Hi angels! Welcome to my blog! im using this page as a way to just post my fanart and doodles with no pressure! I mostly draw big beautiful men in jjk but dont worry im multifandom. There might be times where i fixate on one character more than others lol..
yes i am perv but i dont care #youngho #befreepervygirls #womeninmenfields
There are times where i pop out here to post but most of the time I procraciontate, school gets in the way or I overthink my work, I’ll try to post every other day to get out of the slums of art block! Other times I just share random thoughts in my head.
I do post NSFW or suggestive content so minors, do not interact. >:(
Likes and reposts are appreciated as well!! Thanks for all the love!
Synopsis. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! Look up out—it’s Supergirl. The villains fear you. The headlines hate you. The Justice League doesn’t understand you. And no one cares except for perhaps…Nanami Kento from the investigative journalism department. Tall. Blond. And sweeter than the world’s most potent aphrodisiac.
But he doesn’t know that.
The problem is that the villains now do.
Pairing. Nanami Kento x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!Supergirl!reader, journalist!Nanami, DC AU, Supergirl AU, he’s Iowk like genderbent Lois Lane, nerdy Nanami, journaIism, headIines, inhibitions, you’re hated by the pubIic, but he Ioves you, saving people, saving the worId, more about finding yourself acc, miId vioIence, feeIings, aphrodisíacs, Nanami is PÚSSYDRUNK, hand j’s, oraI (fem rec.), fíngering, spítting, x-ray vision, heat vision, YOUR powers, manhandIing, matíng presses, he’s FÉRAL, he’s big, making it fit, tummy buIges, pressing down on it, cervíx smooches, struggling to take it, making HIM break, creampíes, s with feeIings, confessions, getting together, happy ending, Kenjaku mentions, Nanami with glasses, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.7k
A/N. Haven’t watched the new Supergirl movie yetttt but I just KNEW I had to do an AU.
MEET THE NEW GIRL IN SPACE!
SUPERGIRL: THREE A-LIST VILLAINS AND THEIR HENCHMEN DOWN IN SHINJUKU TRAIN FIGHT. DESTRUCTION PRICELESS—!
SUPERGIRL FLIPS OFF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE MID-AIR?! TAKES DOWN THEIR VILLAIN FIRST. ACCUSED OF STEALING THE SPOTLIGHT?
SUPERGIRL HANGS ZENIN CONGLOMERATE HEIR—ZENIN NAOYA—BY HIS SHOELACES FROM TOKYO TOWER! CITES ‘CHAUVINISM’ (EXCLUSIVE)
SUPERGIRL—THE NEW FACE OF HEROES OR A DARK TURN FOR JUSTICE?
That last particular headline makes you scoff.
Your eyes are darting to the byline; and immediately afterwards they’re on the verge of rolling. Who else would write such a rag of an article but Usami from the sports journalism department? And it’s not like Supergirl even had anything to do with the latest football scores or which manager had been sacked recently.
But you suppose everybody wanted a piece of you now.
“It’s rotten, isn’t it?” A voice trundles behind you—low and lightly husked. “They beg for a saviour, but in the face of one it’s revealed that what they really want is perfection. But with everyone’s definition of perfection being different…”
Nanami Kento.
“-isn’t what they really want just conforming to their mold?”
You’re turning around.
A faint smile on your lips. “Then what can we do about all the different molds?”
Nanami nods. “No one person is correct. It’ll never be good enough.” He lets out a soft sigh before pushing up his gold-rimmed glasses; they were a delicate kind that seemed to have a faint glow whenever they caught the light filtering in from Tokyo’s busy morning. Perfectly paired against Nanami’s handsome face—in the sort of classical, movie-star manner that might have caused him to be hung up on posters in teenage bedrooms or emblazoned outside of theatres.
Or so you’ve heard human customs tend to do so.
And yet, here Nanami Kento was: standing in a cream-colored suit with ink smudges on his fingertips. It often surprised you how a perfect Earthling like this was simply tucked-away in a little cubicle at Daily Planet Newspaper.
You certainly have never seen another like so.
But you got to see his face everyday—so you weren’t exactly complaining.
Nanami’s eyes drop at the growing smile on your face, and he pushes up a strand of golden-blond hair. That was just about as mussed-up as that perfectly slicked hairstyle of his would ever become. “Apologies. It’s just- it really bothers me to see the shit being written about Supergirl with no basis. Especially in respectable newspapers.”
“Well, it is the gossip column.”
“The sports section?”
“Same thing.” It was all human mish-mash to you either way. Beside him, the corner of Nanami’s lips give the faintest twitch. You’re flipping through the latest print of Daily Planet to another page; this time one with your (Supergirl’s) face plastered centrespread. Mid-air and your red cape flying behind you. It’s been only a few years since you’d landed on Earth after the destruction of Krypton. Then only a few weeks since you’d debuted as a superhero: stealing the spotlight from Green Lantern and the rest of the Justice League as you swooped in and defeated Metallo.
Ever since then it’d been an explosion of newspaper headlines and television shows and even sketches; both good and bad. Mostly bad. You weren’t sure what got you off to the wrong foot. Maybe it was the uniform that too-closely resembled Superman’s? Maybe it was the crude words you’d spit out at villains mid-fight? Maybe it was that one time you flipped off the Justice League for being too late to the fight?
In your defense, you thought Earthlings said something about early birds getting the villains?
And maybe all those were correct.
But whatever it was—they would tear you apart. Then piece you back. Then tear you apart again. You weren’t the family-friendly image of a superhero that most were; and it made something at the pit of your stomach feel saturated and dark and useless to have to edit such articles time and time again. To have to write them yourself, if you wanted to get approved by your higher-ups.
Perhaps that was a part of human culture?
Fuck those windbags either way.
You didn’t understand how any other hero did it - then again it wasn’t as if you could easily ask them. You weren’t an official part of the Justice League—and you didn’t see yourself getting welcomed with open arms anytime soon. So you hid yourself away and semi-hypnotized those at your workplace to see a forgettable face whenever they looked at you - not Supergirl—even so, it was brittle at best.
Kryptonian hypnosis wasn’t as powerful as Martians. What you could merely do was suggest. “So- you don’t think Supergirl’s too crass?”
Nanami looks up, brows somewhat furrowed. “I quite frankly don’t think it matters. Who am I to judge?”
“Oh yeah? What about too destructive? Too disrespectful of the Justice League?”
“Again, who am I to judge?” Now, Nanami’s taking a seat—his desk was opposite yours, your backs to one another as you tap-tap-tapped away at new articles everyday. “Maybe she could do with a little less destruction of public infrastructure and that’s fine, but if she’s too crass then she’s too crass. That’s just her. Just as I’m not forced to like it—it’s silly to expect every superhero to conform to the ideal. Not one person nor mold is completely correct.”
From his seat, he tips his head up and looks at your standing self.
“But, personally, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Green Lantern in the first place.”
This time, it’s your turn to attempt to keep a too-big smile off your face.
You give him a pointed look. “I dunno. I heard she steals candy from babies—says so on Page 9.”
“Ridiculous.” Nanami cocks his head and beckons for the newspaper from you; after you hand it to him he flips through to that very page and scans it. “And precisely without proof. This is why I’ve been investigating Supergirl, beyond what these pages or secret sources say—”
From where you were, you could hear Usami loudly bragging to his colleagues a few desks over about the ‘exclusive source’ that gave him that little tidbit of information. You wanted to roll your eyes again.
“-and I’ve been working on something.”
“What is it?” You lean over to look as Nanami unlocks one of his desk drawers and pulls out a thick file. Unmarked. Your heart leaps to your throat as he sweeps it open to reveal pages upon pages of…pictures of you.
Not you—
—but you as Supergirl.
You mid-flight amongst thunderclouds. You amongst rubble. You pushing a kid behind you in order to shield him from a villain. You with your face twisted in fury as you’re pummeling that very same villain with a ferociousness that scared most - even civilians.
Which explained the headlines.
You skulking off into an alleyway before the medics and police could arrive, as you always did.
You. You. You. You. You.
And around them were notes scribbled in Nanami’s own neat hand.
Hero analysis:
Best skills: Superhuman strength, superhuman speed (comparable to that of the Flash), heat vision, physiological control, martial arts (see more on…)
Costume is that of similar style of Superman however with the added adaptabilities of…(sketch on back)
—one of the strongest debuts of any superhero in history. The supervillain Metallo has been terrorizing—
—though at odd relations with the Justice League, it seems that clashes over justice enactment—
—train—
—the greatest—
Female. 20’s to 30’s. Features may be changeable with Kryptonian powers (follow up with…). Suspected resident in Tokyo—concentration of fights here; in close contact with the Justice League who has headquarters here in Tokyo. Furthermore, seems familiar with the alleyways for her ‘disappearing act’ (for more thorough analysis see more on…) and mapping (more on…) has revealed that Supergirl tends to head in the wider direction of—Kabukicho.
(Follow up).
Your eyes widen.
Fuck.
You have to change up the bars you hit after fights.
And just when you think your heart can’t leap any higher; he flips through a few more pages and stops on one particular piece of evidence - the biggest of them all - a frontpage newspaper clipping of you…and him. Nanami all dust-covered and dishevelled, bleeding from a cut on his forehead, as you threw his arm over your shoulders and helped him out of Tokyo Downtown Bakery. You had your face twisted in fury, and Nanami…you never noticed it before, but Nanami was looking at you like you were the Sun.
The fight had happened just last week: you’d been heading home after work when your superhearing told you something was off. An explosion downtown.
Tokyo Downtown Bakery was a favorite of gods, mutants, aliens, and other non-humans alike. Known for it, in fact. And there was only one villain you could think of that wanted to take down such non-humans—Kenjaku.
You’d zipped there as fast as your flight could take you, and only once you were there had you heard a familiar heartbeat. More frantic now, of course. But familiar.
Nanami was trapped underneath the rubble.
Kenjaku saw your momentary distraction - the realization that made your blood grow cold - and had taken the chance to disappear into the shadows.
After making sure that every other customer and employee didn’t have to be flown to the hospital urgently, you dropped onto your knees in front of the mountain of rubble and dug and dug. And dug. And dug. You dug until you felt the control over your physiology slipping, and small cuts started to apply at your fingertips—healing over instantly. Then getting ripped open all over as you just kept- on- digging.
In reality it must have been less than five or ten minutes, but it felt like months, before you finally flung away the last block of debris from a soft body. And Nanami Kento stirred.
That was what had resulted in the photograph, and the headlines that followed.
SUPERGIRL A WEEK INTO SUPERHEROISM AND ALREADY LETTING VILLAINS ESCAPE?
SUPERGIRL PAUSES FIGHT FOR BREAK?! MORE LIKE LAZYGIRL (Exclusive)
SUPERGIRL SAVES THE DAY AGAIN—BUT WHAT ABOUT THE INFRASTRUCTURE?
SUPERGIRL SAVES RUBBLE-TRAPPED CIVILIANS: “I owe her my life.”
That last one boasted the picture. And the byline of Nanami Kento.
You try to control your breathing.
“Ever since she saved me, I’ve been trying to understand Supergirl better. That fury on her face…I’ve been trying to figure out who she is-”
“To…expose her?”
“No.” Nanami shakes his head. The both of you were breathless - though for very different reasons. Excitement practically makes him glow, “To maybe try and interview her- personally. I want to see what she’s like beyond all those cashgrab headlines and the rumors. And…”
You’re silent as he pauses.
“-and I want to thank her personally.” So soft.
“Oh.” Your voice sounds small. Smaller than you’ve ever heard it.
He’s then closing his file and looking up at you so sweetly—“And if you’re interested, then maybe we could work together on it? I actually got a tip that I’m about to go do some field work on right now.” A sudden burst of shyness makes Nanami’s cheekbones burn a pretty rouge as you stare at him intensely. That was one thing you loved about humans - immense control over your physiology meant Kryptonians couldn’t blush unless you made yourselves. Humans couldn’t control when they blushed and it was just the sweetest thing to you. Was Nanami’s heartbeat picking up? “That is…if you would like to? I know you likely have better articles to work on, but just in case…”
He trails off and you’re trailing behind your head and your heart.
Your heart that wanted you to say yes.
Your head that made you say—
“I’m sorry.” You feel your heart fall. There’s a simmering of anger at yourself; soothed partially by the understanding that the more time you spent with Nanami…the higher the chance was of him finding out who you were. There were countless people out to get you: villains, henchmen, reporters. And the second-best thing to getting you was getting someone you cared for that knew you. About you.
The only powerless humans that knew about you were Clark’s- Superman’s adoptive parents.
And whatever misery that might put you in - you’d take it twofold if it meant keeping one more normal Earthling like Nanami safe. You’re taking a step back and giving him a sheepish smile. “It’s just I have this really ah- riveting story to write about the erm- tax refunds and the economic implications of Supergirl’s last fight and…”
“Oh!” Nanami nods fervently, pushing his glasses up. Embarrassment radiated off of him like a miniature Sun, and you wanted nothing more than to reach out and tell him this was on you. But alas. “Oh, right, of course- I wish you luck with that.”
“Thank you.” You smile, lips pressed together to prevent a sigh. “I’m going to need it.”
“A journalist like you? Not in the least.”
With a nod of graciousness, you’re just about to leave Nanami’s table and pretend that the latter half of this interaction perhaps never happened. You almost wished Kryptonians had the ability to hypnotize themselves as they could to others. And you’re considering a much more interesting article about that before you’re stopping in your tracks and half-glancing at Nanami over your shoulder.
He was hard at work gathering his things for what you assume to be the extra field work regarding his Supergirl article.
You feel your heart clench.
“Nanami?”
He looks up eagerly. “Yes?”
Your words are slightly less than steady once you speak again. “If- when you discover Supergirl’s identity…you might be…disappointed. They say she’s nothing like Superman.”
“She doesn’t have to be.”
As Nanami throws his messenger bag over his shoulder and stands to leave—“I’ll see you tomorrow, my darling.” But he calls everyone that, doesn’t he?
“And I’ll…be working late.”
“Be careful not to miss your train.”
You don’t look at him until the very last second. When his tall frame is ducking beneath the doorway to the Daily Planet journalism department; cream-colored suit and golden glasses; old movie star looks drawing eyes, but not too close so he’ll never know that you stared at him from afar. Never.
You sink into your chair.
“What was that about?”
Had your superhuman senses not told you about Shoko’s nearing presence, you would have been startled. But you’re throwing in a slight jump just for the sake of it.
“Oh- come on.” Shoko says with a roguish grin. There was a slender cigarette tucked between her index and her middle finger; as was wont to have if one was Ieiri Shoko. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever seen her without one. “Not dramatic enough. Next time try throwing in a little gasp there.”
It seems that you still had work to do on your human reactions…“What have I told you about the cigarette smell getting on the papers?” You grimace at her - this particular human pleasure was especially sensitive to your nose.
“Can’t remember.” She replies, blowing out her last puff of smoke.
Shoko was perhaps your one exception to humans not knowing about your true identity—for the sole fact that she wasn’t your average human. Smooth. Silent. And stupidly intelligent - Shoko was perhaps the best investigative journalist Tokyo had to offer.
Which was to be expected, of course, given that she was the protégé of The Question.
A normal human journalist—just with enough combat skill and power to get him inducted into the Justice League. The Question had been a master in hand-to-hand combat even amongst the most trained superheroes; which paired well with the depth of investigative journalism that he would do. He exposed criminal underworlds that led to likely half the lodgers at Tokyo Island Penitentiary.
When you’d been reading up on the superheroes of Earth - both current and inactive - it was his sheer heroism as a mere human that’d inspired you to become a journalist as well.
The Question had hand-picked Shoko as his successor—and for good reason. After his passing due to old age, Shoko quickly proved herself to be a master with the pen; she cracked her ink like a whip. Just last week, she’d exposed that damned Lex Luthor’s embezzling which at least got him out of Superman’s hair for some time. And despite the publicity of the event, the covert nature of her heroism meant she didn’t have to deal with the constant headlines.
Shoko was no different than those at the Justice League. Than you.
But she was an enigma.
So you couldn’t have asked for anyone better to have walked in on you hurriedly changing into your supersuit in the cramped cubicle bathrooms at the Daily Planet - there was a train about to go off-course a few thousand kilometers away - than Shoko.
“Oh.” You remember it like it was yesterday. The door had swung open as you had one foot into the suit. “The lock’s broken.” She’d said.
“Uh…occupied?” You’d murmured then, in a voice higher-pitched than usual. You considered hypnotizing her twofold- no wait, there was some power to do with amnesia even though you weren’t sure whether it would be—
“I know what you’re thinking.” Shoko had smiled then. “And don’t you dare try - not because I’d say anything, but because the Justice League’s paperwork is a pain in the ass when you try to fight another superhero.”
Your jaw had dropped. “Another…?” You’d shove that paperwork up their asses- but another superhero?
“Haven’t guessed it already?” Shoko shoved a hand into her long jacket, pulling out a square piece of what almost looked like rubber. It was in the exact shade as her skin tone, and when she placed it over her face—
“Featureless.” You’d gasped. Pseudoderm. “Just like The Question.”
“Flattered you know us, Supergirl.”
But there was no more time for chit-chat—that train you’d been hearing was dangerously close to going off-tracks now, and you’d hastily begun stuffing yourself into your supersuit. To which Shoko hadn’t flinched - instead appraising you curiously. “Why don’t you just wear that underneath your suit?”
“Because…” Because you were too afraid of someone sneaking a peak at the suit underneath. Because you were too afraid of being Supergirl when you were your ‘human’ self—hated. At least as a human you weren’t hated. Because you were too afraid of walking around as two halves making up one whole, when one half was all you needed at a time to feel content.
Ultimately you settled for not saying anything at all. “Listen- please don’t-”
“Yeah, yeah- I’ve already been through this song and dance.” She waved you off absent-mindedly. “Don’t reveal your secret identity to anyone. Don’t make it obvious when you’re off saving the world.”
You felt a smile come to your face at those last few words.
“You don’t think I’m…ruining justice instead?” A rush of embarrassment ran through you for even asking.
But Shoko merely cocked her silky head. “Hah, no? And who cares what the Justice League thinks? Now go do superhero things, superhero.”
The train and its passengers were saved in record time that day. And just like she’d said, Shoko hadn’t spilled a word.
Though for all the secrets she kept- she did love hearing them.
“So…” She relights her cigarette. “Did Nanami finally ask you out and you rejected him?”
“What-” You’re turning to her with a yelp. “He did not—” She takes the moment to blow a cloud of smoke at your papers, and you’re snatching the cigarette from between her lips and snuffing it out on one of your ceramic desk decorations.
“Hey…” Shoko whines.
Finally you’re whispering to her in a low tone - “He did not ask me out. And I did not reject him.”
“Then why’d he leave all sad and puppy-eyed?”
You’re turning around—almost as if expecting Nanami there still. “He didn’t…did he?”
“Maybe. I didn’t see. But you looked, didn’t you?” Chuckling. The Question takes the cigarette back from you, and holds it out of your reach.
“That was only because you-” You find that you don’t quite have much to say - at least not something that Shoko would pay heed to. And so you’re settling for a few grumbled curses—“No. He just asked me to be part of one of his articles.”
Shoko looks up in interest. “Oh? About what?”
“Supergirl.” You cross your arms. “He said he wanted to figure out who she was so he could interview her- I said no, of course.”
Shoko - who’d now newly relit her cigarette - takes a long drag and lets it free into the air. “Why?”
“What?”
“Why’d you say no?”
You take her cigarette and put it out again. “Because the more time I spend with him, the more likely he is to…find out. And with everything going on, I can’t risk putting him in danger.”
“Hm…” Shoko thinks for some time. “Putting him in danger? Or putting his image of you in danger?” She stares at you intently. “Are you really afraid that he’s going to be captured by villains you’ve been defeating time and time again these past few weeks? Maybe.” Then she’s gently tugging the cigarette from between your fingertips - to light it again. A final time. “Or are you more afraid that once he finds out who you truly are- he’s going to be just like the rest of them?”
You don’t bother reaching for the cigarette anymore. “I…”
But Shoko wasn’t done just yet. She blows her smoke into the air and lets it linger. “It’s just like these papers and this smoke. When the nicotine sticks to them, it’s invisible but it’s there—even if you don’t like it. But that doesn’t change its contents. Nor does that make it any less worthy than any other article here.”
You crinkle your nose. “But others won’t like it either.”
“So fuck them.” She stands. “It’s gonna be printed into a damn article, it doesn’t need to smell like rainbows and roses. No two newspapers are printed the same.”
And with that said, Shoko striding off. Cigarette and all.
And you’re left staring at a blank paper—ready for typing.
.
.
.
Nanami Kento had never quite been to this area of Tokyo.
It was one of the seedier places; an amalgamation of everything your mother advises you against. Past the bars and the spas, past the graffiti-tattooed walls and the alleyways that seemed to stretch into darkness endlessly. Past men slouched on roads - drunk or dead. Past the rattle of trains in the distance and rats who chittered at the only abode they truly ruled. Where even those cowered standing next to—and one goes to share the same fear doused upon this neighborhood, doled, perhaps to replace that of their own.
Then again, there was a strange beauty in it itself - like a giant wound mending itself.
There was a stun gun in his pocket. He wondered what this place would look like in daylight.
He ignored the knot in his throat as he kept on walking.
It wasn’t the place you’d expect to find a superhero - then again, Supergirl didn’t listen to anyone’s expectations of her.
Often after fights, he’d see you disappearing into the shadows of a building or a lone alleyway such as these. As if never there. You didn’t wait around for any authorities or paparazzi. And it was only after weeks of investigation that he’d managed to narrow it down to one district that you were frequenting: Kabukicho.
Even afterwards, he’d quickly learned that it wasn’t simply the entertainment district that you were fond of.
You were fond of hiding.
Asking around for sightings of a person of your description took Nanami meters away from actual Kabukicho, and down narrow alleys and underground streets. Into clubs and behind hotels. Into the seediest, smallest establishments hadn’t even the faintest waft of a main street. Currently he was heading towards a bar he was directed towards by an anonymous tip; the tip had said that you came here at least once a week or so. Sometimes not even to drink - just to people-watch.
And if Nanami Kento knew anything about you: it was that you found humans fascinating.
He’d seen it after fights, when you’d watch families rush to one another and embrace. He’d seen it even during fights, as you analyzed villains that were easy prey.
And he wondered…did you find humans interesting as much as they found you? Or at least, he did.
It’s after a few minutes of walking down this small street, lit only by the angry neon signs of underground clubs, that he stops before a squat bat. THE CHAMELEON—the sign said.
He pats the stun gun in his pocket.
And with a deep breath, he’s walking in.
The stench of liquor dances a frenzied waltz with cigarettes; it reaches his nose though he doesn’t cringe as he weaves between closely-pressed tables. Patrons hunched over nursing their columns of glasses look up at him suspiciously as he walks past them. He knew he should have changed out of his cream-colored suit.
It was barely visible in the bar, due to the faint light buzzing solely from a few spots on the ceiling, surrounded by wine-drunk flies, but Nanami managed to sit himself down at the counter. A bartender with long greyish-blue hair wiping greasy glasses with an even greasier rag looks up at him.
“Ah…” Nanami’s eyes fall to the glass and the rag - he himself was a good drinker, though the establishments he frequented were nothing of this sort. “Just a beer, please.”
The bartender asks, “Mmm, tap?”
“Do you have bottles-”
“No bottles.”
“Then ah- just a water, please.”
“No water either.” He says in a strangely melodic voice, “Just cider. Just cider. Apple, peach, and pear~!”
Nanami looks at the man warily, “Then…a peach cider please.”
The bartender shrugs then takes the rag—blowing his nose into it- before he throws it somewhere over his shoulder and fetches a peach cider for Nanami. It pools condensation onto the counter as it’s set in front of him, but he doesn’t reach for it even a single millimeter.
“What are you trying to find, young man?”
Nanami almost flinches.
The voice comes from the seat next to him; gruff and gravelly like when one has smoked far too many cigarettes for far too long. As he turns—the man next to him laughs. He had a white, wide-rimmed hat tipped low over his face, and was wearing an equally stark white suit. It was just about the only things he could make of him - nothing of his actual features.
And though Nanami didn’t know the man, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of kinship as the two patrons of the bar that didn’t seem like they belonged there.
Despite this, however, this other man’s fingers found a chip in his cider glass with familiarity.
“There are only two reasons that folks come down to a bar like this: either to lose something—pain, memories, fatigue; or to find something.” He nods his head over at the younger man, but still doesn’t reveal a sliver of a face. “And since you haven’t touched that cider of yours, young man, I’m assuming…”
“Finding something, I suppose.” Almost robotic, Nanami grasps his glass.
He thinks he sees a flash of a smile from the other man.
Nanami continues, “Maybe you can help me? Would you happen to have seen someone come in tonight-” His heart thunders as he lists off the features written down in that file of his—and the man keeps nodding with each one. “-perhaps around my age, though-”
“So it’s love problems.”
He stops short. “What?”
“Love problems.” That man clucks out a wet laugh, then takes a swig of his cider.
Nanami responds hesitantly. “I’m…afraid you misunderstand. I’m just trying to find-”
“I know perfectly what you mean.” He displays a set of paper-white teeth, gleaming. Reaching into his coat pocket, he slaps something down on the marble counter. “Her, right?”
Nanami peers in and finds it to be a blurry polaroid of you at this very bar, taken like you hadn’t known it was happening. And you weren’t revelling like one would have expected you to after a constant winning streak against villains. You weren’t even lamenting your woes with your fellow bar patrons.
You were just…watching.
Alone at a booth. Nothing in front of you but a water- perhaps that bartender had lied to him.
It was a night livelier than this one, evidently, as bachelor celebrations and 21st birthday parties and seemingly drunken singing surrounded you from all angles. But you simply watched. Waited. There was something so sorrowfully beautiful about you that it made Nanami’s heart ache.
“It’d been my buddy’s divorce party and someone had pulled out the polaroid. He snapped a picture and somehow I just couldn’t find it in myself to part with it…there’s something so haunting about it.”
Nanami merely stares speechlessly, running his finger down the edge of the picture.
“Trying to understand someone is, too, an act of love isn’t it?” The other man says. Before Nanami could respond, he’s polishing off the last few drops of his cider and getting off the chair—he seemed much taller when he was standing. “Come now. This Supergirl of yours is quite the party- after draining The Chameleon she tends to head East towards the Golden Gai. Finish up your cider and then we can go.”
“R-right.” Nanami’s hand almost falls to pat his stun gun reassuringly- but under the man’s scrutiny he reaches for the cider instead. “And sorry- what was your name again Mr…?”
“Come now, come now. We can save the pleasantries for when we walk there, young man.”
“Right.”
Bringing it up to his lips.
Almost. “But how did you know I was searching for Super-”
He sighs. “You journalists ask too many questions.”
And with a forceful shove, he’s making Nanami chug down the cider - blood and peaches coating his tongue. And the sharp shot of something else he couldn’t place.
“And you can call me Kenjaku, young man.”
And then it’s black.
“I saw the way Supergirl—” Spit. “—looked at you. And I must thank you for leading her to me.”
Kilometers away, you’re in the middle of heading to the train station with Shoko. You’d both gotten off work late and were lamenting what a pain it’d be to get up tomorrow morning—
Your head snaps up.
You’re immediately looking behind you.
“What is it?” Shoko asks with no small sense of emergency.
That gasp. That thud.
You’ve never heard it; yet you’d recognize it anywhere.
“Something bad has happened.”
.
.
.
Alleyways. Bar. Rats. Love Hotel. Alleyways. Bar. Bar. Alleyways. Alleyways. Alleyways.
Why did you have to go down so many alleyways?
It was a bar that you’d only been to once; the shadows were long and the cider was sweet—but ultimately you’d decided that you didn’t want to return. It was the day after you’d saved Nanami Kento.
And now you were doing the very same thing.
THE CHAMALEON had wound down for the night by the time that you skidded to a halt before it - with the tar road cratering beneath you as you stopped. There’s a thundering noise that echoes down the gloomy streets of this forgotten part of Kabukicho. You don’t waste a single second longer before kicking the door open and storming inside—
“Ah~ my lovely Supergirl.”
“Kenjaku.” You spit. The bar was empty save for the man seated at the counter - a dark waterfall of hair, darker eyes - and in his hand he held a single glass of what you assumed to be cider. “Where is he-”
“Slow down, my dear.” He croons. “Why don’t you sit back? Have a drink or two? And then maybe we can-”
“Where the fuck is he.”
It happens instantaneously—in a jerky movement you’re picking up an entire table by its leg. Using a mere fraction of your strength, you chuck it at the man - not quite to hit just yet - and it flies past him with naught a hair’s breadth of space between the side of his head and the table. Crashing against the wall of alcohol bottles in the back; liquor and shards of glass explode behind Kenjaku, yet he doesn’t move a single muscle. Not a single muscle.
Not even his lips to speak.
It infuriates you that he can remain sitting and sipping his cider without a care in the world- and so you’re striding towards him. Though striding was perhaps a kinder word.
Grabbing a bottle off the counter, he breaks its end and attempts to stab you.
You dodge.
He stabs.
You dodge.
He swipes your cheek—
“Motherfucker you better know that I don’t care what you do to me-” Each word leaves you like a dagger. “I don’t care how you hurt me-” And within a few seconds, you’ve closed the gap completely to grip him by the collar and raise Kenjaku a foot off his chair. “But what the fuck have these innocent people ever done to you?”
Suddenly, his eyes go wide and he starts laughing.
And you’re only watching in stunned silence.
You only can watch—Kenjaku laughs long and unabashed, with a strange hitch like a crow’s call - he laughs so hard that he has to wipe away a tear. It sends red-hot fury curdling in your veins.
You reel your fist back.
Tightly-coiled. Trembling with anger.
And you’re just about to swing—
When Kenjaku raises a single finger - the gesture humans often do when asking for a moment of your time - that makes you halt in your tracks. Whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, you didn’t want to risk anything that might put Nanami in danger.
And so you wait.
And you watch.
As Kenjaku’s eyes fall to the glass of cider that had been kept on the counter. He takes it in his hand. He clears his throat, “You should have been here earlier, oh- your little boyfriend was just drinking away his woes. Something about his love being a filthy alien, you see?” Those deep amethyst eyes—they were so dark that they seemed to leave a stain where they then turned to look at you.
You can’t take your eyes off of him - even as you bring your raised punch back and instead grasp Kenjaku’s neck with both hands. If you can’t pummel him to death, you were ready to strangle him.
Your hands tighten.
“O-oh.” Kenjaku’s hands claw down your forearms, but he’s powerless against you. “The truth hurts, doesn’t it?”
They tighten.
“And you already know it’s true, don’t you? You know that deep down—you’re everything they say you are- you’re everything and worse-” They tighten. His skin starts turning blue then purple. “Why else would they hate you so? They know- they know it and you do, too.”
They tighten.
And even though you had the upperhand, seemingly, Kenjaku seems to crane his head down to whisper to you.
“You were nothing. You are nothing. You will always and forevermore be nothing.”
Your breath hitches- and Kenjaku knows he’s got you.
Unbidden from your senses, you’re letting go of him - he stumbles to the ground but manages to catch himself on the bar counter. Throwing an arm over it to steady himself, Kenjaku looks down at his cider glass once more, with only a few drops at the bottom of it.
He throws back those last few ounces and holds the glass out to you- “Be a dear for me, and help your little boyfriend get me another glass, will you? It seems he’s gotten his…hands full.”
Shit.
Shit.
You’re forgetting to even fly down to the bar—you’re breaking off a leg of a nearby stool then bending the metal into something that resembles a handcuff, quickly restraining Kenjaku for the time being before darting downstairs. There was a dingy staircase in the corner of the room, of which the rusty handrailing bends and warps as you grip it with your superhuman strength.
As you do, Kenjaku calls after you…“But do be careful not to miss your train~!”
It doesn’t take long before you find yourself at the bottom of a damp cellar- running to a Nanami Kento who’d been hopelessly bound and gagged. His golden hair falls in front of his face. His skin glistens with sweat.
And as soon as you reach him, you’re noticing the sheer heat that radiates off of him.
It was as if he was on fire—
Was this…?
“Nanami- Kento.” You’re hissing - you don’t need to untie those cloth restraints, you’re tearing straight through them. Removing the fabric gag and cupping his face, you look deep into his eyes. “Kento- oh, are you alright? Speak to me-”
“Go.”
“What-”
“The train.” Tears fell down his handsome cheeks. His bottom lip was trembling as though he was cold - even though he felt like an inferno to the touch. “My darling, don’t worry about me worry about the train-”
You insist. “What about the train, Kento?”
“Kenjaku- fuck, I overheard him telling his henchmen to destruct the Yurikamome line on the Rainbow Bridge- the train is going to go over it any second now—”
Brows furrowing, you focus your supersenses. Hearing. “But that can’t be, I should hear…”
The zooming of a train. The distant rattling of train tracks that sounded different than usual - too different, too distant.
Then it hits you.
“Kento, while you were here, did you encounter anything…strange?”
He strangles out. “The peach cider he gave me- a-after that I just…”
“I understand.” Your mind was racing a mile a minute—Kento. The train. Kento. The train. Kento. “Kenjaku probably laced it with something to weaken you, and amongst that he must have added…”
Your blood goes cold.
“Hold on tight.” And without another word, you’re scooping the man into your arms - a princess carry. You hold him to you like the most precious thing on Earth and Krypton as you crash! through the top of the cellar—past several stories without a single scratch nor ache. Past bottles of liquor and ceramic tiles. Past layers of concrete and your fear.
Once you’re out into the wild night, you’re taking in incredible lungfuls of crisp air, soothing the burning sensation in your lungs.
You could almost ignore the gasps around you- as people whip out their cameras. This time, you don’t shy from them.
Gently; you’re hovering down to the street below and setting Nanami down. “Are you okay, Kento?”
“Yes- yes.” He’s gasping as he struggles to stand- you’re attempting to help him, only for Nanami to back away as though afraid. Something painful twinges inside you.
And he must see the breaking of your expression - because he’s immediately rushing to answer. “The thing that was in that cider…it was Kryptonite, wasn’t it?” Your silence is enough of an answer. “You have to go.”
You step towards him. “We have to get you to a hospital. The Kryptonite-”
“The train-”
“Just let me-”
“The Kryptonite will poison you before it ever even thinks of poisoning me. Do you really think I’d ever- fucking ever put my life above yours?” Nanami Kento doesn’t exactly yell—but his voice carries to your superhuman senses above anything else. Anything else. “Save the people on the train. Save the world. Save yourself- for everything I love, please please leave me- save them, Supergirl.”
You’re straightening.
“I’ll be back for you, Kento.”
Stumbling back a few steps; you have to shake your head to do away with the fogginess of the Kryptonite.
And then you’re in the air once more.
Wind whipping your face. Cape thrashing behind you.
The clouds stick to your features and form condensation with how fast you’re flying to the train- fuck.
Once you get there, you’re seeing exactly what Nanami had been talking about.
The train track where the Yurikamome Line was going on top of - the lower deck of Rainbow Bridge - was completely obliterated in the middle. Throngs of metal sticking upwards. Train track rattling like a wounded snake. The train was charging full speed ahead, the driverless transit unaware of any anomaly in the track.
Just enough of a gap that it would prove fatal to the 160,000 passengers aboard.
Just enough of a gap that you could zip down—as fast as you could go. As low as you could afford. And as fearful as any human would have been in that moment - and just as foolhardy.
And as the Yurikamome Line heads towards the broken railroad, you’re lifting the train once it passes. The dip in the train track; you’re making up for it with your hands and your shoulders—never letting the Line falter even a single decree—it stretches and stretches and sinks its heavy metal body down onto yours. Rolling over your shoulders. Like nothing you’ve ever felt before- you have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up. You have to keep your shoulders up.
Your body was indestructible. But you’re feeling cuts on your palms. But you’re feeling the strain on your core and your deltoids.
Every single axiom in your body was screaming—
Towards the middle mark of the Yurikamome Line, you feel a dip- fuck.
Gritting your teeth, you let out a clenched groan as you push the train up. From inside you can hear passengers scream. And from the horizon, you can hear news helicopters thundering.
Please.
A tear runs down your cheek. You struggle to move.
Please. Please. Please.
You’re pushing the train upwards with all your might.
Humanity above, only you know how strong you can be.
Be strong.
.
.
.
Birds are twittering.
You would have assumed that the afterlife had no shortage of birds, too; but it’s a bit odd to you that they’re singing a tune so jolly.
Personally, since you were dead, you’d like to sing something more lamentable.
“My darling?”
It’s so quiet that you almost don’t hear it - but of course, you do. You’re Supergirl—and you hear everything everyone says to you whether you want to or not. But this one in particular sounds quite pretty in your ears - even prettier than the spring melodies of birds - and it makes you realize ah- angels…
But at the same time you’re realizing that angels didn’t exist on Krypton.
And then you’re shooting awake.
“Fucking fuck!”
Your graceful resurrection is marked by knocking your head with none other than Nanami Kento - whom you found quite understandable to mistake for an angel. As you’re clutching your forehead and letting out a few swears, he lets out nothing but the sweetest, soft chuckle—and as your vision slowly grows used to the light and unblurs, you’re seeing the most beautiful smile on his face.
His eyes crinkled at the edges, framed by golden glasses. His cheeks had one faint dimple each. And he was looking at you with something humans had never looked at you with - love.
It couldn’t…
Was that your heart thundering or his?
“You don’t know how happy I am that you’re awake.” Nanami whispers, as if afraid to break this fragile piece. This suspension in a place that didn’t quite seem to be Earth nor Krypton. He presses his forehead to yours—“I wanted to thank you first, my darling.”
“Thank me…for what?” You ask- your voice is incredibly hoarse. How long have you been out for?
Once you clutch your throat, Nanami hastens to pluck a glass of water off the bedside cabinet. And as you drink- you’re looking around the room. The next time you speak, it’s with a slightly steadier tone. “And where are we?”
“Ah- I guess I should apologize first.” Nanami says, sheepishly rubbing the blushing back of his neck. “We’re at my apartment. You’ve been asleep for about sixteen hours now.”
Your lips part.
He hurries to explain. “Chief Yaga from the police station wanted to keep you under their protection at the hospital, the Justice League insisted on keeping you at one of their quarters- your fan club wanted you all to themselves but…I…insisted you wake up in a place that’s somewhat of a home.” Eyes darting shyly downwards. “Just until you wake up- I asked Shoko and she wasn’t sure where you lived, either. You’re a very private person, Supergirl. And Superman is in outer space right now so…”
“Oh…I…I see.” You hold the glass limply in your hand. “And ah- fan club, you said?”
Nanami nods - you don’t see any humor in his eyes. “Your rescue of the train was shown on every channel and program- every breaking news. The Daily Planet won’t stop printing, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“That…” You feel strangely numb. “I don’t even know what to say. And the casualties-”
“Zero.”
“How did you get to the hospital?”
“Just after you left, Shoko arrived with the police to save me and arrest Kenjaku. Did you know that she’s a vigilante?”
You bite back a smile. “I did.”
He unabashedly smiles, as if meeting you for the first time. “And did you know that I know?”
“I figured by now.” Cocking your head.
“I always had a suspicion but…I don’t know what hypnosis you did but it just wouldn’t make sense in my mind. But when you came down to save me at the cellar, when you were affected by that Kryptonite it just…clicked.”
He’s reaching a hand up to softly cup your right cheek.
“It wouldn’t have made sense to be anyone else.”
It’s warm in Nanami’s bedroom. And it’s even warmer underneath the thin nightdress you’re wearing- you wonder where he got such a thing? And when you’d been put into it? It seems that he catches the questions in your gaze as it dawns upon you what you’re wearing—“I bought it for you after you got discharged at the hospital.” Nanami says. “Shoko helped you into it- althought…I did help.” With a shy blush, he’s looking away.
And you’re closing your eyes and leaning into the touch of his hand. “Thank you.”
You don’t need to specify for what.
“And then there’s that.” Nanami surprises you as he says, reinvigorated. And how completely correct you were in him having those old movie star looks - that smile of his, with the soft little dimple on each cheek, should be on the big screen. He has a knowing glint in his eyes. “Thank you for saving me- that time at the bakery.”
You feel a little breathless. “It’s no problem.”
“No but it was- it’s how Kenjaku managed to escape. And I know how much you got torn apart in the papers for it—” His jaw clenches. “I saw it everyday.”
You look down at your hands, clasped on top of Nanami’s sweet cream-white sheets. “It’s nothing.”
And slowly - but surely - at a pace that matches the hesitant staccato of your heartbeat, Nanami’s own larger, roughened hands are sliding across the sheets. Intertwining with yours. “It’s not.”
Your gaze was now flickering between your tangled hands and his unyielding gaze—you didn’t know which was more beautiful.
He continues, “And I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done. I know you don’t feel as if you’ve done enough to be thanked, but I can assure you- w-well, I don’t know how much my word will mean to you if anything at all, but just-”
“Kento.” You cut him off. “Kiss me.”
His lips meet yours and you never wish for them to leave; he tastes like coffee with a hint of honey and everything you’ve ever wanted. You feel as though you can finally breathe.
And he feels as though he can’t—and he’s searching for his first breath between your lips. Nanami gasps as you clutch his baby-blue button-up.
Nanami’s hand caresses the back of your neck, and he’s cockin’ your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss. Eventually you’re feeling that initial sweetness of first contact melt into somthing…more…something that makes your skin simmer, as he’s letting his pinkish tongue brush your lower lip.
With a gasp you’re welcoming him inside.
And before you know it, you’re being laid flat on your back with Nanami hovering on top of you. With a tap at his broad shoulders, you signal him to get up—and when Nanami’s on his knees before you you’re letting your hands…wander.
“O-oh.” His breath hitches. His Adam’s apple bobs. And a sizzling heat takes over the man’s body as your fingers trace the line of this throat- the valley of his pecs- the bumps of his abs.
All your knowledge of human anatomy led you to believe that he must be hiding immense strength beneath suits too-big for him, but even this was a surprise.
And then lower, lower, lower—until you’re reaching his rock-hard erection.
“Shit…” The soft grunt escapes the back of Nanami’s throat—unbidden. He immediately brings one roughened hand up to his mouth, chewin’ on the insides of his cheek as he watches your workings down below. Watches through half-lidded eyes as your palm’s meeting the bulge of his perfectly plaid pants. Cupping. Caressing.
Nanami’s breath grows more n’ more ragged as you keep palming- fuck, he was so big.
You don’t even have to use your x-ray vision to figure that out - but you’re doing so anyway. And what you’re seeing are about seven- eight? Inches of his swollen cock, all throbbing and pulsating underneath your touch. And beads—no, puddles of precum were constantly tearing out from the top of his shaft, creating a mess underneath that made Nanami feel shy.
You swear he’s growing even bigger once he feels the staring.
“A-are you using your…?” Nanami asks, pushing his thick glasses up.
“Mmm, maybe.” You’re cheekily replying. And in mere split-seconds you’ve used your heat vision to incinerate Nanami’s fabrics without actually hurting him.
He gasps and instinctively goes up to cover his aching erection-
But you’re stopping him with a hand of your own. Those fingers of yours wrapping around Nanami’s pale pink cock—he’s oh-so-thick at the base of it, surrounded by a scattering of golden tresses that graze the bottom of your hand.
You’re squeezing the hilt of Nanami’s shaft and he lets his head drop backwards with a moan- “Fuh-fuck. I could cum right here and right now, you know….”
“So do it.” You’re tugging his cock- until you’re reaching the mushroomy top of it and wipin’ away a speckle of precum. It feels so warm underneath your touch—he was just melting for you. “But just know that this is going to be a looooong night, Nanami Kento.”
He gulps.
Meanwhilst you’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s while you keep a constant pace fisting his length. Breaking off from the heated kiss only to lean down and spit-
A direct glob of your saliva gluing to Nanami’s puckered tip.
He’s shivering as it gleamingly trickles down his length—then reeling you into a kiss once more. “Mmm- I can hear your heartbeat, Kento.” You smile into the kiss. “Any reason why it increases when you’re around me?”
“I’m in love with you and I cannot lie about it.” And you don’t know what you expected - banter? Denial? But it certainly wasn’t outright confession, and it certainly wasn’t for Nanami to pant against your lips—to push you back onto the coiled mattress, and shuffle his body down until he’s between your legs.
With languid movements, he’s pressing your legs to the side until each one is pinned to the soft cotton sheets. And you let him.
Your peripherals locked with his. Nanami’s gold-rimmed glasses tracing your skin. You’re running a hand through Nanami’s blond mane as he presses a line of kisses up your right thigh, up your left thigh, before finally…“May I?”
“Please.”
The next sound escaping you is a deafening trill—as in that very moment Nanami pushes his face nose-deep between those legs. And his tongue’s darting outwards and swabbin’ up - eating you out as though he was starving.
Almost wolfish.
Mouth gaped wide open. Honed canines stickin’ against the opened sides of your folds.
Your eyes dart to the back of your head- as you’re feeling the dots of his tastebuds push through your nightgown. He was eating you out through your nightgown—
“Kento, take a breather.” You’re whispering down at him, peeping at the ravenous man through struggling lids. The pleasure was consuming every inch of you rapidly; and before long you snake a hand to lift up the nightgown. “Let me just take this off-”
“No.” Nanami’s warm hand comes gripping yours - with surprising strength for a human. “Please- please keep it on.” He struggles.
To even speak.
To even keep his breathing even.
To even unlatch himself from your pussy for the mere moments he has to speak- he didn’t want to waste a single second. And it’s with carnal ferocity that he’s stuffin’ himself back between your legs, flattening his tongue and pressing it against your hot folds. “A-at this point, it might just be the only thing keeping me sane, my darling…if I feel you in all your entirety then I might just-” Nanami’s voice cracks. “-break.”
“What do you mean, Kento…?” You’re breathing.
There was something…off about the handsome man. Sure, it could’ve just been the heated proximity that was warping your perception of him; but—
But that couldn’t explain the nearly-frenzied pace of his heartbeat - 112 BPM to be exact - or the furious red flush creeping down his neck, or the way he was plastered in a cold sweat. Golden tresses gluing to his forehead and the forefront of your pelvis. One of those beads of perspiration runs down his attractive nosebridge n’ ends up positioning where he was pushing and pushing his sensual face into your puffy folds. Cheeks hollowing as he’s sucklin’ on them through the barely-there barrier of your nightgown.
And you’re swiping your thumb across it - feeling the slightly-sticker consistency of his sweat.
More so than normal.
And somehow…sweeter?
It doesn’t take your heightened senses to realize—you start to tug on Nanami’s sweaty scalp- but he’s hesitant to remove himself. Merely parting an inch or so with the most agonized groan. “Kento- Kento, don’t you feel a little different right now?”
“Hmmmgh?” He asks with his bleary eyes struggling to focus on you.
“A little different? Maybe a little…warmer?” You watch as he has to think a little bit before nodding. “Don’t you feel like you’re going to- hah, shatter on my pussy?”
“I do.” Nanami spits a glob of spittle down on your cunt, kissing it away before it trickles. “Fuck, I do.”
“Mmm—” Your back arches as his tongue straightens then starts dragging up and down your sopping slit languidly. “And aren’t you wondering h-how exactly I know?”
“How do you know, my darling…?” Sounding barely awake as he questions so.
“It’s because…” And then you’re sitting up and starin’ down at his movie-star face, eyes half-lidded and his blond hair a mess. A few strands of it were falling in front of his gorgeous eyes—so you’re pushing them away with your hand- and Nanami shivers as though just splashed with cold water. “-I’m feeling the same way.” A shiver runs down Nanami’s spine. “That aphrodisiac seems to be contagious.”
“A-aphrodisiac?” Nanami’s eyes widen behind his spectacles.
And you’re giving him a soothing nod. “Mhm. Back at the bar, it seems that what Kenjaku spiked you with was a Kryptonite solution. But what he hadn’t accounted for was the fact that sometimes…Kryptonite can have a bit of an…aphrodisical effect on humans.”
You’re leaning down and kissing his pussy-drenched lips. “Mmm, yeah, I can taste it on you still.”
Nanami’s immediately lurching back- but this time, it’s your turn to be reeling him back in.
Keeping him delightfully hostage between your legs. “And where do you think you’re going, Earthling?”
“But the Kryptonite-” Nanami pants. Even though his eyes kept constantly flickering down to your cunt as if his favorite baked good set out right in front of him. Syrupy-filled. “It can’t be good for you-”
“At the weakened state it’s in now, it’s not bad for me either.” You smile. “The aphrodisiac shouldn’t impair you, either. But if you do not wish to fully continue-”
“I do.” The words can’t leave Nanami’s lips faster. He’s shoving your legs further apart and whispering. “I do I do I do—”
Then pressing such a harsh open-mouthed kiss against your swollen folds - so hard that it honestly felt as though he was trying to permanently imprint its outline against your pussy. And then when he’s pressed hard enough and long enough and deeeep enough—Nanami jerks away with a wrangled moan.
“But then since I’m already broken…”
And in robotic movements- he pushes your nightgown up until your tits- and he’s plastering his hot lips aaaaall over your cunt. Tongue swiping urgently between your folds and fuckin’ inside like a damn animal.
“Shit—” Moans bubble to your throat- seeping out with bubbles of spit. You’re clawing through his sweaty locks, holding onto him for dear life. “Shit, shit, shit- I didn’t expect humans to be so…”
“S’this your first time on Earth?” He peeks up at you through his long lashes.
“It is.” You’re nodding. Biting onto your lower lip.
And something seems to shift behind Nanami’s darkened eyes; he fixates them on you and doesn’t waver a single second as he lets his tongue fully out. Lavishes the tender in-betweens of your pussylips with all his sensual kisses- “Then I better give you a proper welcome to Earth.”
And it’s with absolutely no warning that he’s increasing the speed of his thrusts.
Flarin’ that sopping wet muscle out so that it stretches out your first ring of muscle- you can feel the sides of Nanami’s tongue slide-slide-sliding all down your channel. He was just so thick- you were feeling him so perfectly like this- and you can’t help yourself…you’re activating your x-ray vision to see how deep Nanami’s really going.
“A-a bit more to the left, Kento…” You murmur. “And a little deeper- ngh.”
He looks up at you in slight surprise. “Oh? You can see where I’m going, my darling?” Experimentally, Nanami stabs a few more thorough probes- deep.
“X-ray vision, remember?” You gasp. Buckin’ up in a sloppy staccato every time Nanami’s nearing with his tongue and his prominent nose- fuck, you loved how the tip of his nose pressed into your clit every time he surged forwards. “Just a bit deeper- oh, your fingers?”
With two of his calloused fingertips slidin’ up and down your vertical slit - accumulating the dewy droplets of slick you were letting out - he smiles. “I may not have superpowers, but something tells me you’re going to like this, Supergirl.”
“Oh- shiiiiiit.” It’s letting out the sloppiest squelch to have Nanami’s fingers easing inside.
They’re so large- oh, your mouth drops as he’s burgeoning inside. Through your x-ray vision you could see that he’s scissoring inside- stretching aside that velvety channel- letting the doughy tips of his fingers probe inside like two searchlights attempting to pinpoint your most treasured spots. He’s rovering in deeeeeep- and you’re letting your face press into the damp mattress. “You’re enjoying this, Supergirl?”
“I-I am.” You huff. You’re humpin’ up into his pretty face so hard that the bedframe was creaking and moaning. Just as you must have been.
“And is your- hah, favorite Earthling making you feel good—?”
You’re levelling a half-hearted glare at him. “Bold of you to assume- but yes.” His fingers are just so close- “To the right…”
And he’s immediately heeding your every word- meanwhile, his mouth seemed to have felt a little lonely. Because Nanami hastens to latch his kiss-bitten lips around your throbbing clit. “Good. Because I’m just made to make you feel good, my darling. I need this. I need this. M’made for this.” Huffing. “Don’t be afraid to fuck my tongue as hard as you want- don’t be afraid to s-suffocate me, because m’here just to make you—ngh, feel good—”
Pushing up into you.
Pressing himself between your legs even harder.
“I don’t need to breathe- I need you to tell me where that g-spot is.”
Your head’s throwing backwards, thighs trembling around him- you’re soon wrapping your legs around Nanami’s perspired head and locking your ankles around him. Digging his tongue even deeper- he crashes and crashes them against your clit in time with his probin’ fingers. “A little more-”
“How much more?”
“Just about an inch- oh.” You’re squawking out in a way that’d be so embarrassing if it was anytime but now. “And to the left…upwards.”
He notices that you’re almost shying away from his touch with every plap! of his palm hitting the forefront of your cunt. Harder. Faster—even though he may have been a gentleman, Nanami’s fingers were decidedly not. They’re ravenous; managing to curl against the side of your walls, with your direction perfectly locating that one spot you’ve been aching to be touched this entire time. And the human wastes no time pushing against it- you think you’re seeing stars—hey, was that Krypton?
Too occupied to come up with a concrete answer, however, you’re simply basking in the pleasure that Nanami was pouring through your veins.
And he only seems too happy to have your hips hikin’ higher and your pussy pushing up all the way until his nose- with every single thrust he was battering. Your gooey insides are shuddering at the sheer force, you’re feeling a tightness start to formulate at the pit of your stomach.
Something sore - blissfully so.
“I think…” You gasp. “No I know—” And the thing about being Kryptonian was that it came with immense control over your physiology- which also meant that you could cum on demand. But oh, how much better it felt when it was being drawn out of you by Nanami’s sweet sweet fingers.
Plunging - each time from the rounded tips of his digits and down until those knuckles, reddening at the persistent skin-to-skin contact - towards your g-spot every time. Multiple times a second.
“-Kento, I’m going to cum—”
“So cum f’me, Supergirl-” Nanami spits against your cunt. He sounds ragged- he sounds gone. His tone was a barely-there husk of what it had once been, and his eyes seemed unable to focus on anything but the pretty soakin’ pussy right in front of him. He kept his mouth so fucking full of your throbbing clit as he continued speaking. “Cum f’me…my girl.”
Shit—he’s blushing just saying it. But the effect on you is undeniable - you’re throwing your head into the fluffy pillows and finally letting loose.
Wrenching on Nanami’s hair. Squeezing his head till he almost suffocates- you’ve got the feeling that he gladly would. Dragging your slick-glazed folds against his face and cumming and cumming.
As your euphoria rips straight through you - Nanami leaves his mouth further ajar and swivels his tongue inside as well. In addition to his fingers, he’s now attempting to squeeze his tongue inside to fuck you silly- to make your dazed peripherals roll to the back of your scalp. “This is what I’m made for.” And you’re unsure whether that was him or the aphrodisiac talking. “This is all I ever wanna do now—mmm—” He moans as syrupy juices stream down either side of his mouth and he’s sucking in your pussy. “My darling, you don’t know how badly I mean it when I say m’made for you. For this pussy.”
You whimper as he perfects his tonguing thrusts to the rhythm of your orgasm. Hitting every single peak. “Sh-shit…it’s becoming sensitive…”
“My darling, I’d rather die than leave this pussy from now onwards.”
“Never expected a gentleman like you to be so filthy.” You huff- rather difficult, considering how much he managed to take your breath away. As he prolongs your high until you’re dizzy—
And then some.
“Mmmm, I’m sensitive.” Fondly; you tug on his golden strands. Nanami lets out a rumble of acknowledgement, but he doesn’t move a single inch - merely grazing- not even properly eating you out anymore, he’s just sloppy grazing his hungry mouth against your sensitive cunt.
Lapping up the last few dredges of your slick.
Occasionally wishing to feel the clench of your hole- and letting it dip inside—
“Hck!” Tears start to well up behind your eyes. And you have to speak to something deep and carnal within Nanami - otherwise you’re getting the feeling that he’s never going to part his lips from your own drenched ones. “Kento, you can stay here if you want…”
“Mmm-” He eagerly runs his tongue between your velvety folds again.
“-but I was really thinking that we could use my x-ray vision…” That seems to finally pique his interest, and he’s looking up at you. “-for something else. Something bigger, hm?” Pointedly, your eyes dip down.
He knows exactly what you’re talking about.
And in no time, Nanami Kento’s shuffling up your twitching body - still oh-so-sensitive from your previous high. And his hips are closing towards yours, his ruby-red tip is slipping between your legs and sandwiching between your pussylips for a few thrust-thrust-thrusts—“A-are you sure, my darl- oh.”
Before you claw at Nanami’s muscular back and crush him against your body.
Against your hips- your readily awaiting cunt.
Just that sopping, sap-covered tip of his manages to fit inside in that moment - and you’re feeling it throb like he’s always wanted to be here. Filling up the cavern of your cunt and making your toes curl- such a delicious streeeetch—! you’ve never felt before. And Nanami watches as you’re on the verge of shattering just as he already has—and he leans down to press a quick press on the edge of your chin. “M-mmmm.”
But it’s hard even think let alone fucking speak with your soaking wet cunt wrapped around him like this. His very own taste of heaven.
Nanami’s letting escape a few botched moans- before he decides to preserve whatever is left of his dignity, and bites down on his pathetically wobbling lip. Trying his very best to keep any noise from leaving him as he experimentally moves his hips behind and probes back inwards with his plump, puckered tip. Just the round girth of it openin’ you up even more. “Sh-shiiiiiiit—my darling, am I even…”
You’re looping your arms around him and dragging him even closer. But Nanami’s too far gone to even kiss you properly- and his lips end up sliding around your jawline. “Even what, Kento?”
Bleary eyes damn-near popping out of his skull. Skin flushed ever-redder due to the aphrodisiac or simply just…you. Cock spurting out wad after wad of eager precum—he just couldn’t stop himself.
“Alive…” Nanami rasps out.
And your jaw drops at the question. “Is that…is that a joke, baby?” Although you already knew the answer- Nanami Kento was never the type to just joke.
And just as you’d expected, he’s furiously shaking his head and pumping out a few more overeager semi-thrusts. So overeager, in fact, that he’s ending up plopped out of your wettened cavern- and Nanami almost blows a fuse trying to get himself back in.
“Let me help you with that, Kento.” You giggle. Pushing aside his fumbling fingers, you’re wrapping your own around his incredibly thickened base - enough to make your mouth water.
Pointing the globular top of his shaft towards your cunt, you allow him to push inside once more. Breath hitching. Thighs shaking. Pants erratic as he does so- “Are you alright, baby?” You ask him—this time opening your legs wider to let his furious inches shovel in. “D’you think you can handle it if I use my powers to bring all of you inside?”
“Yes but…no.” Nanami admits. He wears a sheepish smile on his face - almost shy. Which was in direct contrast with the way he’s scrapin’ his right hand down your core and resting it atop your womb. He looks at you with raised brows. “Here?”
You nod. “Right there.” Then you’re wiggling your hips down in order to take him deeper—
But Nanami’s stopping you with a hand at your waist- practically glued onto your skin. He’s firm in his touch though not unkind. And Nanami’s boring deeeeply into your eyes - your very soul - as he’s giving you light, shallow thrusts. Poking himself past that ruthless squeeze of your entrance. “I…hah, I’ll need your superpowers to tell me where I am, my darling. And exactly where you want me.”
Then Nanami plants you with a particularly hard strike that sends his long cock digging. His sides were decorated with a zig-zagging pattern of veins that massages your delicate insides.
“But as for fitting inside…” His mouth fucking waters at the prospect - and you already know with your senses. The gentleman leans down and spits in your mouth. “-we’re gonna do it the human way, okay?”
“Please-” Your nails start to dig into the shifting muscles of his back. “Please-”
And he’s not doing it the human way—not instantly. Before that; Nanami removes your palms from his shoulders and pins them above your head. Using but a single hand of his.
And you know you could easily overpower him - you just know it - but in this instance it makes something carnal twitch inside you to have the calm, soft-spoken gentleman shatter in this way on your pussy. It wasn’t just the aphrodisiac: he was using one hand to restraint yours- so hard that you feel his nail marks, he was using the other to push your knees up until they hit your tits, he was pulling his cock out until it was juuuust the pretty, pinkish top of his shaft.
And then plunging back in.
As deep as he could go - until he’s feeling the little tightness of your entrance. Then reeling back out to repeat. And repeat.
And repeat.
And repeat.
Nanami Kento was stabbing you with his cock nearly a dozen times a second—and he wasn’t sweet with it- he wasn’t fucking gentle.
He was utterly pussydrunk and fucking you just like it. “Please, please, please—” Nanami’s attractive baritone hitches at the very end of his sentence, breaking into a million pieces just as he was. “Sh-shit, it’s like the deeper I go…the more I can’t- hngh.”
“Think?” You flutter your lashes up at him.
“Yeah.” He breathes. “That.”
And you can’t help but let out a little giggle—the way his flared tip rubbed your insides was addictive. He was so wiiiiide above his sensitive slit, and that was pushing forcefully into every one of your hidden spots. “You’re so close to my- hck! favorite spot, Kento. Do you remember where that was?”
“Mmm, my darling- remember?” Nanami looks down at you with crazed eyes. “I can’t even remember my own name right now.”
“Then I’ll guide you.”
Though your arms were pinned to the bed, you’re able to careen your hips up into his. And that ruggedly handsome v-line of his was slowly growing redder at the repeated contact- to which you’re only pushing up even harder. “Just a little deeper- two inches?” You’re using your x-ray vision to map out the perfect route to your g-spot. “And then a little more- fuck, angle your hips a little more to the left.”
“Like this?” He asks. Beautiful hazel eyes almost fluttering shut at the onslaught of sudden squeezes that your cunt was blessing him with. “Fuck, how are you squeezing me even- deeper?”
“My superhuman powers?” You’re joking- joking.
But that doesn’t stop Nanami from asking- “Then does that mean you can…snap my dick off with that pussy, my darling?”
At first you’re in disbelief that such words could have possibly left Nanami Kento’s - the Nanami Kento’s - mouth. And then when it’s finally sunken in, you’re debating whether he was actually serious about it—he looked serious enough. “Ah…” Your lips part. “Kiss me.”
He does.
And as he does, that winding restraint of your legs tugs n’ tugs him ever-closer. Ever-deeper.
That bulbous tip of his was openin’ you up so fucking well—hidden nooks you hadn’t even known existed. And after a few more jerky thrusts, Nanami breaks the kiss with a rather lecherous slurp! and moves to huff against your ear. “I-is it all the way in, my dearest?”
“Shouldn’t you be the one to know that?” You’re chuckling before looking down using your x-ray vision once more.
“Tell me, my darling- tell me.” And Nanami Kento was always rather the stoic man—never combusting, never overreacting. But at this moment, it feels as though the longer he’s not fully stuffed in your cunt, the more and more he’s fucking losing it-
“Well…just a few inches longer until you’re gonna be- hah-” Untangling one of your hands from his, you’re running it down your core. Your womb. “-here.”
And Nanami can’t hurry up enough to pin your hands back on the mattress, replacing it with his own. He fucking moans when he realizes that - if he presses down hard enough, perhaps through your superhuman powers - you can make him feel himself bumpin’ thrusts from the outside. You continue. “But you’re actually pretty close to- ah.”
Just then your words are taking on a trilling tone.
Almost matching his in terms of neediness.
Nanami’s running his lengthy cock so deeeeep inside that he ends up rubbin’ his flared tip along either side of your channel—perfectly massaging that one spot you’ve been yearning for this entire time. It’s like a pretty target then that he’s never failing to hit over and over and over again- until you’re throbbing and raw inside.
And every one of his thrusts end up puncturing that spot. That sweet bundle of nerves that makes his mouth water- you’re shattering around his shaft every time he repeats the motion. “Deeper.” Nanami chokes out. “Deeper- now I just need you to take me even deeper. I don’t just want it- I need it.”
And pressing your legs apart with his strong pelvis- he’s murmuring as he hones in.
That target at the back of your pussy.
That gummy surface that just seemed to be calling to him.
That area at the very bottom that just seemed soaked in his never-ending precum—“I need it. I need it. I need it so fuckin’ badly.” He was slurring on his words by this point, and Nanami noses down the column of your throat. “It’s like every atom inside me is burning up. Not just because of the fuck- aphrodisiac.”
“Not just…?” You ask with widened eyes.
And he’s grinding down on the heavenly spot between your legs - so hard that the scruff of his happy trail massages your clit. And it’s such a primal sensation that you don’t think you’d ever be able to replicate—not even with your hypercontrol. “Not just.” He dips his face into the crook of your neck, hair sticking to your clammy skin. “My darling, your body’s liquor.”
Harder and harder.
With a few more thorough strokes, Nanami’s finally - finally - bottoming out.
You feel the moment he empties out those thick, throbbing inches with a rough bang! The velvety end of his tip swipes across your cervix- and you’re shivering at the rope of goey precum he’s leaving behind. “Sh-shiiiiiit.”
“Have I…?” Nanami’s pupils dilate. “Have I…” And he keeps fucking you in merciless thrusts.
You smile, “Why don’t you see for yourself, Kento?” He seriously didn’t realize, yet?
Nanami blinks dazedly a few times- before he’s slowly ducking his head downwards and staring at the place where you two were connected. Where your puffy pussylips were struggling to swallow down his red cock—and his heavy balls were thwack-thwack-thwacking away. And it’s enough to make his mouth water.
“Oh.”
His breath hitches as he sees that lil’ tummy bulge he was fucking into you.
And Nanami falters his hips - for just a split-second - so that he could reach down and give that tummy bulge a kiss—a fucking kiss. Coming back up with the most accomplished smile- “I-I think m’close, my darling.”
“So then cum, Kento.” You’re breaking free of his restraint to throw your arms around him again. “And I’ll-”
“No.” The blond man already knew what you were going to say. Shaking his sweaty head, “I won’t let you make yourself cum using your powers, my dear—this Earthling is going to do it himself.”
So you’re keeping your mouth shut and giving into the pleasure - and on Krypton you may have had to use your physiological control to get yourself off most of the time- but Nanami was hellbent on making you feel better than he already was. He’s slammin’ away into your g-spot. He’s using his now-free hand to roll over your clit.
Again and again and again—
As many times as he needed to in order to push you towards your high - even if it meant rubbin’ his reddened cock raw against the sopping hot insides of your cunt. In next to no time; Nanami has your toes curling at the sheer amount of pleasure shooting up from them.
And you’re babbling away into the grove of his neck, “K-Kento, I’m close…”
“Please-” He sounds very much ruined by how he’s had to push his own orgasm for yours- gladly, at that. “P-please…” A ribbon of spit glides from the corner of his mouth, and Nanami pushes down on your tummy bulge using his chiselled abs. “Cum on my cock, my girl.”
You’re both reaching your highs at the same time - Nanami’s with a few more choked-up groans and the sloppiest thrusts you’ve ever had the pleasure of receiving, and you with a few more replays of his name and the bed frame shattering underneath you. It’s solely from using your super strength to fuck back into Nanami’s cock - something you hadn’t even realized you’d been doing.
Your brain feels completely fried by the crescendo of your high- getting every peak of it smacked! by Nanami’s ruthless hips.
Again and again—he’s pumping out scalding white globs of cum.
It empties out midway down your walls and smears once he’s hittin’ your cervix. “Cum on my- cum on my…oh, fuck.” Nanami’s pupils tremble- “Don’t think I’ve ever felt like this before…”
“Mmm, me neither.” You coo up at him. Your own orgasm was taking over you nerve by nerve—flooding it with white-hot pleasure. Back arching. Knees trembling. It thrums inside of you - and you’re wondering just how potent that aphrodisiac is, because your heartbeat’s almost concerningly fast—
“S’that so?” Nanami slurs. Pressing a chaste peck to your lips as he fucks his cum inside you. “Because I’m not just talking about the sex.”
Oh.
The realization hits you like a freight truck - or maybe a block of Kryptonite. Your heartbeat wasn’t increasing just because of the aphrodisiac. Not at all.
You’re pressing your lips to Nanami’s once more, and you can see yourself doing it over and over and over again.
“Me too.”
And then after a moment, you laugh.
“Kento, we broke the bed.”
.
.
.
SUPERGIRL SAVES 160,000 AT RAINBOW BRIDGE—A TIMELINE OF THE JUSTICE LEAGUE’S NEWEST ADDITION.
EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)
SUPERVILLAIN KENJAKU FINALLY ARRESTED! REVEALED TO BE BEHIND RAINBOW BRIDGE SITUATION AND SLANDER CAMPAIGN AGAINST SUPERGIRL…
“I spy with my little eye…” Shoko’s knowing gaze flickers between you and Nanami. “-a smile. Two smiles.”
Nanami’s warm gaze turns to you. “Ah, what’s there not to smile about?”
“Considering I’ve finally cleared up my name.” You respond. And it was true; ever since the highly-publicized double heroism in which you saved both Nanami and managed to prevent the Yurikamome Line accident, the headlines couldn’t get enough of your name. Except this time…it wasn’t a bitter taste on their tongues.
Were we wrong about Supergirl? Was Kenjaku behind the hate campaign?
(Partially. You don’t doubt that that man had his fingers in every pot and scheme possible, but you don’t doubt that most of it was pure human vitriol. And you hoped Kenjaku continued seething…from Tokyo Island Penitentiary.)
It was sweet.
And you weren’t naive enough to believe that the criticism would stop immediately - or in fact ever - but that was alright now. That was fine.
When you were you.
And you had Nanami beside you—
He intertwines his hand with yours- and Shoko pretends to gag at the sweet, sweet act. The both of you are shaking your heads at her dramatics; which you know she didn’t mean considering the cover page that she’d been staring at at that very moment.
That second headline.
EXCLUSIVE: LOCAL JOURNALIST SAVED BY SUPERGIRL (THE COVERPAGE OF THE YEAR?)
By Nanami Kento.
Underneath those words were a picture snapped from the night you’d save Nanami for the second time.
You’re crashing through the ceiling of Kenjaku’s bar. You’re carrying Nanami Kento in a princess carry. You. You. You. Powerful and precise. And the way that Nanami was staring at you- oh, he had stars in his eyes brighter than the night sky in the background. His arms were holding onto you like a lifeline, and you were unfettered as you held him close like a star himself.
It was the very picture of heroism.
But to you, it was also…
“Love.” Shoko whispers. “You’re in love.”
And you’re opening your mouth in response - but you’re spared from answering, as you hear something in the distance—a scream. Downtown Shibuya. There was a mugging in occurrence and the perpetrator seemed to have a weapon.
You’re looking at Nanami and Shoko, and both nod as they recognize the hardened glint in your eye.
They’d come up with some believable excuse for your absence, surely. And if they didn’t…
You’re sweeping a glance at the mundane cubicles to make sure no one was watching- then ducking out of the nearest open window as fast as light. On strong summer winds, you’re flying off to save someone—and underneath that grey coat of yours flapped your iconic suit. You tear it open at the chest to reveal the ‘S’ underneath.
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.
୨୧ — You were drooling, eyes rolling back as you dug your nails into his shoulders trying to slow Valko down. Useless. Your legs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his lower back as he drove into you, his name falling from your lips like a prayer between desperate pants.
“V-Val- hhahh- Val-ko- s'too- m'gonna- too m-much-“
Words? What were those? Your brain had turned to mush about three orgasms ago.
A whimper caught in your throat. Tears pricked at your lashes at the stretch, at being so fucking full, like he'd shoved your organs aside to make room.
“Hah-“ His voice broke, and you could feel every muscle in his body trembling, fighting something feral as his tail lashed wildly behind him. “Tryna be gentle but you-“
He fucked you like a beast anyway. Forehead pressed to yours, ears flat against his head, panting into your mouth. Your slick made the filthiest sounds every time he thrust home and when his teeth found your neck hard enough to break skin, the noise you made had his rhythm stuttering.
“Sorry- ngh- didn't mean-“ But he didn't stop. Couldn't.
His hand slid under your back, arching you up into him. The other pinned your wrist to the mattress. Blood smeared across your throat from his lips.
“That's it, that’s my good girl-“ Completely gone. Ruined.
You came screaming and do you think that made him slow down? Fuck no. He didn't slow down even a little.
“Again.” Barely a whisper. Begging. Pleading for just one more scream from those pretty lips…
“Valko- can't- no more-“
His ears drooped, this wounded little sound in his chest, “I know babe, m'sorry-“ His hips snapped forward anyway, “what’s a pup supposed to do? You just feel so good- cant- shit- can’t stop-“
Your cunt was a sloppy, ruined mess at this point- syrupy strings of your cum and arousal coating his cock, smearing creamy across your inner thighs. You could feel yourself dripping between your ass, making a puddle beneath you.
Then something big started pressing at your entrance.
You felt it before your sex stupid brain could process it- this thick, swelling pressure at your already stuffed hole. Stretching you wider. Wider. Too wide-
His knot.
It shoved inside with a wet POP and you shrieked, back bowing clean off the mattress, nails carving bleeding trenches down his spine. The sudden fullness -that fat bulge locking him in, plugging you up, pressing against every sensitive nerve- had your vision whiting out again. Your cunt spasmed around him, another orgasm cresting before the last one even finished, milking his knot in desperate fluttering clenches.
“Huh? What happened?” Total confusion. His ears shot up, head tilting, “You alright babe? Did I do something?”
“Your- your fucking knot- fuckfuckfuck-“ you choked out.
“What?” He blinked down at you, all golden puppy eyes while his monster sized knot split you in half, “What's wrong with it?”
“Ser -seriously? Sh’too- It's s’too big-“
“It is?” As he smirks he shifts his weight and you damn near passed out, “seems fine to me?”
You laughed -or sobbed, hard to tell- and it broke into a moan when he rolled his hips experimentally. You grabbed his hand and shoved it down between your bodies, pressing it against the bulge in your lower belly. Obscene. Fucking obscene.
“Valko.”
He looked down. Blinked. His tail started wagging. Actually wagging!
“Oh wow.” Like he'd found something mildly interesting, “That's pretty crazy.”
“YEAH.”
“Does it actually hurt?” He pressed against the bulge with genuine curiosity and your eyes nearly rolled back into your skull. Tail still going.
“Do you- hahh- do you seriously not know- how huge-“
“Dunno, never measured?” He dropped a casual kiss on your forehead, sweet as anything, while his fat fucking knot throbbed like it was trying to reshape your insides. “Always been like this. Annnnd those noises don’t really convince me you’re in pain.”
You were gonna fucking murder him. Right after you finished losing your mind on his cock.
He ground down into you and you came so hard you forgot your own name, pussy clenching around him like a goddamn vice.
“Oh- shit- shit-“ Finally cracking, his voice going high and whiney, “Squeezing me so tight, you’re gonna make me-“
He buried his face in your neck and came with a broken whine, and you felt it- pulse after pulse of hot cum pumping into you, filling you up til your belly rounded out even more. His arms caged you in, tail thumping against the mattress as he bred you full.
“S'good,” he slurred against your throat…
“Valko,” you whimpered, brain leaking out your ears., “M'so full-“
“Mm?” He sounded so pleased with himself.
Still absolutely clueless.
Way later -who even knows how long- he was still on top of you, weight braced on his elbows so he didn't crush you. His knot pulsed lazy and another warm gush filled you up.
“Hey,” he mumbled into your hair, and you could hear the grin in his voice.
“Mm.”
“So...” His fingers walked playfully up your side, making you squirm- which only made you clench around his knot and whimper, “You think my knot's big, huh?”
“Shut up.”
“Nah but like-“ He propped himself up to look at you, smirking, tail swishing, “You were really loud about it. Pretty sure the neighbors know now.”
“I hate you.”
“Mmhm.” He rolled his hips just slightly -enough to make you gasp- and his grin widened. “That why you're still milking my cock right now?”
Your face burned, “I- I can't- it's involuntary-“
“Sure it is.” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, nuzzling, “S'okay baby. I think it's cute how much you love my huge knot.”
“I never said-“
“‘S'so fucking big Valko,'”he mimicked in a breathy voice, and you smacked his chest while he snickered. “'Your knot Valko, oh my god-“
“I do NOT sound like that.”
“You kinda do.” Another lazy grind. Another gush of cum. His eyes glittered. “Wanna hear what else you said? Got real creative toward the end there.”
You shoved at his shoulder uselessly. He didn't budge, just laughed and buried his face in your neck, pressing smiling kisses to your skin.
“M'just teasing, babe” His tail curled around your thigh, “youre cute when you're embarrassed.” He nuzzled the tippy top of your head.
“I'm gonna kill you when your knot finally goes down.”
“Mm, that's fair.” He snuggled closer, entirely unbothered, “Gives me like twenty more minutes to annoy you though.”
His hips shifted again, lazy and deliberate, and the noise you made was mortifying.
you were a virgin. well, for a reason. it was rooted in puritan traditions as well as an idealistic personal choice of wanting your first to be with someone you marry.
“this isn’t sex. so don’t worry” satoru flashed a puerile smile, showcasing his milk white canine teeth which dug in to his spit glossed lips.
his cock, colored in a deeper shade of wisteria with protruding veins woven around, slid on the thin layer of your dampened panties. your thighs were parted with his obstinate hands, both knees pressed right on the mattress; having you in full view.
your cotton panties, were too wet, clinging on to you—even more so, due to him caressing and pressing it on your skin with the help of his shaft to vividly showcase the lining of your pussy.
“relax cutie, this is within the rules” albeit, it actually wasn’t.
clearly not at all. but all you could do was let out indecent whimpers of bittersweet pleasure. satoru’s idea of celibacy was simple. anything but the intercourse—which was totally wrong but oh well. “come on, baby. don’t be shy”. his cheeky cadence trapped you in a profane dichotomy; left you teetering between a rebuke or an allowing of him to continue his orgasmic torture.
“’toru, mhm, n–no..” puny protests scrambled from your mouth earning a teasing chuckle from him. “haah—please” but it all simply met with complete disregard.
satoru’s bulky tip, a muted smudge of a pastel pink, was already salivating. a string of thick pre-cum on his slit, dispersed itself on the wetness of your panties. “hm, you sure say no but you are dripping for me” he uttered through clenched teeth, rubbing the underside of his length on to your clothed folds. “yeah, feel this huh?”.
a hedonistic smiled etched on to his porcelain face, the corner of his lips formed a torpid crescent. mischievously, his pale fingers guided himself in between your folds, his dick grinding itself between your puffed labia. “fuck, you seriously do grip like a damn virgin”.
he squeezed the bulbous head of his cock, his speed increasing with needy pantings. sweat beads laid artistry of webs on his forehead, temple and neck. his pearl luminescent face was flush with a spread of crimson from pure need and want.
his eyes had drooped, jaw tightened as he stretched the hem of your panties upwards till your naval. the movement caused the fabric to thin out—you could feel him. clearly. tangible even with the barrier of your soaked panties.
you let out a visceral moan when his tip nudged your clit with a soft, slow kiss. his cockhead traced the outline of your cunt, palpating red to stuff you full with his cum soiled dick.
“fuck, wonder what it’d be like inside this tight virgin pussy.” his lilt slowed, sensual as if aching with yearn. his blue-flamed orbs darkened in to a softer grey, half-lid, staring directly at you. “you ever wonder that, sweetie? this huuuge dick slowly filling you up, right inside this sweet little spot. would go all the way in yeah. mhm… ever think of so?”
“thinking about me bottoming out. you know what that is baby? every inch of me inside of you. inside your wet cunt. hmm, takin’ your virginity, corruptin’ every bit of your innocence.”
and there it was. with a few more incessant rubs against your outline, he spurted out thick loads of pasty-like cum on to you. his hand made sure milk all of it out, whorishly rubbing the cream all over your covered hole, giving your wet pussy a few slaps. “see, kept my word. didn’t i? no sex” an audacious statement formed with a complacent grin.
this wasn’t supposed to be.
the deal was simply to see what a penis looked like. not to have your best friend fuck you through your panties.
heavily inspired by a porn vid i saw ages ago on a sketchy website but oh boy—pantyfucking is so underrated
ᰔ₊ ⊹ best friend (and onlyfans cameraman)! higuruma finally giving you a creampie for your twitter! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) • wc: 1.5k
as much as you didn’t want to admit it, hiromi’s help before was highly appreciated. after you posted your little video of ‘fucking your tutor/cameraman’, your following on twitter and not to mention your income too. even he got shocked at the amount of money you earned from the “extended” version posted on your onlyfans.
but as your income increased, so did your requests.
in particular, a rather popular one was asking for hiromi to “breed you”, “creampie you”, et cetera. shit, even your mutual toji dm-ed you thinking the video was hot and asked if you needed a third?
“you did say you agreed to helping, y’know…” you murmured, your bare legs laying on his lap while you lounged on your couch like always, with hiromi’s eyes glued onto the true-crime documentary you decided to watch.
“rather intimate, though. wouldn’t you say?”
you laughed. “baby, you being my fucking cameraman and watching masterbate is intimate enough, don’t you think?”
ever since you fucked for the first time—and it being content—it’s been weird. no, not awkward at all since you still find yourself acting like usual, yet you felt hiromi act rather differently.
you’re not dumb, you notice how touchier he’s gotten (you’re not complaining, you always used to tease him over his hesitance over hugging you or anything). he’s been acting like more of a boyfriend than anything—it’s not an issue at all, but has you on edge. because what if you were imagining all of this, and hiromi doesn’t reciprocate feelings for you?
“soooo, what’d ya say? wanna fuck and nut in me later?”
you couldn’t stop the butterflies in your stomach the moment he laughed at your bluntness, covering his face in embarrassment.
“you’re laughing like it’s funny, hiro, but y’know, the people yearn for creampies. they beg for breeding,” you laughed, poking fun at the absurdity of it all.
you couldn’t lie that a small part of you really enjoyed the requests giving you an excuse to indulge in these fantasies you’ve had—because shit. you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him to do all of that to you unprovoked.
as soon as that documentary was shut off, the camera was turned on, and the two of you ended up in your bed, still in lounge wear. you were only in boyshorts and hiromi’s old hoodie from undergrad, while he wore black sweatpants and a simple white shirt.
god, if you ignored the fact that this was for content and planned out for such, this setting would have felt too intimate. but then again, that’s the appeal that earns you money.
“you should record it like it’s natural—like those hot sex tapes that like, don’t have it angled all perfect and shit. the casualness makes it hotter.”
hiromi snorted, lightly placing the phone by your side and sliding down his pants and boxers. he aligned his pretty cock along your slit, already soaked and sticking against your sheer cotton panties. he grinded his leaky tip along your puffy slit and slid your panties down, throwing them on the other side of the bed.
“that’s probably the smartest thing you’ve said today… okay, i’ll start recording later.”
“okay—oh fuuuuuck!” you shut your eyes closed, feeling the way hiromi filled you up slowly—his left hand pressing firm on your lower tummy and feeling pressure where his cock was inside you, his thumb circling your clit so good.
“shit…didn’t even need foreplay… you’ve been thinking about this or what?”
you smacked his bicep, “move, please…”
you didn’t want to admit how wet the thought of him creampie-ing you really got you; to be honest, it’s one of the main things you imagined—fantasized over—when playing with yourself thinking about him. you felt all hot—feverish, not knowing if it was just your hoodie burning you up, or hiromi and the effect he has on you.
“ohh, shit, you’re tight,” he huffed.
you lightly laughed, “your dirty talk away—mmm—from the camera f-fucking sucks—shit-!”
the both of you stayed there like that for a moment—with hiromi rolling his hips against yours slowly before he laughed a little (more of a shaky breathless pant from how he kept groaning quietly).
“oh shut up.”
“ya-you’re lucky you h-have such a big—mmphm-!”
you never realized how much of a smug person he was when he came to sex, or how much, despite him still being the same “nerdy geek” you’ve been friends with since forever, he didn’t mind taking control in bed.
it was so adorable and hot how his face contorted everytime he was inside you; eyes shut, lips parted and cheeks flushed. his glasses were placed up on the top of his head and you don’t think you’ve ever noticed how long his lashes were.
it felt almost intimate.
the moment you felt the flash turn on, you covered your face in embarrassment—feeling exposed (despise what you do). you felt like you were in heat, grinding against his pelvis and spreading that sticky slick on your hot skin, and arching your back, whining so loud. oh how he filled you up so well…
“such a pretty girl, with an even prettier pussy… all for me. all of this is all for me.” despite saying such obscenities on camera, the way hiromi said it with his smooth and deep voice, made it seem as if he wasn’t saying the most nasty shit imaginable. it was so damn hot.
your hoodie was lifted up to show your soft skin and breasts bouncing with every slow thrust of his hips, and hiromi couldn’t get enough. because, may the gods help him, you looked so fucking good… messy hair, no makeup and all…
“f-fuck—! come in me, please-mphmmm,” you whined (for the camera and totally not because he was fucking you really good…), arching your back and clawing at his biceps.
“gonna take it, sweetheart? cmon, pretty girl… gonna look so pretty with my cum all inside you—all full.”
hiromi hissed through gritted teeth, the grip of his left hand on your waist tightening. he slammed on you on his cock, sheathing it and out inside you so good and spilling his warm load inside you with a loud sigh. “mmm—oh my god…”
he pulled out of you, his cock glazed with your slick and his cum, and angled the phone to show your puffy cunt, oozing his load onto the sheets with your legs and breathing shaky.
“attagirl… look at that…” he murmured, sheathing his cock back into you.
then his smooth voice turned to one of slight annoyance.
“ah—ahh shit, i wasn’t recording…” he breathed out, placing the phone on the nightstand and groaning. his cock still pulsated inside you, your cunt clenching around him the moment he admitted his “mistake”.
“you f-fucking asshole—hgnhhhh—!” you whined, your arms around his neck only tightening.
“gotta make this up to me. you forgot—hic—to record.”
“of course.”
you couldn’t lie and say this wasn’t hot—that at this point, you weren’t using your little onlyfans hobby as collateral for your fuck buddies situation.
so when you posted a photo of yourself kneeling in front of the mirror, legs wide open and showing your creamy, overflowing pussy, fingers spreading your outer labia and causing for globs of his load to spill on the floor, you of course had to caption it with:
“tutor decided to creampie me after studying n now my panties are all ruined ! he didn’t let me record :,(“
.
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thank you guys so much for the love on part 1 of best friend/onlyfans cameraman! hiromi x reader! i really wanna make like a camgirl! au but we shall see… also i lowk hc hiromi to be such a pathetic man in bed so that shall come soon too… mayhaps
synopsis . After losing your precious attention to his dorkier twin brother Toru (nerdjo), Sato (fratjo) decides to take matters into his own hands by corrupting his brother into being more like him. Unfortunately for him, Toru’s too strong willed to fall for his tricks and Sato ends up being the one with quite the personality switch by the end of the night.
content . afab!reader, more porn with plot, attempted corruption, praise, eventual threesome, Sato causes a slight scene, partying, possessiveness, jealousy, pervertedness, humiliation kink, filth, begging, a whiny Sato, whimpering, dry humping, confessions, panty fucking, teasing, tit play, obsession, reverse cowgirl, degrading, dom!reader at times, crying, dacryphilia, edging/orgasm denial, pet names, mentions of panty stealing, cock stepping, overstim, dirty talk, Sato has a pain kink, slapping, drama, voyeurism, alcohol, drunk sex, squirting, frat!kuna & frat!geto appearances, dom!nerdjo, oral sex, semi-public sex, etc.
word count . 10.8k | author's note: banner art by @/aransmind!! this is technically a part two of this, but they can be read separately. lil’ teasing surprise at the end btw, hope u enjoy! ;)
In your defense for a second time, he begged for it to happen.
Sato Gojo was never one to do that. He was much too prideful and egotistical to ever let a lowly please slip from his perfectly rosed lips. Especially not towards you.
You were a mere fling—albeit his favorite—a warm body to sleep next to on the coldest nights, and a damn good fuck for when he needed one. That’s all Sato swore you were to him. Nothing more, and absolutely nothing less.
So, why did it irk him so much to constantly see you paying attention to anyone that wasn’t him? To the point where he spends all his time begging for just a sliver of it for himself…
——
Simply put: Sato is an idiot.
One tall, stupidly handsome, and annoying charming idiot.
For him to have spent so many months playing around with you and your feelings while subconsciously neglecting his own has got to be the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life. And to make matters alarmingly worse, it took his brother stepping into the picture for him to realize all this.
You and Toru had a relationship Sato could only ever dream of having with you.
Toru was polite and sweet, the picture perfect boyfriend without even being your boyfriend. He always listened to you, cared for you in ways no other had, and brought you to unimaginable heights of pleasure time and time again.
All things of which Sato had many opportunities to do for you in the past but failed on one too many occasions. The straw that broke the camel’s back in your relationship with the frat brother was his whole obsession and ordeal with wanting to make you squirt without putting in the true effort it took to get you there.
Now it had been months since that took place but the memory of it all still bothered Sato to no end.
Especially since he had to live with the results of his wrongdoings every day.
Toru would parade about the Gojo household with the happiest expressions on his face, beaming about the smallest things you said or did. The elder twin by six seconds had to hear his nerdier sibling giggling wee hours into the night whilst on the phone with you, taking up all your time and attention.
Sato tried to go back to the way things were with you and text or call you over like nothing ever happened, but you were slowly making it quite clear that things were over between you both.
The cherry on top of it all had to be the days Toru invited you over and you’d show up promptly—the two of you disappearing into that dork’s bedroom for hours upon hours.
On those days, Sato would have his ear pressed up against the singular wall between he and Toru’s bedrooms. He hated how nosy he’d become over the past few months but could you blame him? He missed how things were.
Like, really missed it.
The muffled sound of your voice alone was enough to prompt a twitch from in between Sato’s legs. Sure, he had other women he could call to help him take care of the arising issue but none of them were you.
Your chuckles at whatever yapping fact Toru gave to you was all it took to have Sato’s hips adjusting themself. He missed being the one making you laugh, even though it happened only so often—considering he used to focus on getting moans out of you instead of sounds of amusement.
So now here he was, pathetically longing for a woman who his brother treats ten times better than he ever could.
Sato knows he fucked up, he knows he should apologize and just try to be better.
And yet, he doesn’t at all work towards doing any of that.
Instead, the only thing he works up is a plan for himself. One of which he was so very sure would work out for him.
The night this plan comes to forition is one where he’s listening to the sounds of you and Toru ravishing one another.
From start to finish, Sato had his ear pressed firmly against the wall so he wouldn’t miss a sound.
You came in Toru’s room needier than normal, Sato could hear it in the way you spoke to his brother—how Toru would stammer on his words with the way you’d press your body against him.
Even though Sato couldn’t see what was happening, he had good enough ears to hear and then picture what was taking place rather vividly.
“I thought you said you had a surprise for me?” Toru had squawked as awkwardly as ever, his tone uneven due to his rising nervousness.
You were sitting on top of him with your arms wrapped around his neck and your tits pressed neatly into his firm chest. “I do.” You whispered, pressing another soft kiss into his lips.
He cutely tries to push himself closer for more as your mouth draws away from him seconds after but he just barely misses. Batting those pretty blue eyes up at you from behind his glasses, “But, you didn’t bring a bag with you or anything. What kinda surprise is it?”
“You’re holding it, silly,” You purred before moving past his face and then down, peppering kisses into his jawline and then down to his neck.
“O-Oh,” Toru gulped and the hands he had resting against your hips suddenly grip the fabric of your shirt—well, his shirt that you so politely stole from him a few weeks ago.
He told you that you could keep it since he thought you looked pretty in it but, truth be told, he knew if you returned the shirt to him it’d just end up stuffed against his nose while he wrapped his fingers around his cock and got off to the scent of you.
Toru was quite the pervert, after all.
Which is another thing the twins seem to have in common aside from dashing looks. Along with their mutual obsession with you.
The shirt on your body is carefully adjusted as Toru’s fingers slip beneath the fabric to brush against your bare skin, steadily trailing up. Your lips are still at his neck and the moment he feels your tongue dart out, his hips unconsciously roll up.
You feel his cock hardening beneath you and instantly rock forwards to create some friction between you both. “You’re my surprise?” Toru whispers out shakily as his body gets increasingly hot from your touches.
He feels your lips curve against his neck as you smile, “C’mon, I thought you were supposed to be the smart twin?” You teased.
To which he let off a short huff and rolled his eyes, “I am the smart twin.” He argued, “Just… not when it comes to uh, this stuff.”
At the sound of that, you pull back so that you could meet eyes with him. “Toru you’re literally the only guy who’s ever made me squirt,” You remind him rather bluntly, watching as crimson flushes over his cheeks. One of your hands lift to run through the smooth whites of his hair and his head leans back with your touch, blue eyes lowering. “If you want your surprise, you’ll have to find it.”
He bats his lashes up at you and you slowly watch as that hidden confidence of his takes over within his expression. “Always making me work for things, huh?” Toru puffs.
Then, before you can quite respond, the grip he has on you tightens and he lifts you up in one fell swoop.
“Toru!” You gasp, trying to keep your legs wrapped around him for support as you go up into the air.
You’re tossed down onto the plush of his bed seconds later as if you didn’t weigh a thing and he makes you watch him drag his shirt up over his head flawlessly. And there it is again, those clean cut lines ‘n creases that are so perfectly bulked at his torso—all tight and defined in a way that damn sure doesn’t match the dorkish look he carries on his face all the time.
You’ve laid eyes on his abs more times than you can count by now but every time your brain stutters to process the sight. Where Sato was bulky in ways that he often showed off, Toru seemed to have this sleeper build that he kept hidden to most.
The details of your relationship was never clear—and it didn’t have to be—but he was only showing you this side of him.
His hands tenderly move to your legs and he pushes them apart to make room for himself. Slotting in between and hovering over you with his arms caging your head, “I thought about you all day, y’know,” Toru whispers. “Then you come over with a surprise for me. Do you even realize what that does to me?”
His eyes are hungry on yours, heavy hips slowly rolling down so you can feel the answer to his question through the weighty hardness of his dick. It’s already bulging against his sweats, leaking from the swollen pinkened head and waiting for even more of your attention.
Part of him worried that by the time he found this little surprise of yours, he’d have already came in his pants.
That happened rather often with you too. After crushing on you from afar for so long, it took him some time to adjust to having you in real life instead of in those nasty fantasies he had of you before.
Toru’s hand shuffles down in between your bodies to tug your (his) shirt up off of you, leaning back and then gaping at what lays beneath.
There’s a nasty dribble of precum building up against his tip in reaction to the sight of lacy blue hugging your tits. Your surprise for him was nothing more than lingerie in his favorite shade of blue.
“You spoil me,” He whispers, working that shirt further up and soon completely off your body.
Then he leans down to kiss at all your exposed skin before you could even respond. His lips were a wet mess against your neck, slipping down to your collarbone and leaving a slick trail of hickeys and love bites to silently claim you as his own.
He’d never tell you but he often tried to leave marks on you just for his twin brother to see. Toru wanted nothing more than for Sato to be jealous of his newfound relationship with you.
Especially since you told him that Sato was never allowed to leave such things across your body before. It was yet another thing that made Toru feel like he was the favored Gojo sibling.
Whether or not that was true remained unknown.
His kisses eventually met your collarbones as his hands tugged your bottoms down. Then his eyes flicked into that direction and he nearly came at the sinful reveal below him. The lingerie set you wore was a picture of perfection in his eyes.
It complimented your skin tone, highlighted your very best features, and made his cock twitch stupidly in excitement.
The exhale that falls from Toru’s lips sounded nothing short of feral, his brows twisting up as a soft whine from his throat follows shortly after.
He runs his fingers over the lace of your panties, tracing the delicate edges and shifting his positioning so that his hips could be flush with yours—his leaking bulge sneaking closer to press against your pussy lips.
Toru's always had an obsession with your panties. Even before when you were wrapped up in his asshole of a brother, he always found a pair of your panties lingering around somewhere in his room. You were unaware of it, of course, but the Gojo twins had been quite the panty thief for some time now.
Hooking a finger under your current pair, Toru draws an upward pull from the fabric and watches as it snugs against your cunt, creating the cutest outline as your puffy lips soak the lace.
“Fuck, that's hot,” He grunts as his brows twist up.
Then his hand leaves your body for a few seconds to remove the rest of his clothing, tugging his cock out and letting it hover over your pussy whilst you remained clad in your surprise set.
“Toru,” You murmured all pliantly.
His pupils nearly dilated from the sound alone, flying up to your face as he wrapped a hand around his cock. Toru stroked himself a couple times to your expression before he looked back down and furrowed his eyebrows.
This was a thing he did constantly whenever he focused on something. It was something you found oh-so-cute. You loved watching his lips push out ever so slightly as he let his attention fixate on something.
“I’m sure this was expensive,” He husked out, running a thick thumb down the center of your panties and noting how your hips faintly lift as if to guide his touch to where you want him.
The gesture makes his lips twitch.
Then he slowly tips his head to the side, “I don’t wanna ruin it.” Toru tells you while inching his bobbing cock forward. The feeling of his plump head glossing against your folds makes you flinch, “But I do wanna appreciate it—and you—properly.”
Toru takes his dick into his hands and swabs the tip up and down your slit, purposefully grinding forward whenever he gets up to your clit just to tease you. You let off a string of breathy moans in reaction and a dopey grin sprawls out at his lips.
Slowly, Toru lifts his cock and then slaps it back down against your cunt with soft taps, listening to the cute squelch that shyly rings out as he does so. You feel his stout head flick across your clit, swatting against the throbbing bundle of nerves just to earn more eager sounds out of your throat.
"Is this your way of appreciating both? By teasing me?" You ask with a pout tugged out across your lips.
Your words seem to go through one ear and out the other due to Toru's incapability of focusing on multiple things at once. It's hard when you're prettily soaking up a set you purchased and wore just for him. How is he meant to think straight at all?
Part of him wants to find a way to brag about this to his brother later but he knows he's too shy and humble to ever go do such a thing. At first glare from Sato, Toru would clam back up and probably forget about this whole thing.
The sound of his name being whispered and a hand poking at his leaky tip makes him snap out of his selfish thoughts, gaze finally rising to your face again. "H-Huh?" Toru squeaks.
You let your finger round his cockhead, collecting the precum that's resting there before moving your hand further down his length and adjusting your hips, "You zoned out on me. Do you not like—"
"I do," He cuts off, body relaxing under your touch as he sighs. The nerve of you to lay there and try to suggest something like that as if he wasn't seconds away from cumming on that gorgeous ass set of yours! "Sorry, I was uhm.. I was thinking about bragging about this to my brother."
"There won't be much to brag about if you keep that up." You huff.
His cock rudely slaps at your pussy, "Like hell there won't."
Happy to have him focused again, you smile up at the man and then watch as he hooks a long finger under the fabric of your panties—tugging them over to the side to reveal your soppy cunt. Toru gulps as if he hadn't seen it multiple times prior to this, letting the thick of his thumb greet your clit with a languid little roll.
You moan and he compliments that by taking his free hand to gather the rest of his cock into his palm, pushing forward and poking at your entrance just to feel how you throb around him. The feeling spurs him into teasing you more so he pulls your panties up and then thrusts.
A heightened gasp rings out of your mouth at the mean feel of nothing entering you. Toru had thrusted himself against your pussy instead of in, releasing the fabric he'd pulled to the side and instead moving his hands to your thighs to sprawl them further open.
"What are you-," Your words fall flat as you watch him—his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose a bit before his expression contorted into something purely sinful.
His cock slid back and forth against your folds, your slick having wet up everything in the area. Toru got breathy within a matter of seconds whilst you began to whine for him to slip inside you.
Ignoring you, he uses one of his hands to adjust your panties and pull it over his tip, quickly fucking himself into the fabric. You feel the weight of his shaft gliding over your clit in dizzying motions, every trailing vein felt twitching over you. The width of his dick causes your folds to sloppily part around him as his grinding causes a nasty slosh of arousal to echo out from in between the two of you.
"I told you," Toru pants, angling himself down closer to you. "I don't wanna ruin this since I know it's-, hahh, fuck... expensive." With his explanation comes a heavier roll of his hips and your face twists up with how stupidly good his cock feels teasing you.
"Then fuck me in it," You demand rather brattily. This attitude of yours wasn't one he was unfamiliar with. Hell, he's learned how to deal with it quite well over time.
Scoffing as his tone leaves with notable sarcasm, "That's not fair to the lingerie," Toru argues with a smirk on his face, his breath hitching at your pussy idly throbbing around nothing. It was almost dizzying how he could feel everything without being in you, "A-And I cum inside you all the time... Maybe it'd be good for me to cum on this instead."
You pout, "But-"
Toru cuts you off by rutting his cock back 'n forth more methodically, letting its heaviness bump up against and around your clit. Putting on this innocent-like tone, "Doesn't that feel good?" he asks.
You try not to roll your eyes from not getting exactly what you want, "Yes, but-"
"Then hush," He coos, hip bucking forward and causing his tip to get caught on the soiled fabric, more of your combined juices spilling out through it. "Jus' focus on how it feels, nothing more."
"Toru," You whine in protest.
He ignores the sound—just barely—and quickly moves his hand to push his glasses up on his face, "Fuck, you're so wet." Toru points out in tandem with being able to see things more clearly. "Makin' it so easy to slide against you."
Then you glance down and nearly drool at the sight. The head of his cock is evenly flushed over with glazed shades of pink, filthily slathered in slick 'n cum, and sticking out against your panties.
When he tugs his hips back, you nibble on your bottom lip to conceal yet another moan. The draaaag of his cock is what had you all tense with pleasure. It almost felt like he was truly fucking you and yet he hadn't even put his tip inside.
You adored the intimacy you found with Toru. Whenever you really wanted him to fuck you, he would. But after dealing with his asshole of a brother who only ever fucked you—you think you quite relish in this side of sex.
Even though you know Toru only does this because he gets off on teasing you like crazy. Hell, he ends up cumming within the next few minutes just from fucking your panties while your spread pussy glosses him up with every thrust.
It was such a nasty sight too. Toru lost his breath entirely somewhere between his thrusting, his hips unconsciously bucking forward whilst he struggled to keep your panties in place so he could watch his cock slip 'n slide against it, catching how the expensive fabric streeetched out until it eventually ripped with a loud cloth-like tear.
You had gasped at the sound and he tried to quickly distract you with kisses, his tongue slotting in between your lips before he double downed with his distraction and angled his cock down into you. You both had made enough of a mess for him to slip right in.
Then a broken gasp of your name was hushed out against your lips in a searing pant, his eyes rolling back and his glasses falling off entirely just to land on your face. You managed to snicker at feeling them, moving your hands to cup his cheeks into your palms, and then helping to put his eyewear back on.
"Hold them f'me," He hushed out just as his tip met the back of your cunt with a greedy smooch!
You kept your hands in place, fingers a bit shaky while he began to finally fuck you properly. The fabric of your lingerie was well tattered against your thighs now—soiled with a mix of obscenity—but neither of you really cared at the moment.
His cock was doused in his own cum, easily bucking another load into your sweetly clenched pussy as he whispered soft praises into your lips. All while you held his glasses against his face to stop them from falling again—loving the way they fogged up whenever his thrusts became especially erratic.
Meanwhile, Sato was a mess within his room. Because of all the whispered conversation, he could barely hear what was going on. His ears caught a moan or two but that—unfortunately—wasn't enough to get him off. By the time you and Toru finish up in there, Sato's left blue-balled 'n uncomfortable.
He thinks he caught the gist of what happened but he's not entirely sure, which pissed him off to no end.
So that plan of his from earlier? The one that he almost called it quits on, yeah, it's coming back in motion with full force.
——
It's simple too.
All he wants to do is drag that dorky brother of his to a couple parties and possibly get him to harp over someone else-, hell, anyone that's not you for once. And hopefully, this'll work long enough for Sato to steal a moment with you.
He could barely remember the last time he had a proper conversation with you up until he runs into you one weekend.
You're over at the Gojo estate for the hundredth time and he manages to catch you alone in the kitchen.
He spots you digging through the fridge as he's just coming out the pantry, his entire posture stiffening up at the mere sight of you. For a split second, he debates on turning around and ducking back into the pantry before you spot him.
Which... is weird considering he's never felt such a shy instinct gnaw at him like this before. It's just you, the same woman he's charmed time and time again. Surely not that much has changed between the two of y—
Your eyes suddenly land on him and he feels his heart sink to his ass as if he'd been caught doing something he had no business doing. You cock a brow his way, letting your gaze flock up and down his body to size him and his uncharacteristically awkward posture up. Him and his brother really shared more traits than either of them realized.
Whatever snack he had in his hands begin to slip and he fumbles with the item for a moment, causing you to snort as you look off to save him from further embarrassment. You're hardly sure why you do that, considering all the heartache he'd given you in the past.
Clearing his throat, "Didn't know you were here already, sorry." Sato says, the naturally suaveness of his tone highlighting the few differences between he and his brother. The levels of confidence between the two was hardly comparable, no matter how bumbling Sato seemed to be around you now.
You shrug, "I've been here for an hour. Toru's in the study and I figured I'd grab something to eat." Part of you wanted to add how if you knew he was in here too, you probably would've gone hungry for a little longer. "I'm surprised you're here and not at a party or something."
His eyes widen a little at that before he blurts out, "That was a lie, by the way."
"Huh?" You blink.
"What I said," His hand moves to the scratch the back of his neck—another thing the twins do when nervous—and he sighs, "I knew you were here, I dunno why I said I didn't. I was even hoping to talk to you."
Sato steps closer and you instinctively step back, to which his heart reacts weirdly. It was almost like you'd silently rejected him just now. Something of which he really wasn't used to.
Folding your arms, "Talk to me about what?" you ask.
Your body language around him now was entirely different than what he remembered it to be last. The distance between you two, how you looked at him as if you carried no more interest in him, and even the careful way in which you carried yourself in his presence. He felt like a stranger to you—while standing in his own home!
"There's uh," Shit, his words weren't even leaving him like they normally do. He never used to have this many verbal pauses around anyone. "There's this party—which is funny since you just mentioned me being at one—and I.. Well, I wanted to see if you and Toru would come."
You weren't buying that one bit. Humming, "Oh." before your brows furrow and your eyes run over his face suspiciously, "You don't normally invite Toru to parties. Actually, I don't think you've ever invited him to one."
Sato shrugs, "Maybe I'm trying something new." When he sees the roll of your eyes that earns, he lets out a sigh, "And I have invited him to parties before, he just doesn't like going to them."
"So why are you trying to get him to go now?" You press.
"'Cause I know you can help me convince him to come," He fires right back.
To which you take slight offense, "Ah, so you're using me." you scoff, "Again."
"N-No, shit, wait. That's not what I'm doing." Sato emphasizes while stepping closer again, noticing how you don't move back this time. "I just think it would be good for him to get out some more, I've always thought that. And before you, I never had anyone or anything to help me convince him to see that."
You're not entirely sure you're convinced here but, you go along with it, "Right..." Then you keep your brow raised and don't let him think for a second that you're not still skeptical of the whole thing. "Well that still doesn't change the fact that he doesn't like parties, like you said."
"He might if he gave them a chance," Sato suggests, "Especially one with me. You'd know that better than anyone else."
You look off to the side at that. He wasn't wrong there, you were one of the main people he used to drag to every party he could get into; having you on his arm for a good half of it until he got distracted by one of his frat brothers or even some other chick.
"I guess." You concede softly.
Sato smiles, "See? And I promise to keep an eye on him, make sure nobody drags him into anything stupid. He is my brother, after all."
You should've known better than to trust him when he said that but—if you were being honest with yourself here—Sato seemed pretty sincere, "Fine. I'll ask him"
"Thank you," He beams after, genuine appreciation gleaming through his eyes as he stares down at you.
Though, you felt as though that was less about your agreement and more about the proximity. Which is ultimately why you pull yourself away and quickly make you way out of the kitchen.
For your first conversation with him in months, it didn't go nearly as bad as either of you thought it might've.
——
And luckily for Sato, things work out perfectly.
When he went to tell his brother the details of the party they'd be attending, Toru didn't seem too put off by the idea like he had been in the past. In fact, by the time said party comes about, things go quite according to plan for Sato.
Loudly thumping music had the frat house walls rattling, the base hitting hard enough for you to feel it all throughout your body as you walked in. It was quite the cliche but you didn't mind it much, considering this used to be your usual weekend scene. Plastic red cups could be spotted in every other pair of hands, bodies were rolling against one another, and you could hear the distant sounds of excited shouting over the music.
You were loosely holding Toru's hand as the two of you walked in together, feeling his fingers tighten against you due to the number of people gathered about. His hold only seemed to loosen when Sato spotted the two of you and came walking over with his usual shit-eating grin plastered across his face.
"See? S'not that bad, is it?" He greets loudly, swiftly moving to Toru's free side and slinging an arm over the man's shoulder to tug him closer.
Toru's body is shuffled into his older brother's, having to move a hand to stop his glasses from going all crooked against his face. Clearing his throat whilst his eyes nervously fly around the party, "There's uhm, there's a lot of people here."
Sato snorts, "Astute observation, four eyes." he teases before pulling him further to steer him deeper into the room.
Just as Toru gets his glasses properly adjusted on his face, he feels heat flush into his cheeks at the sight of heads turning their way. The reason why he doesn't like coming to parties—especially with his brother—is quickly highlighted for him again.
An assortment of reactions fly out from different people as they look at the two twins together. The sound of someone saying, "No way there's two of them," almost makes you snort as you keep close behind them, letting the siblings bask in the oncoming attention from partygoers.
Before you realize it, there's a mild crowd forming near and around the two of them. You recognize a few faces—courtesy of being here with Sato so many times before—and send a wave out to some. Amid the excitement, you manage to catch a great deal of questions flying their way.
'Sato when did you start wearing glasses?' Directed at Toru jokingly. 'Are you two actually twins?' Asked to the both of them, as if their identical looks were a mere coincidence or something. 'Where have you been hiding all this time?' Toru receives that one and even though you can't see it, you could vividly picture how that makes him blush.
The final question you hear before walking off is an idiotic one of, 'Which one's which?'
God, it was chaotic.
So much so that you end up slipping back as that crowd grows larger, a sense of fondness stirring up in your chest since you'd had your fair share of the both of them before anyone else here. That, and the general feel of the party reminded you once more that you used to be dead center at these events with Sato every other weekend.
Which is exactly why you knew how to slip away easily.
Someone hands you a drink as you scope out the rest of the scene, you laugh at jokes made as you walk between people, and ultimately allow the party to wrap itself around you completely.
——
The party wasn't bad at all for you or the twins. Hell, you might even say it went perfectly.
Or, it was going perfectly. Y'know, until you made the mistake of running into Geto and Sukuna in the kitchen.
You were standing in between the two catching up on things that'd happened since the last time you'd seen them, pretending not to notice how they both looked at you. Fairly enough, back when Sato used to drag you here, the two knew better than to set their eyes on you the way they were right now.
But, since it had been so long, they'd forgotten all about that.
Geto was the closest to you, his head all tilted as he watched every word slip past your alcohol-slicked lips. Meanwhile Sukuna was on the other side keeping his husky voice low and greedy eyes lazy as they trailed down your figure.
You could feel the tension between the three of you building but, whether or not you wanted to go somewhere with it was unknown to you.
Meanwhile, a pair of annoyed azure eyes bored over the three of you. The sounds of surrounding people dulled out in Sato's ears as he watched from a distance, feeling his jaw unconsciously tighten whenever Sukuna's arm would brush over yours or whenever you laughed at something Geto said.
It only pissed him off even more to see you allowed the two to be all over you like that.
Seeing that happen with Toru was one thing—at least he and Sato shared the same face—but those two? Yeah, that wasn't sitting right in his heart at all.
Shit, it was almost worse.
Before he even realizes what he's doing, Sato tosses his head back to down the rest of the drink in his cup and then taps at his brother's arm. "Hey, you remember that one game I told you about?" He asks, taking his eyes off of you for a second, "The card game?"
Toru blinks innocently, "The probability one..?"
Sato nods, "Yeah.. Yeah, that one," He doesn't even remember himself. But, if this would serve as a distraction decent enough for him to sneak away from his brother to stop whatever the hell was going on between you and his friends, then fuck it. Snapping his fingers, "These guys over here were just asking me about it but I think you should explain. Since you're better at explaining things than me, y'know?"
Poor eager-to-help Toru looks towards the people Sato was referring to and shrugs, "Uh, yeah. I-I can do that." He stammers as he notices the curious eyes on him. He swallows thickly, "So, the concept is fairly simply. First—"
Anything that's said after that falls on non-listening ears as Sato takes that as his chance to slip away.
He weaves through people, offering half-smiles to those who try and stop him, managing to grab another drink on his way, and eventually making his way towards what really mattered: you.
By the time he gets there, Geto's mid-sentence with you while Sukuna had managed to get a hand onto the small of your back. That ticks Sato clean off.
He doesn't even say anything to either of the men as he pushes past Sukuna and snatches at your arm, tugging you along and causing your feet to stumble against the floor. Your eyes go wide and you shoot curses his way but, he wasn't hearing—nor caring for—any of them.
Sato hauls you all the way upstairs, unknowingly being watched from his twinning pair of eyes as he does so.
His hand on your arm is gripping enough to pain you and despite your half-attempts at pulling away from him, you end up shoved into a room anyway.
The door slams and he pants heavily as he struggles to get a grasp at his own emotions. You're collecting yourself after being flung so easily into the room, straightening up where you stand and scoffing at the sheer audacity of this man.
“Sato, what the hell is wrong with you? I was in the middle of-,” When you turn around, all the words on your tongue seem to die out entirely.
In all your years of living and in all your time of knowing Sato Gojo, never could you have expected to see him down on his knees and peering up at you like a desperate puppy. Pouting rather cutely and letting his hand snake up behind your leg, “Please.” he whispers shortly.
You blink. Then you look around for a bit, trying to decipher whether or not this was something your drunken brain had come up with or if it was real. “Please… what?”
His head tilts and the dim lighting in the room catches against his blue eyes, a soft look noticeable in them now. “Touch me,” Sato continues, pout deepening as he shuffles forwards on his knees. “Look at me, yell at me, give me your attention—something.”
“Are you okay?” You ask with genuine curiosity. It was weird to see him like this all of a sudden. “You’ve been acting strange all night and then you pull me in here for this?”
Ah, so you'd noticed it? You noticed how he couldn't keep his eyes off of you, how he kept steering his brother in the opposite direction of you, and how your talking to Geto and Sukuna drove him absolutely insane?
Sato’s close enough now that his head ends up resting against your thigh and he nuzzles his face into your skin, “You don’t get it.” He insists, “I will do whatever you want-, whatever it takes to get your attention back on me instead of—“
“Toru?” You finish for him.
His jaw tenses as he grits his teeth, “Yeah. Anything it takes to bring you back to me.”
You fall silent for a moment long enough to worry him.
Then, he watches your hand lift in slow motion and his heart-rate spikes immediately. You go to flick that stupid backwards hat of his off the top of his head, hearing it hit the floor with a light little thump, and then thread your fingers through his hair. A shiver runs up his spine and his lashes begin to bat up at you.
Fuck, it'd been so long since he felt your touch that he was on the verge of embarrassing himself even more soon.
Your touch sinks deeper into his hair before you shift your hand down to his face, and eventually his jaw. Cupping it in your palm, you force his head up and tug him closer—still keeping him on his knees—and flash this look at him that makes his cock jump.
He’d never seen you gaze at him so hungrily before. Needy? Sure, plenty of times. But hungry-, starved? Now that was something different.
“…Anything?” You whispered before you drew that plastic red cup of yours up to your mouth and took a slow swig of your drink.
With the way things had been going on this fine night, you were starting to wonder if you were being greedy. Had he not dragged you up here like this, you might've ended up in a new bed with new people...
Sato gulped in tandem with your steady sips. His eyes fawning up at you all doe-like, “Y-Yeah, anything.”
He’d never been on to stutter. Hell, he’s never even been on his knees like this for anyone and yet here he was. But if he had to watch Sukuna and Suguru—of all people—lounge around in your attention any longer than he just did moments ago, he might’ve lost his mind entirely.
Your hand leaves his face and his breath hitches at the loss. “Lean back a bit, Sato.” You direct, watching as he instantly angles his torso back enough for you to see his entire frame below you.
Your body was buzzing from the alcohol and you don't think you ever would've acted on these thoughts of yours had you been sober.
Letting your gaze saunter down his body until it lands on his parted legs, your foot already in between them, the sight thrusts an idea into your head and you end up smiling down at him almost wickedly.
“Now spread,” You hum with a subtle nod of your chin.
His cock twitches again. Then he’s sprawling his legs out further as blush decorates his cheeks. “Like.. like this?” Sato mumbles.
Fuck, he was so embarrassed right now. Why did he do this? Why was he doing this?
Noticing your expression, his answer becomes quite clear.
“Just like that, good boy.” You praise before lifting your leg and soon nudging at his crotch with the tip of your foot—poking the bulge that’d revealed itself there. “I kinda like you like this, y’know.”
He gulps again, trying his damndest to ignore the way precum drooled out of his plump cockhead in reaction to your foot, “Do you?”
You nod, "Mhm. Had I known you were dragging me up here for this, I would've came along willingly."
Sato nearly moans at that. It revealed to him that you somewhat still cared for him, albeit in a sexual context.
You apply some more pressure onto his dick and watch his entire expression break out as he gasps. Then he hunches forward and grabs onto your leg as if to beg for mercy or something, grunting a searingly low, "Fuck."
Moving your gaze further down, you see how cute his cock looks all hard 'n smushed up against his thigh, twitching beneath your foot like he craved more. You wonder faintly if you're being too mean to him with this but, with the way he's breathing against your leg and holding onto you for dear life, you quickly realize he likes it.
You reel your foot back for a few seconds before stepping down harder, causing him to straight up whimper at how deliciously that pains him.
Flipping his head up to look at you with glossy eyes, "More," Sato moans. Then he's rutting his hips and your foot slips down off his crotch. To which he follows by humping your leg.
That seems to catch you by surprise with the way your hand grabs onto his hair and you tug at his head, "Hey, did I say you could do that?"
Something pathetic wisps out of his lungs and he shakes his head, "No, fuck.. m'sorry." He mumbles.
Then he shuffles back again and lets you return your foot to his cock, looking down to watch how you rub against his bulge.
"Don't touch it either, jus' watch." You order rather cruelly. Something burning coils up in his abdomen, perhaps a hungry need to buck his hips up and meet the friction you were so graciously gifting him with.
Sato nods his head obediently and then leans back further so that you could better watch how you were stepping on his cock. His mind feels muddled. He wanted your attention but, he didn't realize he wanted it this badly—to the point where he was letting you treat him like this.
Your foot taps at the head of his dick and he flinches cutely, simpering a whine out from his tongue.
"Aw, that's adorable." You comment with a smile on your face, "Did you always want me to do this to you or are you only like this because I forgot about you for all that time?"
His eyes are hazy as they meet yours and you can tell there's hardly a thought running through that unfairly pretty head of his. "...Both?" He heaves out. The pressure against his cock increases again and his eyes start rolling back, hips unconsciously moving to grind up against your foot. "Ah, f-fuck.." Sato whispers helplessly.
His swollen cock was relishing in the weight that pressed against it, tip sticking to the fabric of his boxers and even beginning to seep through with the liquids as he began to move. The rest of his body felt hot and his mind was taut with sin, drool steadily building up against his lips.
You let your foot smack at his length all meanly and Sato swears he came for a second based on what nearly spurted out of his tip.
Those slightly soaked lashes flutter up at you, his pout deepening as his muscles flex from tension, "M'gonna cum," He warns.
You promptly snatch your foot away and roll your eyes at him, “No you aren’t.”
Oh, at the level of depravity he'd reached, he almost got on all fours to crawl after you as you stepped back instead of further on him.
The only thing that stopped him from doing so was a gentle gesture from your fingers, beckoning him to get up on his feet. He shuffles up messily and you notice the wet spot on his pants where his cockhead is proudly poking at.
Creeping near him again, your smile widens as you lift your eyes up, “How much did you miss me, Sato?”
So much so that his body is burning with the desire to touch you right now...
Not that he says that, though.
Sato's tone is a little breathless from his near orgasm but, he still manages to speak without stuttering. Which should count for something considering how desperate he's gotten. “I almost came from you stepping on my cock, how much do you think?” He huffs sassily.
You slap him.
You don’t know if it was the alcohol resting in your system or simply the heat of the moment but, your hand had flown across his face faster than you could think. You didn’t much care for his sass, especially since you’d spent far too long letting him talk to you and treat you however he wanted.
Sato blinks and stares off into that direction, baffled by the pain sitting on his cheek and the quiver it earned from his dick. He doesn’t even realize he whined as if aroused until his eyes fall on you again.
You look surprised at yourself but then he sees how you’re scrunching your brows at him.
It’s then that Sato realizes he’s smirking at you, his head spinning with the most lustful ideas before he stalks closer to you. “Please,” He nearly groans, “Do that again?”
“What?” You gape. “N-No, I didn’t even mean to—“
“I don’t care,” Sato cuts off. “Slap me again. I-I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, I forgot my place.”
“Your place? What? I—“
“Here,” He drops to his knees again with a heavy thud. “My place is here, remember?”
No, you don’t remember at all. Is he acting like this because of a few minutes ago or has he really gone this crazy? Did all that time truly get him this bad? This desperate for you?
“I’m sorry,” Sato whines, reaching for your hand to pull it to his mouth so he can kiss across your knuckles. “M’so sorry for how I treated you before—how shitty I was.”
“Sato, i-it’s fine, I…” You trail off because of how submissive he looks kissing your fingers as if it’s the only thing keeping him sane. "I didn't even mean to hit you... I just..." Then something clicks in your brain.
His eyes flock up but he doesn’t get long to process why your words had trailed off. The same fingers he was kissing end up in his mouth within only a few seconds.
He groans against your hand and sucks dearly, nodding his head as if to coax you into continuing. “M-Mhmm..” Sato hums.
“God, you're pathetic,” You hum.
He's so hard he feels like he's gonna pass out.
Your fingertips plummet into his mouth, tapping at the back of his tongue. “Sucking on my fingers like this, letting me step on your cock, liking it when I slapped you...” You lean down all of a sudden and his eyes get wide, “Jerking off to the sounds of your brother fucking me…”
Sato feels dizzy now. He wants to pull his mouth away and protest—tell you that it’s not true, that he’s never done that before—but he knows he can’t. He wouldn’t be able to breathe a lie into your direction. Not like this.
So when you take your fingers out his mouth and grab his face to tug his head up again, he thinks his brain turned off entirely.
“How... How do you know about that?" He asks hoarsely.
You slowly lean down to him and shrug, "I heard you moaning my name out one time."
Surprise colors itself into his eyes before he looks away. You tilt your head into that direction and then force him to look at you one more time, inching in fully to catch him by surprise as you kiss him.
His previously turned-off brain comes to life at the feel of your lips against his. The familiarity in which your mouth moves with his is enough to bring him up to his feet again, his hand quick to meet your waist and then pull you in.
“I missed you so fuckin’ much,” Sato sears into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before his tongue dives in. “M’sorry for bein’ so stupid, let me make it up to you. Please?”
Who were you to say no to such a thing?
It’s only natural that you indulge in his wishes since it’d been so long.
But, by the time you both tear one another’s clothes off and he’s one layer away from a face full of your pussy—the door to the room you’re in swings open.
Your legs clamp around Sato’s face in reaction and you hear him groan frustratedly.
Standing at the door with a face flushed from alcohol consumption is Toru, who’s wearing the same expression Sato was earlier when he saw you with Geto and Sukuna.
Scoffing, the man steps into the room fully and kicks the door shut behind him. The sound of it locking clicks throughout the air seconds after.
Sato opens his mouth to say something—hoping to protest his twin brother joining in on this, but getting cut off by the glare that’s sent his way from behind perfectly clean frames.
A low, “Move over.” husks past Toru’s lips as he stems closer to the bed and soon into it.
Your legs get stretched further apart and you’re looking at the Gojo twins settle themselves in between them before you have a moment to understand what was going on.
“Tch.” Sato grits out as he's rudely nudged to the side.
"Don't tch me, you can share." Toru argues half-drunkenly, elbowing him slightly.
His older twin has a scowl pressed onto his face now, "Didn't wanna share."
"Cry about it, loser."
"Hey, quit calling me that."
"You've been up here for like thirty minutes 'n still haven't gotten her to squirt," Toru sounded disappointed. "Are you sure you're even a part of the Gojo family?"
Sato quickly takes offense to that—the two of them wrapped up in their bickering and forgetting about you for a moment. "Excuse me? I was the first born, dipshit. M'older than you."
"By six seconds."
"Still older-"
"Hey." You huff, instantly earning both of their eyes back on you. "Less talking and more makin' me feel good, yeah?"
"Yes ma'am," The two breathe out in sync, quickly getting to work.
Toru's mouth latches onto your inner thigh again while Sato goes straight for your cunt—greedy, like always. He ignores your panties being in the way and suckles your taste onto his tongue while tugging the fabric into his mouth.
You felt teeth against your thigh as Toru bit at you here and there, tickling your skin with his tongue afterwords. All while Sato makes his oral muscle quite familiar with the your prettily twitching pussy, salivating against it to let the liquid mix in with the slick collecting against your panties.
Things started out slow between the two of you but got nasty very quickly.
They could only kiss 'n nip at you for so long until Toru looked over and got impatient just from watching the technique his dummy of a brother used to tease you. Palming the side of his twin's face, he shoved him over to the side even more and then scoffed again.
"Lemme show you a thing or two," Toru sighed heavily, moving his hands to your panties and then quickly riiiiiping the fabric that still hugged your cunt. As you're revealed to him, he lets out a sound of relief and greets your lathering folds with a soft kiss. Whispering, "Hey baby. Mmph, miss me?"
When his tongue rolls out his mouth, it's instantaneous how your back begins to arch up. Sato notices it and feels a pang in his chest. He doesn't know why he can't seem to do that with the same ease as his younger sibling.
"Mmnh, Toru!" Then came that gorgeous moan of yours, having the nerve to utter his brother's name as if he hadn't been in the room for much longer so far.
Was he really that bad at making you feel good? Or was there just some sort of bias for the nerd who's currently mumbling filth into your pussy and only ever reeling back to shoot a thick glob of spit onto you?
Having grown tired of not being enough for you, Sato decides to force himself back into the equation by snaking his hand up towards your pulsing hole the moment he sees Toru's tongue glissading up to your clitoral hood—the tip of it catching there before he swats at it.
You're pleasantly surprised to feel two lengthy fingers thrust past that stubborn lil' ring of resistance, spurring a sloppy squelch out in reaction.
Toru's making out with your clit as if he'd never done it before, his tongue clumsily dragging shapes out into it while Sato curls his digits into you. Splatters of your slick fly out onto the both of their faces and you're shamelessly letting your moans fill the room.
It's not long before a gloss of your cum is decorating Sato's entire hand and the lower half of Toru's face. Having both of them work you over the edge was an experience like no other.
Toru lifts his face to spit on his thumb next, moving it to your clit again and swirling his saliva around it as he spells something out. You could just barely make out the letters of their family name being rubbed into you.
“Here, she tastes sweeter when you do this,” Toru instructed in a sultry whisper as he rubs at your clit in sync with Sato’s mouth soon latching onto your slobbering hole.
“Mmgh,” Sato ends up moaning as if heaven itself had just spilled out onto his tongue.
To which his twin tilts his head in awe and then smiles, “Sweet, right?”
“S’fuckin’ sweet,” Sato grumbles, his hips idly rocking against the lower end of the bed for some sort of relief. Adding a low, “Why didn’t I do this before?”
Toru scoffs, “Cause you’re an idiot.”
“Mmph.” Is grumped into you just before you feel Sato pouting against your pussy.
Your puffy lips smear out against his own, leaving a gushing trail against the lower half of his face with the way Toru's insistent thumb never let up on your overstimulated bud.
Even as your legs began to shake, both of their hands had you pinned to the bed as they selfishly got their lusting tastebuds full off of the honeyed slick that continuously oozed out of you.
Sato let his tongue smack at your quivering hole a few times in between his slithering thrusts back in, the thick tip of his tongue grinding against your soft walls to coax more of your juices out.
All as Toru watches and steadily grew proud of his brother for finally using his brain for once. Then he looked up at you and kept his thumb in place as he began to move up. Soon enough, his mouth was meeting yours to let you taste yourself in a smearing kiss.
You had one hand wrapped around Toru to keep him close and the other gripped onto Sato's messier head of hair as his mouth mumbled praises into your pussy.
Your body was quickly being worshiped by the twins as if nothing else could keep them sane. Sato wouldn't let up on your pretty cunt no matter how many times you whined for a break and Toru had made his way to your tits, sucking your perked nipples into his mouth and letting his tongue round the buds in eager fashion.
At the rate they were going, you just knew you'd end up entirely fucked-out sooner rather than later...
"See? If you wanted to make her squirt so bad, all you had to do was work her up to it." Toru says right after popping his slathered mouth off of your swollen nipple, rolling it in between his fingers as he glances down at his pussydrunk twin.
"I can," Sato pants all of a sudden, prying his mouth off of you for the first time in forever, and then looking up at you, "Please let me try again. I can do it this time, I-I'll be patient for it, I'll cater to you, please."
With glossed over eyes, you just barely manage to peer down at the desperate man in between your legs. "You're so cute when you beg," You snicker breathlessly, "C'mere, Sato."
...Was he dreaming? Were you really about to give him another chance?
——
In short, yes!
But, not in the way he'd exactly hoped for.
See, what Sato wanted most was to bring you to that level of pleasure and see the look on your face when it happens.
So when he finds himself dumbly splayed out under you as you ride him in reverse, he's all but frowning grumpily since he can't see a single expression on your face.
He misses how your eyes roll back when you first ease your weepy pussy down onto the erect standing of his cock, how you bite down on your lower kiss-bitten lip to conceal a needy lil' whimper, and how pleasure washes over you completely as the swollen lips of our cunt come flush with his deftly standing base.
The only thing Sato gets to see is the gorgeous arch in your back and the rhythmic recoil 'n slap of your ass while you bounce up and down expertly. His hands are anchored to your hips as his jaw flails open, drool trickled all down his jawline and dripping onto his abs filthily.
It was rare that he let you ride him in the past. The reasoning behind it being the simple fact that he could never handle it!
"O-Ohhh fuck.." Sato groaned out into the air with his head cleanly tossed back.
Your walls were meanly gripping around his aching shaft, causing his mushroomy head to throb ploddingly at the spongey spot inside you. He was forced to watch your pussy sliiiiiiide up 'n down his cock at a pace that ringed such squelchy sounds out into the sir.
"Wait," He panted out in hopes of getting you to listen for just a second. It was hard to believe that this was the same guy who'd fucked you to tears so many times before when he was the one tearing up now. "S'too f-fast. I can't-, hahh.."
His complaints were hardly heard by you since you were quite busy with the man standing over you as you rode him. Another fat cock currently held your attention with the way it dangled in front of your face.
Toru was occupying the same face that Sato desired to badly to see. He had his hand firmly wrapped around his shaft as he tapped your cheek with the rest of his length, coating your skin with his cum and making a complete mess of you.
You'd squeeze around Sato especially tighter with every rude smack of Toru's cock against your face. It was downright whorish the way he was smiling down at you, gaze demeaning from behind those damply fogged glasses of his.
“Focus on the tip, sweet girl.” He told you as he angled his dick downwards to your lips and let the tip smear against the outline of your mouth. He pushed forward just so that his slit drooled specifically onto your bottom lip, smiling when your tongue darts out in response, “Thereeee you go. I like bein’ teased too, see?”
When you nod your head, he takes that as his sign to fully enter your mouth and relishes in the way you swallow him in—the warmth of your mouth enough to make his hand fly to your head to hold onto you. He doesn't even have to say anything for you to start sucking on his cock in the sluttiest way imaginable.
Your tongue laps against the underside of his cock, head reeling back slightly just so you could spit on his tip and then smear the saliva in with a sloppy kiss. Humming, “Mngh!” and causing his balls to feel heavier with the need to release.
While you orally satisfy the nerd in front of you, your hips are swerving and grinding perfectly against Sato—who's still losing his ever loving mind at being inside you again. He's trying to match your movement with a few thrusts of his hips but the one time he does that, he hears you gag on Toru's cock and feels bad.
Not to mention the way it bruises his ego to hear the dork tease you by chuckling, “Fuck, don’t choke.”
To which you soak profusely around Sato.
The only bad thing about all this was the mean fact in which you hadn't let Sato cum.
Toru's been allowed to make a gooey mess on your face, you'd expereined more orgasms than any of you could keep track of—including a stream of squirt that Sato claims to be the cause of—but any time he kindly asked you if he could cum inside you, you'd look back at him and tell him no in the same tone that only made holding it in all the more difficult.
Hence why his voice is barely there now as he heaves out a despairing, “I-I’m gonna pass out if you don’t let me cum,” His fingertips were bruising at your hips and he weakly ground up into you, his cock felt pulsing against your gummy insides. “Please.”
“Give her a second, she’s too busy to give you permission for that.” Toru hummed confidently as he rubbed his palm against your head and forced you to take him deeper down your throat.
Your mouth relaxed around his dick and he moaned lightly once his tip thumped into the very back of it.
“Fuck you a-and what she’s busy with,” Sato protested, “I need to cum.”
“So cum,” Toru says as if it were the simplest thing in the world, trying not to laugh at his brother's pitifulness and the way you were sending him a disapproving look.
“I can’t,” His brother frowns, “N-Not without her-, hnngh! p-permission.”
“How unfortunate.” Toru says as he lazily fucks your throat a little deeper, his balls tapping against your chin along with his alleviated thrusts.
You slurp at him harder, cunt clenching around Sato’s cock again when the one in your mouth bulges against your throat and then chokes you.
Sato thinks he’s on the verge of death with how long he’d been holding back his release—his dramatics evident in the way he tries to pull himself away from you for a moment to breathe.
It's not until you swallow down a sleek load of cum and pull off of Toru's length with dewy strings of pure filth hanging from your lips that you whisper the quietest permission to Sato, allowing his load of warm cum to stuff up until you instantaneously.
The three of you are left worn out just like last time within a matter of moments.
All limbs move languidly to clean up and you just barely notice that the three of you hadn't been in a some random room that entire time. Sukuna's name is caught printed across a jersey in the corner of the bedroom and it makes your eyes go all wide.
Shit.
And if that wasn't enough to worry about, you hear the way Toru snickers from somewhere behind you now. When you glance back at him, he gestures towards his dazed twin, “Guess he was right about one thing..."
Staring innocently, “Hm? What’s that?” you ask all softly.
“You really are a whore for some Gojo cock.”
You roll your eyes, “I think I’m more of a slut for it. There’s only two of you so whore is a bit of a stretch, y’know?”
The twins exchange a glance as you say that.
Then, Sato moves to scratch at the back of his neck, “Yeah, about that…”
I could stop thinking about fratjo and nerdjo, I love reading fics where they switch roles in the bedroom. I remember reading one where they were sharing the reader and it was beautiful omggg. I was so geeked while drawing idccc
I hate when people say to pick one when you can have both!
I hate finishing the most jaw dropping, thigh spreading tumblr fic of my glorious nanami and then having to go out and be disappointed by a real man. Why am i even on call with you rn??
the one piled with legal briefs and manila folders, the orange-shaded lamp casting a warm, intimate pool of light over the two of you. it was an impulse, a desperate grab as he walked by, and he hadn’t hesitated. he’d just swept the paperwork to the floor with a calm, decisive swipe of his arm and lifted you onto the polished wood.
and now hiromi higuruma is on his knees before you, his suit jacket long discarded, his tie loosened. his broad shoulders are between your thighs, holding you open with a gentle but unyielding pressure. his mouth is on you, and it is devastating.
every lick is deliberate, his tongue flicks against your clit with the precise focus of cross-examination, then soothes with the broad, flat strokes of a closing argument. he works you over with a quiet, intense dedication that leaves you gasping, fingers scrambling against the cool wood of the desk.
then he pulls back, just slightly.
and he looks up.
oh, god, that look.
his glasses are slightly down his nose. his dark eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, are wide, soft, and utterly drowning in you. they’re pure, liquid puppy-dog devotion, glazed with a hunger that’s entirely at odds with their innocence. a faint blush paints his cheeks. his lips are swollen, glistening with you. he doesn’t say a word. he just... admires. he gazes up at you from between your legs like you’re the entire fucking statute book, like you’re the verdict he’s spent his whole life waiting for.
“h-hiromi…” you whimper, your voice breaking.
at the sound of his name, his expression softens even further, if that’s possible. he nuzzles his cheek against your inner thigh, his breath hot. “you taste so good,” he murmurs, his voice a low, reverent rumble. it’s rough with want, stripped of all professional cadence. “so perfect.”
“please don’t stop…”
“i wasn’t planning on it,” he says, and there’s a hint of a smile in his words, a sweet possessiveness. “i’m not nearly finished.” he leans in again, but pauses, his nose brushing your skin. “tell me what you want, sweet thing. use your words.”
“your mouth,” you beg, hips lifting. “just… y-you, please.”
“good,” he praises softly, and then his tongue is on you again, licking a slow, torturous stripe that has you crying out. he moans against you, the sound vibrating deep. “good girl, that’s it… let me hear you.”
he alternates between deep, languid strokes and quick, fluttering flicks, all while watching your face, studying every twitch and gasp. when you fist your hands in his hair, he groans his approval.
“you’re so beautiful like this,” he breathes between kisses, his words slightly slurred. “falling apart just for me. my sweet girl.”
but then he changes tactics. he presses closer, burying his face deeper. his tongue spears into your entrance, fucking into you with slow, penetrating thrusts that make you see stars. and as he does it—as his tongue delves deep—the bridge of his nose, firm and unyielding, grinds insistently against your swollen clit. it’s an accidental, perfect pressure, a dual stimulation that has you choking on air.
“h-hiromi— oh f-fuck—!”
he understands instantly. he doesn’t pull back. instead, he angles his head deliberately, fucking you with his tongue in a steady rhythm while maintaining that maddening, rubbing pressure of his nose against your most sensitive bud. his breaths are hot puffs against your soaked skin, and he lets out a muffled, desperate sound of his own, drunk on the feel and scent of you.
the combination of his filthy mouth, that relentless nudge of his nose, and his tender, adoring gaze is too much. you shatter with a broken sob, your back arching off the desk, your thighs clamping around his head. he holds you through it, drinking every drop, his low moans of satisfaction vibrating through your core as you pulse against his tongue and nose.
when the last tremor passes, he rests his forehead against your thigh, breathing heavily. he presses a final, soft kiss to your skin before looking up again, those big, earnest eyes meeting yours. his nose and the tops of his cheeks are slick with you. he looks thoroughly wrecked and utterly content.
“okay?” he asks, his voice husky.
all you can do is nod, pulling him up for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. he smiles into it, a real, unguarded smile, and you know no one else ever gets to see this version of him.
