom of your shirt to pull it off fluidly. he's enjoying the sight of your now exposed skin so much that he can't help himself as he bends down to leave soft kisses around your chest as he's unbuttoning his own shirt. when you arch up into his mouth though.. well he can't help the way the last few buttons pop off in his rush.
needing no further encouragement his skilled mouth moves to one of your nipples, tongue caressing circles into your skin that have your hands gripping him even tighter as his hands move down to the waistband of your boxers, incessantly tugging them down.
once he's done with that he switches to your other nipple as his now free hands come up to rub at and lightly pinch the one still wet with his spit. when he feels your moan more than he hears it he can't help but detach for a moment, taking in a shaky breath as he looks back up at you.
“don't worry handsome, i don't plan on teasing you, no..” he breathes out the last bit as his hands move down from your chest to settle on your waist, “no, you deserve better than that, i plan on worshiping you the way i should've been all along” he breathes out, sounding almost reverent.
your hips involuntarily jerk up at the words, reminding him that he's still half clothed. he grabs his belt buckle to undo it and his pants button, pulling the belt out quickly it gets stuck on a loop and you swear you heard him let out a little growl in frustration.
he decides to just push them down as quick as possible, not even bothering getting them further than half down his thighs before his mouth is back on your skin. kissing and mouthing down the middle of your stomach, creeping down your hip.
once he's hovering above his goal he moves to kneel down on the floor. using his grip on your hips to pull you further down the bed until you're settled on the edge of the bed with your legs thrown over his shoulders, plush thighs around his ears. he can't help himself when he starts nuzzling into one, tucking his nose in the crease between pelvis and thigh.
breathing in the scent of you makes his eyes flutter shut for a moment, completely content at being surrounded by you, your scent, your soft skin, your taste..
he's in the perfect position to lick a long stripe up your slit with a flat tongue to gather up the slickness gathered there, as you pleadingly whine at the feeling of him so close, but just not enough. he chuckles against your heat before focusing all his attention on your dick.
god, the feeling of his fingers gently keeping your lips spread as he starts to circle it with his tongue already has you gasping, but when he puckers his lip around it and he sucks you jolt up like you'd been electrocuted.
he's pulling out every trick to have you rutting up in his mouth, trying to bring you to your peak as quick as possible. your hands immediately go to his light gray-brown hair and tug which makes him open his eyes back up to lock onto your own with an intensity that has you clenching around nothing.
while maintaining eye contact his hand slides up your thigh to rest right above your mound, absolutely savoring the way you close your eyes and fall back against the beds.
it's an act of complete trust that has his heart clenching in affection for you and regret at his previous decisions. thanking every god there is that there was a cure and that he could enjoy being with you once again as he moves his head down further, fingers replacing his mouth on your dick.
the dual sensations of his soft lips on your most sensitive area, plus his stubble lightly scratching against the sensitive skin on your inner thighs has you arching up into him. you feel his tongue bullying it's way inside and you can't help your shiver at the way it feels like he's literally trying to pull an orgasm from you, his tongue working you open so well all you can do is move shaky hands down to grip his hair through the waves of pleasure.
you're so close that you're practically fucking yourself on his tongue, making leon chuckle into you before the hand still on your thigh moves to your knee, pushing it up and holding it there to keep you in place.
it pins you well but it also keeps you spread open for his waiting mouth, “be a good boy for me an stay still so i can enjoy my meal, yeah beautiful?” he mumbles out before diving right back inside of you, making you realize he ain't stopping until you cum on his tongue.
the feeling of your husband trying to get his tongue as far inside you as possible has you crying out in pleasure, eyes shut tightly as you start mumbling, “fuck-leon, so good, so good.. don't stop” you cry out desperately, grip on his hair tightening almost painfully as your hips twitch when you cum on his tongue.
as soon as he feels your walls sporadically twitching around him he moans directly into your pussy, the vibrations making your hips twitch while he works you through the orgasm with gentle but intense movements.
when you start tugging on his hair to give your poor dick a break he pulls back until he's leaning his head against your thigh, leaving gentle kisses on the skin there while you pant out, trying to catch your breath.
“thank you gorgeous, you taste..” he takes a long breath in to keep him from losing track of his thoughts so quick, “you taste so amazing, sweetheart. i dreamed about this, about you every time i closed my eyes while i was gone” he admits.
you prop yourself up on your elbow as the hand in his hair scratches his scalp softly, him leaning into your palm with his eyes half closed on instinct, “i know handsome, you did so well, coming home to me safe and healthy..” as his eyes open fully at your words when you give him a teasing smile, “now show me how happy you are to be home.”
he pulls back from your touch with a small smirk on his lips, “don't mind if i do” which makes you groan and fall back in dramatic exacerbation even though you started it.
but when he moves to pull away from you, even though you know it's just to climb onto the bed to join you, you can't stop the way you whimper so sadly at the loss of his presence.
it has him rushing back to join you, laying on his side next to you as he cups your face softly, turning it to face him. “hey, hey, it's okay… i'm not going anywhere, ii promise i'm right here, just let it out..” he whispers out soothing words in between the two of you.
you don't know why, but when he pulled away.. you were afraid you'd look up and see that this had all been a dream. see that this time, this mission, he didn't come home to you. because in reality he almost didn't. it's finally hitting you like a ton of bricks now that you're not aimlessly filling your days as you desperately hope he's gonna come back to you.
thinking back to the memory of your anxiety when he didn't finish his half of the phrase you say every time he leaves you, “come back safe” “always, got very important business to finish here” with a smirk on his lips, but this time he just pulled you in for a hug and walked out the door without meeting your eyes.
you think about the fear that gripped you when you stopped getting updates from sherry that all was well, the way your stomach sunk further when you think to yourself if she'd even be able to tell you, if anyone would be able to tell you, given the nature of his work. then about your relief at waking up in his arms, the joy you felt seeing his hand no longer covered in spidering black veins, of having him here and home and safe.
you start sobbing uncontrollably, shifting to your side as you curl in on yourself, feeling lightheaded from the different emotions. the pain, anger, depression, and relief.
leon had been bracing himself for this since he had gotten home, he knew the stress would take a toll on you. stress that would've only multiplied if he didn't return, he thinks regretfully, wishing desperately he could take away the pain he's caused you.
he knows he was wrong, and he doesn't plan on ever leaving your side again. “shh, it's okay i've got you, i'm still here, sweetheart.” he says with tears welling up in his own eyes as he pulls you in. your body is shaking with sobs as you curl into his chest, gripping on to his arms and back like he's gonna disappear at any moment. “i know.. i know, i promise i'll always come back to you.”
“but you almost didn't, you almost didn't come home. you didn't promise me you'd come back to me when you left, you left without promising me leon!” you get out in between sobs, hands weakly smacking against his chest as he pulls your shaking body fully to his, bringing you into a tight hug.
he rests his forehead against your own as icy blue eyes meet yours, locking you both into a moment of intimacy. his hand cupping your jaw moving to brush your hair back as he quietly admits, “you're right, and i am so, so sorry for that sweetheart.” his brow furrows a bit, “i thought.. actually- it doesn't matter now.”
he pauses for a moment, jaw clenching in resolution, “it doesn't matter, because what i thought was wrong, so so wrong.” his thumb strokes underneath your eyes, wiping the tears falling because of him. he swears to himself again he'll never do this to you again.
“and i promise you, if you'll give me the chance i will spend every single day of the rest of my life making up for the mistake of making you go through that. i can't erase the fear i caused you but i swear, i'm gonna do everything i can to atone for it..” he tells you with complete sincerity shining through.
you close your eyes, leaning into his hand as he wipes away the fresh tears spilling out. with a tearful voice you ask desperately, “god leon, you cant just- what happened out there? i'm so, so glad to have you home, but when you left you looked like you were headed for the gallows. i'll never forget that look on your face, but now you're here a-” your eyes flutter open to study his face.
what's staring back at you is the honesty in his eyes, his bandaged injuries on display now that his standard issue white shirt, that the dso has thousands of, is gone. the way he looks like he actually rested, no longer chronically tired with dark circles under his eyes the way you've gotten accustomed to. the way he's no longer shaking with coughs from raccoon city syndrome that got worse by the day.
“now you're here talking like a man who's seen the light, and i don't.. are you okay?” you admit, concerned and overwhelmed by the sudden change in his actions.
“i'm doing what i should've been from the beginning. i am so fucking sorry it took me so long to realize that my shit wasn't just affecting me, but our relationship and you.” he clenches his eyes shut, tears spilling out freely. “and i swear to you that i'll tell you everything that happened..” his arm around your torso squeezes you tighter to him, “.. but i need to just be with you right now” he begs you in a voice tight from tears.
the sight of leon -someone who has survived some of the most awful things, dealt with monsters both human and BOW so terrible that they haunt him even now- crying and begging to just hold onto you has your eyes softening.
your lips meet his in a sweet embrace as you nudge at his left shoulder, encouraging him to lean back flat. as soon as he complies you're crawling up to straddle his waist as you lay your entire body down to rest on his chest.
when you're settled comfortably he wraps his strong arms around you, pulling you in tighter like he wouldn't ever get the chance again. you just chuckle against his warm skin as your hands come up to bury themselves in the at the nape of his neck, absentmindedly twirling the hair there.
one of the arms around you pulls away to grasp your chin, tilting your head until he's able to reach your lips. the soft touches quickly become heated when he groans into your mouth, loving the way your hands had moved to start scratching at his scalp.
it was everything to him, the obvious care in the gesture soothing his overworked, stressed mind that was only made worse in wrenwood, and especially.. after.
it has him leaning into you with more intensity, more desperation, kisses turning from intimate and loving into pure need for one another, the need to be closer, to be together.
when you have to pull away for a breather you don't go far, panting against the stubble of his jaw in between the kisses and nips you leave on the skin there, intent on marking him in the exact same way. you leave a trail all the way down his neck, and when you get to the crook of it you nuzzle into it with a smirk on your face before you open your mouth and bite down.
leon can't help the way he jolts under you, arching up into you as a groan gets ripped from his chest at the possessiveness of the action. it has him letting out a breathy “fuck, baby…” as his hands move to grip your hips like a lifeline.
you're smiling when you pull back, soothing over the dark mark with your thumb as you sit up to stare at the mark with satisfaction. it has you biting your lip as you grind your bare cunt against him, making the both of you groan at the smooth slide from your wetness.
you lean back to grab at his cock, giving it a couple quick pumps before you start to guide the blunt head inside you. the feeling of your wet heat so near has his hips jerking up, but instead of entering you he puts his hands on the underside of your thighs.
his big hands are holding you up, effortlessly stopping you from sinking down while his gray-blue eyes are staring up at you with concern. “wait. sweetheart, you only just stopped crying.. i don't think w-”
you quickly shut that shit down, “leon. i'm in my husbands lap, naked, grinding down, and trying to get him inside me. i am enthusiastically consenting.” you tell him with a playful roll of your eyes, unable to contain your smile.
“plus…” you trail off as your hands drift across the curve of his pecs, “i thought you said you'd do anything to show me how sorry you are and make it up to me.. promised you were gonna take care of me leon..” you say with an exaggerated pout on your face.
your teasing has him tilting his head back with a groan as he gives in to you, hands gripping your thighs even tighter before he lets go. “i suppose i did, didn't i..” he tries to give you a ‘disapproving’ stare that just looks more like a pout and the sight makes you smile wickedly, looking like the cat that got the cream as you start to sink down.
the stretch has you gasping out and clawing at his chest, erring on the side of too much. “you're almost there sweetheart..” he encourages while his warm hands run up your body. moving to cup your chest and thumb over your nipples as you settle down on his pelvis, taking a moment to just breathe.
it don't matter how many times you've taken your husband, the way he fills you up perfectly always steals your breath.
while you're getting used to the feeling you start rutting against him slowly, hands trailing down his chest down to his muscular stomach. you watch in interest at the way the muscles tense and twitch under your touch before you plant your hands there to give you more stability as you give a few quick, shallow bounces.
you quickly settle into a rhythm where on each downward stroke you're letting out a keening whine from the way he stretches you out, cock bullying your cervix out the way to make more room for him. you can't help but think about how well he fills you up, and you're not the only one.
“shit… look at you handsome..” he lets out a groan as you clench down harder at the praise, “taking me so goddamn well” he encourages, moving his strong hands underneath your ass to do most of the lifting for you once you had set a comfortable pace, “this dick was made just for you, i was made just for you” he murmurs out with a look of adoration on his face.
those loving, damn near heart eyes leon is aiming at you sends a jolt through your body. it has you sinking back down as you grind yourself against him, chasing your own high. your jaw drops open in a silent scream as the new angle has him rubbing directly against your g spot.
with his hands no longer lifting up your hips one moves to your lower back, trailing it up your spine with a featherlight touch that has you shivering against him. his hand stops at your nape, cupping the skin there and rubbing along the muscle with his thumb as he gently pulls you down until you're laid back across his broad chest.
you tilt your chin up to connect your lips, tongue tracing at his bottom lip before you bite down. his chest rumbles with a groan as his other hand drifts down to rub against your dick. the jolt of pleasure has you gasping into the kiss with your hands reaching up to grab onto something, anything. they end up falling on strong shoulders as leon moves his hips up to meet your mindless rutting.
your nails bite into his skin, leaving shallow little crescents that turn into long red stripes from clawing at the skin as you lock up around him. you let out a moan of leon's name directly into his mouth, hips still rutting down through the aftershocks.
the intensity of your orgasm has you falling against his chest, cunt still twitching around him. you're absolutely boneless on top him, panting into his sweat damp skin while his hands move to cradle your face. encouraging you to face up towards him he strokes your cheeks on either side as he asks, “how're you doing handsome? you done?” with full sincerity.
you lovingly roll your eyes at him, moving to bite at his hand which he pulls away with a fond chuckle. it moves to trace your temple and push your hair away from your equally sweat slicked skin softly as he gives you a moment to gather yourself.
leaning in to his touch you let out a hum of consideration before you tease, “are you done, old man? i mean- it's okay if you are! i know how back pain can be at your a-” you're cut off by your own laughter as he moves to flip your position until you're the one under him.
leon takes a moment to swallow thickly as he brackets you with his forearms. you're smiling so brightly, so trusting underneath hands that have killed things you couldn't even comprehend. things he kills specifically so you don't have to comprehend the horrors that created them.
it steals away his breath for a moment, how could he ever consider the possibility of leaving you to fend for yourself when he knows exactly what's out there?
as if you can read his mind, or more likely the sad look on his face leon don't even realize he's got going on, your hands reach up to grab his face like he did to you before. except when you do it you shake his head back and forth, trying to “forcefully” shake the thoughts out of his head.
when he huffs out a laugh and relaxes you stop messing with him, happy to remind him that theres no other place you'd rather be than trapped between your husband's arm, surrounded by him in every way.
his eyes pierce into yours as he lines himself up and pushes into you again. even when your own close at the feeling of fullness after the sensitivity of your orgasm- you know he's watching. you can feel his eyes on you, studying your reactions as if he were worried about missing out on a single flicker in your expression.
when he sits back up he sets a slow, deep pace while his hands trail down your body. when they reach your thighs he guides them into the exact position he wants, one leg over each shoulder as he leans back in to kiss you.
he's got you in a fucking mating press. it's got your eyes rolling in the back of your skull with the new angle he's hitting. his every stroke is rubbing against your g spot while he's got your knees fully pinned to your chest. he moves to catch your lips and pull you into a heated kiss, nudging your legs further up as his hips pick up the pace.
you break away from his mouth with a sharp gasp, unable to focus on his lips as you desperately try to catch your breath. every thrust is pushing you closer and closer to the edge, you just need-
leon nuzzles in to your neck and chuckles as he kisses up to your ear so he can whisper, “all this for an old man like me, handsome?” ending with a teasing nip against your lobe. it has laughter bubbling up between moans as you let out a breathless, “only for you.”
it has him dropping his forehead to your collarbone with a groan as his hips twitch up against your fluttering cunt. he moves a hand to stroke your dick as he starts to mindlessly mumble against your sweaty skin, “you feel so good around me. fuck, im going to cum.”
his panting breaths turn into wrecked whimpers, steady pumps into jerky back and forth motions as he finally spills inside you, filling you with thick ropes of cum. he's still jerking you off in between twitchy thrusts when you clench so hard around him and scream as you cum around him.
it has his jaw dropping with a punched out moan while he works you through it, stretching both of your pleasures out. he don't stop until you're both teetering on it being actually too much, enraptured with the way your walls are milking him until he's bordering on painful over-sensitivity.
that third orgasm has you melted into a puddle beneath your husband. between the praise, his warmth filling you, and his reassuring presence completely surrounding you, you're completely blissed out.
as you catch your breath you reach your hands into his hair and drop your legs from his shoulders to pull him down into a loving kiss. you're smiling against him, about to pull away to tease him when you taste something salty and feel wetness on your face. concerned, you try to pull back from him, but he stubbornly chases your lips with his own, letting out a desperate mumble of, “wait-please..” against your lips.
he takes in a shaky breath through his nose as he pulls out of you slowly, before falling to the side of you and pulling you into his chest. with thick arms protecting you from the rest of the world he confesses, “i.. i can't explain everything without putting you in serious danger.” he says with genuine remorse.
“what i can say is.. it was always my life on the line for theirs. it was.. the only way i could protect the people around me. with sherry, i.. they were going to-” he cuts himself off sharply, taking a deep breath to center himself again.
he clutches you even closer as he confesses, “taking this job is-was the only way i could keep sherry away from those.. shit.” he clenches eyes shut for a moment to think about what he can share.
“it was up to me to keep her safe. claire absolutely tried her best, but she was even younger than i was. i couldn't put that on her. i had to keep sherry safe” he tells you as tears start to well up in those gorgeous blue eyes you love so much.
“but when i met grace, and then emily- it made me realize how far i've come since then, how far we've come. i'm no longer the young rookie that's trying to save everyone yet unable to actually save anyone. i've got colleagues, friends, a family to help me protect what matters.” his hands trail down your arm to grip your own, pulling one to his lips he leaves a kiss on the center of your palm.
“and i am so fucking sorry i took that for granted. i was so consumed with everything i'd done wrong that i couldn't see the things i'd done right until i almost lost everything..” he kisses your hand again before letting it fall so he can cup your face, gently rubbing away the tears falling down your flushed cheeks.
“and i am so lucky to have an opportunity to be here to tell you just how wrong i was, how sorry i am for everything..” his voice cracks at the last bit, eyes closing in shame at his own actions.
it has your eyes softening even further, staring at him with an enamored look, “leon.. i'm the lucky one. you do so much, giving everything to come back home to me, you don't even realize how much you do.. plus….” you trail off as your tone lightens, a small smile on your lips, “i'm the one getting to watch my big strong husband tell me how wrong he was, and how desperate he is to prove he's so sorry for doubting his absolutely perfect husband.” you tease, desperate to fix the sour mood and pull a huff of laughter out of him.
“but seriously.. i'm proud of you, you know? you been mak-” you're cut off by your own laughter when leon reacts to your praise by dropping his head to hide it in the crook of your neck.
he starts leaving kisses on the deep red marks he left there previously as his hips start rutting up into your own. his hands move, pulling one of your thighs up and over his hip so he can grind his cock teasingly along your soaked slit, letting out a wrecked moan against the slick skin of your neck.
you let out an amused lil hum and move your hands to thread through his hair as you ask innocently, “what is it dear?” you can feel it when his mouth pulls up into a smile as he lets out a groan of defeat at your teasing words.
“you know what you did, what you do to me…” he mumbles out while his hand trails down to rub your clit, hips gently pushing back up into you.
when he's fully sheathed inside you he stills, pulling his face out from your neck to ask, “this alright, handsome? if n-” he checks in with you so sweetly.
it's one of the many reasons you're in love with the man, you absolutely adore how he treats you with so much consideration.. but right now?
“leon.” you deadpan, interrupting his question before it's even fully out. you refuse to let him stop on your behalf when you are exactly where you wanna be, needing him just as desperately as he needs you.
you need him right now actually, and you emphasize that point by grinding up against him, making yourself moan out when it pushes him even further inside.
“got it..” he chuckles out in reply, but it quickly turns into a moan when you clench down on him in retaliation. his head dips back into your neck, moving to mark your collarbones and chest in the same way he did your throat and jaw, as his hand on you clit starts to move in slow, circular motions.
every time you grind your hips against his he pushes up to meet your movements, encouraging you to fuck up onto him as you use his cock to chase your own orgasm.
while you're lost in your own pleasure he's moving his head back to stare down at you intently, almost needing to catalogue every single one of your gorgeous expressions.
“thank you” he says in a low tone, not wanting to break the blanket of silence that had settled over you both, only interrupted by breathless gasps and moans.
you hum out in confusion as you open your eyes, only for them to immediately meet his own that’re already intensely focused on your face.
“i just.. needed this. the closeness, you. thank you.” he chokes out in a rough voice. he's not embarrassed at needing you, and he never would be. he's just embarrassed at how much he needs the comfort you bring him. the comfort of being taken care of, valued, everything he's not allowed when he's on the clock.
“of course, my love. always. i will always be here to give you the closeness and the care you deserve, leon..” you trail off as your hands move back to his hair, fingers absently twirling the soft locks there.
he moves to capture your lips with his own passionately, humming into the kiss when your hands grip him even tighter, pulling at his hair. he gasps into your mouth at the twinge of pain as his hips buck up into yours.
the movement has you smirking against him, encouraged by the reaction. but the smirk is quickly wiped from your face when leon moves his hand to trail between your bodies in retaliation.
when his hand touches your cock your expression crumbles, hand reaching down to grab his forearm. your nails dig into the skin there, unsure if you want to push him away or pull him closer, you're so sensitive from your previous orgasms you almost can't take it.
“yeah baby.. just like that..” he murmurs hungrily into your mouth before pulling away from your lips just enough to get out, “you're so good for me handsome.. just one more for me? yeah?”
his hand starts moving even faster against you, and when your jaw drops in a silent scream he completely breaks away from the kiss. needing to see the way you tense and shudder through your orgasm as your nails dig into his forearm hard enough to break the top layer of skin.
too much, it's too much, you feel like your grip on leon is the only thing keeping you tethered to your body. all you can do is hold onto him as you pant out, coming down from the intensity.
but when you do catch your breath, blearily blinking your eyes open, you can't help but notice that leon hadn't cum. you make a questioning noise as you try and grind your hips down on his still hard cock, but he stops your movements once again.
he brings his soaked hand to wrap around your hips and keeping them still, “wait.. i- can we stay like this? please..” he begs you breathlessly, fingers digging in to your skin in desperation as he finally asks for exactly what he wants.
in response you just relax into his chest with a hum of acknowledgment, too tired to actually reply. you can feel his chest rumble against you in a low chuckle when you nuzzle the top of your head against his chin, trying to burrow into him even deeper despite there being no room left between you.
the pure intimacy of your positions, skin to skin, wrapped up in each other, while he's still inside you, has you shivering against him. eyes fluttering closed again as you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat, the same heartbeat you can feel.
the thought of falling asleep like this, with the strong pulse underneath and inside of you.. it has you unconsciously clenching down against him despite the sensitivity.
it has leon letting out a wrecked whimper into your hair, the hand not moving back and forth against your hip comes up to bury itself there. when he starts scratching your scalp with gentle movements he can feel the way you melt even further into him, letting out a content sigh at being so completely surrounded by the other man.
leon though? leon stays up, watching the steady rise and fall of your back, enjoying being able to feel the way your breathing evens out by the puffs of warmth against his chest… and especially enjoying the way he's able to feel your slick walls subtly clenching around him even while completely relaxed against him.
he is absolutely basking in the feeling of being home, in bed, with his husband safe in his arms. he refuses to ever think about giving up his place beside you again, not caring if that makes him selfish.. after everything he's been through, there's absolutely no place he’d rather be.
♡ ׄ HANDLE IT ! ✉️ ۫ ❛
五条 ! ꒰ 18+ ❤︎ ꒱ ⎯⎯ satoru with a girlfriend
who has ass for days ! ♡ : thick woc reader
“he can’t handle allat” is something satoru hears all the time ever since he started dating you. you with thick thighs, rounded hips, soft skin . . . truthfully, the comments only seemed to make him cling to you harder, all wandering hands and worsening self control.
sure, he was a pretty lean guy . . . long limbs, narrow waist, shoulders just broad enough to give shape under his clothes, but never bulky. and yet, gojo still felt overwhelmingly big.
so, much bigger.
especially when you sat in his lap and your thighs still spilled over his expensive slacks while his body practically swallowed yours whole; or when he would hold your face during kisses, thumb brushing your cheek while the rest of his hand spread warm against your jaw and neck.
truth be told, it was you who couldn’t quite handle him. not that anyone needed to know that of course. still, despite it all, satoru couldn’t help the faint flicker of irritation that bubbled up in his chest whenever people assumed otherwise.
“just look at us. we make too much sense together!” humming lightly as if he wasn’t drilling his cock into you: your walls swallowing his dick with each thrust. veins visible beneath his pale skin, fingertips digging softly into the plush flesh of your hips, the fabric of your pink satin gown pooling into the small of your back, bed creaking underneath the sheer force of his thrust.
he’s got you face down in the sheets, a soft silk pillow braced beneath your hips for support, the fabric cool against your warm skin — a sweet, sweet contrast to how his length stretched you out as his pelvis slammed into you, sending harsh ripples through your skin as he stuffed you full of himself to the hilt.
“mmmph— toru! shut uup!” you whined as his flared tip dug into the pulpy spot hidden away in your walls, leaving your pussy fluttering around his cock as he coated your skin in soft kisses and suckles.
one thing you learned about satoru was that once he got into his head, there was no easy way of pulling him out.
if anything, he was fully locked in. as if the only thing mattered was fucking you senseless, as evidence the two of you belonged together. which, quite frankly, you needed no convincing of. not when he spoiled you so much.
“you don’t think that’s true, right baby?” he hums, a genuine pout on his face, leaning over you, his bare chest flush against your back before tugging your earlobe gently between his teeth, making you suck in a sharp breath.
your hands tightened against the sheets as his tip relentlessly squishes against your sweet spot without even meaning to.
you only let out a muffled cry at his question, soft “oou’s” and “ahh’s” escaping your throat: each thrust getting wetter and messier by the second. the veins of his cock scraping against each nook and cranny of your velvety walls as you practically milked him dry, clamping down on him as his hips snapped forward into you, wetness pooling down between your thighs & drool spilling out into the sheets as your eyes glazed over prettily.
pretty.
you were so fucking pretty.
gojo always loved when you got like this. a pretty drooling mess, all because of his dick. all because of him.
“pretty,” he choked out, “pretty, pretty girl, so mgnh— fuckin’ pretty”, he gushed mindlessly, drunk off your puffy cunt, coating his cock in white sticky streaks, a creamy ring of white spreading over his shaft as your ass bounced off of him over n’ over again.
his hand slivered down over your arm before wrapping around your hand, fingers lacing through yours as he pressed a firm bite to your shoulder, “c’mon… answer me.” voice muffled against your heated skin, but unmistakably impatient.
“toru !” you mindlessly babbled, half scolding, half pleading as you pathetically pushed yourself back on his dick trying to chase more of him, burying your face in the sheets entirely as if to escape him, “wanna— please!”
“wanna what? go ahead, baby. say what you’re thinkin’.” he practically growls against your ear, his grip on your hips not ceasing their brutal pace.
“cum— wanna cum, please”, you gasped out, words slurred together, voice syrupy, holding onto any last semblance coherence.
“mm? you’re close?” he cooed against your ear, “use your words pretty girl—say what i wanna hear.” his sweaty, damp forehead was buried in the crook of your neck, his full weight squishing you beneath him as he let out a soft whimper against your ear, making you clamp down on him.
“you’re perfect f’me!” you cry out as he removes his hand from the flesh of your hips to tug lightly at your roots, pulling your face from the sheets, lips plush and slick, brows knitted together so perfectly, eyes half-lidded, seconds away from shutting in utter bliss.
with your head tilted, he presses a sloppy kiss to your exposed neck before his teeth met your flesh, followed by his tongue swirling over the sensitive spot. “hah—so fucking perfect!!”
he lets out a low laugh, “good girl… thaaaat’s what i like to hear.” he drawled, his voice breaking off into a heavy groan as his cock twitched inside you, stirring up your guts.
the only thing slipping past your lips now being a messy blend of hiccups and cloying moans, all his sweet words of praise going in one ear and out the other, drowned out by the obscene clap of skin on skin.
his hand tightens around your own, the other sliding up to cup your jaw, leaving just enough pressure to make you whine, bringing your gaze back to his.
his pupils are blown wide, almost unreadable, that crazed edge that made your tummy twist up.
“go on then, cum on your soulmate’s cock.”
and as if under his spell, you do: cunt milking him and your juices spill all over his shaft, coating his sack as your body jolted everso slightly, thighs trembling violently under his touch, face falling back into the cushions as he begrudgingly let go of your face.
before your spasming cunt could milk him dry, satoru groans, squeezing his eyes shut before abruptly pulling out of you, chest heaving as he lets out a shaky laugh under his breath, flared tip red and angry, thin rivulets of precum spilling onto the curve of your ass, cock twitching violently as he held back his own orgasm.
“you’re gonna be the death of me...” he pants from above you, sweat slicked forehead resting heavily against your back.
after a minute of lying under him limp and boneless, your fingers flexed weakly as you tried to steady yourself, trembles soon dying down into stillness, you hum, “satoru…”, voice sweet yet wrecked.
he pips up with a small “mm?”, leaning over your shoulder, clearly amused. taking in how your pretty face was all undone. tear stained, warm and glossy with sweat, lashes clumped together as you only batted your wide, glassy eyes at him, soft confusion sitting behind your cloudy gaze.
he only blinks down at your before letting out a soft laugh: “oh? you want me to cum in you that badly?” he taunts, only earning a frown you.
“fine. i’ll tell you.” he hums as he leans back up to his full stature whilst resting on folded knees. “i’m not done with you yet pretty girl”, smiling as he flips you over, dragging you back to him, hiking your legs up over his shoulders.
you only blink up at him, lips parted, a soft gasp slipping out at the sudden change in position.
“y’know…” he frowns, leaning over you, white strands tickling your forehead. “people are getting a little loud about us.” his thumbs trace lazy circles into your side. “we should probably check if they’re right.”
“as in . . ?”
“well, you could sit on my face for starters!”
yeah.
he was definitely more than you could handle.
wrote this at 3 am 👌🏽
part 2 where he gets suffocated by thighs and dies a happy man whose with me 🤤
pervy!reader stealing mark's clothes and spying on him for a change! 18+
You were the one stealing Mark's underwear. A few of his boxers here and there. At first, it started by taking clandestine little peeks at his drawers to see what kind he wore, then it was sneaking peeks at his elastic bands, and before you knew it you were nabbing his boxers, shirts you suspected he wouldn't miss or notice missing, just so you could treat yourself to his scent and position his stolen clothes beside you in bed so you could pretend it was him beside you as sleep took you over at night.
You grew riskier, stealing his favorite Seance dog pajamas, boxers he'd thrown into the hamper recently, your eyes rolling back when you took a sniff and detected his wonderful musk (especially after training!), humping yourself against them, rocking your clit into the ridden up corners of marks underwear.
And eventually it culminated in you flying into Mark's room during the times of day you knew he would stop to shower, just so you could spy on him lathering his body, his perfect body, with soap. Through the crack of his bathroom door, shower water rained down on his washboard abs, his perfect round ass, and as lovely as it all was, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the heavy sway of his cock ...
The challenge, always, was trying to keep upright as Mark would hum or, god forbid, whimper to himself while bathing. And not a day would go by without you wishing you had the nerve to burst through the door, tear your costume off and join him in helping him get clean. Until then you would satisfy yourself with watching, sometimes by watching, if you were feeling brave enough ...
You lick your lips with a dry tongue; all the moisture in your body flooded south as you got off on watching your favorite show.
pervy!reader stealing mark's clothes and spying on him for a change! 18+
You were the one stealing Mark's underwear. A few of his boxers here and there. At first, it started by taking clandestine little peeks at his drawers to see what kind he wore, then it was sneaking peeks at his elastic bands, and before you knew it you were nabbing his boxers, shirts you suspected he wouldn't miss or notice missing, just so you could treat yourself to his scent and position his stolen clothes beside you in bed so you could pretend it was him beside you as sleep took you over at night.
You grew riskier, stealing his favorite Seance dog pajamas, boxers he'd thrown into the hamper recently, your eyes rolling back when you took a sniff and detected his wonderful musk (especially after training!), humping yourself against them, rocking your clit into the ridden up corners of marks underwear.
And eventually it culminated in you flying into Mark's room during the times of day you knew he would stop to shower, just so you could spy on him lathering his body, his perfect body, with soap. Through the crack of his bathroom door, shower water rained down on his washboard abs, his perfect round ass, and as lovely as it all was, you couldn't tear your eyes away from the heavy sway of his cock ...
The challenge, always, was trying to keep upright as Mark would hum or, god forbid, whimper to himself while bathing. And not a day would go by without you wishing you had the nerve to burst through the door, tear your costume off and join him in helping him get clean. Until then you would satisfy yourself with watching, sometimes by watching, if you were feeling brave enough ...
You lick your lips with a dry tongue; all the moisture in your body flooded south as you got off on watching your favorite show.
mark grayson kisses his partner like he’s about to take a deep breath before heading into space. he breathes you in, like your his oxygen supply and he’ll suffocate without you. mark knows he sounds cheesy whenever he tries to explain that feeling to william or anyone else, so he keeps his thoughts to himself.
mark grayson smiles whenever he kisses his partner, because why would he ever frown. even if he’s having a shitty day, week, month, year, mark will come and give you the biggest kiss with a humongous grin on his face.
mark grayson holds your hand like he’s hand making jewelry, he’s careful. he doesn’t want to be so rough with you, scared you’d break within his grasp. mark underestimates his own strength, he’ll never forgive himself if he were to hurt you.
mark grayson loves when you give him kisses unexpectedly, they’re like rewards. he finishes his meal and cleans the dishes? he’ll earn a kiss and cheek squish. you’ve noticed how he tends to lean into your kisses, melting under your touch, marks wrapped around your finger.
mark grayson who flies in the air, the sun kissing his face as he thinks about you. the atmosphere was so beautiful, it reminded him of you, how you’re so effortlessly stunning. mark texts you a photo of the sun hitting the clouds, his next message read—‘date here tmrw!’
mark grayson who doesn’t think he’s needy, he just likes being around you. his eyes linger on you while your out shopping, he likes how intense you get whenever looking for clothes. mark likes how goofy you are, even if he’s the goofiest out of you both.
