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Describing Gojo Satoru was difficult.
She was a juxtaposition of adjectives complicated to understand, pasted one after the other, resulting in an unreadable sentence. Always with snowy hair tied back, forehead held high - a rare confidence to see.
Spoiled brat, maybe he'd heard spitting from one of the higher-ups, perhaps a staff member. She'd smile mischievously and stick out her tongue, gracefully scurrying away. Sometimes a middle finger if they caught her on a bad day.
They couldn't touch her, after all. And it had been a while since anyone had tried.
It was a nickname that suited her, just as being the strongest suited her. Clan heiress - too much attention for her own good. Always defiant, scowling as she nibbled on one of those strawberry lollipops that seemed to be everywhere.
She was competent too - how could she not be? Blessed by whoever was up there, a one in a million - the first after 400 years. Satoru Gojo was simply unique. She took it upon herself to chatter it around.
Utahime hated to admit that one of her many blessings was also her beauty.
Divine eyelashes, soft full lips, creamy thighs that Utahime tried to ignore for his own good - a difficult task considering those sometimes shorter than average dark skirts that didn't help his goal.
Her hands were pleasant to look at, nails long and perfectly sanded. The skin was milky, a firm grip around his neck, her claws shredding to the inside of his muscles.
How he knew those details was inconceivable for him to digest. Sometimes he thought it was a lucid dream, hard to get it out of his memories. The usual placid silence of the library, the sound of the page being torn, trying to understand the letters.
The sudden weight on his neck paralyzed him - Gojo's arms, burly through the cloth, using his neck as a pillow. She murmured something incoherent, as she pinched the scattered strands of his hair, her torrid breath tickling the back of his neck.
“What'cha got there?” she made a cute sound with her tongue, that dumb sunglasses sticking to her frontal region.
“Studying, what else?” It was hard to pull himself together, especially feeling her lips so close, almost a brush. “At least trying.”
“You hang out here like a bookworm.” The chair made a horrified squeak, sliding across the floor, Gojo's awkwardness hard to bear. “Come out more often.”
“I like it here. It's quiet. I don't like dealing with people.”
She let out a laugh, one of those few that weren't arrogant - still, it sounded sour. “Dork.”
He couldn't remember when the nickname originated. Maybe when Gojo was younger, a temperamental, tantrum-ridden little girl with too many whims. She'd point a finger at him and call him weak, a smirk from ear to ear, her hair badly cut.
Things hadn't changed much, really - Gojo was still the same mean girl she'd always been, gleaming skin, overpriced clothes. She always came in with something different - some new glasses, some new design for her nails, maybe a dark coat to match the obnoxious uniform at school.
“Do you think black looks good on me, 'Hime?” her crystalline eyes sparkled as she stood back to expose her new cardigan, those designer ones in the most expensive stores. Wide hips, her curves making him dizzy in the middle of the Jujutsu High exteriors.
He snorted deeply and shrugged, still lost among those blue dots. “I guess. If you like it, that's fine.”
She puffed out her cheeks, her vocal cords playing a strange sound - Utahime felt his hands tremble. “You're boring sometimes, Hime.”
“Then spend time with other people.” Probably a cheap excuse to try to pull himself out of his daydream, head in the clouds between lipsticks and light blue irises. The wall he was leaning against his portal to the real world. “Geto and Shoko would be better company. I'm not good with people.”
“You always say things like that.” She let out another one of those giggles, plopping her lips together. Her knees colliding with his shinbone, her breasts sinking into the buttons of his shirt. He felt worms devouring his stomach. “But nah. I kind of like you. At least more than the rest of the assholes 'round here.”
It was an improvement considering they never hit it off well. At least, he remembered it that way.
Gojo then gave another one of those ear-to-ear grins, very white teeth and a mischievous smirk. She pinched his cheek, stretching the skin before releasing it all at once. It left a nasty reddish mark, which took a few days to dissipate.
Ouch. “What was that for?”
“Sometimes you turn red when I touch you.” She teased, poking through the white cloth, unintentionally hurting his shoulder. “It's cute.”
The dialogue made him dizzy for hours, projecting those casual close-ups that sent slight shivers down his spine, constant headaches. He'd convince himself from time to time that Gojo wasn't doing it on purpose, she was just like that. Mean, brutally honest - one of her few shortcomings.
He found it hard to understand why she was getting so close to him, making quick small talk, perhaps physical contact. Utahime was not someone flashy - struggling to get a promotion, looking at nothing responding with monosyllables, too serious for someone like Gojo, not gentle enough, too airheaded.
She had a reputation for being savage during missions, the veil covering the absolute mess she always left, curses atomically reduced, sorcerers reduced to bloody pulps or skulls embedded in walls.
Utahime was direct, even pragmatic - he would arrive, exorcise what he had to exorcise, and leave as quickly as he had arrived. It was a routine that repeated itself assiduously, each time with less and less time for a bit of leisure.
Perhaps that meant that from one day to the next his appearance simply ceased to be a weight off his shoulders, one less worry. The scar that adorned his already unfortunate face ceased to be intoxicated with creams, gels and patches - a permanent ugly mug. Too immersed to wear anything more than simple button-down shirts and baggy brown pants.
“How I look was something I stopped caring about a long time ago, Gojo.” He told her one of those times when she recommended something to cover that mark on his cheek.
She laughed, stuck out her tongue, her boots hitting the floor. “That's why you're not popular with girls, Hime.”
“It's not something I'm worried about either.”
“Awh.” She pinched him on the arm again, her elbow making painful maneuvers on his forearm, her strength being inordinate, even when she wasn't trying. “You don't look so bad, honest. You should try it. You'd look good, better.”
He didn't quite know what all that meant.
It was on one of those unpleasant Sundays that he decided to go outside, the sun being blotted out by gray clouds, water drying from the sodden pavement. His pants almost got soaked when he accidentally stepped in a puddle of water, almost coming in through the leather.
He wandered through the streets not as tumultuous as usual - salary mens nervously milling about, teenagers gossiping out of the corner of his eye, cars taking care of spreading the water around, either too unconcerned or too focused.
He stopped his gait at one of those vending machines scattered haphazardly in one of the tangled alleys in Tokyo. Searching for combustion rubbing his palms together, his breath pulling fog.
”Yo.” Gojo's soft lexia interrupted the sound of the can clattering against the pot's mouth. Dark stockings, glazed lips, the lollipop being nibbled and savored by her palate. “Hime.”
“Gojo.” He did his best to snap out of his stupor, the can stumbling in his hand. “How are you?”
“Dandy.” Her lips made a sound that mesmerized him, the muddy candy leaving her mouth and entering back. “'Didn't expect to see you around. Haven't seen you lately.”
The few times he'd seen her on the streets it was always surrounded by crowds, some stuck-up boy or some clingy girls. “I just wanted to get out.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn't seem very immersed in the conversation, the outline of the uniform ripping her skin, the lollypop by the last chews. “Let's go for a walk.”
It was an unexpected conclusion - Utahime's body atrophied right there, trying to formulate response. “Huh?”
Gojo looked at him like a weirdo. Not too far from reality. “What? We're friends, Hime. Friends hang out. That's not weird, is it?”
“No, but,” He tried to dig into his mind for some pathetic excuse - something to keep himself from looking at her pretty cheeks and restraining himself from massaging the pale curls. “I'm not taking up your time, am I?”
“Pft. If I'm asking you out, it means I have time, right?” she grumbled, turning her back to him, ponytail stroking her spine - muscles hidden under glistening skin. A detail he'd seen out of the corner of his eye once and could never erase. “I don't have all day to wait on you, y'know.”
He knew he was blushing when a hideous flush began to course across his features. He mumbled through his teeth. “Yes, ma'am.” He heard her let out a laugh, the heat getting worse even in such weather.
It was a strange ride. They didn't utter a word at first, their ankles colliding, heading towards nothingness. Gojo threw the remains of the lollipop to the floor, her foot disintegrating the thing at contact. She’ll be our undoing, I swear - a phrase repeated among those stubborn old men.
“You should have more self-control.” He mumbled, the minuscule amount of dust being swallowed up by a light blizzard.
“Well, Hime.” An odd baritone surged through the corners of his mouth. An unfamiliar sound to him. “You are very untrustworthy to speak of self-control.”
He felt a whistle run through his hearing. “Excuse me?”
“I noticed, just so you know. I'm not that clueless. And you're bad at hiding things.” Her hairs stood on end, her stride coming to a sudden halt. It was a mess when Gojo bit her lower lip, a mischievous grimace tugging across the corners of her mouth. “It's adorable, really.”
“What?’
“Trying to act all polite around me. You freak out every time I touch ya and blush.” She groped his shoulder, her ends pinching flesh. Too bizarre closeness - it made him stiff, numb. “Seriously, you try too hard. Even when I try to get you to touch me, you pull away.”
It would explain the gentle touches on his cheeks, the sharp-edged pecks on his arms - sometimes a clash of legs that left a less-than-graceful ecchymosis. “Don't think I've ever seen it that way.”
“Of course not.” The weight of her palm rested on his shoulder, freezing the shirt. She was still twisting her lips, her breath brushing against his neck - a sensitive spot since childhood. “Your face is pretty. You're pretty to look at, really. Wasn't kidding that time.”
“You said I didn't look bad.”
“It was a compliment.”
“In your own way.”
“'Course.” Utahime recited a strange moan, more like a sigh as he felt Gojo's thumb press close to his Adam's apple, leaving a trail. She bit her lip again. “Ah, looks like I touched a nerve there.”
“Gojo.” His voice came out deeper than usual, the massage on his vocal cords too intolerable. “Please.”
Another guffaw. “Please what?”
“We shouldn't,” The disjointed sentence felt like stones in his throat - a pathetic attempt to try to avoid a growing longing, to show maturity. “It's awkward to talk about this in public.”
“I didn't think it was a problem for you to be embarrassed. Good for me anyway.” She held up his wrist, an ugly girth beginning to form. They advanced with hurried celerity across the pavement, approaching toward a battered alley. Utahime nipping at his heels like a disastrous dog.
“You used to tell me I was weak, Gojo.” Her pace didn't let up, his wrist beginning to burn, the passageway getting closer and closer. She didn't bother to look at him, that indelible smile, steady footsteps. “That I was too feeble to even be able to touch you.”
“Yeah, I said that. Like eight years ago.” They arrived in the corridor. Utahime felt a hard pressure on his wrist, propelled toward one of the concrete walls, rough, unpleasant. Gojo walked with the same grace as always - a strange countenance all around. “I realized that annoying you was not the best way to try to establish conversation. Flirting served better. We both liked it. And like I said, you're bad at hiding things.”
”It was that obvious?“”
Gojo pushed him back against the wall - her palm resting on his naturally robust chest, a chuckle gracing the mood again. “Very.”
She lightly touched, stretching the fabric, his skin - his nipple being lightly stimulated. He grunted, which perhaps made her more willing to continue. She moved one of her hands up to one of his cheeks, the other gradually moving purposefully.
Utahime's face shifted to rest in Gojo's hands, stroking the bones, moving bruised locks that blocked his ears. She squeezed his cheeks, making him look like one of those puffer fish she made fun of as a child when they went to some aquarium, her laughter crippling his eardrums.
A painfully impossible angle to imagine, with her reaching for his neck, her boots brushing against his thumb.
“Utahime,” It was the first time in a while that she had called him by his name instead of an abbreviation. Her icy grip tightened, he felt her face draw closer. “I think you already noticed that my technique is off, didn't ya?”
His reaction time was short, or maybe he was slow. It was hard to tell when she pulled him in and pressed her lips to his, a mixture of flavors flooding his being. Sweet, enticing, as was always expected from her. Strawberries. Caramel apples. Vanilla cakes.
Her lips were hungry and soggy. She wrapped her arms around his neck, the fiber drawing him deeper into her touch. He gripped her shoulders instinctively, between wet kisses, awkward pecks and spilled saliva.
She explored his mouth, every cavity being consumed. She began to give sticky licks, nibbling on his lower lip, licking his upper one - similar sounds to the ones she gave when she put those lollipops aside. He could barely respond, his lips being treated like scouring pad as the reach became hard to bear.
Their bodies seemed to combine and Utahime already felt like he was in purgatory. Her thighs smoothing his knees, her nipples tickling his chest. The skirt working wonders on his painfully red cock, a noticeable swelling in his crotch.
Gojo noticed it too, chuckling as she heard him grunt between sloppy kisses - she rubbed faster, moving her hips in a steady rhythm, a diligent dance that made him let out a noticeable gasp. It was hard to explain why he felt so battered in such a short time. Having his first kiss in his two decades of life, maybe a little less or more, would explain it.
His mouth felt dry, hard to keep up when his mouth was being squeezed and his cock was being fucked in the face of toxic friction - strange twists around her stomach, her navel and what he could have sworn was the fabric of her panties.
She bloomed like a spider across his neck, her fingers massaging his vertebrae, his spine. She gripped his shirt tightly, gripping laceratingly as the friction became unbearable, his cock a mess as it was massaged. He could swear droplets were leaking from his oral cavity, staining the already soaked pavement.
Her journey parked on his back, too close to his ass - her hands struggled to untangle the knot that separated her from his erection, difficult in the face of the array of positions they formed. Almost desperately she managed to loosen the belt, the buckle dropping to the floor with a silvery sound, the pants coming tenuously loose.
“Fuck. Quite a boy you've got here.” He didn't even give him time to catch his breath before he felt his member being wrapped in a hurtful grip, Gojo's claws releasing him in record time. She cooed lightly with her thumb, her hand covering his middle. “I'm even insulted.”
She stroked gently at first, moving up and down with a strange care, tough for Gojo. He had to bite his lip anyway, squint, avoid sounds, overwhelmed at his first jerk off - his cock finding its way bidirectionally, her hand using it perfectly.
It got hard all at once - accelerated movement, even rough, working him faster. His teeth couldn't help the moans that followed. “Your sounds are pretty, Hime. I like to hear them.”
His head throbbed wildly, her jerking him hard, a sharp sensation transmitting down his legs. He frowned for a second as she fixed her hair and bent down, still stimulating her hand. Legs bent, skirt lengthening - a show of submission hard to believe in her wild personality.
The white teeth in that graceful grimace made his consciousness able to formulate a response at last. Her tongue expanded delightfully, a talent only she could do. She licked his cock - starting from the base, an accidental brush with his sack, ending at the tip. She left more wetness, a trickle of saliva spreading on the head. She snorted, took a breath of air. “Dork.”
The corners of his intellect thought it would be like a tickle - a slight embrace that would expand into a crush. What he felt was a tidal wave, with Gojo sinking to the bottom of his member, her lips crashing against his pelvis, soaking him inside her cavity. Her hand instinctively came to rest on his hair, flattering his scalp.
Utahime was startled for a moment as he felt her gag a couple of times, bruised moans, her eyes narrowing. She managed to adjust quickly, her fingers using his waist as a backup. She began to slide, up and down, down and up. Saliva bruising his cock, the stimulation rumbling.
Perhaps they were away from the epiglottis, exploring around her throat in inaccessible areas, wetting his member in goo, smelling like chewing gum. His moans were combining with hers in a strange symphony, muffled sounds monopolized by a choking, a struggle she always won.
She had no right to feel so good, the tip brushing the back of her throat, something glutinous.
One of her hands went down across his waist, stumbling through his legs and dropping to his balls, tearing at his waist. Massaging, tickling, light caresses on his sac - the induction too severe, his back arching as her grip was even firmer.
It almost discouraged him that Gojo had to pull away, puffs of air being exhaled in an attempt to recover. She went back to work on her hands, rubbing and spitting before jerking him off at a progressive speed. “There, Hime. Stay on the edge. Yes, just like that.”
It was rough - Gojo was not very merciful, and that eagerness to simply devour him was unhinging him, more than a little. She exposed her tongue to the air again, the mucous membrane releasing glimpses of drool. She brought her face closer, his tip bouncing with her nose, palming his cock with her muscle, bouncing a couple of times, expelling crumbs of pre-semen all around.
She sank back down, her throat back on the prowl. She struggled again with gasps and a clog, like liquid hard to digest. She settled back, gaze fixed on his embarrassed expression, working and sucking the remnants of pre-cum seeping into her palate.
She used it as she wished - traveling from tip to base, occasionally bumping against his pelvis, an unpleasantly damp trail leaving a mark. He wasn't quite sure how she could secrete so much saliva, more and more being spit towards his member, soaked in sticky substance, more and more prominent.
Immersed between choked groans, saliva dripping on his shoes, it was difficult to regain eye contact with Gojo, reveling in those occasional retches. It was a surprise to find her with growing confidence, eyes narrowed - always defiant, airy on every occasion. Another one of those blessings.
She was ambitious too, something new learned on a shitty Sunday. He didn't quite know how it went, but the idea of simply giving her everything was shared, a fob-like bond.
Fucking Satoru Gojo's throat was never one of his ideas for the week - but he couldn't be more than happy to comply, especially if she coveted him so much.
He steadied himself against the wall, ponytail as security as well. He sighed, his back arching, his teeth chattering and finally pushing. His head collided with something, a mucilaginous wall that emitted a sour, sticky sound. Gojo's eyes turned for a few seconds to his skull, her grip quivering, her lips bruised.
Drove him mad.
He began to thrust, ramming hard into her oral cavity, occasionally colliding with her tongue, piercing her taste buds. Her palates scraped, his dick too stimulated to care about her teeth, her trigones mixing saliva with pre-seminal fluid.
Gojo's grip became increasingly desperate, swaying. She was struggling to stay - difficult considering he was beginning to increase the pace of his onslaught. Her eyes glazed over for a second, but she didn't seem too keen on pulling away again. He was piercing two-thirds of her tongue, the density pleasurable.
She was making strange sounds - akin to trying to hold air underwater. Gojo's cheeks were juggling his veins, sliding saliva across his member. It collided with flaccid spots, others hard, her throat hot as she struggled to swallow small droplets that were becoming lush.
Utahime felt it too, his cock beginning to stir, a shiver running through his system. He wasn't sure how much longer he could last - especially as his cock rubbed and gargled against her tonsil, uvula adorning the contact. Gojo stood firm, knees straining, hands nearly shredding his shirt.
“I'm coming. Gojo, I'm coming.” He only managed to reach to say before his legs began to tremble, his neck stretching at steady spurts of semen, the liquid spreading in Gojo's throat, her pharynx straining.
Some fell on her student jacket, another spout sprayed on his pants. He flooded in gasps as Gojo swallowed, not a single drop trickling down her lips. The sounds were sickening, a guilty taste - resembling those milkshakes and coffees he'd take a sip of with the straw and then dump it out because of the excess sweetness.
He wasn't quite sure if his sense of time was gone along with his mind, not quite certain how long it took Gojo to clean up the mess. Finally she let his member go in between gasps, leaving a mess of saliva and small droplets remaining. They both had a hard time catching their breath, Utahime awkwardly adjusting his belt, her wiping her lips.
“Better than faking it with lollipops, honestly.” She nearly paralyzed him again, her voice huskier, but with the same laugh as always.
“That's gross, Gojo.”
“But you sure as hell liked that.”
“Ugh.”
The clarity afterwards was strange. They cleaned up quickly and left after identifying zero witnesses - similar to when they had to install a veil. He scratched the back of his neck without any itch, a habit when he was nervous as they walked away from the alley.
They didn't even take ten steps before Gojo's recovered voice pointed into the air, her glasses back on their sapphires. “So, we datin’, or what?”
He scoffed. “Do I have a choice?”
She repeated the laugh. “Nope. Not really.”
It was an interesting conclusion, but he couldn't complain.