synopsis: waking up in a prison cell wasn’t the interplanetary welcome you were expecting. this hero they’ve sent to question you is the most welcomed distraction though.
info: hey! this is heavily inspired by SUPERGIRL! if you haven’t seen it, it’s still easy to read. me and aali watched it and whilst the credits were rolling i told her this idea. different to what i usually write but i enjoyed :) this is probably going to be a one shot.
bakugou katsuki hates this part of his job. he finds it incredibly boring, uneventful and somewhat like those detective movies his mother watches in the evening. he’s not a detective or a police officer, he’s a pro hero built for the streets, fighting real villains. not in the foreign governmental holding cell with the purpose of asking questions, while the person in it has anti-quirk handcuffs on. so fucking boring. at least take the handcuffs off them, give him a real challenge.
bakugou barges into the cell, shoulder first into the iron heavy windowless door and the first thing he does is sigh. he crosses his arms across his chest and he flicks his eyes over the room. grey brick walls, square room, a metal toilet in the corner and a thin mattress on the floor. it’s the same as every other high risk room in this prison.
minus you, the woman he’s supposed to be talking to. bakugou frowns, a low unimpressed huh leaving his throat. he was told he’d be dealing with an alien here but from what he can see of you, hugging your arms to your chest on the floor, head resting on your knees… you look human. like him. two arms, two legs. he needs to check your face when you look up but otherwise, there’s nothing particularly alien-like about you and bakugou’s met many aliens before.
apparently you haven’t spoken to anyone in three days. police have tried, detectives and doctors. they decided he’d be the next step in case you end up being violent.
“fuck, how does it go?” he mutters to himself, shutting the squeaking door behind him. “hate this shit.”
you don’t move at the sound of his voice but your handcuffs glow green around your wrists. you’re in the same orange jumpsuits as everyone else in this building. bakugou’s a fan of the colour.
“my name is dynamight, i’m a hero here on earth. i’ve gotta ask you a couple questions ‘cause protocol and shit. we dunno who you are, why you’re here or what you can do. the quicker we get this done, the quicker we both can go home.”
it’s the mention of home that gets your attention. you lift your head up off your legs and you turn to face the man who’s taking up more space than necessary in your cell.
as bakugou gasps, you snigger.
what the hell is this guy wearing? those wings by his head? are the height of those boots to compensate for something else?
you’re definitely human looking. two sparkly eyes, a nose in the centre of your face. nobody told him the alien was beautiful. fucking stunning.
he wants to go home now, he’s not prepared to be speaking to a woman like you after a ten hour shift. fuck, he doesn’t think he ever would be.
bakugou clears his throat. he stands up straight and tightens his arms across his chest.
“you’re very… fuck, anyway,” he’s so goddamn embarrassing.
you start laughing, these light buttery giggles that feel like they’re breathing air into bakugou’s lungs. your eyes brighten, you even lean back on the wall like you’re taking a better look at him. he feels your eyes travel from his boots to the top of his head.
thank god this man has a pretty face, or at least he would if he stopped frowning because this outfit he’s wearing looks stupid. does anyone else on this planet dress like this?
you’re laughing… and it feels like it’s at him instead of with him. he knows he didn’t say anything funny.
“do you not know english? they always say i need to speak english for this shit.” he grunts, scratching his head.
damn, he’s finding it hard to even look at you directly. the orange compliments you, makes your skin glow, makes you— stay focused.
“i doubt you’re gonna know any japanese. d’you understand me now?” he tries and he sees the frown on your face. confusion.
“ah, so you understand english. you just don’t want to talk to me.” he punctuates by jabbing his thumb into his chest and then leaning on the wall behind him.
you roll your eyes, which only gets bakugou grinning, then he calms down. he doesn’t need to be reacting like he won the lottery over a reaction from you.
“what’s your name?”
nothing. you blankly stare at his face.
“why are you here?”
nothing.
“c’mon just say somethin’ so i have somethin’ to say to them outside. then you get to go back home.”
you swallow, resting your head in your palm.
“this is an odd planet. a traveller lands and you immediately arrest them, deprive them of sunlight and dignity,” you nod your head towards the toilet in the corner of the room, “treating me like a criminal.”
you’ve got an accent. one he can’t place from anywhere specific on earth. it sounds almost melodic, easy to understand and very clear.
“so the alien talks,” dynamight, you think he introduced himself as earlier, says amused, “you fell from the sky, at a speed none of us has seen before. it was so fast, not even our meteorologists caught it. then you came out of this metal-like sphere that isn’t quite metal, they’re still workin’ that out, in a coma. not to mention you set alight the fields you landed in, causing a wildfire through acres and acres of land.”
bakugou squints at you, “you can see why we’d have a fuck load of questions, right?”
you look away from him. fuck. you were told the earth on this planet would have been able to handle your ship, not that you’d start a wildfire.
“i didn’t… i didn’t hurt anyone, did i?”
bakugou’s quick to shake his head, “no, the farmer ushered out all the animals in time. though you did destroy a families hundred year old strawberry farm.”
“shit.” you mutter, in your language. then in english, “i’ll help them as soon as i’m out of here.”
there’s a hero complex to you somewhere. hm. “and to get out of here, answer my questions. yeah?”
you sigh, “what do you want dynamo?”
bakugou’s face scrunches like a ball of paper, “dynamight. my name is dynamight.”
“is it actually? earth names didn’t sound like that when i researched.”
“it’s my fuckin’ hero name, i said that in my introduction at the beginnin’— you know what, never mind. call me dynamight. nothin’ else.”
you blink at him.
“what’s your name?” he tries.
he really wants to know your name. not for the sake of government purposes, just for himself.
“that’s personal, isn’t it?” you laugh but dynamight raises his eyebrows.
“not at all actually,” he breathes, equally restless and intrigued, “quick or we’ll be here all goddamn day.”
“you swear a lot, don’t you? is that normal?”
that catches bakugou off guard, he leans off the wall. “hah? you’re not askin’ me questions, woman. i’m doin’ the askin’.”
you chuckle, loud and sweet. “okay, okay! my name is yn.”
“yn,” he likes the sound of it on his lips, though it’s even better from yours, “yn where are you from?”
“why are you dressed like that?”
bakugou looks down at himself. he’s always been voted highly for best dressed hero. his black body suit, black and orange chunky boots. he’s got his wings at his shoulders. he doesn’t have his gauntlets on though, he doesn’t need them for this.
“this is my hero suit. how many times do i have to tell you, i’m a professional hero—.”
“hero,” you try, “is that your version of a protector? looking after civilians? the strongest of the people?”
bakugou can’t help but let his grin slip. he likes the sound of that. it’s all true. “y-yeah i am. currently third on the charts but i jump between one and two, so technically i’m the best in the country.”
you do an upside down smile, somewhat impressed. so this man is one of the strongest and cocky about it. his grin is cute too. his lips stretch wider, only one corner rising. a gold tooth shining. okay, his smirk is sexy.
“family must be proud.”
“they expected it,” he shrugs. wow, is it easy to get off topic with you. “any quirks?”
“quirks?”
“abilities different to the average.”
you scrunch your nose, “not that i know of.”
bakugou doesn’t know if he can trust you. “so if i took those handcuffs off you, nothing about you would change?”
honestly no. your body feels fine. mentally, not so much.
you snap the handcuffs apart, the middle chain breaking with ease, now appearing as two ugly grey bracelets on your wrists as the green glow slowly dies down. bakugou jumps at the sound, jaw dropping on command.
“what the fuck?” bakugou can’t even get out of those. he’s tried before in hero training. what are you? “why the hell didn't you get out of them before?”
“i…”
you’ve never experienced grief before and to experience it on the scale you are now... your parents, your family, your people, your home. all gone. you don’t think you wanted to break out of it yet.
“had other things on my mind,” you offer, looking up at this dynamight man. “what’s your… quirk?”
something about him is comforting. with those boots on, he’s as big as the men back home. just as wide too.
so to get information out of you, he has to give a little back. that’s okay for now.
“i sweat nitroglycerin. can create explosions from my hands,” he gives you a little show, facing his palms up to the ceiling and creating little sparks.
that gets you facing him, now cross legged on the floor. you sound like a child, brimming with curiosity. you don’t recognise the word nitroglycerin but you can assume. “how big can you make them?”
bakugou chuckles to himself, slowly sinking to sit down too. “question for question then. so it’s my turn now.”
you huff, “fine.”
have you showered in these three days? you look as if you have. a beautiful glow like those women in skincare adverts he sees.
“how old are you?” not the most important question, but he’s got to know. they couldn’t have gotten a more selfish hero to question you.
“fifty moon shines,” you say without a beat. “how old are you? wait, let me see your explosions!”
“woah, woah, hold on. fifty?” you either look good for your age or—, “how are years measured where you’re from?”
“182 days. isn’t it my turn to ask a question?”
“how long are your days?”
“twenty three hours.”
bakugou relaxes. you’re the same age as him.
“so you’re twenty five.”
“i just said i’m fifty.”
“to me that’s like you’re sayin’ you're a hundred in your time. you’re twenty five in this world, darlin’.”
“darling? what’s that?”
bakugou shakes his head. shouldn’t have said that. “nothin’. i’m twenty six.”
that pleases you for some reason. you both stare at each other for a few seconds, sizing the other up. you could take him in a fight you think. in bed too, if it came down to it.
“how big can you make your sweat explosions?”
bakugou winces. what an ugly name. “they’re not sweat explosions.” “but you said—,” “the size of buildings. could blow this whole building up. can also fly, use them as grenades, blind opponents, shoot them like a gun.”
he’s sharing too much now. you shouldn’t be telling your enemies your main attacks. it’s going to be a beautiful woman to take him down. that tarot reader kaminari took him to was right.
“that’s really cool, dynamight. i can’t do that.”
you sound honest, real. bakugou bends his knees and rests his arms on top. “it’s whatever. what can you do?”
you shrug, looking at your bare hands. there’s some dirt under your nails and they’re all chipped from your lack of basic essentials. “where i’m from, everyone is the same so i don’t know how different i am to you guys.”
bakugou gets that, “what’s the most you can lift—,”
“my turn now, hero. why’re you so pissy?” you ask, tilting your head at him.
bakugou can’t help the loud, “hah?” he sits up at that comment, hands flat on the floor.
“you came in here moaning. you swear in every sentence. you act like the world has done you wrong. what happened with you?”
there’s a part of you that wants to find solidarity in this man. that perhaps he understands the pain you’re going through deep within your soul. after waking up from your coma three days ago, you feel sure the grief is going to eat you alive. you don’t want to hate the world, become evil and angry. you also don’t know how to not.
you get this blonde man blinking at you. a silence takes up the room quickly but you give him all the space in the world to speak.
“what d’you mean what happened to me? you think i have a sad tragic backstory like those american game show contestants?”
now you’re frowning back at him. you don’t understand that reference. “don’t you? or you’re just pissy for no reason?”
it feels like a weird competition now, that he should have something under his belt. something odd and sadistic to impress you with. bakugou bites.
“i died when i was sixteen. i fought a war and died.”
you’re not impressed. “how are you here now? i didn’t know this world has magic—,”
bakugou shakes his head, “nah not magic. another… another hero here fixed me up. brought me back.”
“oh,” you trail off, “and you’re fine now?”
he is. though it seems as if you’re looking for more. he deals with villain attacks often. fights them with his friends. he hasn’t been close to death since. he lives a wealthy luxury lifestyle now he’s professional and he’s got all his friends around him. all his greatest traumas he’s working through in therapy. yes, he goes therapy.
you keep talking, “you’ve got both your parents? all your friends?”
“y-yeah i do? i answered your question, didn’t i?” he spits.
you roll your lips in.
“are you… are you laughin’ at me again?”
at that your dam breaks, giggles spilling out. your shoulders shake and your hand covers your mouth in an attempt to be polite. though you lost that once you had to use the toilet beside your bed being recorded by security.
j“no, well yes! i don’t know, i thought you had a tragic backstory to explain your shitty attitude. guess it’s just you.”
bakugou’s walls go straight up. he doesn’t know who the hell you think you are to read him so easily. because yeah, maybe he is just a dick. but he owns it. he’s apologised for his mistakes in the past. he doesn’t hold all his worth to his quirk anymore and he doesn’t blame himself for anyone’s death. he’s actually quite well adjusted now.
“okay, so the fuck is your problem? why’re you on earth? where’s home? where’s your family? they just send you here and can’t be bothered to get you outta ‘earth jail’?” he snaps.
that slows your laughter down, your grin is the last thing to drop before pain shakes your heart. it’s a harsh squeeze that doesn’t let up.
“you’re not getting all of that out of me in one day. see you tomorrow, dynamight.” you’ve got nobody to come get you.
bakugou hates how he likes the sound of that. another day, a reason to see you again. he’s got a whole load of questions to ask you but he’s got to get back to his other tasks for the day.
“fine, if that’s what you want.” he begins to rise to his feet. he’s too petty to be somewhat nice. “y’know if you cooperate we can send you home.”
you look up at bakugou, hugging your knees to your chest on the hard concrete floor. “i don’t have a home anymore.”
bakugou stands still, mouth open to speak but nothing right is about to come out. until there’s a rough knock on the door, one of the jail guards.
“you okay, dynamight? times up unless you need more?”
bakugou doesn’t take his eyes off you, now back to your original position with your forehead on your knees. he won’t be surprised if you move to fetal position once he’s gone.
“i’ll be back tomorrow, yn.”
you don’t bother replying to him but you hear his thick boots walk out.
as soon as bakugou steps out the door, the guard pipes up.
“we saw she was speaking to you on cams! the alien’s gorgeous, isn’t she? doesn’t look like no damn alien either. what was she saying?”
the first thing bakugou does is shove the man away. “down my fuckin’ neck. i’m not sayin’ shit to you. who runs this place?”
in about an hour, you’re pulled out of your cell to a new room. one with a bedframe for your mattress, a pencil and a pad of paper. most especially, the toilet is in a separate room to your cell. you’re especially grateful when they remove your handcuff bracelets and don’t lock new ones on.
there’s no chance you’re going to thank dynamight for giving you your basic rights. you appreciate the changes to your new home though.
part two comments will be deleted. comments and reblogs are appreciated!
ა ˙˖ summary → there’s no one you hate more than satoru gojo. he’s arrogant and entirely too full of himself. when you agree to be strictly enemies with benefits, gojo takes this as the perfect opportunity to finally make you his.
ა ˙˖ content: 10.7k wc, accurate portrayal of fraternities so the boys are jerks srry, hazing, rough sex, mentions of blood, overstimulation, spanking, choking, desperate gojo, oral sex (both receive), jealous reader, mentions of terrible parents, some fluff, some angst
frat!jo 𝓍 fem!reader
chapter one chapter three
It was an undeniable fact that you were drunk on Gojo’s cock.
In the weeks since you started this arrangement, you fucked almost every day. Your excuse was that you were simply researching for your project, running experiments and proving theories wrong and right.
You were like two magnets that couldn’t resist each other despite your very different personalities and while you still couldn’t see yourself ever being anything other than possibly acquaintances, you would be lying if you said you didn’t warm up to him a smidge.
At least when he was between your legs.
“Satoru, haah, oh fuck!”
You cried as Gojo ate you like you were his last meal, his tongue lapping at your pussy in fast strokes, your back arching off your bed with his white locks gripped tight in your hands.
You hadn’t been able to keep your word and find someone more “digestable” to help satisfy your needs, you hadn’t really even tried when you had him fucking you into forgetting. Only Gojo was becoming more clingy, pestering you to go on a date with him and kissing you more than you cared to admit you enjoyed.
And while you were able to tolerate him in small doses when you weren’t fucking, your stance still stood: you and fratboys didn’t mix, Gojo was hardly the exception and that only extended to sex.
“Such a good girl.” he grumbles, plunging two fingers inside your hole while his tongue worked your clit in fast, relentless circles. You were already close, your walls fluttering around his fingers as he curled them, hitting that sweet spot inside of you.
“You t-talk too much.”
Gojo laughs against your pussy, hot breath blowing on you and pushing you closer to the edge. You gasp when he sucks hard on your clit, electric shocks shooting from the tip of your fingers to the bottom of your toes, body moving up the bed when his hands grab onto your hips and pulls you back down, his face pressed against your heat as he starts sucking you faster and finger fucking you deeper.
“I’m- oh god, fuck Toru, m’gonna-” Your nails are clawing at the sheets as your orgasm ripped through you, words dissolving into a broken moan as you came, your pussy clenching around his fingers, juices dripping down his chin.
Gojo didn’t stop. He kept licking you through the aftershock until you were a trembling, whimpering mess beneath him. Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and grinning at you.
Fuck him. Fuck his stupid, smug face.
“Look at you.” He says while climbing over your body, still completely dressed in his football clothes, his face shining where he failed to wipe, your arousal mocking you for still sleeping with him a month later. “All glowing and satisfied, my perfect girl.”
You panted, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you glared up at him, spreading your legs wider so he could fit between them. “I still h-hate you, asshole.”
Gojo knew you hated the nicknames he called you and yet he refused to stop. You even had to discipline him once when he called you “love”, going a few days without speaking to him though you’re still not sure if that hurt him more or you, what with your high sex drive.
“Mmm.” He presses his forehead to yours and quickly pecks your lips, his hard-on pressing against your thigh through his shorts. “Now it’s my turn.”
His mouth dropped to your neck, sucking hard enough to leave you yet another hickey you’d have to explain to your friends who were under the impression you weren’t seeing anyone since you dropped your last guy.
You barely had time to process it before he was moving his head back up and kissing you again, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You sunk into it, arms wrapping around his neck and forgetting once again about your little no kissing rule. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your tits, pinching your nipples, before sliding down to grip your ass.
Gojo grinds his hard length into you and you moan into his mouth, your pussy clenching and begging for more.
Just as he was about to take his shirt off, a knock came from the door and made you both freeze, your eyes widening in a panic. Fuck, if anyone knew Gojo was in here you’d never hear the end of it.
"Oi!" Shoko's voice echoed through the hallway and it sent your pulse racing. "Open up! I forgot my key again!"
“Closet, now.” You practically hiss, pushing him off of you so you can stand and dress yourself. You were bouncing around the room, jumping into your pajama shorts and shoving Gojo toward the closet, your heart in your ass because the last thing you needed was your friend finding out you had been screwing her friend that you claimed to hate..
Of course, being the insufferable man that he was, Gojo simply took it as a joke and tried to kiss you as you opened the door and pushed him into the closet full of yours and Shoko’s clothes. You pushed his face away with a nasty glare, your cheeks flushed and thighs sticky with your release and his spit.
"You’re seriously gonna stuff me in a clos-"
You shoved him back and slammed the door in his face.
"Coming!" You quickly press down your shirt and smooth out your shorts and hair before moving to open the door for your roommate, praying she wouldn’t notice your messy hair and flushed cheeks and put two and two together.
Most of all you hoped Gojo would keep his fucking mouth shut. Bringing him here had been a terrible idea but he was already on campus when you texted him and you were horny now and didn't want to drive back to his place.
When you finally open the door, Shoko is standing on the other side with her hands on her hips and her eyebrows scrunched together. You smile awkwardly and pull the door further open so she can pass through.
“Sorry. Left my keys in the psych building.”
You clear your throat and smile, closing the door and following her further into the room while pretending like vomit wasn't rising in your throat and your heart wasn’t trying to escape your ribcage.
"What were you doing anyways?" Shoko asks, pushing past you with suspicion written on her face. "I was standing out there for like three minutes."
"Sorry, I was.." You paused, willing your voice to not sound so high pitched, pulling your rising shirt down. "I was in the bathroom."
It’s obvious she doesn’t believe you with the way she’s looking at you, studying your face and looking you up and down and you want to die. How embarrassing would it be to get caught with Gojo of all people after complaining about his existence since freshman year?
“Hm, you look flushed.”
“Yeah, just.. uhm- I just was working out”
Shoko rolls her eyes and starts to look around her side of the room, giving you a second to look at the closet and make sure Gojo didn't decide that he did in fact hate you after all and expose himself.
The door was still closed. At this rate you would be the one to expose yourself by panicking over nothing.
“Were you masturbating?”
Your friend's words have you snapping your head toward her, hair flying in your burning face. No Shoko, I wasn’t masturbating. My enemy just gave me a mind shattering orgasm on his tongue alone and would have done it again if you didn’t interrupt. Any more questions?
Is what you wanted to say, but instead you swallow your annoyance and stick with: ‘No, what makes you ask that?”
"Your face is basically glowing, your hair's messed up, and you took forever to open the door." Shoko shrugged. "I'm just saying, if you were, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Everyone does it. I do it. It's healthy."
Then, for a reason you’d never understand, Gojo decided that now was the best time to laugh. It was low, barely audible but loud enough to make Shoko look toward it with scrunched eyebrows.
Fuck, fuck, fuck! You were going to kill that six foot idiot. What the fuck was he thinking? You were a shaky, sweating mess when your friend turned to look at you, her eyes burning holes through your face.
“What was that?”
“What was what?”
She gestures wildly with her arms and nods past you, obviously annoyed at your decision to play dumb. “The noise from the closet! Do you have someone over?”
“I-” You swallow hard, fingers digging into your nails as you try to find a way out of this.
You obviously weren’t going to tell her it was Gojo, but if you did tell her you were hiding someone then she’d never stop trying to figure out who it was. It would be a nightmare and you would have to be twenty times more careful with Gojo or cut off your arrangement before you were able to find a replacement.
Either way, you were fucked.
“Yes.” You huff out, hoping she doesn’t push further and ask who it is but before she can respond, you’re speaking again in an attempt to distract her. "How was the library? Did you finish your paper?"
Shoko stared at the closet for a few more seconds then decided it wasn't worth investigating. She, thankfully, had never really been a noisy girl and you were grateful that she was your roommate instead of Yuki who would have ripped the door open herself.
"Almost. I need another hour, but I forgot my charger and my laptop's at six percent."
When she finally left, you stomped your way to the closet and yanked it open. You were beyond seething, ears on fire from embarrassment and annoyed that you had to tell Shoko you were in fact seeing someone when you wanted this to be left in the dark.
Gojo was wedged between clothes and a shoe rack, his hair slightly disheveled, grinning like a fucking idiot. You wanted to kill him.
“That was close.” He grabs your hip and walks you backwards, trying to kiss at your neck but you’re having any of it, placing your hands at his chest and shoving.
“What?” Gojo frowns at you and gives you his best puppy eyes but it only makes you want to hit him more. You cross your arms to stop yourself, head tilted back so you can look up at him.
“It was ‘close’ because of you! I told you to be quiet and you couldn’t even do that. I should end this right here since you’re apparently a child.”
That wiped the smirk off his face and he was stepping closer, grabbing onto your arm to pull you forward and you let him this time. His hands find your waist again and rub circles on your exposed skin, your body shivering in response.
“It won’t happen again, I promise.” He lets his fingers creep under your shirt, moving higher. “Now where were we?”
“Nowhere. We’re done.”
“Oh come on. I’m literally in pain, don’t leave me with blue balls, princess.” He pulls you flush against his chest but you push back, ignoring every instinct telling you that one quickie wouldn’t hurt.
“No Gojo. I have to work in an hour. I need to shower, eat and get across campus, we’re done here. Go home and figure it out.”
He pouts but you’ve seen enough, leaving him to figure it out as you move toward the bathroom and close the door behind you. You were still pissed at him but even more mad at yourself for still wanting him to fuck you after he almost blew your cover to Shoko. You didn’t really have work today but a cold shower and time to yourself was needed.
“I’ll pay you double whatever your job would.” His voice comes from behind the door, clearly not ready to give up.
Your hand stopped above the shower knob, turning to face the door in disbelief. "What?"
"Your job, sweetheart. Whatever you'd make tonight, times it by two, or three, whatever you want. Just call out and let me stay a little longer."
"Are you serious right now?” You blink, a mix of frustration and amusement coursing through you. “I'm not a prostitute, Gojo."
He doesn’t respond for a minute and just when you think he’s gone, he opens his mouth again. "You're not. I'm just saying your time is worth something, and I'm offering to compensate you for it."
You actually laugh at that, leaning your head against the bathroom door and fighting the urge to scream. "That is literally what a prostitute is."
"Semantics, it's also what a consultant is."
You open the door, deadpanning the too tall frat president, and point to the front entrance.
"Get. Out."
Later that day Gojo was sitting at some shitty bar with his friends, trying to drown out his emotions that were determined to consume him whole.
The same thought has been nagging him for the past two weeks. It wasn’t something he admitted to anyone outside of you, but he had been thinking of leaving his fraternity. Would his father be happy? Probably not. Did Gojo care? Not anymore. He hadn’t even intended on getting into a frat until his father told him he had already signed up on his first day.
Now here he was, a senior, making his own money as an employee of his family business and desperately trying to find a way out of this without blowing up his life. He never wanted to be president but it was another thing that was expected of him so he did it with a forced smile and he never regretted anything more in his life.
Before you came along, Gojo could get any girl he wanted. He never had to work hard to get laid, never cared for relationships either until you humbled him in front of his frat brothers and he just knew he had to have you.
He tried to win your favor over the next two years but when you weren’t avoiding him, you were reminding him just how much you hate frat boys and that he wasn’t your type. So imagine his surprise when you agreed to his proposal of enemies with benefits, though he truthfully had never hated you.
Gojo was trying to be better. Hosting less parties and letting Sukuna and the others take over more, drinking only once or twice a week, focusing more on school work to impress you and even wearing his glasses more and dressing in those nerdy clothes he knew you liked.
People questioned his new sense of style, his friends grew concerned over his lack of involvement and Gojo grew more desperate with each rejection from you. He just needed one date to show you that he can be the guy you deserved, why couldn’t you see the effort he’d been putting in?
While it was obvious you didn’t hate him like you used to, he still was miles away from becoming your friend let alone your boyfriend. Most people would have taken a hint by now, but Satoru Gojo was not most people. He only grew more motivated, determined to show you that he was worthy of being loved back.
“You look miserable."
Gojo looks up from his drink to find Suguru staring at him over the rim of his drink, his dark eyes searching for answers that he wasn’t willing to give. If Gojo told anyone about your relationship, he’d be violating your trust and he was sure he’d lose you forever. He wasn’t going to do that to satisfy his friend's curiosity.
So he simply shrugs and takes another shot, trying to wipe the image of your smile from his head.
“Fuck off.” Gojo picks up a new glass and tries to take a shot but Sukuna snatches it before he can and stretches his arm to keep it away, not at all bothered by the death glare his friend gave him.
“He’s been a pussy since he caught feelings for someone he knows hates him.” He tosses it back.
What? You never said he couldn’t tell people he liked you.
“Drink piss, you overgrown carebear. She doesn’t hate me.” While he knew it wasn’t completely the truth, he let himself live in his delusions. What was the saying? Fake it until you make it. He was simply manifesting your future together.
“Maybe I should shoot my shot, she’s nice enough to me.”
Suguru’s words have Gojo instantly fuming, snapping his head in his friend's direction and wondering if his smug smile is how you view him when he’s teasing you.
“The fuck? You’d actually do that?"
Suguru simply shrugs, unfazed. "Why not? If she’s into me, then you know she’s not into you and you can move on. If she’s not? Well, then it turns out we’re both losers." He took a slow sip, eyes never leaving Gojo’s face. "Might even be fun to see how desperate you get. How about a little friendly competition, huh Satoru?”
Gojo’s jaw clenched, biting his tongue to stop himself from something he’d regret. Something close to: Doubt she’d even look at you when she’s too busy bouncing on my dick.
The thought of Suguru, with his stupidly perfect smile and raven hair the girls loved, making a move on you made his stomach twist. He knew his friend could pull it off. Half the girls on campus already had a crush on him and you weren’t really his girlfriend, you could do whatever you wanted.
But Gojo was never one to back down, holding Suguru’s gaze and shrugging. He would just have to work harder, spend more time with you because there was no way in hell he was going to let anyone else, let alone his childhood friend, have you.
“Why did you join a frat anyways?”
You asked Gojo, looking up from your laptop and across the table. Gojo was wearing his glasses again and you had to keep squeezing your thighs together. That’s not what you were here for. You both had decided to get in a quick study session before the first game of the season, where he'd be playing and you’d be cheering.
It’s been some weeks since you started your arrangement and in that time, you’d been fucking almost everyday and spending most nights at his place under the guise that it was easier studying wise.
“Wasn’t by choice, princess.” His jaw clenched, hand squeezing around the pencil he had been holding, knuckles turning white from the force.
You wanted to laugh at that but you had never seen Gojo show true anger before and figured now wasn’t the best time for that. You still weren’t going to let up though.
“How is that not your choice?” You shift in your chair, ignoring the way his eyes are gazing into yours so softly, even though he was clearly annoyed at your question.
Gojo sighs, dropping the pencil and sitting back in the chair, letting it spin side to side as he stares at you with a titled head. “Generations of my male family members have attended Theta Phi, my dad kinda signed me up without my knowledge.”
You frown, biting the inside of your cheek when his leg rises and he brushes his foot against the inside of your thigh. Your body buzzes with the way he laughs at your glare, reaching down to swap it away.
“How can he even do that? Couldn’t you just.. I don't know, not go?”
Gojo laughs again but it’s more bitter this time, rotten with parental issues you probably shouldn’t get into considering you had your own and discussing your personal lives wasn’t a part of your agreement.
“Now who sounds privileged?”
You give him a straight face, foot lightly kicking at him and rolling your eyes when he grins.
“I’m being serious. My mom wanted me to do gymnastics on a professional level and I had no interest so I just didn’t do it. She eventually got over it.” You shrug.
Well your mom wasn’t completely over it but that wasn’t your business. You made your own discussions and what others felt about them was on them. You’d barely talked to her since you broke the news to her freshman year and your father had died when you were a child so you really only had your sister, with the occasional birthday or holiday text from your mom.
“Not that easy in the Gojo dynasty.” He emphasizes the last word and you can tell by his sneer just how much he hates his family,
“I told him I wasn't doing it. Told him of my dream to become a physics professor and he laughed in my face and threatened to not pay my tuition if I didn’t join.”
He pauses, closing his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.
“My family is filthy rich but you don’t get anything for free. You have to prove that you're worthy of a college inheritance, a spot in the wills, and a position in the family business. My father told me if I didn’t join the frat then I’d only have a spot in the will after college. Didn’t want to graduate with loans so I played along.”
You blinked, the heart that most people claim you don’t have, suddenly aching for Gojo. You hadn’t considered that his family might be a bunch of money hoarding psychopaths but you guessed it made sense with their status.
You never had to worry about your mother paying your tuition, she couldn’t afford it anyways. You survived off of a scholarship and your own income from jobs you worked since you were sixteen. The only thing you had to do was keep your grades up and not be reckless with your money.
You were suddenly grateful to have grown up on the poorer side, because you couldn’t imagine having someone dangle money over your head. Let alone your own parents.
“Physics? Didn’t peg you as the type.” You lean forward and smile softly, elbows on the table with your hands folded in front of you.
He mimics you, eyes brightening and seeming grateful you were changing to topic.
“What? The glasses and secret nerdy clothes didn’t give me away?” His foot plays with yours and you let it, biting back a moan when you think about how his glasses fog up when he fucks you with them on, messy white hair falling in his face.
You had noticed the different physics books lying about his room but never really thought much about it. You couldn’t understand how a parent could treat their child like an investment and not an actual human. With his family money, Gojo could have been one of those students that chased their dreams instead of fortune and actually been happy.
While you still thought he was arrogant and still hated fratboys, this opened a new side of him to you. A side you could empathize with.
“Seriously though Gojo, I'm sorry your family is so shit.”
He leans an elbow on the table, placing his chin in palm and giving you the dreamiest smile, lashes brushing together when he blinks slowly. “Aw, you feel bad for me, princess?”
“No.” Your cheeks burn and you sit back in your chair. Of course he’d ruin this, you were never being nice to him again! “Merely pointing out a fact.”
He pouts and stands. “Well now I'm sad. How about you make me feel better?”
When he pulls you from your seat, you let him, heart racing because this would be the second time this week that Gojo has fucked in you in this very study room, libarians oblivious to the shenanigans the two horny college students were up to.
He grabs your chin while you place your hands on his chest, steadying yourself as he pulls you close. When he leans down to kiss you, you turn your head but he goes straight for your neck. He’s sucking and biting, and you’re hardly trying to shove him off, enjoying the feeling of his lips on your heated skin.
“We have to- mmm, we have to be quick Toru. You have a game and I have to cheer for it, remember?”
He spins you toward the table, pushing you forward and waiting for you to brace yourself. thump! thump! thump! Your heart is going a mile a minute as you dig your hands into the desk, biting your lip when he reaches forward and unbuttons your pants, slowly pulling them down to your feet.
When he rises, you can feel his breath blowing on the back of your calves.. higher to your thighs.. Just beneath your ass and he’s leaving a kiss there, fingers coming up to rub your pussy through your panties.
You suck in a sharp breath and he licks a long strip from your clit to your hole, not bothering to move the fabric.
“Did you know,” He starts, pressing two fingers to your clit and rubbing, holding your leg tight to keep you still. “psychology says that the more you hate someone, the more you fixate on them and that it can turn into passion.”
You bite your lip, moving your hips back for more friction and growing annoyed when he holds you dead still, lightly tapping at your thigh as a warning. These were the only moments you’d ever bite your tongue, because while you loved to dom him, you loved for him to dominate you more.
"Do you love me yet, sweetheart?"
“Fuck you, S-satoru.”
He laughs, kissing your ass before standing up, the sound of him digging through his pockets and ripping open the condom sending chills through your body.
Gojo pushes his boxers down and slides the condom onto his cock with ease, holding onto your ass and taking a moment to breathe because the sight of you was almost too good to be true.
“Fuck, sweetheart. You’re so fucking soaked for me, you want me to fuck you now?”
You push your hips against him, the warmth of his girthy cock rubbing against your ass. “Fucking obviously.”
"Ask nicely." He’s back to his teasing voice and you want to rip your hair out. It’s been a day since you had sex and you needed him desperately, even if you’d never tell him that.
"Gojo." You groan, fingers burning from how hard they dug into the wooden table.
"That's not nice." He leans over your back, grabbing your chin and turning you to face him. "Try again."
You grabbed his wrist and dug your nails in. "If you don't fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I'm going home."
Gojo laughs out a “That’s my girl.” and kisses you quickly before pulling back up.
He moves your panties out of the way and pushes inside in one smooth motion. You gasp, spine arching when he pushes it down, pulling you further back onto his cock. He was thick, stretching you open so perfectly, your walls gripping around him possessively.
Gojo sets a brutal pace from the start, his hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The table creaked beneath you, and somewhere in the back of your mind you worried about someone hearing, but the thought was distant, drowned out by the pleasure building low in your belly.
You cover your mouth with your hand, biting down onto your palm when he wraps your hair in his fist and pulls your head back, scalp burning from the sting of it.
“This is what you needed, isn’t it?” His voice was strained, losing some of its usual cocky smoothness as lost himself in your cunt. "Acting like you’re too good for me, but your pussy tells a different story.”
You hate him, you really fucking do. You wanted to snap back at him, to say something cruel, but he angled his hips just right and hit that spot inside you that made you see stars. All that came out was a moan, loud and shameless in the quiet library.
He slows his hips just a little, yanking your body up against his. You glare at him but he doesn’t care, just grabs your jaw and squeezes until you move your hand.
“You want the entire library to know how well you take my cock?” He asks, peering down at you and you once again, find yourself drifting in his eyes, pulse skipping beats from the way he looks at you.
You can’t speak so you just shake your head no, licking your bottom lip and pushing your hips back against him. He leans down and kisses you, sucking your tongue into his mouth and moving his hand to rub your clit.
“Then shut the fuck up, princess.”
Gojo doesn’t give you the opportunity to respond before he’s slamming his hips back into yours, cock rubbing against your gummy walls and sending you spiraling. You were so close, inner walls clenching around him, your whole body trembling with the effort of holding back, waiting for him.
“Fucking pussy squeezing the life out of me, shit, gonna cum already, princess.”
Gojo never slows his pace, your lower body bumping into the table with each brutal thrust, his hand on your clit rubbing harsh circles. Tears seep from your eyes and you don’t see it but they fall from his too and straight into your hair, his free arm wrapping around body and pulling you close.
He leans his head down to your neck, sniffing deep and inhaling in your scent, mind spinning from your pheromones and his eyes rolling back. He squeezes you tight, the sound of his erratic breathing in your ear, clouding your senses, driving you fucking insane.
You hated to admit it but you loved when he was clingly like this, taking up your space while he fucked and prasied you. You often think of how different things could have been if he wasn’t who he was.
After one hard thrust, your knees buckled and you fell forward, Gojo going down with you. Your cheek laid against the cold surface, and Gojo hovered over you, his chest against your back, his mouth next to your ear.
“You drive me crazy, fuck, just let me make you mine already. Please, baby. Give me a chance.”
You wheeze out a laugh and he shifts his angle, hitting something that made your toes curl inside your sneakers, and the laugh turned into a whimper that you muffled against your own arm.
Gojo noticed, because of course he did. He adjusted, angling his hips to hit that spot again, and again, and again, each thrust a deliberate press that made your vision blur.
He looked at you and grounded low in his throat. Your eyes were half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. He was claiming you in body and soul and you didn’t even realize it yet. The only trick was your stubborn mind, getting you to see that you wanted him just as bad as he wanted you.
"Say you want this. Say you want me." He kisses you and looks you in the eyes as he fucks you, his own pleading.
You squeeze your eyes shut up, biting into your fist to keep quiet as your orgasm crept up on you.
He made a sound of annoyance and slammed into you, your teeth greeting, nails leaving marks on the table that would surely tell anyone else what happened here. The orgasm that had been building crashed into you without warning, rolling through you in waves that made your thighs shake and your breath come in short, ragged gasps.
You bit down on your own tongue to keep quiet and tasted salt and blood.
Gojo’s rhythm faltered, his grip on your hip tightening as he fucked you through it. Slower now, deeper, grinding his hips against your ass on every downstroke. You were still clenching around him when his breathing changed and his forehead dropped to your shoulder.
"Close," he huffed.
"Then finish."
He thrust three more times, balls squeezing as he groaned with each stroke, and then he buried himself deep and held still. His legs strained and shook as he drained himself inside of you, and you felt the pulse of his cock through the condom, felt the way his whole body tensed and then released.
His breath was hot and uneven against your shoulder. He stayed there for a long moment, his weight pressing you into the table, both of you breathing hard.
You let him stay like that for a minute, the heat of his chest pressed against your back and your eyes fluttering closed as you came back down to earth. Something had changed this time and you couldn’t tell what it was but you felt it deep in your soul and it scared the fuck out of you.
Just when you were about to tell him to get off, he started to slowly pull out.
You felt the warmth immediately, the wet cum against your thigh. You turned your head, looking down between your bodies, and saw it. The condom had fucking ripped at the top!
"Gojo."
He stood up and looked at you, expression going from satisfied to panicked in about half a second.
"What’s wrong?"
You point to his cock, hair matching his and sticking to your sweaty face. "That’s what’s wrong."
"Shit." He grabbed the condom off his half hard cock and held it up. It was still mostly intact, but the seal had in fact broken at the base. "Shit, I’m sorry. How much got in you?"
“Just get something I can clean myself with.” You fight the urge to curse him out, knowing it wasn’t really his fault. You trusted that Gojo was only sleeping with you and you were on birth control so that wasn’t an issue. But what exactly was the problem?
Gojo pulls his pants and boxers back, moving around the table to grab a box of tissue at one of the desks and handing you a few. He watched as you wiped between your thighs, cum leaking from your pussy and the sight has his cock twitching in his jeans. Something possessive and nasty at the thought of you leaking with his seed while Suguru tried to steal you from him.
“I’m on the pill, remember? Relax.” You notice his strained face and wrongly assume it’s because he’s having a pregnancy scare. You had no fucking idea.
When you’re both decent enough, Gojo stops you before you leave out, hand on your arm as he stares down at you. You raise a brow, eyes wandering and fighting back a smile at the sight of your strawberry lipstick on the side of his mouth. Hot.
"Suguru asked about you.”
You give a confused smile, wondering what that had to do with you. You like Suguru, you weren’t close but still friends. Why would he be asking Gojo about you? The thought made your stomach ache.
“Did he?”
Gojo looks like he’s trying to keep his annoyance in check, pressing his lips into a thin line. “Mhm, I think he likes you. Said he’s gonna try to make a move on you.”
Your frown this time, even more confused than before. Sure, you thought he was cute that one time during freshman year but you never really thought much about him outside of the very few times you hung out with the girls.
“I don't date frat boys."
"Right. You just sleep with them."
You can hear the malice in his voice and now you’re annoyed, not wanting anything to do with whatever rivalry he and Suguru had going on. You snatch your arm away from him and deadpan him, a storm quietly building in your chest.
“I sleep with you.” You correct him. “A serious lapse of judgement, not a fucking pattern. I’m not interested in your friend.”
Gojo scuffs, taking a step back with hurt in his eyes. “A lapse of judgement? That’s what we’re calling this?”
“That’s exactly what we’re calling this.” You say with more venom than you mean to, annoyed that he was accusing you of something you hadn’t even done nor had any plans to.
“Keep lying to yourself, (name). I won’t be around to watch it.”
He pushes past you and you’re left confused on what the fuck just happened.
A week goes by without you seeing each other. Gojo doesn’t call or text, so you don’t either.
You pretend that the anonymous flowers placed outside of your door aren’t from him, that the late night deliveries of beef bowls or your favorite sweets weren’t placed there by a certain 6’3 white haired frat president.
He was mad at you for something you didn’t do and while you told yourself you didn’t care, you hated the permanent knot in your stomach. You had grown used to spending most of your nights at his place, asleep in his bed and waking up to him with his arms wrapped around you.
You told yourself that you hated it, hated him, but the truth was you weren’t sure what you felt anymore.
You didn’t love Gojo but you had learned to tolerate his presence, even felt your ice cold heart melting a bit around him. You told yourself that this was simply sex, but you had unknowingly found yourself finding comfort in his presence. So having your new norm snatched away from you made you feel sick.
So what did you do? You ignored him.
You go back to using your toys to get off, even if it does nothing but leave you sexually frustrated once again. You work on your project alone and send him copies of your research notes through google drive, but that’s as far as communication between you two went.
You had never in your life begged a man to speak to you, to take you back and you weren’t going to start now. Gojo was a frat boy at the end of the day, maybe it was for the best that you cut things off.
It’s better this way.
"You look like shit," Shoko says, leaning against the doorframe of your shared bathroom with a mascara wand in one hand.
"Thanks," you muttered, not looking up from the sink.
You didn’t want to go out, would rather stay home and get ahead of school work but your friends wouldn’t hear it. They told you that you were too depressed and it was making them depressed and when you tried to argue, they literally pulled up texts to show the difference in the way you texted a week ago vs now.
You didn’t deny that you were a bit drier than usual but blamed it on school and cheer stress, what will all the games going on.
They didn’t believe it, which is why you found yourself fixing your hair and makeup, and squeezing into a body tight red dress. Girls night out at the club, dress your sluttiest! Yuki had said.
"I'm serious. Are you sick? Are you dying? Should I call someone?"
"I'm not dying, Shoko."
She sighs and looks over at you but you don’t face her. Can’t face her. "Then what's wrong with you?"
Nothing. Absolutely nothing. You turned off the faucet and dried your hands on the towel, avoiding eye contact because Shoko had this creepy way of reading people, and right now you did not want to be fucking read.
You were going to get pissy drunk and forget that you ever agreed to that stupid arrangement in the first place.
You meet Yuki and Utahime at the club around eight, annoyed that your boobs keep spilling out of your top and the way men that were definitely married with children keep looking at you.
It was at that moment that you realized when Gojo had been leaving you covered in hickeys, no one ever batted an eye at you and now that most had faded, heads were starting to turn again.
It made you hate him more for doing this to you. Making you so fucking stupid.
The club was packed, some DJ from out of town was performing (he wouldn’t stop saying it), and the bass was already rattling in your chest before you even got to your reserved booth. Yuki ordered a round of shots as soon as you sat, and Utahime was already scanning the room for cute guys. You could feel Shoko looking but tried your best to ignore her, skin tight with an annoying wave of anxiety.
You had the sudden urge to throw up and were thankful when Yuki arrived with drinks, immediately grabbing a shot glass and tossing it back.
Utahime leaned across the table, her purple hair falling in her face as she looked at you with concerned eyes that pissed you off. Everyone was treating you like a baby when you were fine!
“Okay seriously, what’s going on? You look like you’re experiencing your first heartbreak.”
You blink, feigning innocence with a forced smile. “What do you mean?”
"You've been weird lately," Yuki added, not even trying to be subtle about it because she never gave a fuck. "Like, mopey and it’s concerning but annoying."
You roll your eyes. They’re being dramatic as usual. Just because you hadn’t been fucked in seven days didn’t mean you were mopey. Sure, your pussy literally ached every day to be fucked but that you always took care of it, even if your sex drive only grew more and more.
“I’m fine. I’m just tired from studying for midterms.”
“Look.” Shoko cuts in, taking a shot and turning to face you better. She takes your hand in yours and you fight the urge to snatch it away.
“I don’t know who that guy was, but it seemed like he really made you happy. Maybe reach out to him and try to fix things. I hate to see you down.”
You scuff, lightly pulling your hand away and tasking another shot. “There is no other guy.”
“Really? So what about when I caught you hiding a guy in the closet like two weeks ago, that was a lie?”
Your face flushed at the memory but you swallow it and hide deep in your heart, veins jumping at the image of his face.
“Whoever he is,” Yuki continues. “you should have hot make up sex or whatever. You've been down since whatever happened, and life's too short to be miserable over a boy."
"Can you all just fuck off?” You snap, anger burning hot in your chest. “Seriously. I'm not down. I'm not miserable. There's no fucking guy."
None of the girls seem convinced but they drop the topic anyways and move onto how Yuki and Choso broke up. You take this time to collect yourself, blaming your outburst on not getting laid and not because you couldn’t stop thinking about the one person you “hated” most.
That’s when you looked up and saw him. Gojo walked in the front entrance like he owned it, Sukuna and Toji on his left and Suguru to his right.
Your breath got stuck in your throat. He looked otherworldly, in a back shirt that clung tight to his chest and showed off his muscles that he usually kept hidden. His shades were covering his eyes, white hair tucked behind his ears and his jeans showed off that perfect thin waist you loved to hold onto whenever he fucked you missionary.
Your heart dripped to your stomach when you got a closer look, because on Gojo's arm was a girl you didn’t recognize.
She was pretty. Brunette, tall, wearing a bodycon dress that hugged every curve, and she was clinging to his bicep like it was a lifeline. Laughing at something he said, tilting her head in that flirty way that made you want to throw up right there.
But when you looked at Gojo, he looked miserable. His smile didn’t reach as high as you knew it could, his jaw was tight and his head kept turning to look elsewhere, as if he’d rather be anywhere but there.
"Oh, great," Utahime muttered after following your line of sight. "The frat brigade."
They came over because that’s just your fucking luck. Sukuna spotted your booth first and steered the whole group in your direction, because Sukuna had zero boundaries and loved making people uncomfortable which is why you hated him maybe even more than you hated Gojo.
"Hey, ladies," Sukuna said with a grin that was all teeth, sitting next to Shoko. "Looking hot as fuck tonight."
"Looking like a felon, as always," Your roommate replied flatly, unamused.
Suguru laughed and slid into the booth next to Yuki. Toji grabbed a chair from a nearby table and flipped it around, straddling it. And Gojo..
Gojo sits directly across from you, the brunette settling beside him, still attached to his arm. You roll your eyes.
“Hey.” He says to no one in particular, even though you can see his eyes linger on yours through his shades and you feel your heart skipping literal beats. What the fuck was that about?
You look away, reaching for another drink and looking away, fingers trembling just slightly around the glass, eyes glancing at the dance floor. Fucking get it together.
You listen as Gojo introduces the girl, not caring to catch her name and just that she’s apparently a friend of a friend. You listen as everyone says hello, and give her a silent mode and strained smile.
The conversation shifted naturally, Sukuna talking about the latest football game where they crushed the rival 4-1. You were there obviously, performed your cheer routine and pretended like Gojo wasn’t somewhere all hot and sweaty. It was a true test to your strength to not walk up to him that night.
"Gojo scored three of those goals," Suguru said, nodding to him. "Man of the match, again."
"Three goals," Toji repeated, stealing one of your shots and winking at you when you flip him off. "And he still looked like someone kicked his dog after the game."
The girl leaned into Gojo and whispered something in his ear. Whatever it was, it made him exhale through his nose, not quite a laugh but enough for your jealousy to creep to the surface.
Something hot and ugly twisting in your chest.
Fuck this! You weren't going to sit here act like some desperate whore when men literally beg at your feet for a chance to fuck you. Screw Gojo, there were plenty of fish in the sea and one was bound to match your freak.
You tossed back the shot that had been sitting in front of you, slammed the glass on the table hard enough to make everyone look at you, and stood up. You yanked down the hem of your dress and walked away without a word.
“Where are you going?”
You heard Shoko yell after you but you ignored her, venom dripping from your pores with each step. It was time to remind yourself who you were, and that wasn’t some cock drunk slut who moped over a man she hated anyways.
You pushed through the crowd until you reached the dance floor, where the music was loud enough to drown out your anger and started dancing
Your hips moved in circles, arms raised above your head, eyes closed as the music flowed through you. The bass was like a second heartbeat and you let it take you somewhere else. To a place where you didn’t have to think about Gojo and his stupid fucking face or the fact that he shows up with a girl on his arm after not texting you for a week.
You felt a guy appear behind you, his hands on your waist as he started moving with you, pulling your back against his chest. You let him even though you felt nothing. No spark, no heat, literally nothing. Just unfamiliar hands on your body and the faint smell of cologne that wasn't the one you were used to.
You were doing it on purpose, you knew that. Dancing with a stranger because you wanted Gojo to see, for him to feel even a fraction of what you felt watching that girl cling to him.
It took him about four minutes. You counted and smirked when he appeared in the crowd, leaning against a pole as he watched you with his glasses pushed up and malice in his eyes.
You lean into the guy more, letting his hands roam up your chest. Gojo smirks when he squeezes your boob, taking a sip of his drink and tilting his head.
You're breathless, annoyed that he thinks this is a joke and grabs the man’s hand roughly, guiding it down your dress further and further, never breaking eye contact with the man you’re supposed to be forgetting about.
When the stranger's hand is touching your bare thigh, Gojo breaks, passing his drink to someone and making his way through the crowd.
You hardly blink when a hand closes around your wrist and yanks away from the confused stranger with enough force that you stumble. Gojo keeps you upright even though his cheeks are clearly red from anger, glaring down at you like you insulted him.
“What the fuck are you doing? You some kind of whore now?” He leans down, voice tight and low against your ear.
You yank your arm back and take a step back, chest heaving as you squared up to him. “How fucking dare you? You're not my boyfriend, Gojo. You don't get to drag me around like I'm your property."
He stared at you, those blue eyes sharp and frustrated. "You're right. I'm not your boyfriend. Because you won't let me be!"
You're quiet for a split second, nostrils flared and fists balled at your side, heat moving up your chest to your neck.
“Can we not do this here?”
He laughs, grabbing your arm and pulling you close again, towering over you and forcing you to tilt your head back to see him.
“Why not? You were so brave a few seconds ago, let’s air our shit out right here. Don’t be embarrassed now, it’s beneath you.”
"You have a new fuck buddy now," you say, crossing your arms and purposely pushing your boobs up. "So I don't see why any of this is your problem."
"She's not my fuck buddy. My friends set it up because they think I need to move on from you." He ran a hand through his white hair, messing it up. "Sukuna literally said I've been unbearable to live with since we stopped talking."
"Boo hoo." You lack any sympathy considering he’s the one that walked out on you. Fuck. Him.
"Will you stop being a bitch for five seconds?"
"Excuse me?"
He steps closer, evading your space to the point that you only smell him and his fuck ass cologne, nose greedily breathing it in. “You heard me.”
“You’re not my boyfriend because you’re not my type! Now fuck off and let me forget anything ever happened between us.”
He laughed but it was hollow, lacking any true emotions. “But I’m your type when I’m inside of you.”
Your face is a fucking furance, especially when you realize others are looking. Your mouth opens and closes, searching for some witty response but your mind draws a blink. This was humiliating. How did you go from a secret situationship to publicly yelling at each other because you were jealous of the other giving someone else attention?
Your life was a fucking mess.
“Fuck you Gojo.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” He smirks and it’s hateful and lust, making your nipples harden underneath your bra.
Without thinking, you grab his shirt and pull his mouth against yours, kissing him hard enough that your teeth clack. It was angry and messy, and you bit his lower lip until he hissed, and his hands were on your hips and then your ass, pulling your chest flat against his.
His tongue sweeps into your mouth as you moan and shamelessly grind against his leg, his hands guiding your hips back and forth. The music is blasting, your mind is on a different planet and you don’t notice the way your friends are looking from the booth in pure shock.
When you gain some common sense and remember where you are, you pull away and look at Gojo with glassy eyes, relishing in the way his lips are red from your kisses.
“Wanna fuck Toru?”
When he nods yes, you're dragging him by his hand through the crowd and into the men's bathroom.
There’s no words needed when the door closes, so you drop to your knees and start unblocking his belt and unzipping his pants. Gojo is clearly flustered, but helps you pull his pants and boxers down with shaking hands.
He watches you with one hand braced on the wall and the other moving to grab your hair, lips parted as he breathed heavily.
You stroke him a few times, thumb rubbing over the red tip and spreading the pre before taking him into your mouth without warning. Gojo curses under his breath, hips jerking forward, and you wrap one hand around the base while you work the rest with your tongue.
This was your first time going down on Gojo but no one would know with the way you easily take him, swallowing his cock until it’s down your throat.
You’re sloppy about it, letting salvia drip down your chin and onto your exposed chest, sucking his cock like a pornstar, your mouth making obscene wet noises. You suck hard, looking up at him through wet eyelashes and watching his face contort, jaw clenched and eyes dark.
“Fuck,” He breathed, hands tightening in your hair and guiding you to suck faster. “Just like that.”
You took him deeper, relaxing your throat and letting him control your movements. His hips start to move, slow thrust that make him hit the back of your throat and your eyes water. When you moan around he shudders and reaches a hand down to stroke your cheek.
"You're so good at this," he said, voice rough. "You're so good at pretending you don't want me, but look at you. My little cock obsessed slut."
You pull back just enough to run your tongue along the underside, from base to tip, and smirk when he makes a sound that’s almost a whimper. You take him back in, bobbing your head in a rhythm that matches the muffled bass from the club.
“Haah, fuck!” You could feel him getting close, the way his thighs tensed, the way his breathing turned ragged.
"Wait, princess, fuck, I'm gonna-"
You don’t pull off. When he cums, you swallow all of it, throat working at his cock as he shoots hot ropes of thick cum into your mouth. His groan is wrecked, a raw sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest, and his fist slams against the wall as his knees threaten to buckle. You held him there, mouth sealed tight around him, until the last tremor faded and he was just a gasping, trembling mess.
Then you let him slip free, wipe the spit and salt from your lips with the back of your hand, and tilt your face up to meet his stunned, glassy stare. If you knew how hot his moans were when getting his dick sucked, you would have done this sooner.
“Wanna get out here?”
When you made it to Gojo’s place, you both wrestled each other’s clothes off and didn’t make it to his room before he was inside of you. He took you on the couch two times and once in the kitchen, bent over the sink as he fucked you hard and deep.
Now you were laid on your back on his bed, watching as he reached for another condom. Before you could stop yourself, you let your heart lead for once and called his name to stop him.
“No condom this time.”
He freezes, looking back down at the latex and back at you. “What?”
“Wanna feel you this time Toru, please?”
And he broke, tossing it and climbing back over your body and kissing from your tits back up to your face, stopping to lick inside of your mouth, his hard cock pressing against your entrance. He pauses, looking down at you with his white hair falling to the sides of his face, all sweaty from your previous sessions.
“Say it again.”
You smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pull him back down and nipping at his lip. “I want you Satoru, wanna feel you raw.”
He gives a shaky breath and without wasting any more time, pushes into you slowly, stopping every inch to savor your warmth around him. Feeling him bare inside of you made you gasp and claw at his shoulders, the new sensation of his pulsing cock making you feel lucid.
He groaned against your neck, stilling once he was fully seated, letting you adjust to the new feeling as he fought the urge to bust a fat fucking nut.
"You feel so good," he said, voice cracking. "Fuck, you feel-"
"Move," you whisper, scratching down his back.
He started slowly, rolling his hips in deep, deliberate thrusts that hit every nerve ending you had. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, and he moaned your name against your collarbone.
This was different from every other time. Before, it had been fast and rough and detached on your end, two people using each other to blow off steam. This was something else entirely. He was looking at you, really looking at you, and there was so much emotion in his eyes that you felt tears prick at your own.
He licks them away, both hands reaching down to grab onto your ass so he can pound you harder.. faster, so fucking deep. He moves faster, and you meet him thrust for thrust, your bodies naturally finding a rhythm that has your heart lurching.
The pressure built inside you and when that coil snapped and you came for the fourth time, you came hard, back arching off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry, clenching around him so tightly that he followed you over the edge with a groan that sounded like your name.
“Fuck-, I love you, sweetheart. Fucking love you so much.”
He buried himself deep, groaning loud and squeezing your ass hard enough to leave a print. His hips moved in circles as he emptied himself and you felt it, the warmth of him spilling into you, no barrier, nothing between you, and it was so intimate that you felt tears slip again.
You let him hold you that night even though you don’t hold him back, mind stuck on the fact that Gojo loves you and now your relationship would never be the same.
You woke up first that day and deeply regret it.
The morning light was creeping in and your body was sore enough that you almost regretted riding him two more times after, letting him stuff you full until his balls were empty. Gojo was still asleep beside you, one arm thrown over his face, white hair a mess on the pillow. You slipped out of bed carefully, pulling on one of his oversized soccer jerseys that fell to your mid-thigh, and padded barefoot into the hallway.
You were snooping, just trying to use the bathroom when you noticed one of his draws were still open and a bunch of polaroids were spilling out. You told yourself you were just going to fix them so they wouldn’t get destroyed.
You pulled the draw open, heart lurching when the first one you saw was a photo of you. What the fuck..
It was from sophomore year, the one time you went bowling with your friends and had been forced to interact with Gojo. He had been taking photos but you never thought about it. It wasn’t creepy, just an off guard photo of you laughing at something and it made you sick.
You started digging through the rest, ears burning when you found a few more of you off guard, some of you with the girls that he took. You looked so happy in all of them, Gojo’s photography style making it look like you were the center of his world.
Your fingers trembled as you flipped through the polaroids, each one a moment you barely remembered. He'd seen you. Really seen you. And you spent two years hating him because he wore Greek letters on his chest and you built your whole personality around hating everything that stood for.
Your throat aches, eyes burn. You press your palm flat against the sink to steady yourself, knees weak and blood running cold.
When you grabbed a few photos and turned to confront him, Gojo was standing in the doorway. He was shirtless, sleep still in his eyes, and he looked from your face to the open drawer with an expression that could only be described as pure panic.
"How long?" You ask, holding up the photos. "Satoru, how long have you been taking pictures of me?"
❦ lisa's note: messy af tbh! one more part to go, lemme know what ya think :')
CHOSO KAMO ⸝⸝ 7.3k ⸝⸝ summary: when his regular gym closes down, choso is forced to use the crowded university facility—a frustrating change of routine that vanishes the moment he lays eyes on you. for a month, he plays the part of the quiet, deeply respectful art student who spots you during late-night workouts, quietly hiding a consuming infatuation behind his oversized hoodies.
contents heavy smut (18+ mdni) fem!reader college au art major!choso and reader silent pining perv cho soft dom size difference cho has tattoos and piercing scent kink/fixation solo play shower sex oral (fem receiving) body worship and praise multiple orgasms overstimulation sweet aftercare (lmk if i missed any!)
a/n: i've had this idea for a long timeeee, after so many weeks it's finally done hehe (and goodness it took 99% of my brainpower). choso + dualities make me absolutely FERAL—my head got so dizzy after writing this piece i need to take a step back and calm myself down
choso hated the university gym with a passion that bordered on holy. if he wanted to be perceived by thirty different guys named brad whose entire personalities revolved around creatine, shattered glass pre-workout, and casual misogyny, he would have joined a fraternity.
instead, he willingly paid forty dollars a month out of his miserable student earnings just to lift in a damp, dimly lit basement three miles off campus. there, nobody looked at him, nobody spoke to him, and nobody cared that his black nail polish was chipped or that his hair was tied back into two messy, ridiculous space buns.
it was his sanctuary. it kept the anxious, hyper-fixated noise in his brain at a manageable volume.
but on a miserable tuesday afternoon, the universe decided to test him. a laminated sign taped to the front door of his beloved off-campus haven delivered the devastating blow: closed for the next seven days for emergency plumbing maintenance and floor remodeling.
choso had stood in the rain, staring at the paper, feeling a slow, icy panic creep up his spine. a whole week without lifting? absolutely not. his mind would eat itself alive. desperate times called for desperate, humiliating measures. he was going to have to use his student id card and step foot into the university's recreation center.
he didn't just walk in blindly, though. choso treated the dilemma like a tactical covert operation. he spent the next few days calculating the exact peak hours of the campus social scene, charting the behavior of the obnoxious herds he so desperately wished to avoid.
friday night, he realized. 11:30 pm.
by that hour on a friday, the entire campus greek life was guaranteed to be blacked out at off-campus house parties, suffocating in a haze of cheap beer, or lining up outside bars downtown. the gym closed at 1:00 am. it was a golden, ninety-minute window of safety.
when friday night finally rolled around, the campus was damp and quiet. choso walked toward the massive, glowing glass building of the university gym, his heart beating a little too fast against his ribs. he felt exposed, even wrapped in his usual armor—a thick, completely shapeless black oversized hoodie with the strings pulled tight, and a baggy cargo sweatpants that dragged slightly against the pavement.
he approached the front desk, his jaw set, and swiped his student id at the turnstile. he braced himself for the worst, fully expecting the smell of axe body spray and the echoing shouts of gym bros to hit him the moment he rounded the corner.
instead, when he stepped onto the main gym floor, he was met with a ghost town.
the harsh fluorescent lights hummed quietly in the silence. the long rows of treadmills sat dark and stationary. the heavy iron weights were all neatly stacked in their racks, undisturbed. aside from a lone student employee half-asleep behind the towel counter on the far side of the building, choso was entirely alone.
a wave of pure, intoxicating relief washed over him. he had been right. the frat guys were gone, busy poisoning their livers elsewhere.
allowing his shoulders to finally drop, choso walked over to a secluded corner in the free-weight section, far away from the main mirrors. he pulled his heavy, noise-canceling headphones over his ears, drowning out the ambient hum of the facility with the familiar, aggressive comfort of his favorite post-hardcore playlist. he yanked his hoodie hood up over his hair, completely shutting out the rest of the world.
for the first time all week, choso relaxed. he grabbed a set of dumbbells to start his warm-up—completely, blissfully unaware that this was the very last night his gym sessions would ever be peaceful.
by midnight, choso was completely in his element. the heavy, screaming vocals blasting through his headphones blocked out everything else, creating a private wall of sound that matched the slow, deliberate burn in his muscles. he had moved over to the flat bench, adjusting his posture and gripping a pair of heavy dumbbells. his gaze was locked entirely on the speckled rubber flooring between his shoes, his mind blank, focused only on the rhythm of his breathing.
he leaned back, kicking the weights up to his chest, and began his set. one, two, three. he was halfway through his fifth repetition when a sudden, unexpected shadow fell over him. choso barely had time to process the shift in lighting before a light, tentative touch tapped him right on the shoulder.
the physical contact startled him so badly that his core completely unlocked. his grip faltered, his left wrist buckling inward as the heavy iron dumbbell threatened to slip from his hand. a sharp spike of adrenaline shot through his veins, and he practically fumbled the weights, dropping them onto the floor with a loud, echoing thud that rattled through the empty room.
"oh my god, i'm so sorry! are you okay?"
choso scrambled into a sitting position, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. his pale face flushed with an instant, burning embarrassment as he hastily yanked his headphones down around his neck—the muffled, angry music now tiny and weak in the open air. he wiped a hand across his forehead, preparing his best, most intimidating scowl to ward off whoever had just ruined his peace.
but the words died in his throat the moment he looked up. standing right in front of him was you.
you were holding a small gym towel, your skin warm and glowing with a thin sheen of sweat from your own workout. you looked genuinely worried, your eyes wide as you looked at him, adjusting the strap of your tank top.
"i really didn't mean to scare you," you said, your voice soft and breathless, a contrast to the aggressive screaming that had just been filling his ears. "i just wanted to ask if you were using the forty-pound weights next to your bench?"
choso stared at you, his throat suddenly feeling as dry as sandpaper. his dark eyes took in the messy way your hair was tied up, the slight rise and fall of your chest, and the polite, apologetic curve of your lips. his brain, usually so loud and overanalytical, completely went blank. he forgot how to speak, he forgot how to breathe.
"n-no," he stammered out, his voice a low, raspy gravel that he quickly tried to clear. he cleared his throat, pulling his hood down a fraction lower to hide the crimson creeping up his neck. "i'm not using them. all yours."
you offered him a small, relieved smile that made his chest feel dangerously tight. "awesome, thank you so much. sorry again for the jump scare."
you leaned down, effortlessly grabbing the weights, and walked back over to an adjustable bench just a few yards away. choso sat frozen on his bench, watching your back as you walked away. his heart was still racing, but it wasn't from the adrenaline anymore.
he pulled his headphones back over his ears, but he didn't restart his music. instead, he just sat there in the silence of his own head, his eyes locked onto the floor as a single, terrifying thought bloomed in his mind: he was never going back to his old gym.
choso was a creature of habit, but habits could be easily rewritten when the incentive was high enough.
the following tuesday, his off-campus sanctuary sent out another automated email announcing that the renovations were finished ahead of schedule and the doors were officially reopened. choso didn't even look twice at the notification. he deleted it, swiped his screen shut, and stared at his ceiling, counting down the agonizing number of hours left until friday night.
he was completely, utterly gone for you.
during the week, choso reverted to his normal ghost-like state on campus. he moved through the fine arts building like a shadow, buried in the depths of his oversized, frayed black hoodie and wide-leg cargos, his fingers permanently stained with charcoal and oil paint. his long bangs fell into his eyes, a perfect shield from the rest of the student body. he didn't want to be seen by anyone.
except you.
when friday finally arrived, choso was a ball of nervous, vibrating energy. by 11:30 pm, he was swiping his student id at the turnstile, his heart doing a ridiculous, heavy flip the moment he stepped into the free-weight section.
and thank god, there you were.
for the next three weeks, this became your unspoken, late-night ritual. the gym was always a dead silent ghost town, save for the rhythmic hum of the ventilation and the occasional clink of iron. you had your routine on your side of the floor, and choso had his on his side. you would exchange a small, polite nod of acknowledgement whenever he walked in—a tiny gesture that secretly made choso's entire week—but otherwise, you left each other alone.
at least, physically.
internally, choso's mind was a dangerous, hyper-fixated place.
he pretended to be entirely absorbed in his own workouts. he would sit on the bench with his headphones on, staring blankly ahead like a stoic, brooding statue. but behind the dark fringe of his hair, his eyes were locked onto you.
as an art student, choso was trained to study form, anatomy, and lighting—but with you, it felt like an agonizing form of torture. he analyzed the way your muscles shifted and flexed under your skin when you lifted, the tight strain of your thighs and glutes when you did squats, and the delicate, sharp line of your collarbones. his brain automatically translated the view into a series of raw, unedited figure drawings, tracking the trail of sweat as it rolled down the side of your neck, soaking into the collar of your sports bra.
a heavy, dark ache would pull tight in his lower stomach every single time you let out a low, breathy pant after a heavy set. his body tried to betray him, threatening to grow hard right there on the gym floor.
but choso forced it down.
every time his thoughts started to cross the line into something genuinely filthy, he would fiercely bite the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, forcing his gaze back down to the rubber flooring. he felt an intense, protective wave of guilt whenever his mind wandered too far. don't do that, he would tell himself, his chest tight. she's just trying to work out. don't be disgusting. don't disrespect her.
when he returned to his dark dorm room at 1:00 am, throbbing and completely overwhelmed by the scent of your perfume and sweat that seemed to linger in his nose, he didn't touch himself. he would lock the bathroom door, strip out of his clothes, and force himself into a freezing cold shower. he would lean his forehead against the damp tiles, his fists clenched as the ice-cold water sprayed over his burning skin, ruthlessly killing the desperate ache between his thighs that threatened to drive him mad.
he told himself he could control it. he told himself he could keep you on a pedestal, purely as a beautiful, distant muse.
he had no idea that his fragile self-control was about to completely shatter.
by week four, choso's luck finally pushed him over the edge.
it was a quarter past midnight. choso was finishing up a set of lat pulldowns, his hood down for once because the gym felt unusually warm. he was breathing a bit heavily, wiping his neck with a towel, when he felt that familiar, intoxicating shift in the air.
a shadow fell over him, followed by a light tap on his shoulder
choso turned around, his chest fluttering immediately. "hey," he said, his voice dropping into that low, quiet rumble he only used when speaking to you.
"hey," you smiled, looking a little out of breath yourself. you bit your lip slightly, pointing a thumb over your shoulder toward the bench press station. "sorry to bother you, but i'm trying to hit a new personal record on my final set, and i really don't want to crush my windpipe. do you mind giving me a quick spot?"
choso's brain stuttered. a spot. after three weeks of forcing himself to stay away, to keep his hands to himself, you were asking him to stand directly over you.
"yeah—yeah, of course," he managed to say, standing up quickly before his brain could talk him out of it.
he followed you over to the bench. you lay down, settling your shoulders against the black leather, while choso stepped up to the head of the bench, planting his feet firmly apart on either side of the metal frame. from this angle, looking down, his view of you was devastating. your chest was rising and falling, your eyes locked up at him, trusting him completely.
"just help me lift it off the rack on three, okay?" you murmured, reaching up to grip the barbell.
together, you guided the heavy bar off the pegs. you took the weight, pausing for a second before lowering it slowly to your chest. choso hovered his hands right beneath the bar, his fingers curled, completely focused.
but as you pushed the weight back up, your muscles straining—a low, guttural groan escaped your throat.
the sound hit choso like a physical blow, fracturing the wall of restraint he had spent three weeks building. combined with the view of your arched back, the heat radiating from your skin, and your absolute vulnerability beneath him, his body bypassed his brain entirely. all that suppressed, backed-up desire rushed straight to his crotch in a hot, violent wave.
within seconds, choso developed a massive, raging boner that pushed hard against the fabric of his baggy grey sweatpants.
oh, fuck, choso panicked internally, his eyes widening—because he was standing right above your face. the prominent, thick ridge in his pants was dangerously close to your line of sight. three weeks of cold showers vanished in an instant. he immediately hitched his hips backward, awkwardly arching his spine away from the bench to create distance, his heart hammering against his ribs in sheer terror that you would see how pathetic he was for you.
you pushed through the final rep with a sharp exhale, and choso quickly gripped the bar, helping you slam it safely back onto the rack.
"oh my god, thank you," you panted, sitting up immediately and rubbing your arms. you laughed a little, looking up at him with a bright, grateful smile. "i definitely would have died on that last one without you."
choso kept his hands casually draped over his crotch area, shuffling half a step back into the shadows, his entire body trembling from the effort of holding his composure. "you did fine. great form."
you didn't stand up right away. instead, you tilted your head, studying his face. "you know… i've been meaning to ask. you look really familiar. do you have classes in the fine arts building? on the studio floor?"
choso's heart did a violent stutter. "uh, yeah—i do, i'm a printmaking and painting major."
"i knew it!" you said, your eyes lighting up. "i'm a year below you in the sculpture program, but i see you in the halls all the time. you're always tucked away in the back corner of the studios, wearing those huge hoodies with the strings pulled tight. it's funny seeing you here without charcoal all over your face."
choso felt a burning blush crawl up his cheeks, all the way to the tips of his ears. you noticed him. you knew who he was outside of this empty gym. you shared the same late-night, messy, creative world.
"yeah," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, his knuckles still strategically shielding his front. "i, uh… i like it quiet. both in the studio and here."
you smiled, stepping just a fraction closer as you casually offered your name, introducing yourself properly for the first time since you'd started sharing the floor. choso's entire body went completely rigid at the sound of it. your name felt heavy in the air between you—a beautiful, sharp reality replacing the nameless fantasy he'd been harboring for weeks. "choso," he managed to choke out in return, his voice thick as he gave you his own name. "nice to meet you."
"nice to meet you too, choso." you murmured, your voice dropping into something a little softer, a little more intimate as you looked up at him through your lashes. you took a slow step backwards, your eyes lingering on him for one final, devastating second before you turned to gather your things. "you know, i usually hate late-night workouts… but knowing you're always there? that's why fridays are my favorite."
choso felt the air leave his lungs. he couldn't tell if he was genuinely imagining things now—if his own pathetic, desperate fantasies were finally bleeding into reality and making him hear things that weren't there. but the soft, knowing look in your eyes felt entirely too real.
choso barely remembered how he walked back to his side of the gym after that. his self-control wasn't just broken; it was completely demolished, his mind spinning in a chaotic loop over your parting words. had you meant it? or was he finally losing his fucking mind?
the moment he stepped inside his dark room, there was no cold shower. he didn't even make it past the entryway. choso slammed the door shut, locked it with a frantic click, and shoved his grey sweatpants and boxers down to his knees right there against the wood.
his cock snapped free, completely upright, throbbing violently and weeping thick, heavy drops of pre-cum from the sheer agony of the twenty-minute walk back. he let out a low, ragged sob into the empty room, his hand wrapping around his length in a brutal, iron-tight grip. he squeezed hard, a sharp whine tearing from his throat as his hips jerked forward, instantly smearing his own slick up and down his shaft.
he closed his eyes, and the darkness behind his eyelids immediately filled with you.
because he was an artist, his memory was devastatingly vivid. he didn't just fantasize; he reconstructed you. he pictured the exact way your lower lip looked trapped between your teeth when you were straining under the barbell. he pictured the heavy, glistening sheen of sweat coating the delicate dip of your collarbones, the way your sports bra squeezed your chest, and the tight, mouth-watering curve of your thighs arched on that leather bench.
but what truly made his blood boil, what made his thick cock throb with a vicious, demanding ache against his palm, was the sudden intoxicating realization of your size difference. standing right over your face on that bench, he had felt so devastatingly big.
his artist's eye automatically compared the two of you—his broad, heavy-boned frame, his wide shoulders, and his massive, blunt hands against the softer, giving curves of your body. he imagined how effortlessly he could engulf you. he pictured your body pinned completely beneath his dense, imposing weight, swallowed whole by his shadow. the sheer contrast of it—how he could completely overwhelmed you with his height and mass, forcing you to look up at him while he held you down—made a low, feral sound rip from the back of his throat.
"fuck," he whined, his pace turning fast and punishing. his knuckles, still stained with a faint trace of charcoal from his afternoon studio class, rubbed friction against his burning skin.
he squeezed his eyes shut tighter, desperately chasing the auditory memory of your workout. he wanted your sounds. he was completely, helplessly addicted to them. that low, guttural, breathy groan you had let out right beneath him—he replayed it over and over in his head, matching the rhythm of his fist to the memory of your breath. he imagined what it would feel like to force those exact noises out of you himself. he wanted to push himself so deep inside you that you'd make those heavy, strained sounds against his ear, over and over until you were entirely spent.
his mind took a darker, filthier turn as the friction started to blur his thoughts. he looked down at his own hand, but in the fever-dream of his arousal, he imagined it was your hand. he imagined you gripping him, your small, soft palm slick with his pre-cum, looking up at him from the floor with those wide, trusting eyes while you made him stroke himself.
and then, the smell hit him.
the faint, intoxicating ghost of your scent had transferred onto his hands when he adjusted the barbell, or maybe when your shoulders had lightly brushed. it was a heady mix of clean vanilla perfume and raw, warm skin-musk. choso's breath hitched. completely unhinged, he brought his free hand up to his face, pressing his knuckles hard against his mouth and nose. he took a deep, shuddering inhale, practically drinking the scent off his skin.
god, he was an absolute freak. a disgusting pathetic pervert. if he could have stolen your damp, sweat-soaked gym clothes right out of your locker just to bury his face in them and inhale you until he suffocated, he would have done it in a heartbeat. he wanted to track the scent of your sweat with his tongue, licking it off the curve of your neck, tasting how salty and warm you were.
but more than anything, his mind was utterly enslaved to the memory of your introduction. having your actual name in his possession was a dangerous, lethal upgrade to his madness. it wasn't just a fantasy anymore; you had a name. and it tasted like absolute sin on his tongue.
he started chanting it into the quiet darkness of his room. he whispered your name against his trembling knuckles, his voice a low, ruined prayer that matched the frantic, bruising rhythm of his hand. every time your name left his lips, a fresh surge of hot pre-cum leaked from his tip, his body physically reacting to mere syllables of your identity as if you were casting a spell over him. he repeated it over and over, faster and louder, turning your name into a dirty, desperate plea.
"ah—shit… please…"
the vocalization of your name snapped the last thread of his sanity. choso's movements became completely frantic, his hips slamming blindly against the door as he stroked himself with an unforgiving, desperate speed. his toes curled into the carpet, his entire body trembling as the pressure behind his hips reached a breaking point.
he imagined you standing right there in the dark, your hands guiding his hips, whispering that fridays were your favorite, too.
with a choked, breathless gasp, choso's knees completely buckled. he threw his head back against the door with a dull thud as his body spasmed, blowing a thick, hot, messy white flood all over his charcoal-stained fingers and the floor. he whimpered, his chest heaving violently in the quiet room, his leaking cock still twitching weakly in his hand as the heavy waves of pleasure wrecked him.
he slid down until his thighs hit the floor, completely covered in his own mess, very aware that he was entirely, hopelessly enslaved to you.
the next two weeks were a slow, agonizing descent into madness for choso.
ever since the night he had broken his restraint in his dorm, his mind was entirely corrupted. his sketchbooks were no longer filled with abstract layouts or still-lifes; instead, the pages were cluttered with charcoal studies of the human form—the curve of a waist, the flex of a thigh, the precise angle of a neck arched back in a phantom groan. he was losing his grip, completely consumed by the ghost of your vanilla scent and the memory of your voice.
he still played the part of the quiet, stoic classmate during your friday sessions, but the air between you had shifted. it was thicker now. every time your eyes met across the empty gym floor, choso's stomach would coil with a dark, expectant heat.
which brought him to this particular friday.
choso had run out of clean laundry—or perhaps, deep down in the desperate, pathetic corners of his soul, he was simply tired of hiding behind his armor. he dug through the very bottom of his dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of light grey sweatpants and a tight, black, long-sleeved compression shirt.
when he walked into the university gym at 11:30 pm, he didn't have his oversized hoodie to protect him. he was completely bare.
you were already there, finishing up a warm-up stretch near the free weights, when the turnstile clicked. you turned your head casually to nod hello, but the moment your eyes landed on him, you froze completely.
without the baggy fabric of his hoodies, choso's true physical form was devastating. his shoulders were incredibly broad, tapering down into a surprisingly narrow waist, and the thin, elastic material of the black compression shirt clung to the heavy, carved planes of his chest like a second skin. the fabric stretched tight over his thick biceps and long arms, mapping out every cord of muscle.
and those grey sweatpants were doing him absolutely no favors. the soft, light cotton left nothing to the imagination, casting a prominent, heavy shadow right down the front of his thighs that made it very obvious how much weight he carried between them.
choso felt your gaze like a physical brand on his skin. he watched your eyes dilate, your jaw going slightly slack as you traced his silhouette before quickly looking down at the floor—a violent, sudden rush of heat flooding your cheeks. the shy, swallowed-up emo boy you thought you knew was actually fucking jacked.
for the first time, choso felt a sudden, dark thrill pierce through his veins. you weren't just casually looking anymore. you were staring. you were flustered. the power dynamic had just completely shattered.
"hey," you said as he walked over, your voice sounding a little tighter, a little more breathless than usual.
"hey," he mumbled, adjusting his grip on a set of heavy dumbbells.
for the next forty minutes, the gym was a total disaster zone for your focus. you kept fumbling your sets, your eyes helplessly glued to the way his broad back flexed under that black fabric. choso noticed every single glance, his heart hammering against his ribs, his body humming with a dangerous, quiet confidence he didn't know he possessed.
finally, as the clock crept toward 12:45 am, choso moved over to the deadlift platform to finish his workout. he was loading heavy iron plates onto the barbell, his chest heaving slightly, when you slowly walked over. your gym towel was clutched tightly in your hands, your knuckles white.
"um, choso?" you murmured, looking up at him through your lashes.
he paused, wiping a bead of sweat from his temple, his dark eyes locked onto yours. "yeah?"
"i… i was thinking," you began, your eyes momentarily darting down to his chest before snapping back to his face. "you've been helping me out for weeks. you always spot me, and you're always so nice about it… i kind of feel bad that it's only been you helping me. do you… do you need a spot on these? or do you want me to help you stretch out afterward? you look really tense."
choso's breath hitched, the heavy weight in his sweatpants twitching violently at the offer. help him stretch. the mental image of your hands pressing against his thick thighs, guiding his legs, or leaning over his back made his head spin. he looked down at you, acutely aware of how his looming height entirely shadowed you under the gym lights.
he looked around the gym. it was empty. the digital clock was ticking down to closing time, and the air between you was practically vibrating with unsaid desires.
"yeah," choso whispered, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly register that made your core throb. he leaned down slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made it feel like he was branding you right then and there. "i'm almost done. i could use your help."
your chest heaved as you nodded, unable to find your voice under the heavy weight of his gaze. you turned together, falling into step right beside his massive frame. the transition from the open weight floor to the stretching mats in the far corner felt like stepping directly into an active furnace.
you had laid out a heavy foam mat in the dim, amber shadow of the room, offering to guide choso through a cool-down stretch since his shoulders looked so tightly coiled. but the moment you stepped close, the physical reality of his frame hit you like a wall of heat. when you pressed your palms against the dense, burning expanse of his back, your breath caught. under the smooth, slick fabric of his black compression shirt, his muscles felt like carved, unyielding stone. he shattered your rhythm the second your skin met his, letting out a low, ragged exhale as his broad chest heaved under your hands.
when you stepped around to his front to help guide an overhead arm stretch, your bodies brushed. the sheer, towering height of his looming frame completely eclipsed you under the dim emergency lights. you looked up, your pupils wide and completely dilated, only to find choso staring down at you. his dark eyes were pitch-black, his irises swallowed up by a gaze so raw, intense, and heavily possessive that it made your core violently throb with a sudden, weeping ache.
he didn't wait for a verbal answer. his large hand slid down to wrap firmly around your wrist, guiding you away from the clanking iron of the lifting racks.
the restraint he had spent a month building was officially gone.
with a single, unyielding tug, choso hoisted you up and herded you backward through the heavy, double doors of the communal locker room. the thick door clicked shut behind you with a definitive, echoing thud, sealing the two of you into absolute isolation. the air inside was already thick and humid, heavy with the rising, damp steam from the automatic ventilation hooked to the shower stalls in the back.
he didn't waste a single second. choso pressed his massive body forward, driving you back into the narrow aisle until your spine met the cold, hard metal of the lockers. before you could even utter a word, his restraint completely snapped.
choso buried his face directly into the crook of your neck, letting out a deep, shuddering, almost violent inhale. his nose dragged roughly against your hot skin as he practically drank your scent in, entirely feral for it. his mind flashed back to the quiet agony of his lonely dorm room, to the pathetic weeks he had spent sticky and shaking in his sheets, imagining this exact smell. but this was real. he sniffed you deeply, trailing his nose up the sensitive line of your throat, completely intoxicating himself with the heady, sweet mix of your vanilla perfume and the raw, warm musk of your workout sweat.
"god, you smell so good," he groaned against your skin, his voice breaking with a desperate, ragged edge.
his large hands came up to frame your face, his calloused palms tilting your head back as he slammed his mouth down onto yours. it was a messy, ravenous, completely drunk make-out. choso was entirely intoxicated by your lips, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth, tasting you with a desperate hunger that made your knees go weak. he kissed you over and over, his lips bruising yours, sucking on your lower lip until you were both gasping for air, the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth completely filling the quiet locker room.
he dropped heavily to his knees on the tiled floor, his hands instantly reaching up to grab the hem of his black compression shirt. with one swift, fluid motion, he pulled the tight fabric over his head and discarded it carelessly.
your breath left you entirely, your eyes widening in absolute awe. without the shirt, choso was a towering, breathtaking canvas of raw, imposing anatomy. his smooth skin was covered in dark, heavy ink—intricate, black surrealist tattoos wrapped completely around the thick meat of his forearms, climbing up his bulging biceps, and tracing the hard, carved cuts of his chest and obliques. he was built like a god, a terrifyingly large giant, yet as he looked up at you, his eyes were wide and full of a shaking, reverent vulnerability.
with steady, trembling fingers, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your gym shorts and undergarments, stripping them down to your sneakers. his brain completely shut off the moment your naked body was exposed to him. he stared, his jaw slack, his chest heaving as his eyes mapped out every single inch of you.
"you're… you're really here," he rasped, a look of pure, euphoric disbelief washing over his features. "i'm not dreaming. you're actually letting me touch you."
he effortlessly parted your thighs, his large hands gripping the back of your knees to pull your legs up, pinning them wide over his broad, tatted shoulders. choso didn't care about being neat; he was hungry and completely desperate.
before even touching his tongue to your center, he buried his face in the soft meat of your inner thighs, trailing heavy, wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. he dragged his nose roughly against your folds, inhaling deeply with a sharp, ragged gasp that shook his entire frame, completely unhinged by your scent and warmth.
when he finally slid his tongue straight up your soaked folds, the heavy, silver barbell piercing split right through the middle of his tongue hit you completely unaware. you’d been so entirely consumed by the bruising, desperate heat of his mouth against yours earlier—so utterly drowned in the taste of him and the dizzying rush of his hands on your skin—that you hadn't even registered the faint, metallic slide of it against your own tongue.
you hadn't expected it at all—the sudden, piercing contrast of that cold, hard metal bar sliding right over your swollen, sensitive clit sent a violent, shattering jolt of electricity straight down your spine. your back arched completely off the lockers, a loud, broken gasp tearing from your throat.
it was a lethal sensory overload. choso drank in your reaction, using the metal to rub and vibrate against you in wild, heavy strokes that smeared your wetness all over his chin and lips. your hands flew blindly to his head, your fingers tangling desperately into the messy, damp strands of his hair to pull him even closer, pinning his face against your cunt.
you were already so worked up from a month of tension that it didn't take long at all; under the ruthless, heavy friction of his pierced tongue, your body tightened instantly. a devastating, screaming orgasm crashed over you within seconds, your thighs trembling violently against his neck. choso groaned into your pussy, sucking you softly through your release and swallowing every single drop of you, completely euphoric that his darkest, loneliest fantasies were finally coming true.
he slowly stood up, panting heavily, his chin glistening with your slick. without a word, he stripped out of his grey sweatpants. when his length snapped free, your breath gasped out. he was terrifyingly huge—thick, heavy, and weeping dark drops of pre-cum. your eyes widened, a sudden spike of nerves hitting your chest at the sheer structural size difference.
sensing your fear, choso's expression softened instantly. he lifted you effortlessly, your legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he herded your trembling body into the communal shower stalls. he snapped the metal handle, and a steady stream of warm water beat down on his tatted back.
choso braced your back gently against the wet tiles, lifting one of your legs and pinning it securely against the thick meat of his hip to open you up completely. before pushing in, he paused, his breath hitching as he dragged the head of his cock directly over your weeping entrance. he rolled his hips in a slow, agonizing circle, running his slick tip up and down the length of your soaking center, teasing the sensitive skin until your hips automatically buckled against him, begging for the friction.
"i'll be gentle, promise," he murmured softly against your lips, his voice a soothing, quiet contrast to his heavy size. "just tell me if it's too much—i've thought about this every night... i don't want to hurt you."
he pushed forward slowly, an inch at a time, and the tight, agonizingly perfect stretch made you sob out loud, your forehead burying into his neck. he was too big, filling you so deeply that it felt like he was bottoming out against your very soul. you could feel every ridge of him stretching your walls to their absolute limit. choso let out a low, gravelly groan, his entire body shaking as he stopped, completely motionless, letting you adjust.
"you're okay," he whispered softly into your ear, his large hands coming down to heavily grope and worship your body. he squeezed your hips, his tatted fingers digging into your skin, before sliding up to cup your breasts, his thumbs rubbing your nipples through the running water. "shit, look at you... you're taking me so well. so perfect for me."
he began to pull back, almost all the way out, before plunging back in with a slow, devastatingly heavy weight. he hammered into you with a desperate but careful pace, his hips pressing firmly against yours. he didn't just push; he worshipped you with every stroke, tracing his lips along your jawline, biting softly at the pulse point on your neck whenever a particularly deep plunge made you cry out his name.
"fuuuckk, that's it," he murmured, his voice cracking with pure emotion as your walls clamped desperately around his length. "say my name again, baby—let me hear you."
"mnghh—choso... choso," you sobbed, completely unraveled by the rhythm, awestruck by how someone so massive could hold you with such tender, protective care.
"i've got you," he whispered, his large hands lifting you slightly higher to change the angle, sinking even deeper into your softness.
with the new angle, choso plunged all the way in, the massive, thick head of his cock bottoming out completely and hitting directly against your cervix. the sudden, deep ache was a lethal spark; the friction inside you shifted instantly, and a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure began building up with terrifying speed. you could feel every single thick ridge of him stretching you open, driving you completely over the edge. your mind fractured as you came undone for the second time, your vision blurring as a loud, echoing cry tore from your throat.
the devastating orgasm caused your walls to spasm and clamp down ruthlessly around his dick, tightening around it like a vice. the intense, crushing suction completely shattered choso's control. he threw his head back, his tatted shoulders bunching tightly as a deep, guttural groan tore from his chest. his hips slammed forward one last time, pinning you against the wet tiles as he came violently inside you, pulsing thick and hot, filling you to the absolute brim with his release.
he didn't pull out. even as the water washed over his inked skin, his length stayed thick, hard, and demanding inside you, his cock still twitching and pulsing deeply against your raw, swollen walls. you could feel every single throb of his aftermath inside you, making you let out a weak whine as you buried your face into the hot crook of his neck. he pressed his forehead against yours, both of you panting heavily, the steam rising around your bodies.
"don't move," he breathed softly, his lips brushing yours. "don't move yet. i want to stay inside you."
choso shifted his weight, gathering your trembling body entirely into his arms and pulling you up off the tile wall. he guided your other leg around his waist, holding you close against his massive, wet chest, trapping you entirely in his shadow. since you had already come twice, your entire body was completely spent, and a jolt of pure shock ran through you when choso’s hips gave a sudden, slow, experimental roll.
"hmph—choso, wait..." you gasped, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes.
he looked down at you, his dark eyes heavy-lidded and completely glazed over with a dark, terrifyingly needy lust. he looked so soft, yet so entirely unhinged by the taste of you. "one more... just one more, please, sweetheart?" he begged, his voice a gravelly, trembling whisper against your lips. "you're so tight—i can't get out."
you were already so incredibly overstimulated that you couldn't even form words, able to make only broken, needy little sounds against his chest. your fingers curled blindly into the damp skin of his shoulders, your nails scratching desperately down the dark ink of his back—but the stinging friction only made him growl, his grip tightening ruthlessly around your ass as your resistance turned him on even more.
with your bodies pinned chest-to-chest, he dragged his tatted hands through your wet hair, tilting your head forward to bring your mouth to his for another deep, heavy, sloppy kiss. your tongues tangled, the hard metal of his piercing sliding heavily against yours, making you taste the intoxicating mix of your own sweat and release on his lips.
he didn't rush. choso backed up just enough to prop one of his heavy feet on the shower bench, tilting his hips back. his gaze dropped down, his pitch-black eyes tracking lower to look directly at the point of connection between your bodies. you watched through blurred vision as he stared, completely fascinated, watching his massive, dark shaft plunge all the way into your dripping cunt, churning up the filthy, frothy ring of your combined releases and his own thick cum. the wet, sloshing sounds of him fucking you were amplified by the echoing shower stall, white cream bubbling out and smearing over his tatted thighs with every agonizingly deep stroke.
"fuck, look at you," he whispered between heavy, wet kisses, his voice thick with a profound, quiet awe as his eyes stayed glued to the messy, ruined sight of your pussy. "look how much of me you're holding. all ruined for me—can't look away from you."
"nghh—choso, you're... you're still so big," you gasped out as he began to roll his hips again. the second expansion felt even deeper, more thorough than the first, the thick head of his cock ruthlessly punishing your cervix over and over.
"'m sorry," he murmured softly, though his actions contradicted his apology as he sank all the way in, bottoming out completely and burying his balls against your wetness. "you just feel too good—i can't help it. let me love you like this, just a little longer."
he rolled his hips forward again and again, sinking into you with an agonizingly slow, deep rhythm that made your vision blur. every push was accompanied by a soft, reverent kiss—on your eyelids, your cheeks, your mouth, and the sensitive skin under your ear. he turned your entire body into a canvas, worshipping you with a gentle but unyielding stamina, his heart completely overflowing with the euphoric reality that you were finally, beautifully his.
the automatic shower ventilation hummed a low, droning bassline as the steam slowly began to clear from the room, the heavy mist settling into a damp, quiet warmth.
choso stood mid-dressed in the narrow space between the shower stalls and the benches. he had managed to pull his grey sweatpants back on, the thick waistband sitting low on his hips, but his massive upper body was still completely bare. his smooth skin was flushed dark pink, the heavy black tattoos on his chest and arms glistening under the dull overhead facility lights.
you sat on the wooden bench right in front of him, a large, fluffy white towel draped loosely over your head to catch the dampness of your hair. your body was still completely spent, your inner thighs aching with a heavy, lingering numbness.
despite the water being off, choso hadn't moved away. he stepped in close between your knees, leaning down so his massive frame completely shadowed you. his hands came up to gently frame the sides of your face through the fabric of the towel, and he leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. both of you just breathed together for a moment, the quiet, synchronized sound of your exhales filling the empty locker room.
choso slowly opened his eyes, looking at you from beneath his messy, damp bangs. the terrifying, pitch-black intensity from the showers had completely faded, replaced by that familiar, quiet softness that usually hid behind his oversized hoodies. his cheeks pulled a sudden blush—not from the heat of the room, but from a sudden wave of sheer, boyish bashfulness.
he cleared his throat, the sound low and gravelly in the empty space. carefully, almost timidly, he reached into your gym bag and pulled out a fresh, dry set of clothes you had brought along.
"here," he murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, hesitant register.
he didn't just hand them to you. instead, his massive, heavily inked hands gathered the soft fabric of your clean t-shirt. his touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to how ruthlessly he had been holding you against the tiles just minutes ago. he carefully guided the shirt over your head, his blunt fingers catching on the collar to make sure it didn't snag on your damp skin, before pulling your arms through the sleeves with a quiet, domestic focus that made your heart melt.
he paused, his eyes darting down to the floor, then back up to your face through the towel still framing your head. he rubbed the back of his neck with his tatted forearm, looking suddenly, hilariously out of his depth now that the primal fog had cleared.
"um," choso began, his voice cracking slightly. he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the heavy, dominant monster from the shower stall completely transforming back into the shy art student who didn't know what to do with his hands. "i know... i know the timing is really bad. and it’s probably not very gentleman-like of me to ask this... especially right after we just—after what we just did."
he took a deep breath, his dark eyes looking down at you with a completely endearing vulnerability.
"but there’s a 24-hour diner and cafe just two blocks from campus. they have really good iced coffee, and... and sweet pastries. i was wondering if... if you wanted to go grab something to drink with me? like... a date. a real one."
you stared up at him from beneath the towel, your heart swelling so violently it cut off your breath. hearing this massive, fully tattooed, pierced giant softly ask you out on a proper, polite date while his bare chest was still burning from your touch was the most charming thing you had ever experienced.
"i would love to, choso," you whispered.
a small, breathtakingly genuine smile broke across choso's face, lighting up his features. "okay," he rumbled softly, bending down to press one final, sweet, lingering kiss to your lips before reaching for his own hoodie. "let's finish up. i'll buy you whatever you want."
⋆˚࿔ SYNOPSIS When your boyfriend is too chicken to break up with you, he sends his nerdy twin to do the dirty work. The leather jacket is a decent touch, but the personality is a dead giveaway. Instead of getting mad, you make him your personal tutor. As the lines between you blur, you realise you're falling for the man behind the glasses, leaving your ex to wonder exactly who is getting replaced.
⋆˚࿔ nerd!satoru x figure skating!reader
⋆˚࿔ cw: college au. idiots in love. academic stress. hurt/comfort. suggestive themes. smut. dry humping. injury. bullying. tags will be updated.
part 2 wc: 4603 series masterlist main masterlist
You sat on the low wooden bench in the locker room, pulling the laces of your right skate, trying to ground yourself. But your hands were unsteady. Your brain was a chaotic loop, trapped between the vivid memory of Satoru’s hands on your hips yesterday.
The heavy thud of a body dropped onto the bench right next to you broke the silence, close enough that her shoulder brushed yours. There were dozens of empty benches in the room, but she had chosen this exact spot.
You recognised her instantly. She was at the loud frat parties you used to attend with Toru, the kind of girl who always lingered a little too close to him, whose name constantly popped up in his notifications accompanied by fire emojis. She had wanted Toru since freshman year, and now that the campus's popular boy had cut you loose, she was going all out.
"So," she began, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she put her own skates on. "He finally found someone who’s actually worth his time, huh?"
You froze, your knuckles going white. You looked at her, your expression deadpan, but she only smirked, fueled by your silence.
"Come on, don't look at me like that," she chuckled, a nasty sound that echoed against the walls. “Everyone knew you were just a placeholder. A pretty little accessory to pass his time. Now that the Gojo is done with you, you’re nothing. Honestly, it must be such a relief for him. He's finally around girls with an actual pulse instead of a frigid personality."
She sat up straight, turning her head to look down her nose at you. She was trying to dig the blade in as deep as it would go, targeting your deepest insecurity, the terrifying thought that you were just an unwanted thing in Toru’s world.
"Maybe the real reason he left," she whispered, leaning in, "was your total lack of emotion. You’re like...empty."
Something hot and defensive flared in your chest. You turned your head slowly, meeting her gaze with a terrifyingly calm face.
"Do you just like hearing the sound of your own voice?" you asked, your tone completely flat, devoid of the anger vibrating inside. "You seem to have a lot of emotions, yet I don't remember him ever picking you."
Her jaw clenched, smug expression disappearing instantly. Before she could recover, you stood up. The steel blades of your skates clicked sharply against the mats as you walked out, leaving her alone.
Your face had shown absolutely nothing, but beneath your ribcage, your heart was beating in a frantic rhythm. You usually didn’t care about what others thought of you. But after yesterday, you were a mess. The thing with Satoru. Was it right? Was it a rebound? Was it too early? The questions felt like acid. But for now, you needed to block out both of the Gojo brothers and focus on the only thing that actually mattered.
The rink had a few other skaters cutting patterns into the surface. You let out a long sigh into the chilly air. Time to focus.
You spent a few minutes doing basic laps, letting the wind bite your face, trying to match the rhythm of your breathing to the glide of your blades.
Today, you were determined to perfect your Triple Lutz. It was a notoriously difficult jump, requiring you to jump off a backward outside edge. You had spent hours studying other skaters doing it, trying to see the physics of the rotation to calculate the necessary angular momentum.
Edge. Speed. Launch.
You accelerated, the ice hissing beneath you. But just as you prepared to jump, the cruel words echoed in your mind. A placeholder. Empty. Then, a memory of Satoru’s dilated, blue eyes from yesterday crashed through the defense. Was Satoru doing the same thing? Was he just using you because you belonged to Toru first?
The mental intrusion messed with your body's timing. You picked into the ice a fraction of a second too late, over-stretching the calf muscle during the takeoff.
A sudden, agonizing pain came in the back of your leg.
The muscle immediately seized into a blinding cramp. You lost your balance in the air, your body tilting wildly before you slammed sideways into the ice. You sprawled across the frozen surface, the impact rattling your teeth.
For a second, the entire rink seemed to go quiet. You felt every eye on you. Then, a sharp, familiar tsk sounded near your head.
"Pathetic," the same girl’s voice sneered as she glided effortlessly past your fallen body. "You can't even stay on your feet without a Gojo to hold you up."
The sheer audacity of her words ignited something dark and furious inside you. What is wrong with this bitch? Fueled by pure, blinding spite, you forced yourself up despite the agonizing scream of your calf muscle. Your leg felt like it was stuck in concrete, but you refused to quit. You skated through the pain, biting your lip so hard the metallic taste of blood touched your tongue, forcing your body to repeat the setup.
You wouldn't let her win. You went down the ice again and again, building up immense speed, forcing your body into the air. You turned, one, two, three times and landed the Triple Lutz cleanly, the steel cutting a perfect line into the ice.
But there was no rush of accomplishment. You were completely numb. Looking around, you realized the session had ended, the rink was empty and the lights were dimming.
Except, as you limped toward the exit, you noticed Shoko sitting quietly in the stands, her eyes tracking your uneven stride. She stood up and followed you into the locker room.
The moment you sat on the bench and managed to pull your skate off, you hoisted your leggings up. Your calf was a disaster, swollen and already turning into a dark shade of purple.
Shoko let out a heavy, tired sigh as she sat beside you. Without warning, she pressed an ice pack down onto the injury with a brutal amount of force.
"Ah! Damn it, Shoko!" you hissed, flinching back and looking at her with absolute betrayal.
"You should've stopped when you fell the first time," she said simply, ignoring your glare.
"I can't afford to lose this championship," you muttered, leaning your head back against the cold concrete wall, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm already falling behind in class. If I lose this too, I lose everything."
"Hm." Shoko leaned back too, her voice dropping into a perceptive tone. "You looked way more distracted than usual today. Is this about Satoru?"
Your head snapped toward her, your eyes wide with shock. Did she know about yesterday?
Shoko let out a soft smirk, "You both sure spend a lot of time 'studying' together now. I barely see you." Her expression softened, turning into something genuinely worried.
"Look, I just don't want to see you get hurt again. Satoru is different from Toru, sure... he's sweeter. But he’s still a Gojo. They are both… something. Don't hurt yourself or let your dreams become collateral damage in whatever weird family drama they have going on." She patted your shoulder gently, breaking the heavy tension.
"Now come on, let’s go eat. I’m starving."
You had managed to hide the worst of your limp from Shoko, but by the time you turned the corner of your dormitory hallway, every step felt like stepping on broken glass. And there he was.
Satoru was leaning against the wall right outside your door. His arms were crossed over his chest, his large frame making the narrow hallway look small, his glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted, his hair slightly disheveled.
Your first instinct was absolute cowardice. You wanted to slowly turn around and limp away before he noticed you, but the click of your shoes gave you away. His head snapped up, his blue eyes locking onto yours.
"Hey," he said, instantly straightening up and walking toward you. He reached out, his large hands gently but firmly gripping your upper arms. "I’ve been waiting out here all day. I texted you, left you so many messages... I even went to the rink earlier, but you weren't there. Are you okay?"
You noticed a couple of girls from down the hall staring at the two of you, whispering. Satoru Gojo was a ghost to most people on campus, a quiet genius, and seeing him intensely cornering a girl in a dorm hallway was prime gossip.
"Inside," you muttered, unlocking your door and pulling him into the room, shutting the door firmly behind you.
The moment the lock clicked, the silence in the room felt suffocating. Satoru stood there, his jaw tight. He was drowning in frustration.
Yesterday, during that breathless encounter on his lap, he had felt an undeniable connection. For a guy who lived entirely in his own head, he had truly believed that you felt it too, that maybe, just maybe, you were finally seeing him, not just as a tutor or his brother's nerdy twin. But your total silence today had made him feel utterly discarded. Like a mistake you were trying to forget.
"Why didn't you reply to me?" he asked, his voice tight, demanding an answer. "It takes one second to text back and say you're okay. Just one second."
You stayed quiet, leaning heavily against the dresser to keep the weight off your right leg, looking anywhere but at him.
Satoru ran a frustrated hand down his face, his shoulders slumping. "Was yesterday a mistake?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly, dropping into a softer, incredibly vulnerable tone. "Did I... did I read it all wrong? Were you just using me to get back at him?"
The pain in your leg was throbbing violently, and the emotional weight of the girl’s insults earlier, Shoko’s warnings, and his intense gaze finally pushed you over the edge. You snapped.
"Just stop it, would you?!" you yelled, the words ripping from your throat. "We aren't dating, Satoru! I don't see you for one single day and you come here to ambush me at my door?”
Satoru’s eyes darkened. Instead of backing down, he stepped closer, his chest nearly touching yours as his hands found your arms again, his grip desperate but careful. "I'm not ambushing you! I care about you! Why are you pushing me away the second things get real?!"
"Because you're just like him!" you screamed, tears of frustration and physical agony blinding your vision. You shoved against his chest with all your might. "Just get out, Toru!"
The name hung in the air like a lethal fog.
The exact second it slipped past your lips, your heart dropped into your stomach. Satoru flinched as if you had physically struck him across the face. His hands slowly dropped from your arms.
You hadn't meant to say it. It was a terrible slip of the tongue. You knew how Satoru felt about his brother’s overwhelming shadow. He didn't want to be compared to him, ever. And now, the one person he thought truly looked at his soul had just used his brother's name against him. The hurt in his blue eyes was clear, realizing that to you, he might just be another version of the boy who left you.
He turned on his heel, his back rigid as he walked toward the door to leave. But as you tried to hobble away from the dresser, your compromised calf muscle completely gave out. A violent, agonizing cramp seized the entire lower half of your leg, and a sharp cry escaped your lips as your knees buckled.
Satoru moved with blinding speed, his arms wrapping around your waist and catching you instantly. His anger vanished, replaced by sheer instinct as he felt your body trembling violently against his. His eyes ran all over your pale face and the cold sweat on your forehead.
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice thick with an overwhelming worry.
Before you could argue, he lifted you effortlessly into his arms and carried you to the bed, gently sitting you down. You looked at him through blurry eyes, a part of your brain wondering if this was an act, but the sheer panic in his face was undeniably real. You were in too much pain to yell at him or tell him to leave anymore.
"My leg," you whispered, holding your calf.
Satoru immediately knelt on the floor between your knees. He reached out and carefully rolled your leggings up to your knee. The moment he spotted the injury, he let out a sharp, pained wince. The dark purple bruise was horrifying, covering almost your entire calf, the skin swollen to the touch.
"Where is the heating gel?" he asked, touching the edge of the bruise so lightly it felt like a whisper, his eyes lifting to meet yours.
You pointed to the desk with a trembling hand. He fetched the tube immediately and returned to his position on the floor, sitting right between your legs. He unscrewed the cap, slathering a dense layer of the medicated balm onto his large palms.
He was completely quiet the entire time. He didn't bring up the fact that you had just broken his heart with his brother's name. He just leaned forward, his hands closing around your calf.
His palms were hot, a shocking contrast against your cold, clammy skin that made you let out a sharp gasp, your fingers digging into the mattress. Satoru began to work the balm into the muscle, his long fingers digging deep into the tight, knotted fibers to break the cramp. It was a slow, agonizing process, his touch firm but filled with an incredible tenderness.
As the deep heat of the gel began to soothe the throbbing pain, your breathing finally slowed. The heavy silence in the room softened.
"Thanks," you said softly, your voice small and thick with guilt.
Satoru stopped rubbing, his hands remaining warmly on your leg for a lingering moment. He looked up at you, and instead of anger or resentment, he offered you a soft, tired smile. He didn't mention the slip-up.
He stood up, towering over you, then he leaned down. His large hands came up to softly cup your cheeks, and then he gave you a soft, lingering kiss on your forehead.
"Rest," he whispered against your skin and turned to leave, the door clicking softly behind him.
The silence that filled the empty room felt incredibly heavy. You lay there in the dark, the burning heat of the balm on your leg and the ghost of his lips on your forehead keeping you awake. You should have felt better. The pain was barely there, and he hadn't yelled once.
But you were utterly frustrated. You had called him by his brother's name, yet he had stayed to take care of you anyway. Your chest tightened with a confused panic. Was this an act, or was he serious? The sudden, terrifying realization that you were actually falling for Satoru sent a chill through you, leaving you alone in the dark, entirely unsettled.
The next afternoon, you walked briskly past the lecture halls, clutching your notebooks tightly against your chest. Your heart carried a sharp anxiety, the guilt of last night weighing on you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the way he had flinched when you screamed his brother's name.
Then, a shock of unruly white hair caught your eye down the hall. Before your courage could fail you, you picked up your pace, your shoes clicking quickly to catch up to him. "Satoru!"
He stopped, turning around with his hands jammed casually into his pockets. The very second his blue eyes locked onto you behind his glasses, his gaze instantly dropped to your right leg.
"Hey," he said, stepping into your space. "How's your leg feeling today? Should you even be walking on it yet?”
Seeing him act so genuinely sweet, so entirely concerned for you despite the miserable way you had treated him, made you feel a hundred times worse.
"Yeah, no, it's better," you babbled nervously, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a panicked rush. "Um, Satoru... I’m so sorry. About yesterday. I was just so overwhelmed by everything, and I didn't mean to call you... that. I wasn't thinking straight at all. You're nothing like him, I swear. And about the other night, I didn't want you to think it was a mist-"
"Hey, hey. Stop. Relax." Satoru interrupted softly, cutting off your spiraling thoughts. He reached out, his large, warm hand gently gripping your shoulder to ground you. He offered you a reassuring smile. "It's okay. I'm not mad at you. I understand. We all have rough days. Let it go."
"Actually," Satoru continued, his tone instantly shifting into something lighter as he dropped his hand back into his pocket, "I was just heading over to that new cafe that opened across from campus. Care to join me?”
"Yes," you blurted out immediately, desperate to keep him near. "Yes, I'd love to."
Twenty minutes later, the heavy tension of the past twenty-four hours had completely evaporated, replaced by the sweet aroma of espresso and baked goods. The two of you sat at a small booth in the far corner of the cafe. The table looked like a pastry chef had exploded over it. There were plates of cheesecakes, fruit tarts and waffles scattered everywhere.
You tried to focus on your own plate, picking up the small pitcher of syrup. You began pouring it over your waffles, Satoru stopped mid-bite, leaning forward and staring at your food like a complete dork.
"Wow. You know, your syrup distribution is absolutely atrocious," he stated, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "There is literally zero saturation on the corners. You’re completely ruining the structural integrity of the waffle.”
You rolled your eyes, a genuine laugh catching in your throat as you set the pitcher down. "I'm sorry, I don't want the waffles completely drenched in liquid sugar, Gojo. It’s bad enough that I'm technically eating waffles for lunch."
"And what, exactly, is wrong with that?" he asked, looking profoundly offended. To prove his point, he picked up his fork and took a massive, unapologetic bite from his own plate of waffles, which was buried beneath a literal mountain of whipped cream and chocolate drizzle.
You stared across the table at him, completely shocked by the sheer volume of sugar he was consuming. "How can you eat that much sugar in a single sitting without going into a diabetic coma?"
"Glucose is high-octane fuel," he replied instantly, a smug grin spreading across his face as he leaned back in his seat. “How else do you think I'm effortlessly maintaining a perfect GPA? It’s all in the pastries."
He looked so incredibly conceited, so full of himself, that it made you want to knock that beautiful, arrogant smile right off his face.
Reaching beneath the table, you nudged his leg with your foot. You let out a quiet tsk, leaning your elbows on the table and giving him a challenging look. "You're just a genius on paper, Gojo. Let's see how that high-octane fueled body actually performs on the ice."
Satoru blinked, pausing. "The ice?"
"Meet me at the rink tonight," you said, a playful smile finally breaking through your face. "I'm teaching you how to skate."
He stared at you for a beat, and then a wide, delighted grin appeared on his face. He loved a challenge.
"Oh, please," Satoru laughed, waving his fork dismissively in the air. "Skating is just friction and balance. It's basic physics. I'll understand the mechanics in five minutes and will be spinning in the air." He leaned across the table, his blue eyes sparkling with chaotic energy. "Prepare to be amazed."
You glided onto the ice effortlessly, the steel of your blades cutting a familiar, soothing track into the smooth surface.
Then came Satoru.
He was currently wearing a pair of scuffed plastic rental skates that looked hilariously small on his massive feet. The exact millisecond his blade touched the ice, Satoru’s legs flew out in opposite directions like a cartoon character stepping on a banana peel. His long arms windmilled wildly through the air, his glasses flying down the bridge of his nose as he scrambled for purchase.
And with a dramatic thud, he slammed hard onto his backside, sliding a few feet across the ice before his long limbs tangled together.
You folded completely in half, clamping a hand over your mouth as a loud, breathless laugh ripped from your throat. It probably wasn't that funny, but given how much he had boasted about mastering the basic physics of skating, you couldn't help it. You were laughing so hard your ribs literally ached.
"Hey!" Satoru barked from the floor, his cheeks flushing a rare pink as he scrambled to his knees. He lunged for the side wall, clutching the top ledge with a literal death grip. He tried to stand, but his feet started doing a frantic, rapid-fire jogging motion in place, his blades scraping the ice in a desperate bid for balance. He looked exactly like a cartoon trying to run on a waxed floor. "Is my suffering funny to you?"
"You're a genius, Gojo! Just calculate the friction!" you managed to choke out between giggles, wiping a tear from your eye as you effortlessly glided toward his trembling frame.
"The physics are flawed!" he hissed, his white hair messy and his knuckles white from gripping the board. "The ice is malicious."
Your laughter finally subsided into a soft smile as you stopped right in front of him. You reached out, offering him both of your hands. "Alright, Einstein. Hold my hands. Don't look down at your feet. Bend your knees a bit and put your toes into a slight V-shape. Now just take small, shuffling steps. I've got you."
Satoru let go of the wall and grabbed your hands in an absolute death grip. His palms were still searingly hot, even in the freezing rink, and his large fingers completely enveloped yours. He was focusing so hard his jaw was clenched, his blue eyes locked onto your face with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.
Slowly, you began to skate backward, pulling him along with you. Satoru took tiny, tentative baby steps, his massive frame hunched over slightly as he let you guide him.
"See? You're doing it," you teased softly, the rink empty around you, the sound of your blades cutting the ice was the only sound in the quiet space. "Not quite spinning in the air yet, but it's a start."
"I am executing a flawless glide," he grumbled, though a tiny, reluctant smile finally broke through his stubborn expression. He was getting braver, his steps lengthening as he grew accustomed to the rhythm of your movements. "Though I feel like the center of mass would be more stable if you were closer."
"Nice try. Keep your distance, or I'll let go," you threatened playfully.
"You wouldn't dare. That's a liability," he countered, his signature smugness rapidly returning now that he wasn't actively falling.
To prove he was getting the hang of it, Satoru stopped shuffling his feet and let the momentum carry him. As you skated backward, guiding him, he gently tightened his grip on your hands and pulled you just a fraction closer, forcing you to slow down until the two of you came to a smooth, elegant halt in the center of the ice.
The playful atmosphere instantly shifted.
Satoru didn't let go of your hands. He stepped even closer, his massive frame towering over you, completely blocking out the rest of the empty rink. His white hair fell softly across his forehead, and he looked down at you behind his frames. You could feel the heat of his body cutting through the freezing air.
"Satoru," you warned, your voice barely a breathy whisper. Your cheeks were burning a bright pink, yet you didn't pull your hands away from his. "Someone might walk in."
"Let them," he murmured, his face just inches from yours. The chaotic, teasing energy that usually enveloped him completely vanished, leaving him utterly exposed.
The laughter from earlier was gone, replaced by a sudden ache in your chest. You didn't want to play dumb anymore. You didn't want to let your fear of Toru keep you from what was right in front of you.
"Yesterday you screamed his name at me," he whispered, his voice dropping into a low frequency that made your pulse violently spike. He let go of one of your hands, his large fingers traveling up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin. "Today you're looking at me like..."
"I'm looking at you," you interrupted, your voice steadying as you forced all your honesty into the words. Your other hand shifted to gently grasp the fabric of his sweater. "I was terrified yesterday, Satoru. I was listening to what everyone else was saying, and I was so scared that you were just another version of him. But you aren't. I know exactly who you are now. And I don't see anyone else when I look at you."
A long, shaky exhale left his chest, and he leaned down just a fraction lower, his forehead coming to rest gently against yours. "Good," he breathed against your skin, his voice thick with a raw intensity that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "Because I’m tired of being patient."
You swallowed hard, your eyes locked onto his. "Satoru..."
"I don't care who came before me," he said, his words quiet but filled with an unshakeable certainty. His gaze dropped to your mouth, his thumb gently tracing your jawline, sending shivers down your spine.
He took a slow, deep breath, his chest pressing firmly against yours.
"I don't want to be your tutor, and I definitely don't want to be your rebound," Satoru confessed, his blue eyes searching yours with vulnerability. "I want to be the person you text when you have a bad day. I want to be the one who gets to hold you like this whenever I want. I want to be your boyfriend. No rules. Just me and you."
The certainty in his voice completely shattered the last of your defenses. You didn't feel empty. With Satoru, you felt entirely alive.
"Okay," you whispered, a breathless, beautiful smile breaking across your face.
Satoru didn't need to be told twice.
He leaned down and captured your lips in a kiss. It was slow, burning, and filled with a deep tenderness. His lips were impossibly warm, parting yours with a gentle insistence that made the entire frozen rink dissolve around you. You wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, pulling him closer, completely losing yourself in his heat.
When he finally pulled back, just a fraction of an inch, his lips brushed against yours as he let out a soft, breathy laugh.
"So," Satoru murmured, "Does this mean I officially get to brag to Suguru that i've got a girlfriend before him?"
You laughed, squeezing his shoulders playfully. "Shut up, Gojo. You still don't even know how to stand up on skates."
"Details," he dismissed, pressing another quick, sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. "I have a talented figure skater to hold me up now. I'll be fine."
notes:
THANK GOD I WRITE ON WORD
divider credits: @sisterlucifergraphics
Pic from pinterest!
𝔂ou decide to volunteer at your local library during winter break, unaware of the owners cute grandson. you're convinced he absolutely hates you, only to find out he's been thinking on which position to fuck you in first.
warnings / tags smut, brief angst, fluff, small town romance, he's a bit of an ass, rough sex, fingering, public sex, unprotected. reupload !
northern california is rainy around these months.
wanting to be different from the rest of the country, it doesn't offer the warmth of the sun, perfect enough to tan. it instead gives you foggy mornings that blur into rainy afternoons and demands you to be wrapped up in multiple blankets by the end of the day.
that's why you neatly placed your pink burberry scarf around your neck, patting it softly down over your chest with one hand while the other held the application form to volunteer at a library right down the street from your new home.
one you have been visiting for a while now, mostly when you needed to renew your business and law textbooks for school, ones you refused to pay over 500$ for. with one final look in the mirror, you grabbed your umbrella from it's place before heading out the door.
barely anyone helped out at the library because it was family owned. but it had people coming in and out at every hour of the day. so you weren't surprised when a group of people came out the door as soon as you approached it. matcha in hand and earbuds plugged into ears.
performative males.
their earbuds weren't even plugged in and that alone made your eye twitch.
after closing your umbrella, you stepped inside, making your way over to the counter where mrs. gojo usually was. and there the old lady stood, looking through her glasses, scanning books like always.
a smile made it's way on your face. she was the sweetest woman ever, always giving you little stories here and there every time you came in.
"y'know, my hair used to look exactly like yours at your age." she once told you. now, she had a short frizzy pixie, stripped away from her color and has now turned white.
"oh, hello sweetheart!" she happily greeted. mrs. gojo often forgot your name, so she settled with sweet names any granny would call you.
"hi miss." you greeted back, waiting for her to walk around the corner of her desk to give you a hug. "I'm guessing you're out of school, hm?"
"yup, just finished. I'm free, for now at least." she laughed at that. her age may have changed, but her laugh has remained the same.
"what brings you here? you should be out with your friends."
"yeah, well, don't have many of those." you chuckled, handing her your form. "saw on your website that you were needing volunteers, so here I am."
she looked down at the paper confused. "volunteers?.. ah right, right. my grandson," she sighed, shaking her head. "he insists I need more help with running this place but I am telling
him I'm okay. but he posted on our uh google thing that a.. he put up a volunteer sign up."
"he's even helping out as well this summer. I tell him me and him are enough to keep this place going."
you bit the inside of your cheek, a bit bummed out. "so, um, I'm guessing thats a no then?"
"oh! oh no no young missy. I would love for you to work here with us. but I ask you, why here and not hanging out with your friends?"
"I don't really hang out much." you reminded her. "plus, I like being here."
the sweet lady patted your arm, turning to look behind her. "very well then, I'll give this to my boy." you smiled down at her, appreciating the soft feeling of her gentle hand.
"satoru.. where are you honey" she grabbed her walking cane, about to start moving before another white head appeared from behind the shelves.
your eyes widened.
no way was this her grandson.
he's supposed to be eleven, or ten. her stories made it very clear he was anything but your age.
he was wearing a navy blue polo with brown slacks and on his nose bridge laid his black framed glasses that created a barrier for his pretty blue eyes. the same shade as his grandmothers.
your throat dried up. he was handsome, very handsome.
and nowhere near the age you had imagined him to be. her voice snapped you out of your trance. "hi sweet boy, this pretty young lady used the volunteer form. she'd like to work here.." she explained. he gave you a once over, looking you up and down before looking at your application. his eyes skimmed through, adam's apple bobbing as he spoke.
"alright, I'll look at it." his voice was even more attractive. it was low but calm and gentle all at the same time.
mrs. gojo gently smacked him. "she's working with us, application or not, it does not matter."
"sorry granma'am, I need to make sure that she's eligible to-."
"nonsense, I know her. very sweet girl!" she interrupted.
"I'll file it.." he muttered, slipping the application into the folder behind the desk. then he looked up at you, eyes meeting yours.
"welcome, I guess. I'm satoru."
you greeted him with a small smile, giving him your name as well. he let out a small grunt as he stood up straight, walking out to be at the front next to you, noticing how you backed away a bit.
"alright. I'll make you a name badge tomorrow. if you want to start today, you can go back to where the returns are." he nodded towards a bin with a couple of books that were waiting to be checked in and returned back to their place on the shelves.
you nodded, hands clasped together in front of you.
mrs. gojo grinned brightly at the two of you. satoru gave you a brief nod, lips turning into a thin line, before walking past you brushing his shoulder against yours. and you were able to catch the faint scent of cedar and rain making you feel light headed.
"he's shy. must be because you're pretty." she said softly, making your face warm up.
"I've got eyes, you know. he barely talks to anyone other than me or himself. not even to customers."
your eyes flickered over to where the white haired boy had disappeared into. "he'll warm up to you quickly." she gave you a little arm rub and began to hum as she made her way over to a family asking for a membership.
you sure hoped so.
but you hoped wrong.
oh, so wrong.
mrs. gojo's words echoed in your head every day you showed up, praying that satoru would do more than glance your way and shame you for putting the books in the wrong section.
"no, this doesn't go here. I've told you many, many times before the Eschatological literature is all the way in the back. Not with dystopian." he grabbed, or more like snatched, the book from your hands.
"Isn't that kind of the same thing?"
He looked down at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. "Are you stupid?"
Yeah.
He was an asshole.
And when he wasn't whisper yelling at you for a mistake, he was making you do the things he was supposed to.
Like being in charge of the front desk while he took an hour break to study for his Econ class.
"Uh, Satoru? I thought you were doing the check out today." You carefully approached him, not wanting to annoy him in any way.
Satoru's head turned to look to where you stood, adverting his eyes from his computers screen. His eyes traveled up and down your frame, taking in the cute but simple outfit you wore.
God, he just wanted to tear it all up.
He adjusted his glasses, standing up not before closing his device.
"Can't you do that?" He asked.
"Oh, well I'm in charge of putting the books back in place, so.."
"No. Absolutely not."
You frowned. sure you've messed up a couple of times in the past two weeks, but you thought you have gotten the hang of it.
"Just do the check outs and I'll take care of the rest."
His lanky body moved out of the room, giving you the opportunity to let out a frustrated sigh.
You heard his annoying voice once again. "Get to work."
You thought this was supposed to be a nice relaxing way to spend your vacations. A little get away from being pushed around by your parents and peers at school, only to end up in the same situation. But this time by a really good looking boy you just wanted to hit in the face.
"Have a great day.." You forced a happy tone out, handing the customer the book. You were so burnt out you didn't even process properly when said customer hit on you.
"Sorry?" you blinked a few times.
The man stood tall, green eyes on yours and a smile stretched on his face.
"I was saying that you're really beautiful.. and if you'd like to grab coffee some time?"
Never in your many years living in this shit town have you been complimented by such a handsome guy. His muscles were visible even through his brown leather jacket.
"Su-"
"We'd really appreciate it if you wouldn't flirt with our employees."
You've gotta be joking.
You turned to Satoru whose eyes were set on the man who was already backing away.
"My apologies." He politely said, smiling one last time at you before leaving the building.
Satoru watched him leave, internally patting himself on the back proud that he managed to scare him off. No way was he going to let you get any game while he was plotting on you.
Through his glasses, he finally looked at you, only to flinch a little when you looked like you were one second away from biting his head off.
"Seriously? Do you hate me that much? What the hell have I ever done to you other than confuse two fucking genres of books?!"
"Woah, watch your tone. There are kids here, if you haven't noticed."
"No, listen here Satoru. What is your damn deal?"
You were clearly fed up with whatever bullshit he has been pulling.
His eyebrows furrowed, not pleased with the vulgar tone of yours. "It's not appropriate to do that kind of stuff here."
"Since when? Not even a day ago were you getting hit on by a girl!" Yes he was the worst guy you have ever met, but he was very handsome. His face looked like it was built by God himself.
"Now it's a problem?" You scoffed, walking away from him.
There was no emotion visible on his face.
He quickly scanned the library, making sure no one was watching as he followed after you, gently slamming you onto the desk nearby.
Rows of shelves covered you from any eyes, but anyone could walk to where you both were any second.
"What are-" you were cut off when a large hand covered your mouth, the feeling of something hard pressing up against your ass made you freeze.
"You sure are something, huh?" Satoru sighed, giving you a little thrust. "Been wanting to do this since you first showed up. You know how many times my grandma spoke about you? Didn't know you were this pretty."
Your moan was muffled by him, already feeling yourself get wet, which he took notice on.
His free hand traveled down to squeeze your inner thighs, moaning lowly. He's never actually touched a woman like this before. Only learning the ways of sex because of the mature section that was on the second floor, hidden away.
He's read a few pages here and there discreetly when organizing them or when he had to kick teenagers out for treating it like the back of Spencers.
"Fuck.. is this okay?" His cock was about to explode but he really needed to know if you wanted this too. He's seen the way you stared at him when you thought he wasnt noticing. The way your eyes lingered on his arms, especially his hands.
You nodded, whining a 'yes' when he relaxed the hand that was gripping your lower face.
“Good.” He leaned in and kissed the crook of your neck, his lips moving against your warm skin as he whispered moaned in your ear, feeling you through your panties. It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was a hungry one, his tongue tracing the outline of your pulse point, biting down on it.
He watched your face closely, taking in all the little expressions you made after he moved your underwear to the side, teasing your bare cunt. His eyes darkened with lust, wanting to see you completely come undone by his touch.
You had no idea how no one had noticed yet.
The horrid sound of your wet pussy squelching at every movement his fingers did was loud enough to fill the area you were in.
A library was supposed to be quiet by nature, making it an appropriate place to let those who want to study, study in peace.
Not to have sex in the corner. Not at all.
“oh my fuck. your so messy.” His fingers curled hard inside you, thumb playing with your clit in circles to bring you to your orgasm quicker.
He was living for the small noises you made. How you tried your best to be quiet.
"Fuck—“
Satoru pulled back just enough to watch the way you trembled—fingers glistening with your arousal as his free hand yanked his pants down further. He began stroking his cock, continuing working on your cunt.
“Satoru..” you whimpered.
“Yes baby?”
The pet name made you clench harder around his digits.
“Fuck me..” your own words made you cringe. you sounded desperate. because you were.
Satoru lost it—his cock driving into you with brutal precision as he sucked his fingers clean fucking you in tandem until your thighs trembled around his dick.
"Say my name when you cum," he ordered against your neck before sucking hard, the vibrations of his groan making your hips jerk. His free hand pinned yours above your head: "Wanna hear who owns this tight little—fuck!"
He cut off mid-sentence when he felt you clamp down on him.
“where’s you learn how to talk dirty..” you managed to say with the way he was plummeting in and out of you. “and fuck.”
“i’ve got my ways of learning sweetheart.”
He chuckled darkly, biting down on his lip to keep himself quiet.
“gonna cum inside.” He warned.
You nodded, getting dizzy when he hit your g-spot repeatedly.
and that was enough to make you cum.
“Yes.. yes fuck oh my god.”
he released into you, watching as it immediately drip out of you.
“Thank you..”
you smiled weakly up at him. “for taking your virginity?”
“felt like i took yours.” he grinned, helping you put your panties back in place, patting your cunt one more time before tucking himself back in his pants.
“satoru sweetheart? where are you?” Mrs. Gojos voice could be heard.
“shit. forgot we were here.” his eyes widened, watching as his grandma walked in.
She paused in her steps.
“oh! looks like you’ve gotten along. see, told you he’d warm up to you.” she innocently smiled at you, unaware of the reason why you two were even this close to each other in the first place.
“cmon, you’ve gotta help me out with some books.” she turned around, pausing again.
would you wet your fingers for me?...
would you place a bookmark in me?
LIBRARY
(n.) a playground for books and readers, but also for occasional debauchery
Synopsis: your plan is to avoid your rival, now that you’ve both been hired as assistant librarians, to minimise the chances of getting into hours long debates and committing murder. the problem is that he's everywhere — helping you carry heavy boxes, defending your honour, eating you out in the back corner between the We Shouldn't Do This and the We'll Never Speak of This Again shelves. in all the bickering and orgasms, you're left with one question:
is the smell of books an aphrodisiac?
Warnings: porn with plot, a romcom vibe series, college au, nerd!nanami x nerd!reader, both classical lit students, f!reader, rivals to lovers, forced proximity, they're mean to each other, specific warnings will be added to the relevant chapters, Nanami art by @/thatsallitchief, will be updated Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday, will eventually be available on AO3, comment to be added to the taglist on this post (must be 18+ and have that clear in bio or pinned post), details on this post are subject to change, not proofread
Word Count: tbc
Canto I - The Hopeless Gate
℘ you wanted the librarian job. unfortunately so did he. and the world hates you so you both got the job. now you have to learn how to tolerate his existence with much closer proximity than before. it's doable, isn't it?
Canto II - The Second Circle
℘ this job's not as stimulating as you thought it would be. people are predictable, unadventurous, and too serious. he looks bored too. stoking some harmless competition wouldn't be so bad, right?
Canto III - The Dark Descent
℘ stakes have been added to the pot. you should stop letting him part your legs, should stop allowing him to light your fire, but no harm no foul if you guys just continue as you have been, no?
Canto IV - The Emerging Stars
℘ this was a mistake. all of it was. from the very beginning, it was doomed. you're too similar, too ambitious, too cutthroat. at the end of the day, you're only ever meant to be rivals...aren't you?
synopsis ⟢ you've ran out of things to publish for the school's magazines, that is until your friend brought up an amazing suggestion. with valentines coming up, you all figured it would only be appropriate to have an article for what not to do for dating. so you take up the role of the annoying clingy girlfriend with none other than Satoru Gojo. but things go south when he's not taking the bait and actually falls for you instead.
pairing ⊹ ࣪ ˖ uni au soccer player! gojo x journalist! reader
warning / tags : 18+, fem reader, angst, fluff, second hand embarrassment scenes, jealousy, he falls first she fell harder, cursing, eventual smut, tba ...
a.n : taglist is open ! and yes I'm still going to be writing for afycso while I also write this so it'll be like taking turns in updates . this series is inspired by 'kickoff' @/celestie0 and 'How to lose a guy in 10 days'
extra credit: edging the favorite lab rat until she cries
warnings/nsfw: smut; p in v sex, creampie, heavy edging, overstimulation, sadist!gojo, slight degradation, crying kink, mindfuck narration, praise mixed with humiliation, possessive creampie, aftercare, nerdjo being a total freak under the glasses, dirty talk, clinical dom vibes with humour.
song recomms: eoO by bad bunny, maria by justin bieber and bumpy ride by mohobi ;)
he texts you late: “need a volunteer for extra credit psych/bio crossover project. my room, now. bring nothing but yourself. door’s unlocked.”
you show up thinking it’s actual studying. he’s in his usual oversized hoodie (hood up, glasses slightly fogged from the mini-fridge cold), hair a chaotic white mess, but his eyes are sharp behind the lenses. the room smells like energy drinks, old comics, and that faint metallic tang from his hidden toy drawer.
“perfect timing,” he says casually, closing the door behind you with a soft click that feels way too final. “we’re testing human physiological response to prolonged sensory deprivation and edging stimuli. purely academic. you in?”
he doesn’t wait for a real yes - just smirks when you hesitate, already pulling out the blindfold (black silk, probably stolen from some cosplay prop). “subjects don’t get veto power. strip to your underwear and lie down.”
you end up on his bed, wrists cuffed to the headboard (those same hidden ones from the snack drawer incident), ankles loosely tied spread with soft rope he “borrowed from the physics lab.” blindfold on. darkness. his voice turns clinical, almost bored - the ultimate mindfuck.
he starts slow. a single fingertip tracing your collarbone, down between your breasts, circling one nipple until it pebbles painfully hard. no pressure, just endless teasing circles. stopwatch clicks.
“phase 1: light tactile stimulation. duration: 10 minutes. subject is already exhibiting goosebumps and minor vocalization. interesting.”
you squirm. he chuckles low. “shh. data requires stillness. try not to ruin the experiment by cumming too early - probability’s only 4.7% right now.”
next: ice cube from his mini-fridge. he drags it over your stomach, down your inner thighs, then presses it right against your clit through your panties. the cold shocks you into a gasp; he holds it there while narrating.
“temperature differential causing rapid vasoconstriction followed by rebound vasodilation. subject’s hips are bucking involuntarily. cute. but unscientific. hold still or i restart the timer.”
when you’re dripping, soaked through the fabric, he finally peels your panties aside. tongue - warm contrast to the ice - flat and slow laps from entrance to clit. no sucking, no speed, just relentless, measured strokes like he’s charting every twitch.
“phase 2: oral stimulation. time to first near-orgasm: 7 minutes 42 seconds. subject is whimpering incoherently. vocal data logged.”
he edges you mercilessly. brings you right to the brink - thighs shaking, pleas muffled against the blindfold - then stops. completely. hands off. stopwatch resets.
“aww, poor variable. denied at 98% threshold. that’s three edges now. your arousal index is off the charts… but no release until i say the hypothesis is proven.”
by the fourth edge you’re crying softly under the blindfold, tears soaking the silk, begging in broken whispers. “toru-please-it’s too much-
he leans in close, breath hot on your ear, voice dropping from clinical to cruel-sweet.
“wrong. it’s exactly enough. say the hypothesis out loud, baby: ‘i’m a needy little experiment who cums only when her sadist nerd tells her to.’ say it clearly for the recording.”
you sob it out, voice cracking. he groans - first real crack in his composure - and finally, finally sinks two fingers deep, curling hard against that spot while his thumb grinds your clit in tight circles.
“good subject. hypothesis confirmed. now cum for the data.”
you shatter - whole body arching off the bed, cuffs rattling, a choked scream he smothers with his mouth. he doesn’t stop. keeps fingering you through it, drawing out aftershocks until you’re oversensitive and twitching.
then the blindfold comes off. glasses still on, but his eyes are dark, hungry. he uncuffs one wrist just to flip you onto your stomach, yank your hips up, and slam in from behind in one brutal thrust.
“fuck-empirical evidence: your pussy was designed for this cock. take the rest of the trial like a good lab rat.”
he fucks you hard, mean, one hand around your throat (light pressure, just enough to make your head spin), the other spanking your ass in rhythm. “cry louder. i want quantifiable decibels.”
when he finally fills you - hot, deep, grinding to push every drop in - he collapses over you, panting, kissing the tears off your cheek.
“session complete. a+ performance. we’ll need… repeat trials. for science.”
after everything he pulls you into his lap (still leaking his cum), wraps you in his hoodie, strokes your hair while murmuring, “you were perfect, baby. so responsive. daddy’s proud of his favorite test subject.” feeds you snacks from his stash, lets you play with his legos while you come down.
nerdjo’s a fool for his pretty, high maintenance girlfriend.
I. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #107 : “BUT TORU, I DON’T GET IT..”
11:57 am location: SC/MATH 3020 (Vari Hall, Room B)
you’re supposed to be solving laplace equations. instead, you’re sending satoru doodles of you pregnant with his child.
satoru gojo is jacques marie mage glasses & messy blanche hair & forearms thicker than his head. he should be studying—god, he should be, but his pretty girl is texting him mid-lecture & satoru’s something of a fool for you so he foolishly decides, who is he not to reply ?
and his replies are earnest. always earnest. too punctuated, too grammatically correct.
toruu : You’re the cutest girl in the world.
toruu : Pay attention, okay?
his first message makes your heart swelter & bloom. the second makes it drop to your ass.
but satoru gojo is honey mouthed & heart-achingly sweet. and when your boyfriend asks you to focus so sweetly, how could you not obey?
so you open your notebook & close it right back.
you : toru i tried :( i don’t get ittttrt
toruu : Send me the question.
and you do. along with a selfie of your cute pout, of course. satoru’s reply comes in in an instant:
toruu : Gorgeous girl.
toruu : Okay, try isolating the variable first.
you do as he says. satoru’s instructions always come easy-sweet. sugar coated & simplified like he’s talking to the softest girl in the world. & perhaps he is.
toruu : Good. Now distribute.
toruu : Yes. That’s it. Keep going.
toruu : That’s perfect, baby. My smart girl.
your cheeks grow mushy & sticky & heart-wrenchingly soft.
satoru gojo is going to be the death of you.
II. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #126 : LOVER BOYS DON’T IGNORE THEIR GIRLFRIENDS !
time : 1:48 pm. location: york lanes ( indoor mall )
“satoru hasn’t texted me in fifteen minutes.”
“they faces killing me why nobody give a fuck.”
you ignore shoko & her bitter response. you’d rather die than argue with a bitch & her bad bob. you lean to rest your head on suguru’s shoulder, who’s much more empathetic & strokes your hair lovingly.
“isn’t he tutoring right now?”
and he is. somewhere across campus, in a cramped corner of the scott library, gojo satoru is bleary-eyed & suffering.
he’s supposed to be explaining calculus to confused first year yuuji itadori. but his phone, face-up & gleam-screened on the mahogany table, hums and vibrates with desperation.
1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗 1 new message: princess 🧸💗
satoru’s jaw is tight. there’s crescent shaped crevices in his palms & his knuckles rouse rash red. his focus flickers. he catches a glimpse of your latest message: the preview of a selfie, that low adorable angle where you’re peering at your phone from under your lashes & your lips jut out in a ‘where are youuu’ pout.
fuck.
“uhh, gojo?” yuuji’s biting his pencil again before he points it at the vibrating device. “aren’t you gonna answer that..? i dunno, it looks important.”
it is important. it’s you. but if satoru answers now, poor yuuji’s paid tutoring session would immediately be over.
“it’s fine, yuuji. let’s focus on finding the derivative.”
and it is fine. because gojo satoru is a man of logic. a man of discipline. a man of pa—
princess 🧸💗: i always knew you’d get tired of me one day
princess 🧸💗: it’s okay. thank you for everything toru 👍
gojo satoru grabs the phone faster than you can say go pandas! his thumbs fly over the screen, ever precise, ever trembling.
toruu: Baby, please don’t say that.
toruu: I’m almost done. I’ll be with you in ten minutes. I’ll buy you that Drake meal you wanted.
toruu: I love you. Please wait for me?
back at the mall you’re reading his text. and god, your heart bubbles up like soda pop. “he’s coming,” you murmur into suguru’s shoulder, scrolling past his text without a reply.
“great!” shoko cheers with fake enthusiasm, taking a puff of her vape (suguru’s complaining that the pineapple & kiwi she blows make his poutine taste sour-ish, & she shouldn’t be vaping anyway, but guess what? shoko doesn’t care!)
“now can we stop acting like it’s the summer hikaru died?”
“no.”
instagram’s algorithm is always on your side. you’ve opened the reels tab to find a video of a rainy window, a quote captioned over it: ‘if he wanted to, he would. silence is a choice.’ simple. short. effective.
you add it to your story. suguru catches a glimpse of your screen & chuckles.
“y/n,” he sings your name, tutting. “you’re gonna give the boy a heart attack before he even hits the common area.”
“he deserves it.”
satoru gojo has already viewed your story. he shows up within the next five minutes.
III. PRINCESS MELTDOWN #167: BABY, I’M BORED.
time : 3:58 pm. location: science & engineering building
there’s solution bubbling pink in a flask. in lab four, the air’s sticky with the sweat of too many boys with glasses & a half-drunk energy drink rotting in the corner.
gojo satoru is huddled over a circuit board with two other boys who look like they haven’t seen sunlight in days.
nerd #1 points at the monitor : “if we adjust the frequency here,” he’s muttering, “the entire wave function collapses. it’s an impossible solve, gojo.”
“it’s not impossible. you’re just missing the constant.”
gojo satoru is the god of lab four; formulas on his fingers & equations on his tongue. he’s leaning over now, fingers on the screen when the heavy steel door swings open,
“hi, toru!”
you’re all soft perfume & clicky heels & smile as sweet as sugar. satoru’s head snaps up instantly—his glasses slip down his nose, & he flicks them back upward, eyes glimmering in the fluorescent light.
“hi sweetheart,” he breathes, “you’re here early.”
the other nerds are staring now, and for good reason. how did gojo satoru—who’s paperbacks & friday nights spent bent over research papers—pull a pretty thing like you ?
“are you doing science ?” you’re already across the room, arms around his neck as his palms press you flush against him from the side. your perfume’s sticky in his lungs. “why’s that line so squiggly? you guys should make it straight. it’d be much prettier.”
nerd #4 winces. “actually, that’s a representation of—“
“you’re right, baby. it would look prettier. have a seat, okay?”
you hum an okay! & plop yourself down on his lap. nerd number 3 & 2 exchange glances. nerd #1 asks, god, me when ?
the group discussion starts up again. satoru is half-science half-yours—his thumb traces circles on your thigh as your feet kick in his lap, & you’re asking one too many questions while satoru tries—tries to pay attention.
“toru, what does this button do?”
“that’s the power supply, baby. please don’t touch it.”
“but it’s glowing. can you make it glow pink ? i think it should glow pink.”
“noted. you’re squirming, princess.”
and you are. nerd #4 wonders how you’re still balanced. the discussion continues but you’re a constant background noise of ‘toru, look at this tiktok’, and ‘baby, i think the lighting’s washing me out.’ you try to touch a wire. gojo catches your hand mid-air & cups it with a kiss.
you flop against his chest. “satoru, i’m bored.”
& satoru is tired. exhausted, really. he’s fighting the rash creeping up his neck as nerds one to four watch you pout in his lap like a spoiled child. “i want matcha. can we go get some?”
you can’t. because this is a project due in twelve hours. because satoru has only so much time to lock in—
“alright, let’s go.”
nerd #3 is distraught: “huh—?! gojo, you can’t leave now, we’re in the middle of a breakthrough!”
satoru doesn’t even look around. he’s smoothing your skirt after you hop off his lap, your bag already slung over his shoulder. he’s leading you out by the hand; “sorry guys. i’ll send my solution to the group chat. brief me on the updates later?”
the door swings shut. nerds one to four are in awe.
synopsis ꩜ the cute emo boy from your college is completely enamored with you and your pretty outfits, so when he hears you and your shitty boyfriend finally broke up, he wastes no time in planning how to make you his.
pairing ˎˊ˗ emo! choso x girly! reader
warning / tags ⟢ fem! reader, MDNI 18+, this will be a bit angsty, yuki is ooc here, cheating, miscommunication, friends to lovers, inappropriate use of drum sticks, blowjobs, pussy eating, hair pulling, subby choso, yes he will whimper, fluff, tba…
The universe has a twisted sense of humor when your blind date happens to be your ex-husband, Hiromi Higuruma.
mdni. ragebaiting each other to filth / unprotected / multiple orgs!!
Hiromi Higuruma is a pretty damn good lawyer. Having topped first in the bar exam, everyone knew he had already been set for greatness in the world of law.
He sees every case as a riddle waiting to be solved. Every problem a puzzle, provided you’re patient enough to find the missing piece. He has brought justice to those who need it. Ironically, the only thing he can’t fix is his own marriage.
Hiromi has worked himself into the ground, head down, buried in case files and court wins, and somewhere along the way, he neglected you.
He’s been functioning on autopilot ever since you laid the divorce papers on his table on a random Tuesday morning. It got worse when the divorce was finalized not even a month ago. No appeals, no extensions. Just a clean, almost amicable severance.
A colleague once told him: “It’s a simple case of trial and error, Higuruma. All marriages are like that.”
Hiromi’s forehead creases whenever he remembers it. To him, it was never supposed to be trial and error, especially not with you.
Against his better judgment, Yaga somehow convinces him to agree to a blind date. Says it helped him cope with his own divorce. Hiromi knows better. The man simply doesn’t accept no without exhausting every argument first.
Now, he is seated at a small round table with an unreadable expression and with nothing but Yaga’s voice replaying in his head: 'Doesn’t hurt to try.'
But the universe has a twisted sense of humor.
Because seated across the table is you, staring back at him with the same frozen disbelief written across your face.
Both of you look away almost immediately. Hiromi adjusts his collar. You, on the other hand, casually lift your champagne flute and take a slow sip to steady your nerves.
For a fleeting moment, you consider excusing yourself to the bathroom and never coming back. But after the agonizing length of the divorce, the paperwork, the signatures, and the finality, you decide against running and just give him some grace.
Hiromi clears his throat and reaches for a single red card from the deck sitting in the middle of the table. His eyes skim the question before he exhales quietly.
“Care to tell me something about yourself?” His voice cuts through your thoughts. “Any hobbies? Interests?”
“As if you don’t already know,” you reply flatly while idly sliding a finger along the rim of your glass.
He exhales through his nostrils. He tells himself to be controlled and measured. “Just answer the question.”
You tap your fingers against the table with gaze wandering around the room. “I used to be a pianist before I became a wife.”
“You have a grand piano that only ever collected dust,” he says with something tight flickering behind his eyes. “It was your choice to quit playing.”
“After you said I didn’t have to play a million shows back to back,” you shoot back. You lean forward, elbows on the table. “How about you? Anything new you’re up to?”
“Not much has changed in my routine,” he answers plainly.
You let out a bitter chuckle. “Must be nice. At least your focus is solely on work now.”
Hiromi presses his lips together. After a beat, he draws another card from the deck. The moment he reads it, he stops himself from rolling his eyes.
“What are your deal breakers when dating?”
You sarcastically laugh at his question. “Are you kidding me?”
He looks at you blankly. “Well? The question isn’t answering itself.”
“I don’t like men who treat every disagreement like legal case." You deadpan at him. “I hate men who catalogue every mistake, see my emotions as something to cross examine, and– get this– refuse to admit their fault.”
Hiromi smirks. “I thought you liked highly opinionated men. What changed?”
You inhale sharply. “I don’t like it when they get unreasonable.”
His brow lifts with amusement. “Unreasonable in what sense?”
“In the sense that they don’t back down during small arguments,” you snap, “like we’re fighting in court instead of having a conversation.”
Hiromi leans back, arms crossing, smirk deepening. “Isn’t that how communication works?”
Heat creeps up your cheeks that you glance away. “Yeah, but—”
“But what?” he cuts, and his posture straightens instinctively. “You want compromise without concession. That’s not how problems are resolved.”
“Oh my god,” you scoff. “Listen to yourself. We’re on a blind date, not in a court room! Hold a fucking conversation, will you?”
“A conversation requires structure,” he counters. “You can’t keep spitting out bullshit and expect me not to question them.”
“And that’s exactly the problem!” Your voice rises. “Every time I tried to tell you how I felt, you treated it like I was exaggerating.”
“Because you never explained yourself clearly.”
"I do. You just want me to lay them out like evidence just to be heard,” you snap. “I wasn’t some client in a case, I was your wife.”
His jaw tightens. “And yet you walked away just like that.”
You laugh sardonically. “Oh. Like I never begged you to come home before midnight? On our anniversaries?”
Hiromi frowns at this. “You know how my job is.”
“I was losing you,” you say quietly. “And you didn’t care enough to notice.”
Silence looms over briefly. Then, he coldly says, “Resorting to divorce was unnecessary.”
"Wow. Just Wow. You–"
From the neighboring table, a silver-haired man wearing a name tag that reads 'Satoru' slams his hand down.
“Jesus Christ,” he yells, “just fuck it out!”
Your eyes widen in horror now that everyone's heads are now on your table. When you look back at Hiromi, something languid has entered his gaze. It is dark, slow, and very familiar.
“Should we head home?” he asks softly.
It’s absurd, really.
After the divorce is finalized and a stupid blind date, your ex-husband's face is buried between your legs, greedily lapping at your cunt while three fingers stretch you open.
The thing is, no matter how many times you finger fuck yourself or put the rose on blast, you’ll never finish the way Hiromi makes you do.
“Oh my god—” You clutch his hair. “—Hiro.”
You squirm, but he grips your hips and pulls you closer, groaning into you as he devours every sound you make.
Your body is a shaking, and you've now turned into a moaning mess beneath his touch. Hiromi's fingers pump perfectly while his tongue abuses your clit, circling until your vision whites out.
“Fuck— gonna cum again.”
His eyes burn with lust as you buck your hips. He pulls back just enough to speak. “Yeah. That’s right.”
There were no intelligent words that came to mind, all you could let out are whimpers and sobs of pleasure as another orgasm took over your body.
Hiromi lets out a dark chuckle as he licks the corners of his mouth hungrily while wiping the bottom of his chin with the back of his veiny hand.
You know him like the back of your hand. Sure as hell know that he's far from over. So it was no surprise when he suddenly carries your limp, overstimulated body on top of him.
“Hiro,” you murmur weakly. “I’m too tired to ride you.”
“You don’t have to do anything.” Holding your hip to lift you, Hiromi aligns his cock at your entrance. Then, he sinks you down onto his cock. “I’ll do the work.”
You gasp when his fat cock fills you to a hilt. “You’re– too big for me.”
“No, you just–” he grunts. “You’re tighter.”
He wraps his arms around your waist, and pounds in and out of you in deep, deliberate strokes, making you shriek against his neck. It doesn't help that he keeps whispering low, gutteral grunts against your ear.
“Hiro– fuck!”
You whimper, but your words fall on deaf ears as his swollen cock pistons even deeper with deliberate, hard strokes. Your eyes roll back in pleasure, and your walls clench hard at how much his cock brushed on your sweet spot over and over.
“Cum again for me.”
“I dont–” you chok the words out as best you can, “–don’t think I can.”
Hiromi grips your ass with both hands, pushing it down further at his length so he can fuck you even deeper than he already did. “You can. We've done this before.”
With tears of pleasure pooling at the corner of your eyes, you mutter, “Hiro, I can’t.”
“I said,” But he slaps your ass, leaving a red mark across the skin. “Do.” he slammed his hips harder at each word for emphasis, “It.”
And you do.
You hiss against his neck as he quickens the pace, hips snapping harder, deeper. The overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body makes your toes curl, and with your eyes squeezed shut, you let the orgasm crash over you, leaving you shaking in his arms.
He keeps fucking you through it. Deep, rough, and unrelenting, until you’re both chasing the edge together, riding each other out in the same breathless moment.
“Happy anniversary,” he murmurs, kissing your shoulder endearingly, but all you could respond is a tired hum.
"Hiromi."
"Hm?"
“Nice fuck,” you whisper. "I'm starting to think," you pant in between your sentence, "the divorce was a mistake."
Hiromi scoffs out a wry chuckle.
"Never should've happened in the first place, by the way." He looks down at you lovingly, and plants a soft kiss on your temple, "We can can re-marry any time next week if you'd like."
You smile to yourself and mumble, "I would love that."
is it a man? a beast? no! it's the abominable gojo!
synopsis: for a cash-strapped starving scientist such as yourself, finding a yeti would've made the discovery of a lifetime. there's just one tiny problem - he found you first
pairing: yeti!Gojo x researcher!Reader
content: mdni, angst and fluff and eventual smut, cryptid!Gojo, this one is probs gonna get REAL insane, reader trying her best to tame this beast, he's man-like but i mean still-, forced cohabiting, is it kidnapping if he doesn't know what kidnapping is?, soft (and fuzzy!) Gojo, somehow we've landed on monsterfucking guys this is my formal apology, EXTREMELY protective gojo, hurt/comfort, more tags to be added!
observation logs
one | two | three | four
five | six | seven | eight
nine | ten | eleven | twelve
the abominable snow monster
yeti!Gojo's notes
first thoughts | log 10.5
fanart for it here !!
asks ... #re: snowed in
pls lemme know in comments if you wanna be tagged<3
✮ synopsis: after drifting through your years in a haze of rock shows, hookups, and fleeting relationships, you're eager to find a new direction. so, you assign yourself a tutor who seems willing enough to guide you on this path—at least academically. the plan felt pretty simple: ease out of the distractions and parties, then ease onto the road to a better life. but as the bond between you and your new friend deepens, your growing feelings clash with your uncertainty about commitment and love, as well as your struggle to leave your wild past behind.
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 3 ⋮ Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 4 ⋮ Do I Wanna Know?
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 5 ⋮ R U Mine?
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 6 ⋮ One For The Road
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 7 ⋮ No. 1 Party Anthem
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 8 ⋮ Fireside
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 9 ⋮ Snap Out Of It
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 10 ⋮ Mad Sounds
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 11 ⋮ I Wanna Be Yours
︵‿ ♪ Chapter 12 ⋮ From AM To PM
✮ a/n: i'm setting myself up with this one, aren't i... heh. also please note: chapter title order might change along the way + this'll be based on my own interpretation of the songs and lyrics to be sure it fits the flow of the story. i'm only really saying this in hopes that it'll prevent comments like "this isn't what the song is about" bla bla. is this of interest to anyone...
✮ taglist: crickets... (comment tba and have age in bio plz)
⤿ navigation | blog rules ₎
⤿ dividers by enchanthings. art by inkyck on ig. the inspiration. ₎
Synopsis: in which popular girl!reader is done with shitty players and wants to try the newest delicacy: virgin nerds. It’s game on to seduce the physics student, who seems more than ready to abandon his life of celibacy.
But their arrangement only works if they’re both on the same page. What happens when one expects a little more than sex?
Is it game over?
Warnings: eventual smut, porn with plot, fake dating trope, college au, no curses au, mean girl!reader, fem dom!reader, nerd!jo, subby!gojo, virgin!gojo, masochist!gojo, some angst but with a happy ending, very early 2000s romcoms, reader grows a lot (hate towards her will not be tolerated), reader gets humbled quite often here lol, not proofread
Word Count: 41k
Gojo art by @/Leimiruu on X
Chapter ONE - Game start
Chapter TWO - Different levels
Chapter THREE - Boss fight
Chapter FOUR - Perfect victory
Disclaimers:
♤ COMPLETED
♤ Available on AO3.
♤ This is a mix of fluff, smut and angst, so minors/ageless blogs do not interact.
♤ Any comments hating on the reader in this story will be deleted and the user will be blocked. The story plays on the mean girl trope so you will see mean girl behaviour. Just know this is all intentional. If you are sensitive to a flawed female character, do not read. I know what some of you are like. I have played these games before.
♤ This is a college au separate from my EdenU au. Different Gojo and university setting altogether. Any semblance is coincidental.
♤ Every part of this is of my own work. No AI or external inspiration was used. Please do not repost this on Tumblr or on any other platform without credits. I do not give permission for this to be translated. And please do not feed my work into AI.
