Satoru’s hand flew up to cover his face so fast his glasses nearly went flying. His ears were already red and the rest of him was rapidly catching up.
“Baby, I can’t.” The words came out muffled against his palm in a mortified groan.
Satoru Gojo — top of the physics department, future Nobel hopeful, the guy who still used highlighters color-coded by topic difficulty, and the softest, most hopelessly whipped boyfriend on campus — was currently having a full-blown crisis of character while the most popular girl in three different friend groups sucked his soul out through his dick.
You were on your knees between his spread legs on his dorm bed, lips still wet and shiny, looking up at him with the most devastatingly confident expression a person mid-blowjob could possibly manage. His hard cock rested against your lower lip, twitching traitorously every time you spoke.
You blinked slowly. Then you smiled that same smile that had half the campus wrapped around your finger.
“You can,” you said sweetly, wrapping one hand around the base of his cock and bringing the flushed head right to your mouth. You dragged the tip slowly across your tongue, back and forth, tasting the precum that was already beading there. “You’re supposed to be the smartest guy in the whole physics department, Toru. You can manage to say some filth.”
Satoru peeked at you through his fingers. Those impossibly blue eyes were wide behind his slightly askew glasses, looking like a deer about to get absolutely wrecked.
“I— I can do equations in my head,” he muttered. “I cannot call my girlfriend a… a… that.”
His free hand hovered uselessly near your hair, fingers twitching like he wanted to touch but didn’t trust himself not to stroke it gently instead of yank.
“Come on.” You tilted your head so your hair spilled over one shoulder, then leaned in and slowly dragged the flat of your tongue up the underside of his cock from base to tip. “Grab it. Pull a little.”
He made a sound that was half moan, half dying animal. He finally settled his hand in your hair, but the grip was so careful it was basically a caress.
“Satoru.” You frowned at him.
“Fuck— okay, okay— you’re… you’re a very enthusiastic— No. You’re a fucking little—” he started again, determined this time, only for the rest of the sentence to die in a strangled noise when you took just the head into your mouth and sucked hard and slow, eyes locked on his. Your tongue worked under the tip, filthy and deliberate, while your hand stroked the rest of him, slick with spit. You didn’t go deeper. You just kept that tight, wet pressure on the most sensitive part and waited, challenging him to actually follow through.
“—shit. Shit. Baby— that’s not fair, you know I can’t think when you do that.”
You pulled off with a wet, filthy pop, strings of spit connecting your lips to the flushed head of his cock. You rested your chin on his thigh and looked up at him with deliberate, teasing innocence. The kind of look that belonged to someone who knew exactly how good she looked on her knees in a university dorm room, while her boyfriend—the same boyfriend who still got flustered when you sat on his lap—tried desperately not to combust.
“Hair,” you reminded him gently, reaching up to guide his other hand to the back of your head. “And throat. And dirty talk. You promised you’d actually try tonight. Not just panic and call me an angel again.”
“I’m trying, baby, I promise,” he said weakly. His fingers threaded carefully through your hair, more petting than gripping, like he was stroking a particularly beloved cat instead of preparing to fuck your face. The contrast between the careful touch and the way his cock was now fully hard, flushed, and shiny with your spit was almost comical.
“That’s not trying, Satoru,” you said, voice already a little rough. “That’s petting me like I’m some cute plushie. I asked you to grab my hair and fuck my throat. So either do it, or I’m going to keep teasing you until you actually snap.”
“Fuck—fuck, okay—” He was breathing hard now, chest rising and falling under his sweater. “You’re such a—such a good girl, taking me so deep, Christ—wait, that’s soft again. You’re a—you’re a filthy little thing who likes choking on my cock. Is that better? Did that sound okay? It felt weird coming out of my mouth.”
You hummed encouragingly and took him deeper until the head of his cock nudged the back of your throat. His breath hitched into a high, broken sound that was pure Satoru. His fingers tightened in your hair for half a second — real pressure, real grip.
He groaned.
“You’re so good for me. My good girl. You could have anyone and still you’re here, choking on the nerd’s dick. Fuck. That sounded possessive. Is possessive allowed? I feel like possessive is allowed.”
You nodded, sucking him harder.
“Fuck—baby—fuck—” His voice cracked again. “You’re so good. So fucking good for me. Taking every inch like you were made for it. Such a fucking little—slut.”
The second the words left him you moaned around him. Low and real, the vibration going straight through his dick. Your eyes fluttered for a second and you took him deeper on purpose, throat relaxing around the head like you were rewarding him for finally saying it.
Satoru made a broken sound, hips jerking once before he could stop them.
“Oh— fuck— you liked that?” His voice cracked. His fingers finally tightened properly in your hair, not careful anymore. “You— you actually liked that. Shit. Okay. Okay.”
He started moving your head himself.
Not hard at first — still a little hesitant, still clearly fighting himself — but deeper. Steady. Using the grip on your hair to pull you down until your nose brushed his stomach, then letting you up just enough to breathe before doing it again. Every time the head of his cock dragged over the back of your throat you moaned around him, wet and low, and the sound made his hips jerk harder than he meant to.
“Fuck— look at you,” he breathed, voice rough and almost disbelieving. “The same girl everyone stares at in the dining hall and you’re on your knees taking my cock like a fucking slut. Made for this. Made to choke on me.”
You moaned again, louder this time, eyes watering as he pushed deeper. Spit ran down your chin in thick strings. Your thighs pressed together instinctively.
Satoru’s breathing was getting messier by the second.
“You like it when I say that, don’t you?” He thrust a little harder, still not fully rough but no longer careful. “You like being my filthy little thing. Looking up at me with those eyes while I use your throat. Fuck— you’re so wet for this, aren’t you? I can tell. You’re dripping just from having my cock in your mouth.”
You couldn’t answer with words, so you did the next best thing.
Your hand slid down between your legs, under your skirt, and you touched yourself right there on your knees with his dick buried in your throat. The second your fingers found your clit you moaned hard around him — open, desperate, the vibration going straight through his cock — and Satoru completely lost it.
“Oh my god— are you— are you touching yourself?” His voice cracked into something high and wrecked. His grip tightened in your hair and his hips started moving properly now, short, deep thrusts that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out. “You’re touching yourself while I fuck your throat. Jesus Christ. You’re such a dirty fucking slut. My dirty cockslut. Taking it so well and getting yourself off on it—”
He was babbling now, half dirty talk, half overwhelmed genius who couldn’t process how hot this was. His thrusts got faster, less controlled. You kept rubbing yourself in time with him, fingers slick, moaning every time he pushed deep enough to make you gag.
“Fuck— fuck, baby, I’m— I can’t—” Satoru’s rhythm stuttered hard. “You’re gonna make me come. You’re touching yourself and moaning around my cock and I can’t— shit—”
He shoved deep one last time and held you there, cock pulsing hard against your tongue as he came down your throat with a broken, high sound that was pure Satoru. Thick pulses of come that you swallowed around him while your own orgasm hit almost at the same time — sharp and sudden, thighs shaking, a long muffled moan vibrating around his cock while you kept rubbing yourself through it.
Satoru finally loosened his grip like he’d just woken up from a fever dream. He pulled you off gently, hands shaking, and stared down at you with completely ruined blue eyes — glasses fogged, face scarlet, sweater still on, looking like he’d committed a crime against physics itself.
You licked your lips, still catching your breath, fingers still between your legs.
“…I can’t believe I just did that” he whispered, voice completely gone.
You smiled up at him, wrecked and satisfied.
“You did perfect, Toru.”
He covered his face with both hands and groaned like he was dying.
“I’m never recovering from this. I said ‘slut’ three times,” he whispered, sounding both horrified and oddly proud. “And ‘cockslut.’ And I held you down. I actually held you down on my dick and said filthy things.”
You grinned, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.
“You did. And it was hot.”
“It felt illegal. Like I was violating some fundamental law of the universe.”
“It was requested,” you reminded him. “And you’re getting better. Next time maybe we’ll get past the panic phase faster.”
He laughed, soft and breathless, and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear with the same careful fingers that had just held you down on his cock.
“I still like calling you baby better” he admitted, voice dropping into that warm, private register that always made your chest ache.
You kissed the tip of his nose. “I know. But I like choking on your cock while you call me a slut.”
Satoru made a wounded noise and buried his face in your neck.
“You’re actually going to kill your soft, nerdy, hopelessly awkward boyfriend with pure filth.”
“That’s the plan,” you said cheerfully, carding your fingers through his ridiculous white hair. “Death by blowjob and slow corruption. Very on-brand for the physics genius who still blushes when I sit on his lap in the library.”
He groaned into your skin, but you could feel him smiling.
summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he sees, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?
pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au
important info: strong language, sexual themes throughout, all characters are around 21+ including reader and are in their third year of university, drug and alcohol themes, satoru is completely self-centered, i also know absolutely nothing about football lol, not suitable for minors
・✶ ｡ﾟ satoru gets roped into a bet that you’ll let him make you his one and only.
♱ warnings — virginity loss. f!reader, college!au, quarterback!gojo, inexperienced!gojo, he doesn’t accept the bet & tells you about it before anything happens, creampies. wc : 2.3k / note. this is a rewrite so pls ignore the lazy characterisation sob !
RETURN TO KINKTOBER MLIST ♱ REGULAR MLIST
another day, another sleazy, college football locker room conversation, gojo thinks as he pulls his sweater over his head, half assed listening to his teammates conversation behind him about their most recent conquests, who they’d fucked, who’d they’d fingered in the locker rooms— who cares. he snorts to himself, so what if he’d barely made it to first base, it’s not that he’s never had the chance, he’s just got a pro career to focus on—as if he’d ever admit it to these guys anyway.
“satoru!” the sudden call and smack on his back pulling him from his thoughts “huh—what is it?” “you know her, right? she’s in your class.” why are they talking about you? he can’t help the furrow of his brows, his lips turning into a tight pout before he presses the conversation further. “hm, oh yeah— not personally but why do you ask? she’s a sweet thing.” far too good for assholes like you.
you were a good student, sat infront of him, pretty face, pretty hair, pretty laugh— you weren’t like the other ones that swarmed around the frat, fawned over guys like him. you were better.
“she’s hot right? been trying to get in her pants all semester. wont even talk to me, but you sit right by her. how about you try it, call it a bet between us guys.” the quarterback jokes and if gojo was scowling any harder he’s pretty sure he’d pop a vein, he’s too prideful to outwardly deny it and they know that—he’s no excuse and he’s pretty sure i’m a virgin wouldn’t go down too well in this scenario considering his reputation (he didn’t even start that rumour).
“just another peg on the post, right satoru?” no—“oh yeah?” god these guys are fucking assholes, clearing out the locker room with more hoots and hollers, more teasing looks in his direction that have him giving them an almost too tight lipped smirk back.
gojo knows his next class is the one with you, walks in to see you giggling with your friend while sat at your desk— right infront of his as always, just as pretty as always. he wasn’t really going to go through with it, he thought you were pretty— would’ve been lying if he said you hadn’t caught his eye but you were unattainable, he’d watch you shoot down a few too many confessions.
maybe he’d just make out with you a little, maybe lie to the guys but fuck he’d be an idiot to not know how that was gonna turn out— rumours spread like wildfire in frats and then he’d have no real chance with you, how does he even talk to you?
“it’s gojo right?” “hm?” he smirks, almost by instinct as he lets his cheek rest against his fist — handsome smile in place despite the way he’s been abruptly snapped from his daydream only to be met with you turned around in your seat. “oh? if it’s you that’s asking, angel. you can call me satoru.” it’s almost natural the way he can’t help but tease you, flirt with you as the smirk on his lips seems to tug even wider but you smile back at him anyway, and he swears his heart almost leaps out of his throat.
“well, satoru—you dropped your pen.” you sigh and shit his name has never sounded better than it just did. that’s how it started, whatever you both had. the study dates, the way you laughed at his jokes, let him walk you to class—fuck, he’s such an asshole, you deserve better than this.
he should’ve told you sooner, but now he’s here, staring at you glassy-eyed as he sits on the edge of your bed with you straddling his fucking lap, he’s flushed to his chest and his cock is uncomfortably hard in his sweats after losing himself in the feeling of your lips against his, and he can’t go through with this, not yet. he didn’t even do this for the dumb bet, he never even accepted it but if word got out and he knows those assholes, the timing is too suspicious—he’d lose you.
“got something to tell you.. sweet girl like you deserves it, yeah?” gojo starts, his voice lacking the usual teasing drawl it usually carries but he relaxes when he feels your fingers smooth through the snowy hair at the base of his neck, shooting him that gentle smile that reminds him just why he needs to tell you.
“few weeks ago, the team were talking in the locker room.. bout you.” he begins as he lets his fingers punch slightly at your jaw, making sure your attention is on him —despite the way it always was.
“said i couldn’t get to know you, said you were unattainable but i think y’re just too pretty f’ them, sweet thing. deserve someone better, and they bet that it was me, i didn’t accept it but i think you deserve to know though.. can leave if you want me to, don’t need t’ go any further. our secret.”
gojo’s words are earnest as he holds your gaze, letting his fingers trace soothingly along the length of your spine, but when he’s only cut off by your lips slamming against his once more he can’t help but smile against you, call him greedy or selfish but he needs you—tightening his arms around your waist to pull you just a little closer, his tongue sliding alongside yours until you finally pull away for air.
“thanks for telling me, satoru. bet or not i’m glad i got to know the real you. but are you saying you think you are what i deserve?” you smile, pinching playfully at his cheeks and his heart feels like it’s gonna burst out of his chest right now because he really fucking does.
so gojo kisses you again, eager and messy—groaning against your lips before he moves forward, flipping your positions until you’re lying back on the mattress below him as his figure leans over yours, a hot rush of warmth over his skin at the intimacy he feels in the moment.
“yup, cause you’re so sweet f’ me, princess. only one who’ll treat you right.“ he breathes, dreamy and needy against your lips and he freezes on top of you when he feels your fingers move down to the waistband of his sweats before his stop them.
“oh, got another confession for you. never did anything like this before. been waitin’ for the right one. y’know.. my one and only.” gojo teases to get rid of the nervousness he feels shake in his bones as he wiggles his brow. honestly he expects you to laugh, even push him off but you don’t, you kiss him harder—like you’re reassuring him.
there’s pure adoration in the way your lips are moving against his, your fingers soft when he lets them tuck under his waistband—pulling his boxers and sweatpants down with one tug until his leaking cock is smacking against his abdomen. “and you think that’s me?” you ask and he smirks.
“do you want it to be?” gojo gazes at you half-lidded when you pull away from him to strip your clothes, tugging his shirt off after until you’re both baring all infront of each other and you’re just as beautiful as he’s always known.
“want me to take care of you?” he whispers shakily with need, he’s nervous ofcourse—letting his palm rest against your thigh as he looms over you but he relaxes when you give him another smile, letting your fingertips dance down his well trained chest and abdomen and he shivers at the featherlight touch. “it’s okay, i’ll teach you what i like another day, i need you satoru. we can just—“
“oh? you that greedy for my cock already, sweet girl? fu—“ his voice catches, his abdomen tightening with a shock of pleasure when your hand wraps around the base of his cock, giving it a few languid pumps as he gasps “fuck.”
you hook one of your arms around his shoulders, allowing gojo’s bicep to curl underneath your figure as he hugs you closer, situating his hips between your legs to kiss you again—groaning while his hands curl into your skin when you swipe the blunt head of his cock through your folds.
it’s embarrassing the effect you have on him already, rubbing your slick all over his cock and the small whimper that leaves your lips everytime it catches under the hood of your clit has his mind blanking, his cock twitching in your hold when he feels it prod at your flexing hole, until his eyes flutter closed in bliss when he begins to sink into you.
gojo breaks the kiss to rest his face in the crook of your neck, cursing softly with a mixture of need and delight as he continues to push into you. your thighs twitch when he grazes past your sweet spot, making him groan when your walls reward the stretch of his cock with another needy squeeze around him.
he’s long—thick and warm, making your stretched pussy clench hard around him the deeper he goes. “so fuckin’ wet, princess” he grumbles, smearing messy kisses along your skin as you grab and scratch at his broad shoulders.
he grunts when he finally bottoms out, leaning the weight of his hips against yours as his fingers grope a little too hard at your skin, his eyes clenched shut as he tries to not lose himself in the needy coax of your pussy—he can’t embarrass himself like that.
“you still with me, sweet girl?” gojo drawls, his voice sounding needier than he expected, pulling back to admire how pretty you look underneath him before you kiss him once on the cheek, mumbling something affirming that has him drawing his hips back.
your pussy flexes again, as if trying to coax back in every inch you lose and he grunts, his jaw clenching before a breathier croon of your name falls from his lips. the first real thrust is a little too eager, clumsy and he grunts before readjusting his knees—beginning a real pace that’s a little rougher, one that has your toes curling when he hugs you closer, listening to him pant and growl softly between your own moans. “pullin’ me right in.. fuck.”
your hips thrust up to meet his and you’re surprised at how good he feels, but it’s because he’s paying attention to your reactions, the furrow of your brows, the way your mouth is dropping open to moan and the way your pussy is clenching around him tighter everytime he rocks forward, pushing his cock against something sensitive inside of you while his strong grasp keeps you in place—good signs, gojo thinks. “didnt expect you t’ feel just as fuckin’ sweet around my cock, angel.”
“could get used to seein’ you like this.” his pace only increases, gets faster, needier as he curses roughly until you’re body is jolting— each heavy thrust leaving you breathless and driven by his sheer strength as the headboard bangs loudly against the wall behind you.
each smack of his hips is loud and clapping, forcing his cock deeper into your slick cunt until his pelvis is grinding against your clit and you’re leaving pretty red marks on his back with your nails.
“feel too fuckin’ good, princess. you tryna kill me? pussy feels like it was fuckin’ made f’ me.” gojo grunts, his cock throbbing and thickening inside of you as he squeezes at your hips—his brow crumbling while he pants above you, a thin sheen of sweat across his chest and his snowy bangs are sticking slightly to his forehead. he wants to go longer, wants you to feel good too but he’s losing himself in you, in the fluttering pull of your body and your cunt.
“i-it’s okay, satoru.” you breathe, scratchy and breathless and that’s all it takes for the hot rush of bliss to take over him, his cock flexing as he spills his load inside of you with a surprised grunt while his body trembles above yours, tightening his hold around you in some attempt to pull you closer.
maybe it’s the warmth that consumes you as he fucks into you with shallow thrusts that throws you off the edge after him, the shuddering of his body over yours that makes the dull throb in your cunt burst to warm as you squeeze and cream around him. but gojo swears he’s in fucking heaven when he hears you cry for him.
“that’s it, fuck! that’s my girl..“ he groans, low and gravely as he smears more sloppy kisses against your cheek and jawline with a few more gentle thrusts until he finally rolls off of you, keeping his arm trapped under you as his lips curl into a drowsy grin. trying to pretend he doesn’t want to scream a little too giddily when you wiggle closer to kiss him once on the lips.
“keep treatin’ me like that and you’re gonna have me falling in love, angel.” gojo laughs breathlessly, his arm encouraging you to curl up closer to him so he can pepper a few obnoxiously loud kisses to your face when you hum out a “awww, am i your one and only then?” and you know he’s never been one to miss an opportunity to tease you. “oh? you askin’ me out, sweet thing?”
it’s almost too smug the smile he has on his lips the next day, shooting proud glares at his teammates when you bounce down the hallway with his varsity jacket draped over your shoulders.
but oh how he wishes he could commit their faces to memory as they notice the red scratches littering his back while he’s changing again, whistling and hollering at him about how much of a hero he is, but despite the smirk on his lips, his next words are laced with venom.
“oh, yeah? don’t wanna hear you talkin’ bout my girl again.”
summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he see's, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?
pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au
important info: strong language, sexual themes throughout, all characters are around 21+ including reader, drug and alcohol themes, satoru is completely self-centered and rude, also disrespectful (sorry), i also know absolutely nothing about football lol, not suitable for minors
a/n: hey! its been some time since i've dedicated myself to writing a lengthier fic, with several chapters, but thats what i'm doing here. having major fratjo brain rot. hopefully post the follow up to this soon. hope you like! ♡
wc: 2171
masterlist
Satoru Gojo had it all. Talent, success, popularity, nicely lined pockets and an ego that could rival even the most self-absorbed individuals.
Satoru was born into a sickeningly rich family and possessed possibly the most beautiful features of any man this side of the stratosphere. His unmatched talent at getting what he wanted had catapulted him into a world of never-ending opportunities and blessed him with success in every endeavour. By the time he’d entered his early twenties, he’d pretty much nailed life.
Satoru was a name your ears could not escape; every girl on every corner of your university seemed to have so much to say about him. He was like campus royalty, being the captain of the football team and a huge narcissist. His escapades were everyone’s business, and from the girls in your sorority who had first hand experience with any of the frat boys, the lesson was if you bite the forbidden fruit, you pay for it. There’s a reason most of them chose to remain single - can’t sleep around and keep a good conscience if you’re tied down.
Despite that, there was more than a handful of girls wanting to sink their teeth into them, and the one every doe-eyed girl fawned over was Gojo, like some cringe inducing teen rom-com. You can guarantee the worst stories you’d heard from the sorority girls included his name. But those that were worthy enough to fraternise with the frats worshipped the ground their privileged asses walked on, and it was those people who made up the vast majority of the stoned, drunk students in the cramped, crowded frat house that your good friend Ieiri Shoko had practically dragged you to.
The smell hit you before anything else. Hot air laced with weed, cigarettes and cheap liquor. The music was practically ear shattering; you liked a good party, but frat parties were on another level. Especially one that had the entire football team, the whole frat house, and their little admirers running around. The kind of parties your girls usually attended was the ones thrown by stupidly rich guys that splashed and flashed their parents money. Always quality drink, none of this cheap, nasty crap. More sophisticated.
But the frats? There was nothing sophisticated about them. No matter how much money they had or didn’t have, they were all the same - absolute assholes. Even Mei-Mei, who was a literal magnet for any male attention anywhere you went, had only dipped her toes in the chaotic waters of the fraternity.
“They’re all little boys,” she said, verging on disgust, “there’s a few good fucks among them, but that’s all they’re good for. Not a single one of them is boyfriend material. If they ask you out, decline.”
Her warning was enough to put you off for life, but not for Shoko it would seem, because she was quite frankly desperate to bag vice captain and Gojo's right hand man, Suguru Geto. He was hot, that much was obvious. Long, black hair, stretchers, lip ring and a body that was surely sculpted by gods. A dinner and a show, but not worth the hassle he came with.
“Let’s grab a drink,” she yells over the headache inducing volume, “he told me to text when we’re here. I actually think we might hook up tonight.”
“Lucky you.” You smile, with a very clear air of sarcasm. Shoko simply laughs at your displeasure of standing in fraternity territory. “Sex in such a… luxurious place.”
Shoko managed to obtain Geto’s number a few weeks ago at the university pool. She’d been trying to garner his attention for a while, making sure to go when she knew he was there doing laps as part of his workout routine. Her obsessive nature paid off though, because it was him who approached her in the end, and since then she’s basically lived on her phone and messaged him nonstop.
And it was also his fault for inviting her here and then having the gall to tell her to bring anyone she wanted, because it was always going to be you, her oldest, closest comrade.
“Want a shot of this?” Shoko held up a bottle of clear liquid, possibly vodka, but the label was long gone. You nodded, because, why not. If you’re here to support Shoko in her romantic endeavours, you might as well enjoy it somewhat. She poured far more than necessary, and passed a shot glass to you. With a clink, you both threw them back. The strong liquor hit the back of your throat like you’d swallowed a firework. It was hot, burning its way down your throat and sitting like a smouldering fire at the pit of your stomach.
“What the hell is that,” you choke on the aftertaste, grabbing the nearest glass and washing it down with water from the kitchen sink. “It’s like paint thinner.”
“Jesus,” Shoko coughed and spluttered, opting to wash her shot down with a can of beer. “I think we might have just drunk cleaning agent. Here.”
She tossed you a can of beer, and with a crisp snap and hiss, you take a good, long drink.
“Better?” Shoko shouted over the noise. You nod enthusiastically at the yeasty, smooth drink. “Let’s go and find Suguru. I’ll introduce you.”
“Oh goody!” You chirp, sarcasm lacing your words, and Shoko found it utterly amusing.
“Oh, come on,” she laughed, “you might end up liking him. Then what will you do? Eat your words?”
“I’d rather eat dirt.” You say, completely serious and very much truthful. “But for you, I’ll endure.”
Shoko, with a very pleased look on her face, took your wrist and began meandering through the hoards of people. It was hot and sweaty; you could feel the heat coming off the bodies you passed. As you move through the living area, the three worn down leather couches are all occupied by couples not caring about their public displays of affection and practically getting it on right then and there. You pass a rowdy group of guys playing beer pong, a group of girls sharing a joint, and eventually, Shoko spots Geto in the crowd.
And, of course, all the big names were with him.
Suguru Geto; the tall, dark and handsome vice captain that had Shoko in a choke hold. Yu Haibara that, from looking at him, was more of a golden retriever than a boisterous jock. Naoya Zen’in, a misogynistic prick that doesn’t deserve such a lethal face card. Ryomen Sukuna, covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings and built like an impenetrable fortress. Choso Kamo, who was possibly the only emo kid to ever qualify as a fully fledged frat. Ino Takuma, who was far too busy showing some girls his bicep, and finally, perhaps the most decent and well mannered of them all, Kento Nanami, who had the body of a pro athlete but the demeanour of your English teacher.
And then there was the man himself, with his arm outstretched over the back of the couch, lazily gripping a can between the tips of his fingers. Gojo was, for the most part, listening to Nanami, rambling as he sipped straight whiskey, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. So unbothered, so effortlessly present he didn't even need to try to be. The girl beside him had her legs thrown over his whilst she scrolled through her phone and occasionally, tried to get him to give her attention. He ignored her every time. Your eyes fell on him, watching him curiously, and how anyone who passed by either spoke to him or exchanged a fist bump. As if they weren't there, he carried on drinking and every so often, contributed to Nanami's conversation. Geto sauntered over with a widening grin, and planted a kiss on Shoko's cheek.
“Hey doll,” he addressed Shoko, and you swear her face lit up like the end of a cigarette. Then his eyes slid over to you. A gentle, polite smile then graced his handsome face. “This a friend of yours?”
“This is Y/N.” Shoko leant in closer to tell him, and he bent down slightly to hear her better. “She’s my best friend, actually. Be nice to her.”
“I intend to, doll.” He reassured her, rather nicely, you might add, and then turned his attention back to you. “Suguru. Nice to meet you. Any friend of my Ieiri is welcome around here.”
Shoko was radiating pure ecstasy from that statement; you were sure her heart just combusted then and there, masked by the sheer volume of the music. If she wasn’t still holding your hand for leverage, you think her knees might’ve given up.
“Thanks. Good to meet you.” You replied, a thin smile at your lips. Suguru had a rather pleasant warmth about him, not what you were expecting at all. Perhaps that’s why Shoko liked him so much - he wasn’t as much of a dick as the rest of them.
“Lemme introduce you both.” Suguru then said, putting an arm around Shoko and gesturing for you to follow. You did so, and he approached the boys, chugging back beer and passing around a joint. “Oi," Geto shouted over the noise, and their attention soon shifted. Geto gestured to Shoko, and then towards you. "This is Ieiri. This is her friend. Play nice, fellas."
"So this is the little lady, Geto?" Sukuna, a cigarette sitting snug between his lips, gave you both a once over, then lingered on Shoko. "Good catch."
"Don't be fucking gross, man." Geto threw his empty beer can at Sukuna, who chortled almost sinisterly. "Have some respect."
"And you?" Your head snapped in the direction of the couch, where Gojo, with a slight smirk, took a swig of beer whilst keeping his eyes trained on you over the top of the can. "Didn't catch your name, sweet."
"Y/N. No need to ask yours." You retorted, titling your head slightly to emphasise the condescending tone. Unfortunately, he seemed to enjoy your quick wit, as did the others who hollered like high schoolers. Gojo's eyes didn't leave yours - there was a glint of challenge in them, but before he could offer a response, Geto shut it down immediately.
"Just be normal, for fucks sake." He groaned to them all, before taking Shoko off to the side for some privacy, if there was any to be found.
Within a few seconds, you’d lost Shoko, whose mouth was far too occupied to say two words to you. Everyone else fell back into their conversations. Ino started showing off his other bicep, as you cross the space between yourself and the ever growing pile of cans and bottles on the coffee table. You add your empty can to the pile and reach for an unopened one. As you do, another hand clasped the can you were aiming for, and naturally, you looked up to see who the culprit was. His unwavering stare met yours again, for longer this time, a half smile curled at the corner of Gojo's mouth and a look in his eyes that only filled you with unease. Your heart began thumping against your ribs; he was leaning towards you, his hand almost touching yours. You were beginning to wonder if the rumours about him being all-consuming were actually true. You pulled yourself back into the room, and ultimately decided that the beer wasn't worth it, so you gave up your desired beverage and headed towards the kitchen.
Gojo was a simple man, really. If he liked something, he wanted it. If he wanted something, he got it. It wasn't difficult; he was just a man that knew what sated his desires. When Geto introduced you to the group, his fleeting attention was suddenly tunnel vision, because he could tell, just from the way you looked at him with both a hint of curiosity and animosity, that you weren't like the others. Oh, no. There was some fire in the way you spoke. You'd heard about him - of course you had. You were judging him with those pretty eyes of yours. As soon as you moved to grab that drink, he swung that girls legs off him and reached for it. There it was again, that cold, already-made-my-mind-up stare that really did something for him. Despite popular belief, Gojo wasn't all about the easy ones. They were always down to scratch an itch, but he liked them a little spicier. With a bit of edge. Things always taste better when you've worked for them, right?
So as you hurried towards the kitchen, clearly trying to steer clear of him, he followed you. Bold of you to assume he wouldn't, really. As you reached the less hectic space of the kitchen, you felt, for a moment, like you could breathe.
Oh, how wrong you were.
"No need to dip, darl." A voice, dipped in honey and laced with devilment, froze your pursuit. It was the kind of voice that travelled through your entire body; the kind that strikes the most inner parts of you. The kind of voice that well suited its owner. “We can always share, you know.”
disclaimer: i do not own any of the characters in this fic or the images used. dividers by: @cursed-carmine
Hes sooo annoying! satoru gojo, the tall white haired annoying prick. cute smile.. masculine, big.. huge ego!
art by @/thatsallitchief
rin's note: pilot ep so nothing super juicy, kinda boring, semi better towards the end.. 11.5k words, enjoy. <2
ep tags & warnings: slow burn, fratjo, football, injury, slight slight SLIGHT flirting, smut (not w reader), lots of texting, drinking, partying, blackout, vomit, college au. ft suguru, sukuna, shoko, nanami, utahime, choso, gojos roster.
oneshots ꒰১ series masterlist ໒꒱ next chapter
It was a brunch spot shoko dragged you to, called, “Met Her At A Bar.” you were solely there for a sweet plate of breakfast and quiet time to study for your midterm.
“It’ll be peaceful, I swear you’ll like it.” she swore to you.
the café wasn’t too far from campus but wasn’t unknown either. meaning, you were bound to see people from your university, nonetheless people you see often while moving between classes. you even caught a few familiar faces upon walking through the glass door.
ding ding! the bell chimes above the door, and a worker greets you with a shout from behind the counter, “welcome in!”
you check your phone and it's 2:30pm, right on time. walking in, you spot her accompanied by geto, who sits across from her. he looks up and notices you first, before shoko turns around inviting you with a welcoming smile.
"come sittt, I can't study without you," she whines sarcastically, leaning on the back of the chair.
you roll your eyes dramatically then sit in the cushioned chair next to her, setting down your bag on the side. "suguru, you decided to come."
he leans back in his chair, right hand covering his mouth as he yawns. “shoko begged me to come.”
“i asked if you wanted to come.”
“then proceeded to rush me, no?”
“you should’ve been awake.” she finalizes by sipping her coffee.
"do you want something to drink, I'll get you one." you offer geto, reaching into your bag for your wallet.
"no, don't worry. I had some already" he answers quickly.
your hand finally finds your wallet so you stand and walk over to the cashier. There's three people in line ahead of you, so you decide to take your time to look over the menu instead of quickly getting your regular.
deciding on a macchiato, it's finally your turn to order, so you do. then walk over to the pick up counter to wait for your drink. you pull out your phone from your back pocket and check your notifs; reminders, tiktok, twitter, a few from instagram.
a minute passes then you're approached from behind, "hey, never seen you here before."
at first the voice startles you but with a swift turn you now face.. a ridiculously tall, friendly smile, unique white hair a ruffled mess. you hold contact, nervously with his baby blue eyes.
"i'm not a regular, do i know you from somewhere?" you ask softly, adverting your gaze from his over to shoko and suguru; who are caught in their own conversation.
"yeah, we have forensic science together, you sit in the third row." he answers casually.
"you know exactly where i sit?" you look back up at him and he smiles playfully.
his eyes glide down your body then back up, "it's not hard to spot you."
the fuck is that suppose to mean. you slightly jerk your head back offended and furrow your brows.
he watches your expression, all amused and laughs, "I didn't mean it like that. you here by yourself?"
"uh, no I'm with some friends." you point towards them but the worker calls your name and order from behind you. turning around to grab it, you say thanks and take a small sip, perfect.
you turn once more towards the stranger you never got the name of, and it seems like his eyes haven't lingered off of you.
"um, I never got your name.."
"i'm gojo, gojo satoru." he takes his right hand out of his jacket pocket, bringing it forward to shake yours, "and you?"
bringing up your hand to meet his, you respond with yours. His phone vibrates in his pocket so you take this as a chance to say goodbye.
"might wanna get that, i'll see you around." you smile and wave bye, he does the same then quickly reaches towards his pocket to answer his noisy phone.
you start your walk back toward your table, shoko looks at you with a smile and raised brow, "gojo?" she mouths.
"what.. oh my gosh, no. please shut up." you groan and roll your eyes.
the rest of the time spent there went by quickly and suprisingly comfortably, you studied for approximately 40 mins before getting distracted on ig reels, and the rest of the time went to gossiping with shoko.
the cafe wasn't too packed or noisy, you'd definitely want to study there another time.
wednesday ends quickly, and thursday comes just as fast.
its 12:49am. youre on break after your first two morning classes, accompanied by shoko of course. the student lounge has a spacious range of sitting, you two sit in the furthest corner that obtains the comfiest chairs in the building. you sit with your laptop on thigh, and a pair of computer glasses.
working on your midterm analysis report and it's physically killing you. you start to feel the headache creep up as you read over the sentence you've been repeating in your head for the past 5 mins.
obviously your discomfort is a little loud and shoko looks up at you in worry but a little amused, "you okay?" she asks.
you let your head fall back behind your shoulder and close your laptop "no, this is due tomorrow at midnight and I can't focus." you lift your head back up to face her with a pout.
she scoffs at you and bookmarks her page and sets it on the round table in front of you two, "how come?"
"because it's due tomorrow at midnight." you grumble.
she stretches her arms overhead then says, "you have to stop stressing yourself out.. especially since we're clubbing saturday and you need to look good."
oh, you totally forgot you agreed to go out with her this weekend, you groan once more out of annoyance.
"hey, you'll be fineee. just turn it in by tonight." she grabs her phone from her armrest then continues, "you busy tomorrow?"
"yeah, finishing this paper."
"no, I mean do you have any plans for tomorrow."
"no but-"
she abruptly interrupts you, "perfect, we'll go to a party tomorrow night around 10!" she looks up towards you, trying to read your expression.
"shoko, no. I have so mu-"
You're cut off once again, "catch." she lightly tosses her phone at you but it almost flies over your head. you manage to catch it and look down, it's a gc between her, suguru, and gojo.
'gojoo' sent a story with a party flyer on it, "u guys coming?" 20 mins ago
suguroo.g replied 10mins ago with a "sure"
shoshoko replied "ok." 30secs ago.
you look up at her and she's smiling, a mischievous look on her face. "i'm not going-"
the phone vibrates in your hand interrupting you for the third time, gojoo sent a message.
"bring a friend, yeah?"
"what? did someone text me?" she stands up from her chair and quickly walks over to yours, hovering over the phone with you.
"oh em gee, he's talking about you."
"no, you have plenty of friends." you argue quickly.
"tell him to be more specific, ask him 'which?'."
you type quickly, not because you're interested in going.. or him.. it's normal curiosity.
"which?"
he replies with your name, then another message after:
"utahime too"
Shoko scoffs and grabs her phone from your hands, mumbling, "fucking whore." at the screen whilst typing.
"seeee, i told you." you say rolling your eyes playfully, "i study friday, and we go out saturday."
"nope you're coming with me."
"no."
"yes."
"no."
"please?" she begs, sliding her phone in her pocket then bringing her hands together in a praying motion.
you check the time on your phone and break is almost over, so you start putting your things back in your bag.
"only if you finish my assignment by tonight." you say placing your pencil case in the small pocket of your bag. you look up at shoko and shes squinting at you trying to see if you're lying, -in which you aren't.
"okay deal!" she grabs your laptop from your chair, "i'll need this."
you finish packing your bag and zip it up, reaching your hand out for your laptop, "just log into my account on yours."
"nuh uh, the process is too complicated, this is much easier." she says with a smile, "i'll bring it back to you after i get off work, okay?"
beaten by her reasoning, you drop your hand back down to your bag and slide it over your shoulders. "if you come to my dorm at 12 am, i'm not opening it."
she slides your laptop into her bag, then places her backpack over her shoulders. "pshhh, i'll be there at 11:30" She winks before turning to the exit, "see you later!"
the eight min walk to science hall was endurable, and you got there on time, sitting in your designated row. you reach down into your bag to pull out your notebook, pen, highlighter... and your laptop. that's obviously not there.
a small sigh escapes as you rub your temple trying to think of what you can do.
around you, the soft typing of keyboards starts, screens lighting up one by one as people pull up lecture slides. you flip open your notebook instead, trying to convince yourself it’s fine, you can manage.
the professor walks in, setting his things down, greeting the class as the projector flickers on. the same slides you're supposed to have open, appear on the screen.
well perfect, you can read from the board..
a few minutes go by, and you try to keep up... scribbling, highlighting, catching keywords here and there, but it’s disorganized. and his pace is too quick, you look around the class, searching faces to see if anyone looks kind enough to share a screen with you.
no one catches your eye except the white haired figure, he's wearing glasses today and completely focused on his notes.
ask for help or scribble for the next 40 minutes?
taking a deep sigh, you gather your things and weave carefully through the rows, trying not to bump anyone. 6th row, 8th seat is where he sits. now that you realize it, how did he notice you from up here?
"Hi"
he looks up at you with a smile, "Hey,"
you take the empty seat on his left without asking, worried the row behind you might be distracted by you being the only person standing in the room. you set your bag down and turn your chair to slightly to face his.
"so... I forgot to bring my laptop, and I was hoping you would share yours?" you whisper ask
he tilts his head to the side like a confused puppy, "you forgot it?"
"in a way, yeah" you answer half honestly, opening your notebook to the page you left off.
he slides his computer directly in the middle of you two. you look over to him with a smile and whisper a “thanks.”
he replies “anytime.”
class flows through as always, and ends.
you’re packing your things, getting ready to head back to your dorm for the day.
“hey..” he calls beside you, you look over at him and his things are already put away and his bag is slugged over one shoulder.
“are you busy friday?” he continues.
oh right, his party. “kind-of.. i’ll most likely be studying.” you answer.
he smiles but pauses to look over you, “studying?” he questions.
“yeah, what’s wrong with that?” you finish packing and stand up “shouldn’t you be studying too?” you fire back at him.
“nah I don’t need to, but if you need help im always here.” he pulls out his phone from his back pocket , “and if you get bored come to my party.”
"we'll see," you finally say, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
the rest of thursday passes in a blur of classes and stress. You spend your lunch period in the library, and by the time 8:30pm rolls around, you're back in your dorm room. fresh out of the shower with your hair twisted into a bun, and in your favorite pjs.
your phone glows in the darkness of your dorm room as you scroll mindlessly through Instagram, double-tapping posts from people you half care about.
then his account pops up in your recommendations, gojoo.
you stare at it for a moment... Then click!
54k followers. following 38 people. you scroll through his posts which consist of mainly thirst traps, each of them averaging 250k likes. him in football wear, candid shots that look somewhat professionally lit, gym pics, and so on.
his following list is exactly what you'd expect: celebrities, luxury brands, a few accounts you don't recognize. You see 5ukuna and click, but it's privated.
then you go back to click on his story, it's him in his bathroom mirror, towel wrapped around his lower waist, letting his v-line peak out and he's brushing his teeth. The pic cringes you out a little but it goes over your head, his body distracting you.. and for too long.
you look up next to his username, posted 8 hours ago.
your stomach drops.
he'll see that you viewed it. maybe not. he has a gross amount of followers. the embarassment crawls up your neck hot and unready, without thinking you leave his story and block him, he won't see that you viewed his story, right?
you lay your phone down at your chest and take a deep breath to regulate your nervs.
scrolling for another ten minutes, trying to distract yourself with reels and random content, but your brain keeps circling back to that stupid bathroom mirror and his stupidly perfect chiseled abs and the fact that you're going to see him in less than twenty-four hours.
theres an abrupt knock on your door, it's 9:20pm. you haul yourself out of bed, and open it to find shoko holding your laptop like a trophy.
"finished masterpiece," she announces, handing it over with a smile. "you're welcome by the way. I did a really good job on your citations."
you take it, slightly relieved. "you better not be joking."
"i proofread it twice." She leans against your doorframe. "you'll turn it in tomorrow and get an easy A."
"shoko, you're literally a lifesaver."
she waves you off, checking her phone. "I know I am." she looks back up at you. "okay, I gotta run. work was brutal and I need sleep."
"thanks again, and goodnight" you say giving her a sweet smile.
"You're welcome." She grins, already heading toward the stairs. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's gonna be fun."
You close the door behind her and set the laptop on your desk, genuine gratitude washing over you.
It's friday.
You got breakfast this morning with suguru at your local bakery and coffee spot, then parted ways and went on to your morning class.
Your first 2 classes go by smoothly, professors giving little work but plenty of lecturing and notes.
Shoko is out today so you don't get your classic gossip break with her. So instead you go to the library to read and study
You make it to forensic science with five minutes to spare, settling into your usual seat. the hall fills up gradually, laptops opening, the low hum of chatter before the professor takes the podium.
The lecture runs its normal course. Evidence analysis, case studies, procedures, notes, etc.
fifty-five minutes in, he wraps up the PowerPoint and sets down his marker. "Alright, before you all scatter, three quick announcements."
“first: your forensic analysis reports are due tonight at midnight. no exceptions, no extensions. submit them through the portal.”
“second announcement,” he continues. “Next week, we’re starting a group forensic investigation. you’ll work in groups of two to four people. I’ll send out the evidence packet and assignment guidelines by sunday. your final reports will be due by the end of the week, so make sure your groups are finalized by monday.”
"third and last,” he continues. “exam next thursday.”
A wave of groans and quiet complaints spreads throughout the room.
“i’d say it’s pretty straightforward if you’ve been keeping up with the lectures and lab procedures. If not, I suggest reviewing your notes and studying the latest material before then.”
he dismisses the class.
It's around five pm in the weight room, satoru squeezing the last bit of water out of his bottle before setting it back on the floor.
his name is yelled from behind him, by his teammate ryomen sukuna.
satoru walks over to the other side of the pull up, his fellow players pumping him up. when he reaches bar he's face to face with sukuna, a sleazy grin on his face.
"you wanted this!" sukuna reminds him. the man challenged sukuna, whoever taps out of their pull-up loses, simple.
They both reach up over their heads, grabbing a bar with each hand simultaneously, as coach toji explains ground rules, "If you lose structure you' lose!, if you let go you lose!" he shouts.
"ready?"
"up!"
both boys pull theirselves up, head over the bar. sukuna crosses his ankles around each other while satoru's torso and legs are straightened.
its four mins into this challenge and satorus neck is completely covered with sweat, his abs tremble under pressure. Whilst sukuna is also drenched in sweat both abs and neck, his long torso flexes denying defeat.
"my moneys on sukuna!" one of their teammates shout. a few seconds before satorus hand slips. his feat land on the mat under him, the room erupts in shouts and cheers.
"thought you could beat me?" sukuna grins walking towards him.
satoru scoffs wiping sweat from his forehead before pulling sukuna in a dap, "I'll get you soon."
coach blows his whistle to cut the chatter and noise, "Listen!"
"when it's time to compete, be ready to compete."
"no matter what the challenge, doesn't matter the time of day, what the weathers like, or how long its gonna take"
Coach continues with his speech and his players listen, all except gojo who's in his own head. Thinking about whether he can make this next game with his hamstring and ankle injury.
Fuck.
He hasn't told anyone about it, not even sukuna, the person you'd call his right hand man. if you know satoru gojo, you'd know how much he hates being benched and especially during peak season.
a chant starts. its gets louder and louder pulling satoru back, out of his head.
"Raven on 3, Raven on me, 1-2-3!"
ravens!
the rest of practice is filled with running paces, laps, drills, lifting, etc.
practice ends and satoru sits in an ice bath, eyes closed, trying to relax his mind and body. He lays there, a little too still for someone who is usually all motion and noise.
well thats before sukuna comes from around the corner, “You’ve been out of it today.” He leans against the nearest wall squeezing water from his gatorade bottle, his jersey is half way on showing his lower abs. His eyes flick down to the ice bath, then to Satoru’s face.
satoru groans not opening his eyes all the way but peeks a little to see who's interrupting him.
“have I?" he asks carelessly.
"coach had to pull you aside twice cuz you were dissociating or some shit, then you were limping on your routes" sukuna laughs.
satoru shifts slightly in the bath, some ice falling off his shoulders. "its been a long day." he replies.
"sure"
a pause settles between them, both knowing that there's something wrong but not quite sure why.
satoru opens his eyes fully to stare up at the ceiling tiles.
“I said it’s been a long day,” he repeats, a little sharper this time.
sukuna hums under his breath, not buying it. "ay, we're hosting tonight, put a smile on that face"
"what time again?" satoru asks
"eight-ish."
satoru groans shifting in the bath again, sitting up straight, "tell the pledges to set up."
"take a nap while you're in there, you look like shit." sukuna exits the wooden room.
he stands in the bath stretching his arms and neck, then steps out and walks towards his belongings, he grabs his towel first drying his hair then throwing it around his neck. his phone vibrates somewhere between the pile of clothes on the bench.
suguru
wya
we need more drinks
dont get the gross cheap shit again
he thumbs up the last message and sighs dragging the towel across his body to finish drying off, he puts on sweats and a hoodie. bending down to grab his duffel bag, a sharp pain suddenly shoots through his ankle.
“fuck” he hisses.
. . .
the library is almost packed, people finishing assignments due tonight or past due, some chatting away quietly with friends and other individuals reading.
you exhale through your nose, leaning back in your chair until it creaks slightly under you.
criminal psych notes spread out on the left, highlighted until the page barely looks like paper anymore. next to it is your constitutional law reading packet you haven’t started yet.
across the aisle, someone is fully asleep on top of their laptop. that might be you next if you keep stressing yourself out with this.
luckily your phone dings! loudly enough for it to echo through the halls, and wake you up as you hurriedly pick it up to cover the noise.
shoko
still at the library?
im almost off so be ready by the time im at your dorm
you
ughhh
give me like an hour
shoko
mkay
after what feels like forty mins you pack your things and exit the library, taking the fastest route towards your dorm. after the quickest shower, picking out your outfit, stuffing everything into your purse and getting into shokos car you arrive at the house.
as you two step out and walk through the front door, a stench of sweat, alcohol, and cologne hits you, scrunching your nose you half yell at shoko behind you, "it fucking reeks."
"let's go to the backyard, they should be there" she yells back.
you take her words and lead the way past the kitchen towards the slide door. the air is fresh and you finally feel like you can breathe.
someone yells your name and shokos, you turn to see who and its geto. he's sitting on a bench next to the fence away from the pool with sukuna, hime, choso who's lighting up, and gojo who has a girl wrapped around his arm.
you look back at shoko and she nods towards them, telling you c'mon. the house was insanely packed so you had to squeeze through groups, some men looking down at you with an ugly grin on their face.
you ignore them, quickly leading shoko as the two of you finally push past the crowd.
“jesus christ,” you mutter under your breath.
geto lifts his cup slightly in greeting. “look who finally decided to come, thought you would've bailed again"
“i tried to,” you answer honestly.
utahime jumps up from her seat and greets shoko with a hug, "hii shoko!"
"utahime!" she calls back, letting utahime hug her.
"i haven't seen you in forever, i miss you!"
"yeah yeah, we see each other almost every day."
shoko drops down onto the bench beside geto, stealing choso’s lighter, he lets out a tch. utahime gives you a little smile before slithering her way into the crowd.
as you chat away among shoko and geto, you notice the girl that was once with gojo is now gone and hes a few feet away talking with sukuna.
the music bumps louder, the bass growing and more people piling outside and drunkenly singing to the lyrics.
"imma go grab a drink" you say towards shoko and geto.
you turn and head back into the house, once again having to maneuver through cramped, drunk bodies. when you make it the the island theres red solo cups tipped over, some filled with unknown liquid and multiple on the floor.
you take one from the clean stack and choose the cleanest bottle to drink from, filling the cup you hear shouts (mainly men) greeting gojo from behind you.
gojo places his cup next to yours as a indicator to refill his cup. you turn to look at him not realizing how close he is.
"hey"
"hi" you smile kindly, and place down the glass bottle beside the rest.
"im surprised you came", he has some look in his eyes, looking you up and down.
"i wasn't planning to but shoko insisted" you lean your back against the counter, still facing him.
he laughs softly and asks, "wow, i thought i convinced you."
"as if"
"let me take you upstairs" he says softly
"what for?"
"ill make sure you enjoy your night."
you jerk your head back, confused. "what do you mean by that?" you know what he means, you just want to hear him say it.
"want me to show you?" he asks stepping closer, just enough for heat to rise between you and his cologne clouding your senses.
the audacity of a man.
you place your hand against his chest and push him back lightly. if he actually wanted to stay there you probably wouldn’t be able to move him an inch.
"not really" that plastic kind smile sets on your face, but has a sprinkle of annoyance because who tf is he feeling like.
satoru stares at you for a second, brows furrowed before laughing softly through his nose. he raises his hands up like he's at gunpoint, "woah woah, sorry didn't mean to overstep" that dangerous smile growing on his face.
you let out a small laugh, pulling your hand away from his chest.
“you're not that easy, huh?” he watches you take another sip from your cup, head tilted slightly, trying to figure you out instead of flirting with you.
weirdly enough, the look suits him better.
“I can be, you're just...” you look him up and down, "..cocky."
"ouch" he whines pressing his hand against his heart.
“so if i wasn’t cocky?”
“but you are.”
“hypothetically.”
you hum considering it, eyes trailing over the crowded kitchen before landing back on him. “then maybe your chances would’ve increased a little.”
“a little?” he repeats offended one brow lifted.
“see, you are cocky”
satoru laughs softly again, rubbing the back of his neck before leaning beside you against the counter.
his eyes flick toward you, as you sip from your drink again. it tastes sweet but feels like acid when it travels down your throat. wtf did you even pour?
a loud yell erupts from outside followed by sukuna shouting something that makes half the party cheer and laugh.
“gojoo!” someone calls from outside. “quit hidin' and take a shot!”
“lets have some fun?.” he smiles nodding towards outside.
"lead the way" you place your cup on the counter, understanding why so many were left behind.
the backyard is packed and louder now. music blasts through giant speakers, people crowding around the pool and scattered patio furniture. someone almost falls into the water while laughing hysterically.
the two of you walk back over to the table and theres more girls huddling near the group, sukuna entertaining two of them. the night ends with you getting black out drunk by cup pong, never have i ever, categories, and your favorite, truth or drink.
you can barely remember shoko driving you to campus and having to carry you to your dorm. as soon as you stripped and hit the bed you were out.
...
you wake up hung over, nauseous, and a banging headache. lifting yourself upright, to sit up, an uneasy feeling in your stomach starts to take toll, you know what it is.
you rush to the bathroom, the remnants from last night shooting violently into the toilet, the second round comes harder making your body shake uncomfortably.
the toilet flushes and u stand upright but your body feels so weak, so you wash your mouth and go back to bed. before you fall asleep, without thinking you grab your phone from your nightstand and text shoko, "help sick." then you're out.
a repetitive aggressive loud knock comes to your door making you spring out of your sleep, you sit up confused by whoever the fuck is beating on your door and that headache comes back 10x harder.
"im coming geez!" you yell back, you stand a little lightheaded and rub your eyes awake.
upon opening, its shoko and shes standing in the doorway with a plastic bag and a cigarette between her fingers.
"are you okay?" she asks somewhat concerned.
"yes.. why?" you question back letting her inside your dorm and closing the door behind her.
she sits on your bed near the window and sets her cig in her mouth so you open the window as she lights it and sit infront of her.
"you texted me help at 5am, and didn't answer any of my calls or texts" she opens up the plastic bag.
you rub your temple trying to piece together when you did that, but nothings connecting.
"m'sorrryy" you groan and lie on your back. "i was sick this morning- what time is it?" 5am? you were violently vomiting at five in the morning?
she pulls soup in a plastic container, labeled from a restaurant, coconut water, three different pills, and your favorite chocolate.
she checks her phone and says "its 12am"
but you cut her off with, "is all of that for me??" excitement forgetting the migraine thats forming.
"not if you aren't sick"
"oh my gosh sho i love you" you embrace her with a rough hug, she dosent hug back but pats you on the back. "okay i love you but not cigarettes, sorry" you say opening the water.
she laughs, "that's okay, i have to go anyway"
"what whyy"
"work" she shrugs walking towards your door, you're right behind her fixing your hair.
"but ill see you tonightt" she slides her shoes back on and opens your door.
"whats toni- oh my gosh i totally forgot" you sulk into the wall, "do i have to?"
"mhm, bye!" she waves walking down the dorm hall, you close and lock your down then slowly drop to the floor, hands covering your face.
when you stand and walk over to your bed you realize that you haven't checked your phone at all this morning, you grab it and place it on the charger.
you've been waiting for 10mins and it finally turns on, charged to 8%. you immediately check your notifications and the first one to catch your eyes is a message from ' satoru ☺️ '
you get home safe?
his message was sent at one am. besides that how did he get your number?? you never give your number out like that. the best a man can get out of you is your snapchat (which you rarely use).
you
wtf
why do i have you as a contact
you swipe out of messages and check ig, you're mentioned across multiple stories from people you follow and friend of friends, some of the stories being you shotgunning a drink, dancing, being tossed into the air for winning cup pong game against sukuna.
the main one that has you shocked is you tossing a drink into your exes face, naoya, slapping him, then being dragged away by shoko whilst yelling at him.
your mouth is agape, you don't remember any of this. you tell yourself, 'this is why i don't go out'.
gojo
you don't remember trading info?
you
not really
i dont give my number out so i was confused
gojo
alr
you can delete my number if you want
you
its fine
i have a way to ask you for help now
gojo
glad to be of service
you heart his message, then he sends another two:
gojo
ask me whenever you need it
i dont mind
you
thx
you set your phone down with a relieved sigh, rubbing your temple even though the headache is fading away, you reach over to open the soup shoko got you.
anddd your phone buzzes..
...
the stadium is deafening.
cheers crash into each other from every direction, the student section chanting the teams mascot after the last touchdown.
104-96
he barely hears any of it, his heartbeat and strain coming from his leg powering over the background noise.
his left leg throbs with every step, pissing him off more than the pain. he adjusts his gloves and rolls his shoulders trying to ignore it.
“set!”
satoru blitzes off as the rest of his team does, creating distance between him and the qb, sukuna. aa he gets further away he looks back and locks eyes with him.
sukuna throws the ball towards satoru, it hits his hands and he tucks it in his arm sprinting upfield. the crowd erupts behind him then a defender closes on his right.
he swerves left, trying to slip past him and gain a few more yards. the second he shifts his weight onto his left leg, pain stabbing his calf. he stumbles then gets tackled to the ground.
satoru grits his teeth and immediately pushes himself up, but his leg fully gives up on him and he falls back onto the grainy grass.
“fuck!”
the curse tears from his throat before he can stop it. a whistle shrieks from the ref as some of his teammates leave the field and others gather around him.
“gojo!” his assistant coach shouts from the sideline.
officials start to jog towards the scene and call for an injury timeout. Satoru yanks his helmet off and throws it into the grass beside him.
"seems like we have an injury from our star player, #7!, gojo satoru." an announcement from the commentator. One of the officials crouch beside him while the other reached for his arm.
“can you walk?”
“yeah i'm fine.”
neither of then are convinced. after another failed attempt at standing on his own, Satoru reluctantly allows the trainers to help him up. the stadium erupts in cheers and applause as he's escorted toward the sideline.
the second he crosses the sideline, his coach is waiting. concern written all over his face.
“what happened out there?”
“nothing.”
“gojo.”
“i rolled it.”
the trainer carefully removes his cleat, the swelling around his ankle looks horribly concerning.
“how long has this been hurting?” the trainer asks.
satoru groans as the woman lightly touches it, facing the other direction without answering.
“gojo.” coach toji says sternly.
“a few days."
the stadium suddenly explodes, satpru straightens immediately and tries to peak towards the field.
"lay back down please." the woman asks. he tries to look out towards the field, he should be there right now.
"do as she says gojo, you got yourself into this position" coach says then walks back towards the field.
“Interception!” is shouted from the stadium speakers.
satoru lays back down hands running through his hair furiously as the woman helps him with his foot. he thinks maybe if he told coach or a trainer sooner he would've been able to be on the field playing.
maybe if he’d told someone when the pull in his hamstring refused to go away. if he'd could let go his ego just for a moment, then there wouldn't be any consequences.
the 'what if' thoughts do nothing but make him angrier. rhe game continues just a few feet away, the distant roar of the crowd filtering through his head.
“try to relax,” the trainer says. she wraps his ankle with cloth and jots a few notes on a clipboard whilst humming quietly. The crowd erupts again and band music begins.
“and that’s the game,” the commentator’s voice echoes through the speakers. “the ravens fall short tonight, 108 to 96.”
what a nice way of saying they lost.
players begin filing off the field with their heads down, some frustrated, others looking completely drained. nobody looks happy.
“you should stay off it for now,” the trainer says, securing the last strip of tape around his ankle.
satoru lets out a humorless scoff and drags a hand down his face. “don’t think i have much of a choice.” all week they’d prepared for this game. hours of practice, film, meetings, conditioning. all of it leading up to tonight, and it's over.
the ride back was..
conversations come and go throughout the bus, quieter than usual. a few players argue over missed opportunities while others scroll through their phones or stare out the windows.
satoru claims a window seat near the back and spends most of the ride pretending to sleep, to keep his team from asking questions. unfortunately it doesn’t stop his ankle from throbbing.
by the time campus comes into view, the space fills with movement again. bags are pulled from beneath seats, groans and yawns. players stretching and complaining about how long the ride was. when the bus finally hisses to a stop, everyone is eager to get off.
satoru waits until most of them have already filed out before pushing himself to his feet. he grabs his duffel and limps toward the exit, the cool night air hitting him the second he steps outside.
"ouch," sukuna teases and falls into step beside him, duffel slung over one shoulder.
for a moment they walk in silence across campus, passing mostly empty pathways and dark academic buildings. the adrenaline from the game is long gone now, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and irritation.
"you break it?" sukuna nudges him
"its just a sprain.”
sukuna clicks his tongue as a form of telling satoru he's a dumb fuck for not saying anything sooner. they reach the parking lot a minute later, rows of cars sitting beneath the glow of streetlights.
they chat a little more before reaching their cars, sukuna flipping him off then entering his own vehicle and heading back to the frat.
satoru watches him leave for a second before turning toward his own, fishing his keys from his pocket. he decides to make his way to the pharmacy for pain relievers and whatever else might dull the ache.
by the time he pulls into the half empty parking lot, he’s managed to convince himself that the loss wasn’t entirely his fault.
the automatic doors slide open and he heads straight for the pain relief section, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen without much thought. after a moment, he adds an ice pack too.
shoko would probably laugh at him if she found out he was trying to treat a football injury with nothing but painkillers and ice.
goods in hand, he turns down another aisle.
a familiar head of dark hair stands near the family planning section. she’s holding a bright pink box in her hand when her eyes meet his.
satoru almost bursts out laughing but cuts it off with her name, "utahime!" he waves hi.
she stares at him blankly, tightening her grip around the box.
his smile lingers anyway, “what? i’m saying hi.”
"hey satoru." she says plastic smile on her face.
he hums, glancing at her box labeled boldly PLAN B. “rough night?” he asks teasingly.
utahime shifts the box slightly in her hands, embarrassment starting to show on her face. “what are you doing here?” she asks.
satoru lifts his basket a little, “painkillers.”
she nods although she's particularly not interested. “you look tired,” she comments.
satoru smiles, "i am. it's almost midnight, just came back from a game."
"did you win?"
he yawns dramatically before answering, "nah down by 8"
she exhales through her nose, almost a laugh but not quite letting it happen. then her gaze flicks past him briefly, already moving on.
“ok well, i have to go check out,” she says. shifting her bag slightly, eyes flicking briefly to his leg again.
"same here, let me pay for you." he demands.
"you don't have-"
"it's fine." he ends the bargain.
they reach the cashier and place everything on the counter. satoru asks, "who are you here with anyway?"
“why do you care?”
"i don't, m'just curious" he pulls his wallet from his pocket and taps his card.
she exhales sharply through her nose, grabs her bag once the transaction finishes. "well sorry, it's none of your business."
they step outside together, the automatic doors sliding open with a soft hiss. satoru shoves his hand into his pockets, grabbing his key, painkillers rattling lightly in the bag he’s holding.
utahime gives her thanks and stops near the curb, a car pulls up infront of her, engine low, headlights cutting across the pavement.
the driver is sitting & smoking, smoke and window tint hiding his face.
he unlocks his door and slides into the driver’s seat, tossing the pharmacy bag onto the passenger side. the interior smells faintly like old air freshener.
he leans his head back against the seat for a moment.
when he finally collects himself, he pulls out of the lot slowly, one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. he tells himself he’s going straight back to the frat house.
...
you're 2 drinks and 5 shots in. shoko is only slightly more sober than you, which is probably the only reason this is still a fun night out and not something else.
you're on the floor, swaying your body to the soft beat of the music. clueless and careless about your surroundings. shoko is not too far away from you, she sits at a table with a few other women you two met while being here.
the music feels like it's thumping inside of you, each beat vibrating through your feet and up to your shoulders. A couple of men tried to talk to you throughout the night, only two were cute so you gave them your insta but totally forgot to accept their follow requests.
you continue dancing, the floor getting more and more packed as the music gets louder and groovier. the heat start to rise and become unbearable and you suddenly need air.
without saying much, you slip away from the crowd and push through the front doors of the bar.
you make your way toward the curb, carefully lowering yourself onto the concrete. the city feels quieter, the music is still audible through the walls, but now it’s muffled beneath distant traffic and occasional laughter from people wandering between bars.
you tilt your head back toward the sky. the stars are barely visible. too much light and too many buildings. your thoughts begin to drift aimlessly; classes, family, exams, past assignments, etc. you would kill to go back to being a kid, maybe not reliving the same childhood.. but definitely being careless and clueless about adulthood.
the alcohol makes everything fuzzy but somehow makes those thoughts feel clearer.
“there you are.”
you don’t look over, "hi sho.”
“you disappeared.”
“it's so hot in there, i needed air.”
shoko drops down beside you on the curb with a sigh, “yeah?”
you hum before answering, placing your head between the palm of your hand, elbow on knee. "i also need water.”
“that’s the smartest thing you’ve said all night.” for a few minutes neither of you say much.
shoko lights a cigarette and stares across the street.
you groan and let your head fall onto her shoulder. a comfortable silence settles between you again.
shoko’s phone vibrates.
and again.
then a third time.
“jesus christ,” she mutters.
“who is it?”
“suguru.”
“is he drunk?”
“i don't think i've ever seen him drunk.”
she reads over her messages, taking another pull from her cig and blowing it into the air. you scoot a little closer to generate body heat while looking over her shoulder at the messages.
“what happened?” you ask not being able to read properly drunk.
“apparently gojo and sukuna are fighting.” she inhales her cig, texting back suguru.
you raise an eyebrow, “like fighting fighting?”
"no.. wait, maybe."
you sigh, knowing sukuna he probably would be beating the shit out of gojo but maybe since they're friends, it's just arguing.
like how you two were during high school.
"they're arguing over football.. apparently satoru got injured and they lost because of him." she summarizes suguru's texts.
"they're both idoits" you roll your eyes. she laughs and texts back quickly then pockets her phone turning her attention to you.
"hey, you ready to go?" she asks softly.
"yeah- what time is it?" you ask while she stands, and lends you a hand to stand up.
"barely one am!"
the drive to campus is quick. neither of you talks much, exhaustion finally catching up after hours of music, drinks, and dancing. by the time she pulls up outside your dorm, your eyes are already half closed.
“text me when you get upstairs.”
“yes mom.”
“goodnight.”
“night, shoko.”
you climb out of the car, adjusting your bag before making your way toward the dorm building. behind you, shoko waits until you disappear through the entrance before pulling away into the night.
morning arrives and you wake up fine, you follow your usual routine before realizing it's a day off today. that being said you decided to take a walk around the city. a little window shopping, coffee and sweet treat etc.
your phone vibrates in your back pocket, you pull it out and take a look, it's your dad so you hurriedly answer.
"hello?" you answer, looking around for a spot to sit and talk. there's a community park a few blocks away with open benches.
"hey babygirl!" he calls back cheerfully.
you giggle softly at his enthusiasm, you can picture the excitement on his face from just being able to hear your voice. it hasn't been years since you've called him but it has been a while, you miss it.
you continue walking on the sidewalk past the busy city and shops on either side of you. "hey pa, whats up?"
"soo!" he starts off, "how are ya, i miss your face so much."
you roll your eyes, "pshh i'ts only been a few months since i've last visited, i'm doing good pa"
"well that's great to hear, i thought a boy would've been drivin' you crazy about now!" he says exaggeratedly.
"oh no, no boys. you know gotta focus on my health and studies" you finally reach a bench and sit, the air is fresh, trees are swaying in the early morning breeze, peace.
"good good, cus' ya know last time.."
"pa-"
"that pink haired freak!"
you laugh, he's still holding a grudge after 4 years. "hey you have to let go of that grudge, holding it-"
"yeah yeah, i know i know"
"ya know he goes here right? i ran into him once or twice." you click your tongue, knowing this would set him off.
he lets out a long groan, "it's not too late to transfer right?"
"nope not transferring, i need shoko with me."
"how's it going there? are you getting enough sleep?"
you cross one leg over the other then answer, "yes pa. and you?"
"im good, but not geat because you don't visit anymore!" he whines
"ill visit this weekend okay!!" you finally cave into his guilt tripping.
theres a shuffling noise in the background, "great! that's all i needed to hear" his tone now engaged and excited, "we can have dinner and catch up."
"on one condition"
"yes darling?"
"talk to mom and get her to come."
another long groan comes from the phone line, "that woman!"
after the call ends you do a little more walking then head back to your dorm for the day.
monday night.
because it's a day off gojo has barely left his bed today, his day consisted of working out, shower, binge watch tv, now he's in his bed scrolling through his ig.
he blames his bedrotting on his injury.
as he's scrolling through ig someone responds to his story. the story being him showing his lip having a small slit in it then he flips the camera to frat living room being tossed and trashed. (from the fight with sukuna, yes it was very physical, suguru had to break it up.)
the person who texted him is a blonde chick from criminal psych, "do u have a crazy gf orr?😭"
it isn't her first time swiping up on his story, he's egoed her many times. when she first followed him after getting his ig in class, he didn't bother following her back.
he also fucked her a couple of times, who cares.
the notification catches his eye so he taps it and responds.
satoru
i wish
blonde chic
haha
i can't see you in a relationship
satoru
why
blonde chic
you just don't seem like a relationship guy
satoru
ok
blonde chic
hey for our forensic science class do u have a partner?
satoru
what do i need a partner for
blonde chic
the group project
satoru
oh yeah
blonde chic
sooooooo?
u can be in my group ☺️
how could he totally forget about it, well... he thinks of who could be with and well, you! he swipes out of ig, leaving the girl on seen. clicks on imssgs, then your contact. which is your name followed by (shokos friend).
hey
question
he watches his screen waiting for your text bubbles to pop up. which takes five mins.
you
what
satoru
do you have a partner for the group project?
you
yes
he stares at his screen, this time in disbelief. theres no way you have a partner. okay- maybe, but.. fuck. he doesn't want to work with anyone else.
satoru
who
you
i think his name is steven
the guy that sits in the row behind me, and his friend next to him.
you don't know his name and he's your partner?? gojo sits up thinking of what to say next.
satoru
i need a partner
you
ok? find one?? wtf do u want me to do?
he sits in utter disbelief, he hasn't been rejected since.. forever. and especially not in this manner. he can't and won't handle rejection.
satoru
be my partner
you
no
satoru
why
you
bc i already have 2??😭
satoru
let them be together
and it can be us 2
you
why are u so desperate
satoru
bc i don't want to work with anyone else
youre my only option
you
ill agree only if you do most of the work
satoru
okay
you
break your word and i'll join another group
satoru
i won't
tuesday rolls in, normal day as ever, it's around 3pm and youre in your dorm studying for the test on thursday. or at least trying to. you should've finished the analysis yourself, you think to yourself.
you want to ask shoko for help again, but you don't want to be a burden plus she's probably working her internship at the hospital. you groan annoyingly loud out of frustration and tip your head back trying to think of a solution.
tutor? you can either get an online one or find one on campus. in person would be a greater option because its easier for you to focus. you stare at the list of campus tutoring services opened on your laptop, scrolling through the available times with a tired sigh.
your dorm room is quiet except for the faint sound of people moving through the hallway outside. you look back at your laptop and finally click schedule an appointment.
the earliest date is thursday 2:45pm. after the exam, you groan, immediately backing out of the page.
“of course,” you mumble to yourself.you check again, scrolling further down. tuesday, 5:30 p.m.
you select the appointment and wait for the confirmation email.
it only takes a few seconds before the notification appears on your screen. appointment confirmed. tuesday, 5:30 p.m. main library, study room 4. tutor: nanami kento.
the next few hours pass by painfully slow.
you attempt to study again, forcing yourself through the lecture slides and trying to memorize every term that could possibly show up on the exam. but after rereading the same page three times, you finally give up.
by 5:20, you grab your notebook, laptop, and the pile of papers scattered across your desk before heading out of your dorm.
the walk to the library is quiet. the campus is starting to settle down as the sun begins to set, students passing by with backpacks and coffee cups, some heading back to their dorms
you step into the library and make your way toward the back of the building, finding the study rooms tucked away from the main seating area.
study room 4.
you check the number twice before knocking softly.
“come in.”
you open the door.
sitting at the table is a man dressed far casually, tight black t-shirt, baggy blue jeans, and a coat hanging over his chair. his glasses rest on the bridge of his nose as he looks over a few papers in front of him. he looks up when you enter.
“you’re here for forensic science tutoring?”
you nod, stepping inside. “yeah. i have an exam on thursday and i’m struggling with some of the material.” you laugh soft, slightly embarrassed.
he smiles warmly, "that's alright, im here to help aren't i?"
his eyes briefly move toward the stack of notes in your arms, “you brought your notes?”
“all of them,” you admit.
nanami glances at the pile. “…that may be more than necessary.”
you let out another small laugh. “i figured bringing everything was better than bringing nothing.” you sit down in the chair on his left, closest to the door, and set your things on the table.
he goes through your notes one section at a time, crossing out unnecessary information and marking the concepts most likely to appear on the exam.
his method is super straightforward. no unnecessary explanations, no confusing terminology, and especially no making you feel stupid for asking questions.
“okay,” he says, tapping the page with his pen. “let’s test what you remember.”
you sit up straighter, “already?”
“yes.”
“oh, i thought we were just reviewing.”
“reviewing doesn’t help if you can’t apply it.”
you sigh quietly. “you sound like a professor.”
he points to the first question he wrote down, “a piece of evidence is collected at a crime scene. the chain of custody is broken during transportation. what happens?”
you pause to think.
“the evidence could be questioned because there’s no guarantee it wasn’t tampered with.”
“good.” he nods.
“a fingerprint is recovered from a glass at a crime scene. what’s the first thing an investigator should do before attempting to analyze it?”
“photograph it.” ez peezy.
"why?"
“because once you start processing the evidence, you could alter it. photographing it first preserves its original condition.”
he gives a small nod hums, "mhm."
“a bloodstain pattern at a crime scene can tell investigators exactly what happened. true or false?”
"...true?" you answer half confident.
he shames his head no, "not quite." reaching over, turning your notebook toward himself before sketching a few simple blood droplets across the page.
“bloodstain pattern analysis can help investigators determine things like the direction of travel, the angle of impact, or where an incident may have occurred.”
he looks up towards you and asks, “but does one piece of evidence tell the entire story?”
slightly embarrassed you got a simple question wrong you shake your head no, also answering, "no."
"and why's that?"
“because investigators have to compare it with everything else collected at the scene.”
he praises you again with a “good.”
few minutes pass as he leads you through a couple more questions before pausing as he writes the next batch. silence falls between you two before he decides to take the initiative to speak first, "you answered those correctly without looking at your notes."
"oh." you answer still feeling down, "i did.”
“meaning, you know the material.”
“or i just got lucky.”
“hm.” he looks up at you, while you stare down at your notes, thoughts scattering around, you let out a quiet sigh.
“i don’t know why i blank out whenever i study on my own.”
“maybe you’re trying to memorize instead of understand.”
he taps his pen on the paper as you fix your gaze onto him, asking, "are you diagnosing me now?"
"observing"
“there’s a difference?”
“a significant one.”
you smile despite your discouragement on yourself.
"let's finish, okay?" he turns his wrist towards himself to check the time on his watch, "about an hour left." you nod in agreement, he closes your notebook and slides it toward you.
"and no notes, ill tell you how you did after we finish."
you roll your eyes subconsciously which makes him laugh a little, "c'mon you can do it" a pause.. "ready?" he asks softly
"mhm" you answer, feeling a little bit better.
the rest of the session flies by.
nanami quizzes you on nearly every topic that could appear on the exam, occasionally stopping to explain a concept whenever you hesitate.
“that’s enough for today,” he says, clicking his pen to close.
"already?" you glance at the clock, surprised to see how much time had passed. you're not the type to lose track of time, but wow it flew by.
you gather your things, sliding your laptop into your backpack before standing. "thank you."
nanami gives a small nod.
you finish zipping up your backpack, lingering for a second longer. "nanami?"
he looks down at you. "yes?"
you fix one strap over your shoulder, motioning for you two to start walking out of the private room, out of the library. "i was wondering if you're busy tomorrow, so you can help me a little more..?"
he fixes his hair while walking alongside you, "i'm not sure, i'll have to check in with you after 2." a slight pause then he asks, "that fine?"
"oh yeah, ofcourse" you answer sweetly, "andd is it okay if i get your number?" you're outside of the library now and he pauses, turns towards you and furrows his brows. confused.
you laugh at his laugh face expression, "not like that, its just to reach you quicker. i have a exam on thursday and i really need the extra help."
he smiles and chuckles softly, shit maybe you did mean it like that look at how perfect he is. "i wasn't implying anything," he says.
"yeah it's fine," he finally answers, you pull your phone out of your back pocket, unlock it and hand it towards him. he types in his number and name, then hands it back.
"thanks" you say.
he steps away slowly towards his exit, "no problem, ill let you know if im free or not."
"mhm, bye and thanks again"
...
wednesday, 9:00am
“morning.” satoru drops into the seat beside suguru with far less enthusiasm than usual, letting his backpack hit the floor with a dull thud.
suguru glances over from the worksheet he’d been reading over, "mornin"
shoko slides into the other seat open seat next to suguru coffee in one hand. the professor walks in, setting a stack of papers on the podium.
conversation dies quickly within the room.
"good morning, everyone.”
a few half-awake greetings echo back. professor starts her lecture off slowly, gradually getting more complex. half an hour into class, shoko whispers to satoru.
“hey, how’s the ankle?”
satoru looks up from his notebook, “better.”
“better?”
“better.”
she narrows her eyes.
“it’s healed enough that i can walk without wanting limping.”
suguru lets out a laugh. shoko along with a snort.
"what about your sport?" suguru asks.
“coach still has me benched for another week.”
“only a week?” shoko asks.
“that’s what the trainers are saying. assuming i don’t do anything stupid.” satoru tries to play cool, like he doesn't mind being benched for a week.
by five in the afternoon, the football field is already alive. whistles echo across the turf, cleats dig into the grass, and the sound of shoulder pads colliding carries through the warm afternoon air.
“gojo.” he looks over to find coach waving him toward the athletic trainers.
“how’s your ankle?”
“doing just fine.”
coach eyes him for a moment before glancing down at the brace wrapped around his right ankle.
“trainer cleared you to jog yet?”
“light jogging.”
“cutting?”
“no.”
“contact?”
satoru sighs rubbing his neck, "definitely no.”
coach nods once, unsurprised. “then you’re not practicing today.”
satoru glances toward the field where the offense is lining up for drills. “i wasn’t planning on doing much. i could at least watch.”
“or,” coach counters, folding his arms, “you could spend that time letting your ankle heal.” satoru presses his lips together, fighting the urge to argue. he knows coach is right. “another week,” coach says, his tone softening just slightly. “keep doing rehab, ease into conditioning, then we’ll start getting you reps again.”
satoru nods, out of resignation. “yeah.”
coach gives his shoulder a firm pat. “good. now do yourself a favor and get out of here. you’ve got better things to do.”
with one last look toward the field, he turns away, the sounds of practice fading behind him as he heads towards stadium parking lot. for the first time in weeks, his afternoon is completely open.
satoru reaches his car and tosses his duffel bag into the backseat. then eases his way into the drivers seat. normally, he’d be heading home around eight, showering, grabbing food, then getting ready for whatever the night had planned.
his phone buzzes ontop of his lap, a message from a familiar name lights up his screen. 10mins ago
hii imy
wyd rn
he lets out a quiet laugh, leaning back against the seat. fully knowing where this'll lead.
satoru
just finished rehab
he starts his car and puts it into reverse, getting ready to pull out the lot and head back to the frat.
sounds boringgg
he shakes his head with a small grin.
satoru
come save me from boredom
he places his phone on his lap and finally pulls out of the lot, heading home.
she texts back:
be there in 30
satoru lounged in his upstairs room, shirtless with only his black boxer briefs and low-slung sweats clinging to his hips. the fabric dipped low to show the waistband of his underwear.
downstairs, suguru answered the knock at the front door. Long black hair framing her face, big doe eyes, freckles scattered across her face
she stood there in a simple sweater and tight flared leggings that hugged her curves, the outline of pink lace underwear faintly visible beneath the thin fabric. Suguru had seen her around before.
"satoru home?" she asked.
"yeah, upstairs," Suguru replied, stepping aside to let her in. He closed the door behind her and headed back to his own room without another word.
she climbed the stairs, found Satoru’s door, and knocked. the door swung open in a few seconds.
satoru stood there in the doorway, no shirt, sweats hanging low, slight bulge. his eyes raked over her, taking in the way the leggings clung to her shape.
"hey," he said, voice low. "come in."
she steps inside and immediately presses her lips to his, kissing him hard. he pulls away, "eager arent you?"
she looks towards him all dollike, wrapping her arms around his neck, going in for another kiss. "mhm" she moans into his lips.
satoru grabs her waist and lifts her up without breaking the kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.
he carries her over to his big bed and sits, settling her right on his lap. her thighs straddle him and she starts grinding down, rubbing her pussy against the growing bulge in his sweats. he groans low in his throat, "jus' like that baby." hands gripping her hips to guide her.
"fuck," he mutters, voice rough. she keeps grinding, feeling him harden fully beneath her. "you miss me satoru?" she asks kissing down his neck.
he laughs then feeds into her delusions with, "yeah, so much"
after a minute she slides off his lap and drops to her knees between his spread legs. she tugs his sweats and briefs down just enough to free him, then wraps her lips around the head.
satoru groans again, deeper this time, one hand resting on the back of her head.
"good girl," he says as she takes more of him into her mouth. she bobs her head, tongue working along the underside.
he lets her set the pace for a bit before his grip tightens in her hair, "let me lead." he demands.
she gurgles a rough, "mhm." he starts thrusting down into her throat, fucking her mouth with short, controlled strokes. she gags a little but he pushes deeper.
tears start to form at the bottom of her eyes and she looks up at satoru with puppy like eyes. "mhm, you can take it" he praises, voice rough.
when he gets close he pulls out of her mouth, slaps her pursed lips with his cock, then strokes himself fast. "open," he orders. she opens her mouth and he cums across her tongue, shooting into her throat. rubbing the excess messily across her lips like lipgloss.
...
it’s 7:30. you and nanami just finished your second study session, you actually feel ready for tomorrow’s exam. you’re both packing your materials back into your bags, sliding loose papers into folders and zipping up pencil cases.
you’d stay in the room a little longer to review for your exam but another group has it reserved at eight.
nanami slips his laptop into his bag before glancing at the clock on the wall.
“feeling better?”
you nod, adjusting the strap of your backpack. “a lot better, actually.”
"that's good."
“although i’m still a little nervous... i really hope i don't blank tomorrow."
he smiles at you, "you won't, you did way better than yesterday." he says it so comfortably that you almost believe him.
"wait, was i that bad yesterday?" you raise a brow
he laughs shortly, "i wasn't saying that but-" he pauses visibly seeing your confidence shrink. "you improved by a lot today. that's all that matters, okay?"
the two of you step out into the main room together, the library noticeably larger than when you arrived. a few students linger alone at upstairs tables, buried in textbooks while others are packed in groups.
you roll your eyes, not believing him at all this time. "yeah yeah, you're just saying that to be nice."
"I'm not i promise." his words are nice but his expressions make it seem like he's lying. you two hold contact for a second, then you speak up.
“i think i’m gonna stay for a little longer,” you say. “just to make sure i have everything down.”
nanami nods in understanding, "don't stress too much"
a small smile creeps onto your face, "ill try my hardest not too."
“and if you need any more help just text me, ill let you know when I'm free."
“thanks.” you hesitate for a second before adding, “you actually helped me. a lot.”
"m'glad to be of service," with one last nod, he turns and disappears down the hallway, leaving you standing outside the study room.
after watching him go for a moment, you make your way toward the staircase, deciding the second floor would be quieter this time of night
you climb the last few steps, scanning the rows of tables for an empty seat.
you make your way farther into the second floor, weaving between rows of bookshelves until you reach your usual spot tucked away in the corner. it isn’t much, just a small table... with 2 chairs, by the window.
you set your backpack on the floor, pull out your laptop and notebook, then plug in your charger before settling into the chair with a quiet sigh.
youre using good ol quizlet flashcards to study, and getting more than half correct.
footsteps come in clear as they head towards your spot. you look up and it's satoru. hair messy, glasses, hoodie with the hood on and sweats.
he takes the initiative to speak first. “hey.”
"hi."
“sorry to bother you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “every outlet i’ve found is either broken or already taken.” you notice his voice rougher than usual, maybe he's tired.
his gaze flicks toward the one beside your table. "mind if i take this seat for a bit?”
you blink, "uh.." you glance around the library there are other seats. just… none with a supposed working outlet.
you look back at him, “sure. all yours.”
“lifesaver.” he drops into the chair across from you, setting his backpack on the floor then pulling out his infamous macbook, "i owe you one."
...
evil a/n: cliffhanger hahahahahaha. like n subscribe pls. and comment down below.
Park Jimin, known in the underworld’s most dangerous circles as a ruthless drug lord whose smile usually preceded a murder, was currently bleeding through his tailor-made Italian suit. His knuckles were raw, split to the bone, and three of his top most strong men lay motionless in the mud behind him. Four men from a rival gang had him cornered against a brick wall. The lead assassin was grinning, raising a barrel directly toward the space between Jimin’s eyes.
Jimin braced himself, his jaw locked, eyes burning through the shadows. He was ready to go down.
When suddenly the alley didn't just rattle; it exploded.
A silver 2012 Honda Civic came reversing at a terrifying thirty miles per hour straight into the alley mouth, obliterating a line of metal trash cans before violently slamming its rear bumper into the brick wall mere inches from the rival gunman.
The assassin plummeted sideways with a squeal, barely dodging a horrifying death-by-bumper.
"Fuck my driving!" a panicked, remarkably feminine voice growled from the driver’s side window, the engine sputtering violently as the exhaust backfired like a shotgun blast.
The remaining hitmen, utterly terrified and convinced this was a heavily armored, erratic tactical ambush by an unknown third party, panicked. "It's a trap! Fall back!" one yelled. Within seconds, the sound of scrambling boots echoed into the main street as the gunmen fled into the dark, leaving Jimin standing alone in his own dripping blood.
Jimin blinked through the sweat, leaning heavily against the brickwork, breathing through cracked ribs. He raised a hand to wipe his eyes, half-expecting a heavily armed swat team to exit the vehicle.
Instead, a figure leaped out of the driver's side wearing a oversized black hoodie, a neon pink ski mask put on entirely backward, and bright yellow dishwashing gloves.
Before Jimin’s brain could register the absurdity, the figure lunged forward. In one clumsy, surprisingly aggressive motion, a heavy black canvas sack was yanked roughly down over Jimin’s head, blinding him instantly.
"Hey—" Jimin rasped, his lethal kicking in, but before he could drive a blade into the intruder's stomach, a sneaker kicked him brutally right behind his left knee.
His weakened leg buckled. Jimin hit the wet pavement on both knees with a harsh groan, the pain flaring up his ribs like a wildfire. He flexed his fingers, preparing to snap the attacker's ankle, when the voice shrieked in an octave of pure, desperate panic:
"Don't... D-don't fucking move, you hear me?! Or else I swear to God I will throw your brand new PlayStation out the window! I know where you hide it!"
Jimin froze, his hands hovering an inch from his concealed hip holster.
A... PlayStation?
Underneath the coarse fabric of the sack, Jimin’s blood-soaked lips twitched. He was a man who controlled a multi-million-dollar network, operated out of fortified penthouses, and had a bounty on his head large enough to buy a small island. And he was currently being threatened with the execution of a gaming console.
Realizing this was either a bizarre hallucination brought on by blood loss or the most painfully incompetent mistake in human history, Jimin slowly lowered his hands. Whoever this complete idiot was, they had accidentally saved his life. Playing along was better than dying in a wet gutter while his internal organs hemorrhaged.
"What are..." Jimin grunted, forcing his deep, silk-smooth voice into a raspy, pained whisper to keep his lungs from collapsing.
"Shut up! No talking, hostage!" you hissed, practically hyperventilating.
You were far too blinded by adrenaline and the absolute terror of ruining your best friend’s elaborate birthday surprise to notice the actual horror around you. You didn't see the pool of dark blood nor the three motionless bodies slumped behind the dumpsters. Your vision was entirely locked on completing 'Operation Kidnap My Idiot Brother.'
"Up! Get up!" you huffed, grabbing him by his stained suit collar and hauling him toward the back seat of your trusty 2012 Civic.
Jimin let out a ragged wheeze as you shoved him into the cramped, fry-scented back seat. His sharp suit scraped against empty soda cans and old receipts. Before he could adjust his position, you grabbed a thick pack of heavy-duty industrial zip-ties from your pocket.
With aggressive, frantic pulling noises ZIP! ZIP! ZIP! you bound his wrists tightly behind his back.
"Ow," Jimin muttered under the sack, genuine mild annoyance creeping into his amusement as the plastic bit into his skin.
"Save it for the party—I mean, the dungeon!" you yelled, slamming the back door shut hard. You scrambled into the driver’s seat, jammed the car into drive and peeled out of the alley, leaving behind a crime scene, three dead mobsters, and a deeply confused street gang.
In the back seat, blinded by a sack and bound by zip-ties, Park Jimin rested his head against the sticky vinyl seat, listening to the frantic, off-key humming of his oblivious abductor over the roar of a dying muffler.
Well, the drug lord thought, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his ribcage, at least the heater works.
"You must have known, right?" you snapped, glaring into the crack-riddled rearview mirror at the unbothered, motionless shape in your backseat. "It was my driving, wasn't it? That’s how you knew it was me! But at least act surprised, Taehyung! Fight back! Struggle a little! Make my felony feel earned!"
You huffed loudly, aggressively shifting into third gear with a sound that made the poor 2012 Civic sound like it was passing a kidney stone.
"Just so you know, I told her this was a terrible idea," you rant continued, gesturing wildly with one yellow-gloved hand. "I said, 'Hey, maybe let’s just get him a cake like normal, sane human beings.' But no, she insisted! She loves you, Taehyung. God knows why, considering what an insufferable, stubborn ass you are."
In the backseat, blinded by the scratchy black canvas sack and surrounded by the lingering odor of stale French fries and laundry detergent, Park Jimin rested his head against the rattling doorframe. His ribs were screaming, his Italian suit was ruined, and he was actively hemorrhaging blood onto what felt like a questionable tweed seat cover. But he couldn't deny it; this was easily the most entertaining evening he’d had in years.
"And fucking speak! Don't go quiet on me now!" you yelled into the front seat. Reaching out, you slapped the dashboard, slamming the radio on to drown out the awkward silence. Early 2000s pop music exploded out of the blown-out speakers, buzzing with pure static.
"I'm keeping you tied up, by the way," you warned, pointing a finger blindly behind you. "When we get there, you better scream, you better look terrified, and you better act surprised! Or else I swear I will sell your new PlayStation. And you know I'm crazy enough to do it."
From the dark depths of the fabric sack, a low, velvet-smooth rasp cut through your threats.
"If you sell the PlayStation," Jimin murmured, his voice laced with a gravelly charm despite his bruised throat, "how will Taehyung ever forgive you?"
"Shut up! I’m serious, Taehyung!" you yelled over the deafening pop music, smacking the steering wheel in frustration as you hit a pothole. "I swear, you're taking this way too casually! You're supposed to be squirming! You're supposed to be begging for mercy! Instead, you're sitting there like someone who just got a slightly uncomfortable Uber ride!"
Jimin let out a breathless chuckle, wincing as the laughter pulled violently at his cracked ribs.
"Maybe I'm just admiring the tactical genius of my captor," Jimin purred, his lips curving into a sharp, lethal smirk beneath the canvas. "The yellow rubber gloves really pull the whole kidnapping act together."
"They are dishwashing gloves, you ungrateful idiot! They keep my fingerprints off your stupidly expensive jacket!" you retorted, cranking the volume knob even higher until the car practically vibrated. "Now stop talking, fix your posture, and get ready! We’re five minutes away from the house. If you ruin this party after I literally committed a kidnapping and nearly embedded my bumper into an alley wall, I will personally throw you into the river!"
Jimin leaned his head back against the headrest, tasting the metallic twang of blood in his mouth.
Five minutes, he thought, feeling the heavy, cold steel of the loaded 9mm tucked into his waistband, right beneath his ruined suit coat. His second-in-command was probably tearing Seoul apart right now, burning down rival syndicates brick by brick to find his body.
And yet, here he was. Bound by ten-cent zip-ties, kidnapped by a girl wearing dishwashing gloves, and being taken to a surprise birthday party for a guy named Taehyung.
"Whatever you say, boss," Jimin whispered softly, his deep voice swallowed by the blasting radio. "Lead the way."
The hallway was dimly lit, filled with the faint scent of vanilla candles and the muffled sound of a birthday playlist humming from the living room speakers. You pulled hard on the canvas-draped captive, practically wrestling the heavy frame through the front doorway.
"Keep moving," you whispered harshly through your pink ski mask, dragging him by his blood-stained sleeve. "Don't ruin the—"
You froze mid-sentence.
Standing in the center of the warm, balloon-filled living room was your brother, Taehyung. He was wearing his favorite worn-out sweater, holding a half-empty glass of soda, and currently had his arms wrapped firmly around your best friend's waist. She was standing on her tiptoes, completely wrapped up in kissing him.
Between kisses, your best friend let out a soft sigh, giggling into his neck. "I'm so glad you came home early... she's taking forever with that stupid prank."
Taehyung chuckled, pressing another kiss to her lips. "I told you she was probably lost in a parking lot somewhere."
Your brain completely short-circuited.
You stood dead in your tracks, your dishwashing-gloved hands locked onto the sleeve of the man beside you. You stared at Taehyung. Then you stared at your best friend. Then you slowly looked at the blood-soaked man standing motionless beside you in a ruined, custom-tailored suit.
Taehyung was right there.
Taehyung was in the living room.
Who the fuck was in your house?!
Panic, sharp and blinding, shot straight through your veins. Your heart hammered against your ribs like a trapped bird.
Before either of them could turn around, you took advantage of their absolute absorption in each other. You clamped your hand over the mysterious stranger's mouth through the black canvas sack, yanked him backward with a surge of pure, terrified strength, and dragged him down the hallway into your bedroom.
You shoved him inside, threw your back against the door, and slammed it shut, twisting the lock with a desperate CLICK.
Breathing heavily, your eyes wide, you turned around to face the dark room.
The tall stranger stood near the foot of your bed, perfectly calm, his hands still zip-tied tightly behind his back. The heavy silence in your room was broken only by the quiet, ragged sound of his breathing and the faint, alarming dripping of fresh blood onto your flower-patterned rug.
Slowly, deliberately, the man lifted his bound hands slightly behind him, adjusted his balance, and tilted his head toward you under the dark canvas.
"So," a dangerously smooth, quiet voice rasped from beneath the hood, echoing through your small bedroom. "I take it I'm not Taehyung?"
Without waiting another second, you grabbed his broad shoulders and forced him backward, pushing him down until he hit the edge of your mattress with a heavy, muffled grunt.
"I am so sorry, I am so sorry, oh my God," you babbled, your hands trembling violently as you grabbed the coarse fabric of the sack and yanked it off his head.
The breath hitched in your throat.
The man sitting on your bed didn't look like any normal civilian. He had sharp, dangerously handsome features, hair clinging to his forehead with sweat, and dark, piercing eyes that immediately fixed onto yours with absolute composure. But what caught your attention was the dark, slick crimson smeared across his jaw, painting his split bottom lip.
"Oh my God, you’re bleeding?!" you gasped, backing up a step, your hands flying to your pink ski mask and yanking it off your heated face. "Did I do that?! How?! No way! I know I hit a bump, but did my car do this to you?!"
You hovered over him frantically, your yellow dishwashing gloves flapping around his face as you inspected his bruised cheekbone, mentally counting the cuts on his jaw like a manic ER nurse. Then your eyes trailed downward, falling on his custom, midnight-blue suit jacket, which was ripped to ribbons and soaked through with deep, ghastly red stains covering his chest and stomach.
"Wait... are those knife cuts?!" you shrieked, clutching your head. "What kind of car accident—"
"I think," Jimin interrupted softly, his voice a low purr that made the tiny hairs on your neck stand up, "we can start with you taking the zip ties off."
He offered you a faint, wry smirk, a soft chuckle escaping his chest before he winced, his dark eyes flickering with pain.
"Right! Yes! Zip ties! Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" you squeaked, frantically spinning around to scan your messy room. You shuffled through your desk, tossed aside notebooks, and dug through drawers like a lunatic. "Where are the scissors?!"
Jimin watched you with an amused expression. He let out a low sigh, casually rolled his shoulders, and pulled his wrists apart. With a sharp, sudden SNAP, the thick industrial plastic sheared completely in two, dropping to your bedroom floor like harmless string.
You froze mid-search, staring at the snapped plastic, then slowly raised your eyes to his large, veiny hands now resting casually on his knees.
"You... you just..." You swallowed hard, taking a terrified step backward against your closet door. The reality of the situation hit you like a bucket of ice water. You hadn't kidnapped your nerdy brother. "P-Please don't call the police. Please. I have a clean record, I swear it was a mistake—"
Jimin let out a harsh, strained groan, leaning forward as he clutched his ribs, his knuckles turning white. The bloody cuts across his torso were bleeding through his dress shirt, dripping onto your pastel bedsheets.
"Take care of my wounds," Jimin rasped, looking up through his dark bangs, his gaze locking onto yours with terrifying intensity, "and I won't."
"Deal!" you squeaked instantly.
Within thirty seconds, you pulled out your emergency first-aid kit, dumped a mountain of cotton balls onto the nightstand.
"First, take off the jacket," Jimin instructed quietly, his voice dangerously calm for a man whose blood was currently staining your duvet.
You cautiously stepped closer, peeling the expensive, ruined leather and wool from his broad shoulders, flinching every time he let out a tight breath. Following his precise, stern commands you began dabbing rubbing alcohol over his exposed chest.
"Hold still, this is going to sting," you muttered nervously, wincing on his behalf as you pressed a gauze pad into a deep slash across his ribs.
Jimin didn't even flinch. He just sat on your bed, watching your every panicked move through half-hooded eyes, a dark, dangerous smirk lingering at the edge of his lips as your hands shook against his skin.
Working with clinical precision, and a fair amount of frantic hyperventilating, you managed to clean, disinfect, and tightly bandage every slash, scrape, and bruise across his torso. His body was a canvas of older, faded silver lines and fresh, jagged cuts, making it painfully obvious that today wasn't his first time wrestling with death.
"You know..." you muttered softly, dabbing a final strip of medical tape over a nasty gash near his hip, keeping your eyes strictly fixed on his ribcage to avoid looking at his bare chest, "you seem to know exactly what I should do. You've been wounded a lot, I see."
Jimin let out a quiet, rumbling hum, his dark eyes following your shaking hands. Since his tailored clothes were thoroughly ruined and soaked in a mixture of street grime and blood, he had stripped down, tossing the filthy garments into a ball in the corner of your room.
Now, he was lying flat on your mattress, completely naked under the covers, resting his dark head against your soft pillows.
"I'm a drug lord," Jimin murmured casually, his voice velvety and completely devoid of fear. "Park Jimin."
You froze mid-wrap with the leftover gauze, your jaw dropping beneath your breath.
"And you are?" he asked, tilting his head slightly, watching your bewildered expression.
You pressed your lips together, staring at him in utter disbelief. "A... a what?"
"A drug lord," he repeated smoothly, as if he had just told you he worked in accounting.
CLICK.
The bedroom door handle jiggled and swung wide open before you could even move to block it.
"Hey, what the hell are you doing in here for so long? The party's—" Taehyung froze in the doorway, a paper plate with a half-eaten slice of chocolate cake suspended in his hand.
His eyes slowly traveled from you, standing frozen in dishwashing gloves holding bloody cotton balls, to your bed, where a strikingly handsome, intensely dangerous-looking stranger was lying completely naked under your duvet, staring back at him with icy composure.
Taehyung's mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. "Who... who the fuck is that?!"
Your brain panicked, immediately short-circuiting into survival mode.
"My date!" you blurted out, stepping between Taehyung and the bed, waving a glove dismissively. "It's complicated, Taehyung! He's... sensitive to light! Get out and go eat your cake!"
"Your date?!" Taehyung yelled, staring at the visible tatters of blood-stained clothes on the floor. "He looks like he just got thrown out of a moving helicopter!"
"Out! Out, out, out!" You practically tackled your brother back into the hallway, slamming the door shut in his face and locking it tight once more.
Leaning your forehead against the cool wood of the door, you let out a long, shuddering breath. From the bed, a soft, low chuckle resonated through the room.
"Your date, huh?" Jimin purred, his dark eyes sparkling with dangerous amusement under the dim lighting. "I didn't realize kidnapping came with a relationship status."
You slowly turned around, resting your spine against the locked door as you pressed your lips into a tight, stressed line.
Jimin was resting comfortably against your stack of decorative pillows, one arm propped lazily behind his dark, damp hair. Under your duvet, his broad, bare shoulders were on full display, perfectly framed by the clean white bandages you taped across his chest. He looked completely out of place among your floral bedroom decor.
"So..." you began, crossing your yellow-gloved arms over your chest, "when are you going to leave?"
Jimin’s lips curved into a slow, devastatingly handsome smirk. His dark, sharp eyes tracked you with unhurried interest.
"Leave?" he echoed softly, his voice a low, raspy purr that practically hummed through the small room. "With no clothes? Bleeding through your sheets? While my men are currently turning the city upside down looking for my body?"
He tilted his head, letting out a small, amused huff that winced into a subtle grimace as his sore ribs flexed.
"I think I’m going to stay right here for a bit," Jimin purred, shifting slightly under the covers. "Besides... your date wouldn't just walk out on you after you worked so hard to kidnap him, would he?"
You buried your face in your hands with a deep, suffering groan.
"I am going to throw myself out the window," you muttered into your hands, dropping them to glare at him. "Seriously, Mr. Drug Lord. My brother is right outside that door. My best friend is outside that door. If they find out I brought home an actual criminal instead of a birthday surprise, they’re going to put me in an asylum."
Jimin’s smirk only broadened, a glint of genuine entertainment dancing in his dark eyes. "Then I suggest you keep your voice down, sweetheart."
"Do not call me sweetheart," you hissed, taking a cautious step closer to the bed and pointing a yellow dishwashing glove at him accusingly. "You are a hostage! Well... a former hostage. An accidental hostage! Whatever you are, you’re supposed to be intimidated by me!"
Jimin let out a soft, breathless laugh, wincing slightly as the movement tugged at the bruises across his ribs. He looked down at the bright yellow rubber finger hovering inches from his chest, then raised his gaze back to yours, his dark eyes brimming with dangerous charm.
"Intimidated?" he purred softly, his voice dropping into a velvety register that sent an unexpected chill down your spine. "By a girl in dishwashing gloves and a pink ski mask who threatens people with PlayStations? You saved my life tonight, kid."
"I was trying to kidnap my brother, not rescue a mob boss!" you whispered loudly, throwing your hands up in sheer exasperation.
Before you could argue any further, a soft, heavy vibration echoed from the corner of the room.
You both froze. The sound was coming from the pile of filthy, blood-soaked trousers Jimin had shed earlier.
Jimin’s playful demeanor vanished in an instant. The easygoing smirk melted away, replaced by an intensely sharp, cold focus that made your breath catch in your throat.
"My phone," Jimin said quietly, his tone calm, commanding, and absolute. "Hand it to me."
You swallowed hard, suddenly very aware of the shift in the air. Cautiously, you walked over to the corner, picked up his heavy, slick leather pants using the very tip of your gloved fingers, and fished out a sleek, customized black smartphone. The screen was flashing with an unregistered, encrypted caller ID.
You handed it to him, taking a swift step back.
Jimin slid the phone screen open and brought it to his ear, his gaze remaining locked on you.
"Talk," he commanded into the receiver, his voice ice-cold.
A frantic, muffled voice burst through the speaker on the other end, so loud you could hear the panicked shouting from where you stood. "Boss?! Boss, is that you?! Jesus Christ, we thought you were dead! The alley was a warzone... rivals everywhere... we've been burning down their safehouses for the last two hours trying to track you—"
"I'm alive," Jimin interrupted smoothly, resting his head back against your pink pillow as if he were discussing the weather. "I'm in a secure location."
"Where are you?! We’ll send the entire fleet right now, five-minute ETA—"
Jimin paused, his dark, heavy gaze lingering on your wide, panicked eyes. You frantically shook your head, mouthing, 'NO MAFIA! NO MAFIA MEN IN MY DRIVEWAY!'
A subtle, amused twitch returned to the corner of Jimin's lips.
"Stand down for now," Jimin ordered into the phone, his tone leaving zero room for argument. "Send a clean vehicle and a fresh suit to the coordinates I text you in an hour. No heavy artillery, no motorcade. Just one driver."
"Boss? Are you sure? Who saved you?"
Jimin kept his eyes fixed right on you, a slow, breathtaking smile spreading across his face.
"Just a very dangerous operative," Jimin murmured softly into the mic. "Bring a new PlayStation, too."
He ended the call, tossed the phone onto the nightstand, and crossed his arms behind his head, looking up at you with absolute delight as you stood there, utterly dumbfounded.
"You..." you stammered, pointing at him. "Did you just order a PlayStation?!"
"Consider it my payment for your medical services," Jimin purred, sinking deeper into your duvet. "Now... are you going to stand there looking terrified, or are you going to go get your 'date' a glass of water?"
You hurried into the hallway, shutting the bedroom door behind you with a sharp, decisive click. Slinking toward the kitchen like a fugitive, you grabbed a tall glass from the cupboard and filled it with water, your mind running a mile a minute.
You turned around and nearly dropped the glass.
Taehyung and your best friend were standing right there, blocking the kitchen doorway with their arms crossed. Taehyung still held his half-eaten slice of cake, staring at you with a mix of utter confusion and intense concern.
"Alright, spit it out," Taehyung demanded, narrowing his eyes. "Who is the guy in your bed, why is he bleeding?"
Your best friend nodded in agreement, looking genuinely bewildered. "Yeah... the plan was for you to bring Taehyung here, not host a bleeding man in your bedroom."
You looked between the two of them, pressed your lips together, and let out a long, heavy, defeated sigh. There was no point in hiding it anymore.
"Okay. Do not scream," you whispered aggressively, taking a step closer and gesturing wildly with the glass of water. "I fucked up. I fucked up so bad."
"What did you do?" Taehyung asked, his brow furrowing.
"I kidnapped the wrong man!" you hissed, keeping your voice low enough so it wouldn't carry back down the hall. "The alley was pitch black, okay?! I slammed into the wall, threw a sack over his head, zip-tied his hands, and shoved him into the Civic! I thought he was you, Taehyung!"
Your best friend gasped, her hands flying over her mouth. Taehyung just stared at you, blinked once, and then twice.
"You... you kidnapped a stranger?" Taehyung asked slowly, as if trying to comprehend the sheer scale of the mess. "A stranger who was bleeding?!"
"Yes! And he is not happy about it!" you panicked, wildly waving your gloved hand. "He has knife cuts! He has broken ribs! I literally had to stitch him up on my bed! And right now, he is sitting in there, wrapped in my duvet, threatening me!"
"Threatening you?!" Taehyung's posture immediately stiffened, his brotherly instincts kicking in as he took a step toward your room. "I'm calling the cops right now—"
"No! Are you insane?!" You lunged forward, grabbing Taehyung's arm with your dishwashing glove. "If he calls the police, or if we call the police, it won't be a funny little birthday joke! We're talking false imprisonment, and assault with a motor vehicle! If the cops get involved, it won't be a joke, and all three of us will get arrested!"
Taehyung froze, his hand hovering over his phone. Your best friend looked like she was on the verge of faint.
"So what are you saying?" she squeaked softly.
"I'm saying," you whispered, taking a deep breath and steadying the glass of water in your trembling hands, "that right now, he is my 'date.' We are going to treat him like royalty, feed him water, keep him happy, and pray to God his ride gets here before he decides to sue us."
Taehyung looked toward your bedroom door, then back at you, completely speechless.
"Just... go back to eating your cake and act normal!" you ordered, squeezing past them toward the hallway.
Carrying the glass of water like a sacred offering, you tiptoed back to your bedroom, unlocked the door, and slipped inside, carefully locking it behind you.
Jimin was still resting comfortably against your pillows, watching the door with that same unreadable, dark glint in his eyes. He raised an eyebrow as you approached the bed, extending the glass to him with both hands.
"Your water, Mr. Drug Lord," you muttered flatly. "Please don't send us to prison."
Jimin’s lips twitched into a amused smirk as he reached out, taking the glass from your trembling, gloved hands.
Jimin took a slow sip of the water, his dark eyes fixed on you over the rim of the glass. The icy, dangerous aura he had projected during his phone call dissolved back into that unbothered, velvet charm.
"Prison?" he purred, setting the empty glass on your nightstand with a quiet clink. "And miss out on my host’s wonderful hospitality? I wouldn't dream of it."
Before you could respond, a low, rhythmic rumble echoed from the driveway outside your window. It wasn't the sputtering exhaust of your dying 2012 Civic. It was the deep, purring growl of a twin-turbo V8 engine, a sleek, pitch-black matte SUV idling quietly right in front of your house.
Jimin’s phone buzzed once on the nightstand. He glanced at the screen, then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He winced slightly, pressing a hand to his bandaged ribs, but stood up smoothly.
"That's my ride," he said softly.
He walked over to the corner where his men had left a freshly pressed, immaculate black suit bag right outside your window, dropped off silently by his second-in-command without a sound. Within two minutes, Jimin was fully dressed in a tailored black suit, crisp white shirt, and silk tie.
He turned toward you, stepping close enough that you had to tilt your head up to look at him.
"You know," Jimin murmured, his voice dropping an octave, reaching out to gently touch the edge of your chin with his knuckles, "most people who kidnap me end up at the bottom of the river. But you stitched me up, gave me water, and threatened my life with a PlayStation."
"It was a very serious threat," you muttered, your heart pounding against your ribs.
Jimin let out a low, breathless chuckle. He reached into his inner suit pocket, pulled out a sleek black card with a numbers and slipped it gently into the front pocket of your oversized hoodie.
"Call that number if you ever need anything," he whispered, his thumb lightly brushing your cheek.
He stepped toward your bedroom door, unlocked it, and pulled it open.
Taehyung and your best friend were still standing in the hallway, practically frozen like deer in headlights. Taehyung raised his paper plate of cake like a pathetic shield as Jimin walked out.
Jimin paused, looking Taehyung up and down with an amused smirk. "Happy birthday, Taehyung. You have a very... aggressive sister."
With a polite nod, Park Jimin walked down the corridor, opened your front door, and stepped out into the night. Sitting on your front porch mat was a brand-new, unopened PlayStation 5 box, topped with a giant red bow.
Taehyung stared at the box, then looked at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. "Did... did a mob boss just buy me a birthday gift?!"
You slumped against the doorframe, letting out a long, exhausted breath, looking down at the sleek black card tucked into your pocket.
"Happy birthday, Taehyung" you muttered flatly. "Don't ever ask me for a surprise again."
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your daughter’s first tooth fairy toru fairy visit 𝜗ৎ
“toru, you can’t be serious.”
it was times like these you questioned why you married satoru gojo.
the white-haired, tall man stood in your dimly lit living room, wearing cheap party city fairy wings (probably from mango’s halloween costume two years ago), a small tiara atop his fluffy hair, a tutu over his sweats, and to top it all off, a golden star-shaped wand.
“god help me…” you dragged a hand over your face.
“there’s nothing wrong with my costume.”
“everything is wrong with it.”
“maybe i’m just a good dad, one who actually cares about our daughters milestones enough to dress the part,” he huffed, straightening his tiara and giving your pajama a pointed once over.
“excuse me??” you laugh incredulously, “do you have something you want to say to me??”
“just said it, love.”
he was impossible. truly fucking impossible.
“whatever, explain what you're doing again.”
your little mango had just turned five last month, and now the milestones of the last years of toddlerhood were showing up. she’d lost her first tooth yesterday, and of course the dramatic father, satoru, made sure it was memorable.
kento n: “satoru, why am i being sent a bloody tooth during my meeting???
satoru g: “it’s mango’s; she lost it today, send money. and a card.”
kento n: ???
kento n: *kento nanami has sent a payment of 50 dollars.*
kento n: for your lobotomy. have your wife email me the results.
satoru g: [attachment]
satoru g: mango lost her first tooth; be a good godfather and send some bands her way.
sugu g: i don’t see a ‘please suguru’ in that sentence, so you can’t be talking to me.
sugu g: also, bands?? lmfaoo. leave yuji’s slang to him please, thanks.
beyond pestering his friends to death, he took hundreds of pictures, frame by frame, capturing the moment you pulled his tooth out using the floss doornob method, the last one including you glaring at him while your daughter gasped.
“anyways,” satoru cleared his throat, broad shoulders rolling. “i'm the tooth fairy, obviously.” he gestured to himself, the entire ridiculous get-up.
“now shut up and record,” he stuffed the camera into your hands, pausing at the scowl you gave. “hah…i mean, please, my beautiful, loving wife??” satoru gave your nose a quick kiss for good measure before scurrying off to your daughter's bedroom.
her room was like a fairytale of her own. the bedside night light cast stars onto the ceiling, pink striped walls and fuzzy carpets, not to mention the mountain of stuffed animals satoru wouldn’t stop buying for her each time she picked one up. he could never say no to her.
you quietly snorted, recording as he tippy-toed into the room, nearly busting his ass and shooting you a warning glance.
mango was sound asleep in her princess bed, completely unaware of her father's tomfoolery. once he was in range, he lifted her pillow just enough, slipping a tooth fairy certificate he had you make at 3 am in place of the tooth, sixty dollars (which she didn’t need), and finishing everything off by dusting glitter everywhere.
“toru–!”
“shhh!!!”
you immediately stilled, camera still rolling. after dusting himself off, he leaned down, kissing her cheek. “so proud of you, big girl,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her warm skin before pulling back.
and for a while he just watched her sleep; she let out a sleepy sigh, leaning into her father's palm as he brushed her hair. satoru’s heart ached thinking of how big she was getting so fast, no longer the blabbering big-mouthed mango he planned pranks and secret missions on you with. growing up faster than either of you liked.
“baby, are you…crying??” you whispered, lowering the camera slowly and taking a step closer.
“what?” he avoided your gaze purposely, managing a quiet laugh. “no, i’m not crying.”
“really, i thought i saw a tear–”
“it was the glitter; it got in my eye.”
that lie wasn’t convincing to either of you.
you set the camera down, arms wrapping around him from behind, and resting your chin on his shoulder.
“hey.”
“hey...”
“you’re crying.”
a beat of silence passed. “yeah.”
your hands squeeze him briefly, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. “she’s growing up; it was bound to happen, toru.”
“i know,” he sighed, still brushing her hair, eyes never leaving her perfect little face. still a baby face, still some sliver of his baby there. “i just didn’t believe them when they said it happens so fast…”
“do you think she’ll forget these moments…?”
“no,” you murmured after a moment, fingers soothing a path up his ribs. “she can’t forget with a dad like you, toru.”
he finally turned to you, his eyes glossed, but there was a faint smile of fondness there. “think she’d appreciate all this? know how much i love her, not just think i was some annoying dad?”
“yes.” you smiled back, pressing your foreheads together with a shared breath. one of parenthood, of late nights with endless crying and sleep deprivation, switching off between feedings and naps, potty-training disasters, and chasing after her bubbly form for bath time.
“we can’t keep her a baby forever, but we can continue loving her and making her childhood the best,” you reached out, fixing her blanket before guiding him out of the room. once the door shut softly behind you, he immediately pulled you into his chest. a shaky breath came out.
“i love you. and i’m glad to share this with you.”
you almost felt your own tears threaten to spill over, hugging him back tightly.
"五条 悟 ✶ GOJO SATORU," ◦ ₊ㅤ ﹙ wait, who's gojos girlfriend? The quiet girl at the back of the classroom? ૮₍ ´ ꒳ `₎ა artist credits: official jjk art reblog / like 2 support ⃘໋ׅ♡ 𝑤.𝑐: 1.3k ⁀ ˳ ⟡
♡⏝ ⸝⸝ 𝓦ARNINGS ˖ ❝ sfw fluff crack she/her pronouns nanami, haibara, suguru & shoko cameo reader is quiet & introverted shy-ish!reader popular boy!gojo 2006 timeline reader & gojo are like 17 reader obvi isn't loud and won't appeal to everyone only tooth rotting fluff canon compliant au before hidden inventory / premature death 2nd person perspective ❞
── #⃝ MINA'S NOTES ( 💬 ) literally me and gojo bro masterlist <3
GOJO SATORU was the it boy of popular boys in the 2000s.
There's fan pages of him online, teenage girls and boys take pictures with him in the street asking "can I punk my friends and tell them you're my boyfriend?" and how could he say no and stop people from experiencing the awesomeness that is Satoru Gojo. His flip phone is usually set to silent or vibration only, since he often took pictures of himself and uploaded them to Mixi and Nico Niico Douga under his "digimoncutiez639" persona. Blurry photos taken in the Shinjuku nightlife, mostly ones he had forced suguru and shoko to take for him.
junmasamoto4199: "digimoncutiez639 is meccha kakkoii! >_<"
Xx_Imblue_xX: "That boy is chou sekushii"
tempura2: "*gyaa gyaa . . . i wish he waz my bf (╥﹏╥)"
The last comment was one he seemed to get a lot, and he didn't exactly reject any of his dedicated fan girls and fan boys, never replying to comments unless the asked for where his outfit was from. He didn't avoid telling people that he was dating you, per say, it was more that… people reacted differently. Almost as if he was lying to them.
The first time had been almost at the end of his first year at Jujutsu Technical College and 3 weeks after he had officially asked you out. The upperclassmen usually avoided him, put off by the so called "prodigy," but he had finally been able to strike up a conversation with them after the school's athletics carnival had went well. Suguru had kicked the football a total of 3 times and scored one goal, while Satoru had hogged the ball most of their first year match and scored over 10 goals, before Yaga had dragged him off of the field by his ear.
"Ohhh, right, I saw you get dragged off," Haruto has nodded and yawned, scratching the back of his neck, while Yoshida had hummed. "Yeah, Sawako even wanted us to check up on you, pfft," he snorted before Haruto nudged him to shut up.
"Whaaat? I'm being a good friend," Yoshida scoffed and rolled his eyes with a prideful smile, before his eyes looked over at his tall underclassman again. "Yo, Satoru, do you have a girlfriend?" he asked bluntly, ignoring his friends glares and sighs of embarrassment and awkwardness.
He had raised a confused eyebrow, before pointing his thumb back at the classroom. He was sure he had kissed you and held your hand on the bleachers that day, did they not see? More importantly, you were literally the most gorgeous and prettiest girl in his eyes, obviously someone as hot as him was perfectly paired with another otaku baddie like you! Pshhhh, maybe they couldn't believe someone like him has been able to pull you.
"Yeah. Her." His thumb pointed back at your figure in the empty classroom.
Yoshida and Haruto had peered into the classroom, only to see… some girl they had never seen before. Plain hair, plain eyes, plain uniform, and a plain you just pressing away at your Tamagotchi. Haruto and Yoshida shared a confused look, before Yoshida clicked his fingers and gasped. "O-oh yeah, that's the girl I was telling you about the other day! You know, the one who walked away when I was trying to ask her for directions?" Haruto nodded, eyes lighting up in recognition, before confusion washed over their faces at the same time.
How does one of the most extroverted and loud boys, fall and date someone like you? Someone who talks in class maybe once a week! someone who’s flip phone is used to play snake while Gojo’s is used to actually… talk to people!
"What?" They had blurted at the white haired student, going on and on about how someone like you should’ve hated someone like gojo, and that you were clearly not meant for each other, and how they were going to tell Sawako that it'd be a waste of her time to pursue Satoru. As if Satoru wasn't right there. His eyes narrowing and upper lip curling in obvious annoyance.
As if he’d let anyone insult you.
"Hey, dumbasses. That's my girlfriend you're talking about," he scoffed at him, pushing past and going back inside the classroom to sit next to you again.
You had looked over at him curiously, showing him the small screen of your Tamagotchi. "Look, our child is growing," with that casual smile on your face. Satoru blinked, his face straight, before he broke out into coos and awhs, pinching your cheeks and suffocating you in kisses all over your face. "Aghhhh, get off of me! You lunatic!" You had huffed, while he was happily kissing your face all over, "you're such a good mother to our baby dragon! Awhhh, what's the name you chose for him again, my beautiful princess?"
You had huffed, looking a mess before sighing and giving the toy to him. "Sylus."
That day was one of the main reasons that Satoru avoided outright disclosing your relationship, preferring to show it to people instead.
Nanami didn't need to ask when he finally had enrolled into JJT, as Satoru made it a habit to hold your hand at every chance he got, and kiss your cute face. Haibara, unfortunately, hadn't seen enough or gotten the clue, only seeing how quiet and standoffish you were, and made the brilliant terrible statement when you all were camping in the back of the forest behind JJT for fun. Unfortunately, Haibara had spoken right in front of Satoru fucking Gojo, or Satoru L/N as he'd prefer to be called.
The fire crackled in the cold dark night, illuminating 6 faces in the forest, as the scent of pine and wet soil drifted through the air. "Y/N and Nanami would make a good pair, wouldn't they? They're so similar!" he had smiled happily and adjusted his hold on the marshmallow he was roasting, not noticing Suguru choking on his spit, Shoko looking up at him and even pausing in chewing her gum. He especially didn't notice Satoru freezing, when he was draping his expensive jacket over your shoulders, cold icy blue eyes glaring holes at the sweet boy's face.
"Converg—" Suguru had jumped to stop and tackle gojo to the ground before he could possibly have killed Haibara.
After calming Gojo down, mostly by you looking at Gojo as if he was embarrassing you and him whining apologies to you, Haibara had finally been made aware that Gojo and you were dating. "Ohhh, you're Y/N's boyfriend, sorry Satoru, I didn't know," Haibara had chuckled and nodded his head in an apology.
"We're married," he lifted his hand to show a string you had tied around his ring finger a few minutes ago while fidgeting with him quietly. "We're not married," you shook your head bluntly, correcting him with a straight face.
"Engaged. We're engaged." he nodded proudly and flipped his hair back, all cool and already thinking about wanting to whip out his digital camera and force Suguru to take more shots of him for his fans.
"We're 17, Satoru."
"We have a child."
"I have a Tamagotchi pet… one that you get jealous of."
"We're madly in love then." He nodded again, not shy or embarrassed after being shut down by you so many times. He waited, Suguru waited, even Nanami waited, wanting to hear you correct Satoru's claim. Only after a full minute had passed, Satoru smirked, a blush on his cheeks as he shrugged, "see, she loves me. Hah," he smirked and stuck his tongue out at Nanami for a split second, knowing the blond man had been doubting him.
That's when he felt your lips press against his cheek. Very rarely did you initiate an sort of romantic gestures, let alone kisses.
His face had turned beet red, while you were looking at him confused. Blinking blankly, and Suguru laughing loudly in the background. Yes, Satoru did love his girlfriend, more than he loved anyone or anything else, and much to peoples complaints . . .
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
Summary - Satoru Gojo was the biggest nerd EVER in high school with you, next door neighbors, study buddies, you were the best friends in the world. Never having the courage to ask you -the 'popular girl' out- you never knew he felt for you. He ended up leaving town, moving to the big city of LA- getting famous with a modeling career, and lost touch with everyone from his old life. While you're working the family pub to help out your parents, years later, he finally comes back to visit, just to have you making his drink. Everything about him is different, aside from those pretty blue eyes and the sweet grin. You feel he's so accomplished now, and you're just a small town girl, but little do you know, you've never left his mind.
Warnings - Nerdjo turned famous and cocky, but he's still just a Nerdjo deep down hehe- this chap- explicit sex, shower sex, oral ( f receiving) lots of fluff, lots of emotions, mentions of past angst, an INSANE breed kink (reader and Toru hehe) cumplay, sweet whipped Satoru, they're so in lovvve.- WC- 7.8k
Based on the 2005 Rom com Just Friends - part of @indiewritesxoxo's Friday night flicks! 🌙 Taglist closed! -Comments/rbs appreciated <3
<<<Part Seven - Masterlist - Playlist- Part Nine>>> (soon)
Part Eight
You’ve never been on a plane.
You’ve driven everywhere, even out of state you’d get a car rental and just cruise, but Satoru has you on a plane in first class, headed to Hollywood. You’re so nervous, heart racing as you think of seeing him again, as you think of being in his arms. It’s only been a couple weeks, but a couple weeks feels like forever when it has been eight years without him.
The plane ride goes smoothly, despite your anxiety, a couple airport bottles may have been necessary for how panicked you were at first, so you may or may not be a little buzzed when you get off the plane. You step into the airport and the overwhelming amount of people surround you, you’re momentarily disoriented at just how many, walking past and rushing off.
You eye your phone then, before a big sign catches your attention, a dark haired man with glasses holding up your name on a huge sign. You giggle just a bit and walk over then, he smiles at you. “That would be me!”
“Perfect, I’m Ijichi. Mr. Gojo is waiting in the limo, he didn’t want to overwhelm you with too much attention if he came out.” You nod in understanding, certainly the paparazzi would be all over him. “Right this way, Miss.”
You follow him out, and through all of the rest of the enormous airport, the chaos makes you just a little dizzy. You can still feel the nerves even as you walk out into the much different climate than back home. It’s warm and sunny, there’s a dry heat you’ve never really felt entering your lungs as you inhale and exhale, shutting your eyes at how good it feels when Ijichi reaches a black limo.
The door opens and Satoru rushes out of the car, surprising you when he scoops you up in his arms, wearing some round Gucci shades and a big grin. You giggle and let him pick you up, twirling you like you’re a little feather in his strong hold, slamming his lips down. That’s when the tears well up, mixed with the laughter, how badly you missed this.
How can you miss something you didn’t have before so vividly? Now it feels the perfect and only place to be, his arms, clinging so tightly to him. He’s whispering your name over and over when cameras start flashing, you hear the clicks and feel eyes on the two of you then, not just paparazzi either, it’s random people gossiping.
“Satoru, baby they’re all watching…” You murmur then, and he glares at them for a moment, setting you down.
“Mr. Gojo, weren't you supposed to hide in the limo?”
“I got too excited,” he’s pouting as he looks down at you, cupping your face, you feel his eyes are only on you, feel the warmth of his touch as you grip his wrist gently. “Fuck I missed you.”
“I missed you more, um… are you okay with them seeing me?” He frowns a bit, caressing your jaw line tenderly, and it’s really just you two, nothing else at that very moment.
“I should ask you, I’d love everyone to know I have the prettiest fucking girl in the world.”
“You go on too much!”
“Wanna bet?” You’re giggling again even as he swipes your tears, and his bright, brilliant eyes look at you so lovingly.
“You hype me up a lot you know.”
“As I should,” he kisses you again, right as people are wondering who you are outside of LAX, you feel the warmth of the sun shining down as he tugs you closer. “Should give ‘em a show.”
“Oh gosh!”
“Blushing, cute.”
“You’re ridiculous!” He’s chuckling again, slipping back on his shades and then gesturing for you to climb in as Ijichi puts up your luggage in the trunk.
When Satoru’s back with you, he’s pressing your back against the seat, leaning on top and kissing every inch he can find, your face, your throat, your chest, all while you giggle breathlessly. You gasp when he’s at the base of your neck, his plush lips brushing on sensitive skin, god he missed you so much it takes everything not to fuck you right here.
He’s sure you want a shower, to relax a bit from a long flight with two layovers, so he holds back just a bit, keeping the touches teasing and sweet. Your lips are pliant under his, parting as his tongue slips through the seam, and he tastes your sweetness again.
“Mochi has nothing on you.”
“You’re too much!” You’re grinning against his lips now, and he sighs, leaning up to look down at you for a moment, before kissing you again.
“Hmm, wait… is that tequila!?” He’s lapping at your lips as if it’s an inspection, you burst out into more laughter.
“Maybe! Maybe I’m a little tipsy. Just this much.” You put your thumb and finger together, grinning now, he can’t help but laugh with you, infectious as ever, studying your precious face and wondering how he ever went without it.
“You’re good and drunk, I can’t take advantage of you.”
“Not even, take all the advantage.” You’re kissing across his neck, hands slipping over his dress shirt, feeling the luxurious material as it ripples across his muscles, eliciting a soft whine from his throat.
“Fuck,” he’s throbbing under his slacks now, pressing against your heat and feeling your body arch, hips pressing for more of him. “You need water bottles or something, you're gonna get dehydrated that soaking wet.”
“Oh!” He’s smirking, sitting you up then, tugging you right against his side as he leans over and snatches a bottle up. “Do you just typically ride in a limo?”
“Yeah, long legs you know.” You roll your eyes as he spreads them wide, shoving one on you.
“You are like ninety percent leg.” You take the cool water, sipping it and sighing as it hits, cooling you off just a bit, Satoru nudges you further, before you kick back at him, and he tugs you to him again.
“Fuck, I missed you so much,” he’s softer now, the teasing gone as he cups your face, the condensation from the water pressing against your palm and dampening his dress shirt just a bit. Your heart races, the emotions mixing with the exhaustion, you haven’t slept in days in anticipation. “I don’t know how I went that long without seeing you to begin with.”
“I always missed you.” Your words break him, the sincerity and sweetness, and he swallows down the guilt once more.
He could have had this.
He could have had you in his arms, in his life, but you quickly shut off his thoughts with another kiss. “Hey, Satoru…”
“Yeah?” His voice is soft, you feel it then, his longing for something that cannot be, even if he doesn’t say it.
“We don’t know what would have happened, if we confessed our feelings then, we’ve grown a lot now, and we’re different in ways. I think everything happens for a reason, okay? So don’t look back on the past, we can’t change it. Focus on this right here.” You kiss him again, pulling back to look up at him, he sighs then.
“You’re all wise and shit huh?” You smile and wiggle your brows. “You’re right, there’s no sense in it. But to think I could have had you in my life…”
“I’m in your life right now, Toru.” The little nickname always breaks him, always melts him for you even more.
“Drink your water,” he presses a kiss on your forehead. “You little drunk.”
“Am not!” But you’re doing as he says, you are so thirsty, soon you’re resting your head on his chest as you two drive through the LA traffic, he’s got an arm wrapped around you as you yawn. “I don’t want to sleep as soon as I see you!”
“Take a nap, we have an hour before we’ll get home.”
Home, the words make your heart race, how he says it so easily, as if you’ll instantly be a part of that for him. The love you’ve always had makes the ease of this so perfect, a new relationship shouldn’t feel like this, nothing could ever really feel like this, like your home is in the arms of the boy you’ve always loved. Your eyes drift shut even as you fight it.
“I got a guitar you know,” you smile against his chest, inhaling his scent as he tugs you closer. “I am trying to remember how to play it.”
“I’m excited, I’ll get serenaded by the Satoru Gojo huh?”
“You’re very special, it's exclusive.” You’re resting more and more, until he hears it - a light little snore, and he knows you’re zonked out from your trip. Affection claws at his throat, mixing with his own exhaustion, while he strokes back your hair gently.
He’s been so busy this week, he worked to clear as much time as he could with you, but even so he has events. He’ll have you right by his side for them all, which he can’t wait to have you there, not being lonely and plastering on a trademark look for every camera and every interviewer. No, he’ll have you, all dolled up in one of the fancy dresses he bought you.
You soon find out he went overboard, as you all eventually take the elevator up to Satoru’s fancy penthouse overlooking the oceanside, it’s stunning and spotless as he gives you a little tour of it and you notice he’s already got half his closet filled with beautiful gowns. There are stacks of fancy shoe brands you cannot even pronounce but you’ve seen in magazines.
“Satoru! I said a couple dresses, holy fuck…” You’re brushing your fingers along one now, black sequined with a slit all the way up, you flush as you think how much leg that will show. “I’m more of a jean or legging girl you know.”
“Oh, I know, it’ll make it even hotter to dress you up,” he’s got his arms wrapped around you, tugging your back against him, lips trailing along your temple. “Like you’re my little doll, huh?”
“Mnh…” You’re lost as he presses hot kisses on the side of your neck, gasping at the sensation, his closet is as big as your room back home, organized by color and brand, a mirror between the shelves that shows your disheveled state. “Your doll?”
“Would you like that? Be my pretty little doll,” your eyes shut for a moment as your body reacts to his nearness, to his touch, igniting heat in your tummy that spreads at his whispered words. “No thoughts in your head, just for me to dress you up and fuck you like you’re a toy?”
“God,” you’re done for, his words bringing filthy pictures as his hand splays over your tummy, long fingers spread across it, the knot tightening with how badly you want him inside you. “You’re insane.”
“You really haven’t seen anything yet, sweetheart.” Your chin is turned, and he kisses you deeply, tongue delving inside your mouth again.
“I need a shower, I’m sweaty Toru.”
“Like I care?” You giggle again, but he pulls back, sighing. “I figured you would want to wash up. Go put your things up here and I’ll get it started, okay?”
“Yes, thank you!” He kisses you once more as you start placing the few outfits and things you brought with you, he’s got a whole empty drawer as if he was waiting for you and cleared it out.
You hear the water running, walking out to smell sweet fragrant steam, following it until you get into one of his bathrooms, it’s all polished cream marble and immaculate, some waterfall shower with three heads, two on either side and one overhead. You blink in surprise at it, before studying a now shirtless Satoru, his body is so perfect it makes you ache more.
“This shower is insane,” you shut the door and slip off your own shirt, just wearing a bra, they bounce gently when you do, making Satoru exhale, his cock throbbing as he sees the body he’s been missing so fucking bad. You brush your hair over one shoulder, turning then. “Can you help me?”
He runs over there like an eager teenager, you both laugh at it, at experienced supermodel Satoru Gojo’s hands trembling with anticipation, as he unclasps the bra nervously. He slips it down your shoulders until it falls to the floor, turning you and running his slender fingers over the marks the bra left, as if he could soothe them away for you.
“Don’t wear one here, please?” His pout is enough to do you in.
“Not at all?”
“Not at all, my one thing I’ll ask. Well…” he eases down your jean shorts, then slips your panties down, his breath hot on you as steam fills the room, swirling around you two, your thighs trembling, cunt pulsing around nothing at his avid attention. “Two things.”
“What’s the other thing, hmm?” Your fingers card through his silky white locks carefully, nails gentle on his scalp, while he presses a kiss to your thigh.
“No panties here either.” He eyes you under those snowy lashes, on his knees like he worships you, it’s a heady feeling, the way his huge hands grip your thighs, the way his lips caress your hip.
“I can do that for you, only here though,” he grins against your skin, you feel the lines of his pretty white teeth as he does, before he stands, towering over you and cupping your face. “I want you in there with me, please?”
“You think there’s a world where I wasn’t going to take a shower with you?”
Soon Satoru is leading you in, and the hot water starts pounding against your skin, soothing the soreness of the flight right away. He’s gently running a sudsy washcloth all over your body, inch by inch, relishing and putting attention into every little bit he can see. Your head falls back against the warmed tiles as he starts massaging his hands, feeling the fragrant bubbles and your soft, slick skin.
“This is perfect, it’s well worth any flight.” He smiles at that, lips quirking up at the corner while he continues, now his thumbs brush your nipples, you gasp.
“Sensitive?” He teases, you nod then, looking up at him, the water has made his silvery locks long and slick, you brush them back, biting your lip when he brushes them again. “Asked ya a question, sweetheart.”
“They are sensitive, feels s’good though, mmm!” He’s got them between his thumb and forefingers now, twisting just a bit and making the need unbearable, you gasp out at it.
“Imagine when I get you pregnant,” his words fuck what’s left of your dumb brain then, his eyes flashing with some feral hunger that makes them almost hard to look into. “They’re gonna be so full.”
“Fuck, you’re talking like that?” You’re dragging him down for a kiss, trying to tiptoe and nearly slipping, he grabs you and keeps you steady, his other hand slipping down to cup your ass cheek. “God, don’t even talk like that to me.”
“Why, you got a breed kink?” You’re burying your face against his chest, slick from the body wash, and he chuckles at you then, you feel the vibrations against your body as you whine out. “You do? Don’t be shy, I wanna know all about it.”
“I’ve never… acted on it… mnh…” Satoru turns you then, leaning down as you brace your hands against the wall, pressing closer to him when he slips his fingers between your soppy folds, you’re whining out at it.
“Tell me, what do you think about, hmm?” He’s taunting you, his other hand gripping yours as the water cascades over you both.
“I want babies in me,” your whisper ends him, his cock throbbing and leaking precum as he runs his finger over your clit in little circles. You’re gasping out at the sensations, him pressing up more, it’s twitching against his fingers, cunt leaking out of your hole. “Ah!”
“You want babies in you, what a little freak my sweet girl is, tsk,” he’s taunting you, fingers entwining, his teeth sinking into your neck as he leans over you, the water pounding against his muscled back, heating his skin until it’s a blushing red. “You want my babies inside you?”
“Only yours, only ever yours.” You’re arching for more, his teasing fingers just dipping in your hole, that grips his fingertip like she wants to suck it so greedily inside of her.
“You want me to throw out that fucking birth control?”
“Oh, Toru…”
“You do, huh?” He’s lost in his madness, you two know it’s nonsense for now, but his words end you, picturing it vividly. “I’ll put so much cum in you it’ll never work anyway.”
“Ngh, please do it - ah!” Satoru’s got you spun back so quickly you’re dizzy, the mix of the heat of the shower and his hard body overtaking all your senses. He’s leaned down, kissing your lips, his big hands taking your body over, your waist, your hips, slipping even lower.
“Thought you were a good girl,” he’s taunting you, but you couldn’t care less, when he lifts you like it’s nothing, pressing you against the wall, your thighs against his narrow hips. “You want all of my cum, don’t you?”
“Y-yes, I want it.” He’s moaning, hoarse sounds from his throat, his tip aligning itself with your hole, pressing inside - the most delicious pressure, stretching your tight ring of muscles when he pulls back and thrusts his hips. You choke on your moan, while he just looks at you, hungry and fucking insane, hands sinking into your thighs.
“Want me to fill this perfect cunt till you can’t walk without dripping?” You nod weakly, he’s sinking deeper in your slick walls, which pulse and slip down his veiny length. Your cunt tries to accommodate him, but he’s so thick, that leaky tip hitting just your spot, until you’re shattering already, cumming so hard you can’t think. “Ya that easy, we just started.”
“Shh,” you’re kissing him, aftershocks rocking you, the release so good you’re already fucked out in moments. “Want you.”
“I want you, pregnant with milk pouring from your nipples.” Satoru’s trying to end you, your eyes shooting up to his as he braces you on the wall, one hand gripping a slick breast and squishing. You’re cries echo in the shower, bouncing right off the walls to fill his ears, a sound he never wants to stop fucking hearing. “That’s it, you’re so easy when I bring it up.”
“J-jerk…” He’s smiling against your neck when he buries his face against it, bottoming out as deep as he can go, making you so full you feel him everywhere, in your stomach, hitting every spot you have with his mean tip. “M’gonna cum again,”
“Again, god you’re slutty for me,” he’s lost inside you, talking all the shit he can when he’s just trying to desperately not cum, not bust this early, but the way your cunt is milking him for all it’s worth. He’s pulling back, hands back on your ass, dragging your cunt closer, just making it more sensitive. “You’re trying to get me to cum, aren’t you brat?”
“Me? N-no,” you tighten just a bit, earning his cute glare, when he starts pounding into your cunt, you’re gripping his shoulders, nails pressing in, as he fucks you so hard it hurts - the pain perfect, heady and addictive.
“God I would keep you pregnant,” he’s huffing those words under his breath, your lower back bruising against the wall as he presses you harder, head lowering to rest his forehead on yours as he holds you up. “Use you, like my little doll, just to fill with cum over and over.”
“Ngh!” How many kinks is he trying to hit!? You’re gasping and clinging to his back, fingers slipping as he holds you up, pulling you off the wall. “Toru I’m gonna fall, s-stop!”
“Think I don’t got you, sweetheart?” He’s dragging your cunt down, using you, you’re not even able to move, his hands on your ass guiding you up and down as your head falls to the side, slick hair dripping down across your shoulder. He’s devouring your neck as his thick cock shoves in so deep, your cries making his cock twitch, making him sensitive.
You’re whining out his name, while he holds you like that, and you’re shivering, goosebumps rising as the pleasure builds, until you feel like you’re going to break. “Mnh! Fuck…”
“That’s it, cum again,” he’s pressing you back on the wall, eyes looking down into yours. “Want me to use you don’t you? Till I bust inside, fill you up?”
All you can do is nod in jerky motions, and Satoru’s filthy with it, his strokes mean as they slam your cervix over and over. He’s whispering your name over and over, you’re clinging to him, fingers slipping, thighs threatening to lock up, but he doesn’t let you fall, he’s lost as you are, rhythm faster and faster as your cunt gushes around him, head falling back for his teeth and mouth to mark you.
You’re kissing him as he presses you against the tiles, as the water drips and cascades off his face to yours, and your lips move over each other, until you feel him slow, and thicken. He thickens so much, so deep inside you, stretching you out as his tip is against your cervix, and his hands leave marks against your thighs. You’re crying out in his mouth, gasping as he pumps hot cum inside you.
“Toru!” He moans, kissing you messy, saliva dripping as white hot ropes shoot up inside you.
“That’s it, take all my cum, huh?” You’re nodding desperately, thighs shaking with the effort, as he moans low in your ear, resting his head against the shower wall as he fills you. “God I missed this.”
“M-me too, mmm, me too.” The kisses are messier as he eases out, he gently washes you after, careful as you’re sore just a bit from having him inside you again.
“Beat her up.”
“Toru!”
“Sorry, she’s cute.” He presses a kiss on her and chuckles after the shower is done and he’s drying you off. “Let me dry your hair.”
Satoru works carefully then, bringing you back to thoughts of when he’d curl or straighten your hair before a competition. To when he’d help you do your makeup because you were hopeless at it, and his hand was always so steady and precise. The thoughts fill you with warmth as you swipe some of the steam off the mirror, bringing him into view.
He has a towel loose around his narrow hips, yours is carefully tucked around your breasts, it’s so domestic, it’s so perfect. A comfort you think you could only feel with him, even after the time and distance, he shows you that affection, the sweet way he slathers some fancy oil in your hair, how he massages some other fancy lotion against your skin.
“You use all this?”
“I get a lot of free things when I do commercials or ads, I have a stupid collection. You can take anything you want, though I don’t think I wanna remember you have to leave after a few days.” You hear it, the sadness in his voice, before he clears his throat and tugs you against him, pressing the soft terry cloth against his chest. “Let’s not think of it at all.”
“Let’s not, let’s enjoy.”
Laying in Satoru Gojo’s fancy ass bed, in his huge immaculate room, it feels as cozy as his childhood room did, because he is there. He’s holding you close to him, an arm wrapped around your waist, hand gripping your tit, you giggle at it, tugging it a little lower, for him to bite your shoulder playfully and scooch it back.
“I waited how long to grab these? Better let me.”
“You’re silly, y’know that?” You turn your head and he just grins, squishing it again and making you laugh.
“The first pair of titties I noticed.”
“Oh whatever!”
“Think I’m lying? Don’t you remember the tissues, the lotion, the-”
“Oh god. Not a poster girl or model?”
“Nah fuck that, nicest pair right here.” He squishes your other one now, you exhale and arch against him at the sensations. “They’ll get so big when you’re-”
“Fuck this.” You’re on him before he can blink, and you do not get any rest until the sun rises and filters through the blinds.
*****
“Relax, you look fucking beautiful.” Satoru’s grinning at you the next evening as you two sit in the limo, right in front of the event. He is looking like a million bucks in his dark blue suit, elaborate lace designs embedded in the lapels, matching just a few shades of his blue eyes.
His big hand holds yours, he feels how sweaty it is, how shaky as you tremble just a bit, looking out at the limo then, your heart pounding in your chest. “I know you think I’m beautiful-”
“I will put this off and bend you over my knee,” he tugs you to him, a hand precariously on your thigh, scowl on his handsome features. “I’ll beat that pretty ass so hard if you say one more thing.”
“Satoru, you’re a model. I am not a model.”
“No, because I’d be too jealous to ever let anyone see your pretty fucking body, huh?” You’re a blushing mess, as he does look at you like you’re the prettiest thing in the world.
That’s when it all hits.
Satoru always looked at you like that, maybe not as intense, maybe not as bold as he is now, but he always eyed you with that devotion. The memories all start to cascade together, bits and pieces - a memory of going to your middle school dance together in eighth grade.
‘You’re the prettiest girl here,’ he’d been so cute with his fully buttoned dress shirt and bowtie, grinning with his braces on full display as he twirled you on the floor.
‘And you’re the cutest boy!’ he’d blushed, full pink, his eyes directly on your face, and when a boy asked to dance, the little pout he gave made sure you turned it down.
‘You can dance with other people, it’s okay.’
‘No, it’s our night.’
That memory is as vivid as the others, all falling together and showing the glaring conclusion - Satoru Gojo had always been in love with you. It’s exactly as he said, and you’d been oblivious to it, now just quiet as your eyes fill with tears, he frowns in concern, his brows drawing together, fingers caressing your cheek with the utmost care, eliciting another memory.
“Sweetheart, if you’re not ready, I can put this off.”
“No… it’s not that.” He swipes a tear, glittery with the mascara dripping from your lashes, while you remember again, a night at a party where you’d been far too intoxicated back in high school, when he’d eyed you with that look.
‘Satoru, dance with me!’ you’d been slurring your words a bit, wrapping your arms around his neck, seeing him flustered.
‘No, I hate dancing, you know.’
‘Not with me!’ you’re pouting as you stood outside the blaring loud party at someone’s house, you both didn’t even know, but Satoru always got dragged along with your dumb ideas. ‘Please!’
‘We’re in their yard, silly,’ he pecked a kiss on your head then, looking at you with an unreadable expression, sighing as his fingers hovered over your cheek, but never touched it.
‘Satoru has anyone told you, you’re really hot?’
‘Yeah, you did. You’re really drunk huh?’
‘Hmm, maybe,’ you’d leaned up, eyes fluttering shut, and Satoru would have died to kiss you, if he knew you were sober. ‘Hmph!’
‘You’re going home with me, c’mon.’ you’d fallen asleep on his shoulder as he drove you home, but you remembered it - how he looked at you.
“Sweets, what’s wrong?” He asks then, and you realize you’re in a full throw of tears, remembering his caring, remembering the way he just listened, how he was always there.
Until he wasn’t.
“Satoru, if I appreciated you more, would you have stayed?” He glares now, lips parted, shaking his head at you, you grip his wrist while he cups your face, sniffling more now. “Be honest.”
“You appreciated me, god you were the best person in the world. You really think that’s why?” His voice is hushed, while you look back out at the window, hearing the flash of the cameras, the announcements, echoing in the confines of the limousine, before looking back at him.
“You always loved me.” He exhales then, swallowing, nodding his head imperceptibly. “And I didn’t know.”
“To be fair, I was as oblivious as you, remember?” You nod then, while he brushes back just a bit of your carefully curled hair. “I didn’t leave because you didn’t appreciate me. I left because I didn’t love myself.”
“Oh, Toru…”
“Shh, gonna cry off all that makeup.” He’s gentle as he tries to fix the smudges, smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners a bit. “I wasn’t okay with who I was, I wanted to be… perfect. And now I am by all standards ‘perfect’ but baby, it wasn’t shit without you, okay?”
You’re done then, kissing him furiously, as you pour everything into it, he gets lost right with you, lips pressing over yours over and over, breaths heavy and scattered, his hands sliding over those delicate sequins. “I don’t want to go home.”
“I don’t want you to, fuck… ever.” He’s kissing you softer now, pulling back as he eyes the window then. “But will you really feel home here?”
“I want to keep trying, and see if I can. I just know I have a lot to… take care of if I do that first.”
“Then we’ll figure it out, anything okay? If you fucking hate this event, we’ll figure out something. If you love it, then we’ll go to every one you want. I want you, more than anything.” You kiss him again, he’s tugging you closer, every memory of you two drifting in his mind now too.
“You always loved me, and I always loved you.”
“Always, sweetheart. Since I met you. Who wouldn’t?”
“Who wouldn’t love you?” He sucks a breath in, his hand slipping up the bare skin of your thigh, watching your face flush, your eyes dilate.
“We’re not gonna make it out of the car if you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’ll put a baby in you here.”
“Toru don’t say it, you know what it does to me now!” You’re whining and he smirks now.
“Soaking wet?”
“Hush!”
“You’re so easy f’me,” he’s kissing your lower lip, lapping across it with his tongue as your lips part, your hands tugging at the lapels of his jacket. “I should have fucked you before, could drip cum on the red carpet.”
“You’re ridiculous, stop it,” but you’re wetter now, and he knows it, his teasing smile replacing the emotional one he had earlier.
“Ya really want me to stop, sweets?” You exhale, shaking your head as he slips it higher, finding you over the delicate lace of the panties he bought you, groaning. “You are soaked, you wanna be pregnant so bad.”
“We will never m-make it if you keep touching me.” He swipes his finger closer, as another courtesy rap on the door sounds, you pull away a bit, when he swipes your glistening arousal on his lips, making them even glossier, your tummy tenses, breaths caught in your throat at the sight.
“Should I tell them my new secret to glossy lips?” He kisses you again, spreading your flavor along your mouth, you’re whining out softly when he finally pulls back. “Let’s knock 'em all dead, yeah?”
“Let’s do it.” He’s grinning, so brilliant, and you try to focus on him then, as the cameras hone in on you, lights glittering off the sequins while Satoru keeps a hand at the small of your back.
“It’s so many people,” you murmur, looking everywhere, it’s loud and insane with the sheer amount of people walking, the attention on you makes you anxious. You used to cheer and competitions would also have you in a cold sweat, he’d always hype you up. “Satoru…”
“I’m here baby,” he tugs you against his side, you feel his reassuring arm wrap as he looks at the cameras ahead. “Just look at me.”
You do that, and he eyes you and smiles, when a couple interviewers start shouting his name. “Should you go?”
“We’ll go,” he’s holding your hand as you two walk over, and then more interviewers run up, overwhelming you as you look down at your glittery heels, but Satoru holds your hand even tighter. “One question each.”
“Are you two together?” One asks, and you look up at Satoru, focusing on his cute little smile as he winks at you.
“We are together.”
There’s a clamoring, and people are leaving other interviews to get a shot at a question of the elusive Satoru and his new girlfriend. The attention is just too much, you’re not sure how he handles it all, but the way he commands them with just enough friendliness, but still holds back himself from them is impressive.
That Satoru is all yours.
“How long have you known each other?”
“Hmm,” he taps his chin, eyes narrowing. “Let’s see… over eighteen years ago we met.”
“How has she been a secret?”
“She lives back home. For now.” He’s winking again, you let him command them, answering their questions until he sighs a bit. “Okay, yes she’s my girl, but this is boring and I’m ready for the show. One more question.”
“Is it serious?” One of the girls asked, and Satoru holds your hand to his lips, giving your knuckles a little kiss as he eyes you.
“It’s very serious. I’m afraid I’m permanently off the market.” He says, to the murmurs and gasps of everyone around.
The warmth spreads, as you realize how devoted he is openly, making you fall impossibly deeper, the love spreading an expanse of your lifetime but still growing with every moment. As he looks into your eyes, you see it too, the apprehension, but the love shining so brightly, nervous maybe that he said it, but you’re reassuring him with a smile, a little nod, until he exhales and grins.
“May we ask you a question?” You look at an interviewer then, nodding shyly, Satoru tenses when she opens her mouth.
“How do you feel about his career, with all these models and now he’ll have co stars? Are you ever stressed about how you’ll fit in his life?”
The words hurt, and suddenly you feel every bit of your prior apprehension, Satoru scoffs. “She knows she’s the only girl for me.”
“I can answer, it’s okay,” you smile up at him again, and he nods a bit, as you look back at the interviewer, the lights still bombarding you. “I would never worry, it’s his career, but also I know what we have, and it’s irreplaceable.”
He leans close, murmuring - ‘good girl’ in your ear, you flush under his praise meant just for you as they keep chatting and throwing out questions, but he’s already leading you away. The closer to the red ropes, the more lively, but the less cameras, as you two walk hand in hand.
“My feet are killing me already,” you whisper, only for him to pick you up in his arms. “You don’t have to!”
“Shh, let me carry you,” he’s pressing a kiss on your head as everyone is oohing and ahhing, you snuggle against his neck, sore feet finally feeling better as you relish in his devotion. “You’ll get used to the heels.”
“Really? I want to just wear some tennis shoes next time.”
“I love you but no, not on the red carpet. Fashion faux pas.”
“I see, you take this serious.”
“Hmm,” he’s raising a brow as he eases you down into the theater, slipping across his body, and he kisses you right in front of a room full of stars. “Let’s enjoy the show.”
*****
The next couple days are a whirlwind, so many things he’s packed in, even at lunch people snap photos from outside the windows, but Satoru seems oblivious to it, just happy to be there with you. You go see the stars on Hollywood boulevard, you put your hands against your favorite stars and he takes a photo.
He’s got you and him together as his instagram picture, it has an insane amount of likes and comments, you’re reading them as you lay on the soft carpet of his floor, ankles crossed as he takes out his new guitar. “Satoru, they’re insane - I wanna suck his dick - wow.”
“They all want to, it’s true.” He has a shameless grin, you giggle, sipping the wine he’d poured. “Only you get to though.”
It’s so similar to that night in his room.
The nostalgia hits, but so does one thing, you miss home - and not just home, you miss him being home. You swallow it down, the fact that you’re not sure you fit in out here, because no matter what you want him to follow his dreams, and you want to be by your side. You all still have time to figure this out, even if you have to leave in a couple days.
That ache of missing him happens before you have to go, like your heart and body is already anticipating it. You push it down, looking at another comment. “This guy says I have nice tits, what?”
“He what now?” Satoru snatches your phone up, glaring. “Oh fuck no.”
You’re giggling as he types a mean, nasty ass response to him, then to many others who said anything. “Toru!”
“Don’t ‘Toru’ me, tch, the fuck they think they have a chance? Never.” He has to have the phone physically taken and put up, eyes lit up with anger when you straddle his lap, cupping his face.
“No one can have me, ever.”
“Fuck,” he kisses you then, deep and desperate, the hunger that’s always there ignites, the constant need for him in every fucking way, every position, every rythm, a neverending madness. “Fuck the guitar, wanna put cum in you again.”
“No no, I wanna hear! Please!”
“Don’t you pout at me,” he sighs though. “You’re too cute. Fine, go sit before I fuck you so hard you can’t walk.”
“Oh god, maybe not,” he’s chuckling as you slip off, going to grab your wine and sitting with your legs crossed. “I’m ready!”
“All right, it’s the one I played in school, but I’m rusty.” He holds the guitar now, on his lap, a light tan acoustic that his fingers gently begin to strum the frets, and his gaze locks on you. “I wrote that song for you.”
“You composed that song for me? You never told me.” You’re swallowing now, as you scooch closer, a hand on his thigh over the soft pajama pants littered with little white kittens.
Everything in that moment feels so perfect, you never want to leave.
“I never told you, I never sang the words to you,” he’s blushing like the boy he was back then, nervous you can tell, when you reassure him with a nod and smile. “All right then, here it goes.”
Satoru’s melody fills the room, as he starts playing the familiar rhythm, it’s a little off key in places, but you instantly remember it. Remember studying as he played - Satoru was so smart he never studied. You had to try pretty hard for your grades, and he helped you all the time, answering questions as he played that guitar with those long fingers.
You’re suddenly that girl, but also now a woman, both of them sitting and looking at the boy they love, as you now realize it’s meant for you, when his lips form those words. You almost can hardly contain yourself, the longing to stay and the dread of leaving falling back, to just enjoy this moment, in how much you adore him, how much you love this moment.
The words are for you, they’re only for you, spilling from his lips in a soft little husky pitch, and before you can comprehend your tears have spilled across your cheeks in glittery streaks. As Satoru sings the words he only sang on his own, practicing over and over in front of the mirror, too afraid to ever play them, too afraid to sing them out loud.
They mirror the poem in the year book, the mirror everything he’s never said, as he sings about your smile, as he sings about his heart. You’re a mess to the point his fingers falter, but you shake your head. “No, keep going please.”
Satoru finishes the song and he has just enough time to put it aside when you’ve knocked him to the ground, wrapping your arms around him, he chuckles a bit, stroking your back gently. “Would I have gotten this response then?”
“Yes, I would’ve been your first.” He chuckles again, as you pull back. “I’m such a crybaby.”
“You are… and you are the first that has ever mattered. Okay?” You nod quickly, kissing him again, until he’s hungrily kissing down your body, you’re on your back as he does, your gasps fueling him. “Fucking perfect.”
“Love you, mnh don’t wanna - ah - miss you again,” he exhales, breath tickling your tummy as he leans up, silvery hair falling over his brow. “I don’t want it to ever end.”
“It won’t baby,” he’s kissing lower, spreading your thighs, you’re gasping when his tongue slips up your slit, and he moans. “I never want this taste out of my mouth.”
“Please…” He’s groaning against your hot, eager cunt, tongue swirling and flicking your clit, as two fingers curl in your messy cunt. “Ah! Oh god… mnh!”
He’s devouring your cunt hungrily, losing himself in your wetness pouring, in your taste as he eyes you under those lashes, his long fingers pressing into your hips to drag you closer. He’s working you so good, curling his fingers in your soppy little hole as his mouth latches on your clit, and he sucks the tiny, twitchy nub into his hot and eager mouth.
You’re screaming out, so fucking thankful you can - the quietness of playing in your childhood houses did not do his sexy moans or your cries justice. You’re closer and closer, feeling the coil tighten and then release, until the pleasure shoots through your body, and you’re convulsing around his thick fingers, clear arousal pouring into his mouth which he slurps up, fucking obscene.
“That’s it, make me a mess baby,” he’s dragging you back against his mouth, lapping every drop up as more starts dripping, then leaning up and slamming your thighs to your chest, pressing you into the floor. “Can’t make it to the bed.”
“Then fuck me on the floor, ah!”
Satoru needs no more invitation, he’s hastily tugged those pajamas down, precum dripping on your pretty cunt as he slips his tip between your folds, feeling how fucking perfect you are. He doesn’t give it inch by inch, no he bottoms out in one thrust, making you so full so fast, you’re screaming out, fingers gripping the plush carpet underneath.
“Mnh, it’s so much!”
“Take it f’me, all my cum hmm? Gonna fill you so much…” you’re cumming so quick it’d be embarassing if he didn’t love it, if he wasn’t lifting your thighs and fucking into you deeper, harder, strokes mean and messy, loud with the slapping of his skin against yours. “Perfect, fuck you’re perfect.”
“Toru! Please,” you don’t even know what the fuck you’re begging for, until he finds your clit, hugging your legs with his other arm, and you’re shattering underneath him again. “Ngh, there, yes please! L-love you!”
“I fucking love you, I’ll love you round with me, huh?” You nod eagerly, your cunt greedy as she milks him when he does bust after fucking you harder, faster, until you’re both broken. You’re cumming from his hot white ropes filling you. He’s cursing stuttering as his weight presses on you, heavy and so perfect, smushing your thighs up even higher, until he’s slamming his cum against your cervix.
“Want it, want it all.” He’s moaning, pulling out and watching your little hole twitch and wink at him, as white milky cum pours out.
“Wasting it, tsk,” he fingers it right back inside you, smirking at you with dilated eyes when you’re wriggling under him, cunt so sensitive. “Don’t you want it all?”
“All of it. Mmm, I can take it.” He’s inside you again and again, it’s like the two of you can’t stop, until you’re so sore it’s hard to move, and he’s hugging you against him in the bed.
“Don’t ever go, please.” He’s pouting against your neck, you’re so fucked out it’s hard to think, you look back at him, and he caresses your face.
“I will try to see if I can start to… figure out what to do. But Satoru, I don’t know if I fit in here?”
“You will, god everyone thought you were a star,” you’re smiling shyly, sleepy eyes dozing off, while he presses little kisses on your head. “It’ll be so lonely if you go please…”
“Toru…” You’re kissing him again, turning until you’re facing him, and he tugs you against him closely, sighing shakily.
“I shouldn’t put so much pressure.”
“No, no, I don’t want to be lonely without you either,” you’re kissing him gently, feeling sleep tug at you as the desire to stay awake and be with him every second you can fights it. “We will figure something out. I know it.”
“We will. I’ll lock you in chains to the bed-”
“Wait now.”
He’s smiling abashedly, but your eyes narrow. “You think I really would!?”
“I don’t know, you look devious!” He’s tickling you then, it’s all too perfect, every bit of this night, as the two of you try to be in the moment, but also dread the moment you’ll have to part, wondering just how the fuck you’ll make it work.
𝗦𝗬𝗡𝗢𝗣𝗦𝗜𝗦 ── Genius profiler, Gojo Satoru, is the FBI's resident boy wonder, human Wikipedia and the reigning king of tragic cardigans. He can read a killer's pysche in seconds, but you can't figure him out. A grudge that's half a decade old, a stakeout, and a virgin all collide in the front seat of your car.
𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 ── kisses to all who can recognise the muse for gojo in this fic
The office carries the scent of burnt coffee, and old filings. It's the kind of place that wears its years proudly, with scuffed desks, walls washed pale by fluorescent light, and the constant clatter of keyboards and phones. A new espresso machine hums in the corner, already claimed territory, for half-empty mugs and discarded sugar packets are scattered around it. Like offerings to the temperamental god of caffeine.
You pull your new (itchy) blazer tighter around yourself as you step inside. This is it, the Behavioural Analysis Unit. Your new home, and the result of a decent few years clawing after case files and letters of recommendation.
You've always been told you were a prodigy in the field. Sharp, quick and too intuitive to be stuck doing desk work in the downtown city offices. The BAU was always looking for brains that could pluck patterns out of the noise, to predict a potential criminal's next move before they even made it.
And now? You finally got to prove it.
"Oi, you're the new hire?" A voice barks, sharp enough to slice through the buzzing office noise.
You turn, resisting the urge to ask why he feels the semantic need to ask that question, considering he was the one who stamped the approval on your unit transfer. But you doubt that your new boss is the sort of man you want to cross, on your very first day no less.
Ryomen Sukuna is a lesson in not judging a book by its cover. Wheat-golden skin, lined with streaking dark tattoos over his cheekbones and jaw. A shock of peach and raven-black hair streaked in a rough undercut. He looks as though he should be running a biker gang, not a federal unit, but there's something in his maroon stare. Hard and cutting, that makes you stand a little straighter.
"Don't slow us down," he grunts.
No handshake, no warm welcome. Just a warning, but you can understand why.
Time is of the essence in the Behavioural Analysis Unit, as is the ability to stomach the uncomfortable.
You pad after him, doing your utter best to not scuff the linoleum floors as you dodge strewn cables near the heavy glass doors. The entrance leads to a smaller nook, a quiet room with an oaken, circular table stacked with flimsy files, bulging with stamped papers. Worn chairs are scattered across the circumference, and you do your best to flatten yourself against the wall as others filter in.
Great. Meeting new people, your favourite hobby, right?
Although, that being said, you had studied all of their case files, with the sole benefit of not fumbling your way through first impressions.
You begin to match names to faces, hesitantly lowering yourself into your cold seat, in an attempt to look busy.
Nanami Kento was the first one who entered, and to your chagrin, he gets a brief handshake from Sukuna. Fuck, why didn't you get one? But Nanami's presence seems deliberate and measured, for he's tall, with every inch of him pressed into a well-tailored steel blue suit. His honey-blonde hair is neat, his face solemn yet thoughtful.
He's flanked by two others. The first being a woman with cinnamon-brown hair, twirling a flat lock idly between violet, chipped nails. Nicotine and cheap beer, threaded through with something unexpectedly floral.
Shoko Ieiri.
You know from pouring over her file that she has more years of medical knowledge than anyone else on the team, but right now, she looks like she'd rather be anywhere else.
The man pulling himself into the chair on the other side of Kento is, frankly, a perfect candidate for a haute couture ad. Long, dark hair pulled loosely back, with strands falling around his face in delicate arcs, like the petals of a spider lily, brushing the dark stud that glints in his ear.
Suguru Geto. Built like a bear, broad enough to block the doorway, his strong frame draped in a scuffed indigo racing jacket that looks permanently fused to him. Hie flips through a case file with the kind of casual detachment that comes from too many years doing this job. You've heard he's been here the longest, and from the way the others glance at him, shoving their own files to him, you can tell it's true.
The fourth new face nearly barrels into the table, gaze glued to his phone. He looks up just in time to scowl, as though it's everyone else's fault he wasn't looking where he was going.
Floppy sandy-blonde hair falls over the man's amber eyes, messy enough to look intentional. Dark roots peek through at the top, while moss-green tips dye the ends in a streak of rebellion. That Prada suit is a slim, toned fit and you know it costs more than your car insurance.
You don't need a file to place Naoya Zen'in. One could argue he only scored this job thanks to his father, who sits pretty high on the federal chain, pulling strings. But apparently, he isn't exactly dead weight. For what he lacks in tact and brawn, he makes up for in sheer agility.
That, and his reputation of being an utter jerk.
"I see you people way too much," Geto is grumbling, though his arm is already stretching around Kento to snag a glazed doughnut. He shoves the doughy confectionary into his mouth, smacking his lips shamelessly, as he muffles around sticky crumbs, "How is it we're already being assigned another case? We only just flew back in yesterday."
"The beauty of this is that it's a gift that keeps on giving," Sukuna's voice rumbles like gravel as he drains the last of his mug, "Sick fucks always findin' new ways to hurt each other." He slams the empty mug down the table, tattoos flashing like black cuffs around his wrists. His russet eyes flick up, catching your stare.
You grimace, pretending to admire the lead pencil in your hand, as though you were looking at literally anything else.
Sukuna rolls his eyes, "And lookie here, we've got fresh blood." He jerks a thick finger in your direction, "Department approved a new transfer since Kashimo ditches us for whatever adrenaline-junkie bullshit he does now."
"Probably bungee-jumping into a volcano," Naoya mutters, not bothering to lift his eyes from his phone.
A round of quiet nods and murmurs of ascent follow, resigned as you gather this must track for the famed, impulsive Hajime Kashimo.
"That, and the fucker kept tryin' to take my job," Sukuna growls, but his sharp eyes swing back to you, "So, kid. Tell us where you crawled out of."
You shift, suddenly wishing you'd spent a little more time preparing a decent show-and-tell, "I – uh, spent some time after the academy in Cyber. Worked cases involving data trafficking, predictive algorithms, behavioural mapping and —"
The doors bang open as a ridiculously tall man blows in, alongside a rush of cold air, balancing a pastry bag and an oversized coffee, as though he's walked through a hurricane. His tie is loose, white hair windswept, and his glasses are a little askew.
"Sorry, sorry — I'm late," the man blurts, breezing in like a hurricane with a coffee cup in one hand and a pastry bag in the other. He cuts across the room in long, careless strides, clapping Kento on the shoulder as he passes, "Don't start without me."
"Oh, no, your majesty," Sukuna mutters, voice dripping with snide disdain, "We were all waiting for you to grace us with your presence. What, fifteen minutes late? Wouldn't want our little genius missing the fun."
The man flushes mid-step under Sukuna's glare, shoulders stiff, "Look, man — "
Sukuna raises a thick brow.
"Uh, I mean, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir. Won't happen again, sir."
"Get your ass in a chair."
Geto presses a hand valiantly to his chest, and it takes all your Herculean effort to not stare at the counter of his sculpted chest beneath his top. But the man is as solemn as a priest, "He won't do it again, boss. Nope. I'll personally buy him an alarm clock."
Shoko snorts into her ocean-blue turtleneck, tugging it tighter around her throat, "He doesn't need you to suck up for him."
"Welcome to the team," Naoya finally drags his amber eyes away from his glaring phone screen, pinning you with an exhausted stare, and once again, that look that blamed all of his displeasure on others, "Not too late to hand in your two weeks' notice."
God. You should have read that case file one more time. Should've done a single ounce more of snooping into your new team. Then, maybe, just maybe, you would have been more prepared.
If you had just bothered to read the last and final page on the current members of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, you would have picked up on this.
Gojo Satoru.
He's sinking into a wheeled chair, flipping through a file and shuffling stacks of crisp paper. Loose navy cardigan over crisp slacks, and a cream button-down, with sleeves rolled to his elbows. White hair a little too long, falling into his glacial blue eyes, hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses that look devastating on him now.
The last time you saw him was, when? High school?
He had been a mess back then, composed of crumpled Lord of the Rings hoodies from Hot Topic and a ramble of babble that everyone attributed to him being, well, an absolute nerd.
Gojo Satoru, the valedictorian. The boy genius with a scraggly bowl cut and round, prescription sunglasses. The guy who could speak a dozen languages, and pass an exam without cracking open his book once. Eidetic memory, and all that.
But he had always been a bit of a social pariah. If he wasn't alone, mumbling over textbooks in the library, he was probably exchanging Pokémon cards with some friend of his, like the bumbling, dark-haired Ijichi.
And now? Well, it's an ironic choice of words considering your line of work, but he looks criminal. Still a nerd, but in that hot way that Pinterest girls swooned over. Tall, broader than you remembered, sharp-jawed and somehow pulling off a cardigan better than you right now.
Your mouth is already open before you can stop yourself, "When the hell did you get so hot?"
Gojo's head lifts quickly, blinking at you like you're an anomaly in a code that he was clueless about. No recognition, no faint spark of memory in those jewel-toned eyes. He adjusts his glasses, pink lips quirking, "I'm sorry, have we met?"
Every cell in your body goes into system shutdown. Somewhere in your periphery, Kento's face flattens, as though he's embarrassed to have spent time in your presence. Across the table, Shoko slips a twenty into Geto's waiting hand. You catch Naoya sliding in a crisp fifty with the same bitter grace as tossing meat to a dog.
You cough, cheeks puffing as you scramble for rapid damage control, "I mean, wow. When the hell did it get so hot in here? I'm sweltering. Are you guys hot? Because I'm hot. Like, wow, summer's already here? Global warning, am I right?"
"It's the middle of winter," Sukuna throws you a look of mild disgust, as though you're contagious with a brand of idiocy he wants to avoid.
"Phewwww." You wipe your brow theatrically, refusing to die in utter shame, "Must be just me then. Because I'm boiling in here."
Naoya leans back, eyes dragging over you with lazy, bored curiosity, lips curling just enough to flash his fangs, "You do know all BAU agents have to pass a psych eval, right? You didn't bribe the assessor?"
Shoko perks up suddenly, leaning forward with the first glimmer of interest in her doe-copper eyes, "Could be medical. Hyperthyroidism, maybe. Or pheochromocytoma. Seen an endocrinologist lately?"
"Uh..." You falter, because Gojo is frowning at you with real concern over his puzzled face, "I'll get it checked out. Thanks."
You hear Sukuna grunt something about 'fuckin' idiots' before he's already sliding individual files towards everyone. His huge hand click the pointer, and the wall-mounted screen flickers to life.
"Remember our mystery case from last year?"
"Flat-top weirdo who set people on fire?" Geto frowns, pushing your file towards you, from where Sukuna tossed them onto the middle of the table. You murmur a quick thanks, careful not to meet Gojo's eyes, the gaze boring into you from across the table, suddenly quite stern.
"The unsub was found not long after. Jogo, wasn't it?" Kento murmurs.
Naoya wags a finger towards the screen, "Then there was that freak with the bio-warfare. Something about flowers and shit?"
"Hanami. Also caught. Do you even pay attention to what we do?"
Naoya just shrugs, golden hair fluttering as he tilts his head with little regard for Kento's disapproving stare.
"Eyes up here," Sukuna warns, his tone like barbed wife. He clicks, and the next slide makes your stomach lurch. You'd braced yourself for crime scenes photos, comes with the job, obviously.
But nothing quite prepares you for the patchwork grotesque on the screen. Stiff sheets of human skin, stitched together with light blue-grey thread in patterns so deliberate it makes your chest crawl.
You swallow hard, throat tight as you hold onto your breakfast. But the others? Entirely unfazed.
"Yeah, that's the telltale M.O, it's poppin' up more and more," Sukuna shoves his hands into the pockets of his charcoal-grey denim.
"Oh man, yeah," Shoko says, leaning back in her hair as though this is a casual conversation about the weather, "That case has been open for months, I thought the unsub had stopped acting, and we had to put the investigation on hold?"
"Nah." Sukuna sums it up eloquently, "This is from two days ago. Something's triggered the killings again." He drops the pointer, tossing it onto the table with a thunk! Your boss jerks his chin towards the far side of the table, "But I'll let boy genius tell you more."
Every head swivels towards Gojo Satoru, except for yours. You keep your eyes firmly trained on the stacks of paper in front of you, the coordinate grid maps of where the unsub had previously struck last year.
Gojo's pushing his glasses up the bridge of his hawkish nose with one long finger. The glow of the projector washes his pale skin in sterile blue, catching on the sharp edge of his jaw. For half a second, the thinnest sliver in time, you could swear he looks at you, watches for your attention.
"Okay, so — " He claps his hands together once, quick and sharp, and you swear the sound reverberates through your bones, "Our unsub. Male, mid-twenties to mid-thirties. We could assume he's highly organised, almost meticulous with what he does, but impulsive to a fault. He does what pleases him, and gambles on what he thinks will give him a thrill."
"Like Kashimo," Shoko mutters, rolling a strand of flat, chestnut hair between her fingers once more.
Geto shakes his head solemly, "True that."
"The victims are skinned postmortem. And we've consistently found that pale blue thread is used to stitch pieces together. The shade of blue is consistent, almost ritualistic. The nylon fibres were analysed in the lab, and our unsub uses the same brand. It's cheap, easy to get at specific convenience stores so we can track his location as a path."
"You gettin' this?" Sukuna peers over at you, startling you out of your mild reverie. You fumble for the nearest Sharpie, already creating crosses over the past locations, wincing at the sound of the marker squeaking across paper.
"And like I said earlier, his stitches really are meticulous. Cross-stitch, blanket stitch, whip stitch. It's like he's experimenting with technique. I doubt it's random."
"Who spends time learning this shit?" Naoya mutters, reclining in his chair, but straightening up once Sukuna levels a shark-like flat look at him.
"Shut up, you wouldn't know a running stitch from a running nose," Gojo scowls, firing back without missing a beat, and he's pacing now. Voice picking up speed, words tumbling like dominos, "Locations? Spread across three prefectures, but always within walking distance of either a fabric store, or get this, cinemas? Something personal, perhaps?"
"Last time, agents found notes he had left behind, a manifesto?" Kento wonders out loud, dark eyes narrowed as he peers at the illuminated screen.
"Yeah, but it was nothing useful," Shoko shrugs, before pointing to Gojo, "Sorry, hang on. I'll get back to you. But there were no fingerprints left, not a speck of DNA to trace. And most of his ramblings made no sense, something about 'Idle Transfiguration' and his motivations, like humans hating and fearing each other."
"Like that's anything new," Sukuna grumbles, "Most people are like that."
"You're an optimist, boss," Geto notes, broad shoulders rippling beneath his jacket, "Anything about victimology?"
Gojo pushes his glasses up once more, glancing at you briefly. You loathe the feeling that pushes against your ribcage, and force your buzzing mind to actually focus on his words, "See, this is an anomaly. For someone so driven and focused on what he considers his craft, his victims seem to be chosen at random. Complexion and – uh, texture seem irrelevant. So, he's not really chasing consistency for his patchwork."
"But you guys caught him on your radar last year? You didn't find patterns?" You ponder, and while you know none would believe your words, you could swear that Gojo flinches at your voice. Ugh.
But the white-haired man gnaws his lower lips, "Yeah, yes. Patterns, yes. He disappeared for weeks, sometimes months, then resurfaced. That's typical cooling off period in disorganised killers, but this is the one part of his behaviour that doesn't seem as impulsive. He seems to hunt deliberately after mass public events. Tragedies, natural accidents, moments where there's a lot of negative public sentiment in the air. Like that's his time to source the right..." Gojo snaps his fingers, suddenly grinning, "Like sourcing the right fabric."
Naoya pulls a face, idly picking at a raw cuticle, "That's disgusting."
"Yeah, don't you love our job?" Gojo pushes his sleeves up, revealing toned forearms, dusted with light hair. He's clicking to the next map overlay, a string of red pins dot the screen, matching the marks you've made on the map in front of you.
"Notice the clusters. Each crime scene radiates outwards from a central hub. That hub? Abandoned textile factory in the south quadrant. It's a line of vast sewer tunnels, and I'd guess that's where our unsub probably feels safest returning to?"
Gojo coughs into his fist, finally lowering himself into his chair, as though he's just remembered that oxygen exists, "So. Yeah, that's – uh. That's what we're dealing with."
"Yeah, I knew all that," Sukuna snickers, slapping his thighs as he stands, "But now — "
"What?!" Gojo's head snaps up, scandalised.
"I knew, 'course I read the profile. You think I don't do my job? Just wanted you to get it out of your system, so maybe you'd get the chattering out of the way and I'd get five blessed minutes of silence at least."
Gojo mutters something under his breath that is absolutely not HR safe, folding his arms sullenly over his cardigan. Geto reaches over to pat his sulking friends shoulder in slow sympathy, "There, there. You'll always be my favourite profiler."
Shoko rolls her eyes skywards, sharing a long suffering look with Kento.
"Anyway," Sukuna grumbles, "We've got enough agents to stake out the predicted strike zone. We'll be in the field, but I want two of you pulled back a little, car surveillance, eyes on any movement in the surrounded abandoned area."
"I'll do it," Geto offers smoothly, putting his palm up. But the reaction is immediate and violent.
"No way."
"Impossible."
"You better not even fuckin' think about it."
"Not after Kenjaku-gate."
You frown, brows furrowing, "I'm sorry. Kenjaku-gate? This was some...incident?
"Don't," Geto warns sharply, stuffing another helping of glazed dougnut into his mouth.
"Please do," Shoko encourages, propping her chin upon her fist with wicked interest.
Naoya leans in, and you're struck by his immense resemblance to a hyena, "Yeah. There was this guy, Kenjaku. His whole M.O was identity fraud, always swapping bodies, new disguises, different lives. Shit got real sticky, he even wore Geto once."
You wonder if you heard that correctly, glancing at Geto, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else, "Wore? As in — ?"
"Right," Naoya continues gleefully, "So for a hot minute, everyone thought he was guilty of all these weird crimes. Big mess, and the higher-ups in the government had to get involved. They were foaming at the mouth and all."
"Mhm," Sukuna huffs, leaning back in his chair, and jerking a thumb towards Geto, who was currently scowling daggers at no-one in particular, "He's been cleared now and all, but that bastard caused a lot of problems. Nearly sank the team."
Your eyes flick to Kento, who hasn't said a word, but who looks far more strung. You mouth, something personal?
The golden-haired man hesitates, then gives the barest nod, Don't ask. Something about his twin brother.
You file that away, stunned. You frankly can't picture your new boss having friends, let alone a brother. But before you can prod, Sukuna's sharp eyes cut back to you like a blade.
"Well, how about this then?" His voice is slow, dripping with challenge, "I'll send ya' out there. You and boyband wonder, hmm?"
"Me?" You freeze, sudden heat climbing your neck.
But Gojo, mid-sip of coffee, sputters, "Boyband? Man, what the fuck?" He runs a nervous hand through his hair, pushing it up self-consciously.
"Shiny teeth, tragic wardrobe, zero substance?" Naoya offers with venomous glee.
"I have so much substace," Gojo sinks further into his cardigan, "Like, layers. Onions-level."
"Enough," Sukuna cuts through Gojo's muttering like a blade, voice sharp, and the casual chatter dies instantly. "I'm not your fuckin' babysitter. So, let's focus before I do lose what little patience I have left."
Gojo winces, lips quirking into an awkward grimace, but Sukuna ignores him and taps the case file with a thick finger, "We've got fresh dumpsites with consistent signatures. Stitching patterns, the pale blue thread. Most recent was two days ago, meaning we've got a live unsub working fast. That puts us on the clock."
You feel Gojo's eyes flick to you again, quick and unreadable, and your stomach twists. He still hasn't said anything. Not a flicker of recognition. Not even a hey, long time no see. Just nothing.
It pisses you off more than it should, irritation welling up in your throat.
"Fine," you blurt, before your brain can catch up, "I'll do it. Stakeout. Whatever you need."
There's a faint quirk at the corner of Sukuna's mouth, like he can smell the edge of desperation under your words, that urge to prove yourself. But his eyes are colder, "We'll see about that."
"Kento, Ieiri. You canvas the medical angles. Hospitals, ER admissions, anyone who might've stitched somethin' suspicious together. You'll get the most traction."
"Geto, Zen'in, go after witnesses and locals. Hit the perimeter, dig for chatter. And don't give me excuses about your personal vendettas gettin' in the way."
At this, Geto and Naoya give each other nasty, defeated looks. You briefly wonder the dynamic between them is.
But Sukuna's glaze cuts back to Gojo and you, "Which leaves you two. Surveillance car. Abandoned industrial area on the south side. Keep ya' eyes open, and if you get trigger-happy, I'll have your badges before you can blink."
The team starts gathering files, muttering, scraping chairs against the floor. You catch Geto purposefully knock his elbow into Naoya's ribs, but one by one, they filter out. You're slow to move, waiting till Gojo gives you a hesitant look and pushes the door open.
But you're absolutely aware that Sukuna's gaze is still pinned on you.
"Stay a minute," he orders.
Your spine stiffens, wilting under his maroon eyes. Oh, god. What did you already screw up?
But Sukuna doesn't waste time, "You want to prove yourself? Do it out there, not in here." His arms cross over his vast chest, tattoos shifting with the movement, "This isn't a playground. People die if you fumble, or freeze."
You swallow, throat tight, "Yeah, I know. I mean, understood."
"For the record..." Sukuna pauses, eyes narrowed as he seems to search your face for something, "The only reason you're here is because someone vouched for you. Usually I don't take rookies without field scars."
"Someone vouched?" Your heart stutters, thudding beneath your sternum.
"Yeah," Sukuna's lip curls, like the whole thing is a nuisance, "Gojo. Said you were worth the risk."
Your jaw practically unhinges, in the most unflattering way possible. Gojo? The same Gojo who looked you dead in the eye, and treated you like a stranger, while you babbled on about global warming?
Sukuna seems to read your silent expression, rolling his eyes, "Don't get sentimental. Whatever history you've got with boy-wonder, that's your problem. Out there, I only care if you can keep up." He jerks his chin toward the door, "Now get outta' here before I change my mind."
You nod quickly, fighting the ridiculous urge to kowtow, and grabbing your file before scurrying away with a spinning head.
"...So, you like jazz?" Gojo offers, peering low over his glasses, voice low in the hush of the car. His breath clouds in front of him, puffs in the winter chill.
You throw the white-haired man a sullen look, "Are you quoting the Bee Movie right now?"
Gojo's brows crawl up his face, "What? No." He wiggles in his seat, reaching into the pocket of his corduroy jacket. Producing a battered stack of discs, each one labelled in his crooked scrawl, "I bought jazz. Miles Davis, Louis Armstrong, Ella Fitzgerald. All the greats."
You must look gobsmacked, because flushed colour creeps across his cheeks. Gojo coughs and fumbles them back into his jacket, like contraband, "Sorry. Didn't know what you liked. If you don't want — "
You wave his stumbled fragments off, eyes darting to the frost-laced window, "No, it's fine." You gesture at the ancient CD slot on the dash, "Yeah, put whatever you want on."
Gojo perks instantly, sliding a CD in, and soon the tinny trumpet of Miles Davis fills the stale air of the car. You fold your arms, not looking at him, jaw clenched against the silence that starts to stretch.
For several minutes, the only sound is jazz, the occasional creak of your gloves as you flex your hands against the chill, and the scrape of Gojo's graphite pencil as he pulls through a crossword puzzle.
"So, first official stakeout. Excited?"
"Thrilled."
Gojo drums his long fingers against the steering wheel, "You know, these stakeouts are a rite of passage. It's the long hours, bitter coffee, and the leg cramps from being stuck in the car." He glances at you, smiling faintly, "Builds character."
"I can't wait," you mutter, eyes flicking over the dim, warm street lights casting long shadows across the pavement.
More silence. A car passes down the far end of the abandoned street, headlights sweeping briefly across the dashboard.
"You think he'll come tonight?" You ask finally, if only to give Gojo something else to do, other than throwing you confused looks.
"The unsub?" His voice sharpens, "Maybe. The dump site pattern isn't perfect, but this location fits his trajectory. High likelihood he'll circle back tonight."
"Guess all we can do is watch, no?"
Gojo hums in agreement, pink lips pressed together, before pulling his battered, cracked phone out of his pocket, "Naoya said he would send through any witness statements, I just hoped he stayed on task enough to remember."
You snort, "Has he always been this insufferable?"
Gojo smiles, and his expression is surprisingly warm, "He wasn't always. We grew up together, actually. Naoya was — " Gojo shrugs, eyes flicking to the windshield, " — pretty cool, back then. Somewhere along the way, he just became a jerk."
The bitter edge of jealousy curls in your chest, faster than you can halt it, "Well, it's nice you remember him."
Gojo's head jerks towards you, as though he's baffled by the sudden venom coating your tongue, "Uh, what?"
You moodily jab the dashboard a little harder than intended, "Seriously? You've been pretending not to know me this whole, like I'm some stranger you've never met, and I know it's not that deep, but it's — " You choke on the words, cheeks suddenly burning, "It's embarrassing. It hasn't been that long since high school, Satoru. Did I do something to you, or what?"
It seems that the air in the car has gone very still. Jazz murmurs faintly from the speakers, a trumpet line winding upward like smoke.
Gojo just blinks at you, stunned, lips parted like a fish out of water. But his expression shifts, sours suddenly. White brows knit together, that plush mouth pulling into a scowl.
"Are you asking me that?" His voice isn't loud, but the irritation in it cuts sharper somehow.
You gape at him, "What? Me? It's not like we were best friends or something, but a 'Hi, hello, how are you?' would have been nice in that team room. You practically ignored me."
"Yeah?" Gojo's laugh is humourless, bitter, "Well, it's better than tearing someone down, isn't it?"
Your heart stutters, confusion blooming, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Gojo shifts in his seat, huncing in a way that looks wrong on his tall frame, pulling out his phone. You catch sight of the battered case, corners fraying, as though it's the same one he carried back in high school. He's frowning as he scrolls, before flipping the dim, cracked screen towards you.
Huh. A text message, addressed to you.
The date is old, years old, but your name is right there in the contact header. You drag your eyes over the clumsy words.
Hey, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go out sometime? nothing fancy. maybe that new burger place by the train station? i’ll even pay. (don’t laugh at me too hard, ok?) >_<
Your stomach flips, as you take in the following reply. Short, cruel. Mean in a way that only teenagers could manage.
"Wow. That's...wow. That's mean."
Gojo's throat bobs as he swallows, and he opens his mouth, but you sharply cut him off, "But that wasn't me."
"Huh?"
You force yourself to meet his eyes, hidden behind thick frames, startling blue, wide and wounded, "That wasn't me. I never saw this. I never replied to this."
"But —"
"Yeah," you blurt, "I changed numbers. Utahime dropped my phone in a pool, on a senior trip. I ended up just getting a new one, even a new number. Whoever did this just thought they were fucking with you, I mean, it's messed up, 'cause I never would have said that."
You swallow, the weight of the sudden silence pressing on your chest, but Gojo suddenly breaks it, blurting, "So, you think I'm hot now?"
Your head whips towards him, startled, as heat crawls up the back of your neck.
Gojo immediately winces, shoulders caving in as though he's trying to fold his giant frame into the tiny car, "Sorry. Just tryna' think of something to say. I didn't meant to embarrass you earlier. I don't know, I was just —" He waves his hand vaguely in the air.
You shouldn't lose focus, but your eyes linger anyway. His hands are elegant. Long, tapered fingers. Neat nails, calluses just barely catching in the dashboard light. Hands probably steadily enough to wield a scalpel or...
No. Don't go there.
Your breath hitches, and you drag your gaze away, desperately praying he didn't notice the temporary loss of your composure.
"No, it's fine. I mean..." You stumble over the words, trying to find stable foot, "I heard, well, Sukuna said that you vouched for me. Which is nice. I appreciate that."
Gojo's expression softens, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his features, "Yeah, well." He shrugs, defensively, "I asked Sukuna to keep it a secret, but figures he sold me out."
You almost smile, "Doesn't change the fact that you stuck your neck out."
"Guess I did," Gojo scratches at his jaw, over the faintest hint of stubble, glancing away, "Thought you were worth it."
Your heart stutters.
The car feels smaller suddenly. The cold air outside fogs the windows, but inside, it’s warm, too warm, the kind of heat that sticks to your skin. The mournful trumpet fades into a husky croon, and every note seems to hang between you like a dare.
You shift in your seat, knees brushing his by accident. He tenses, just barely, but doesn't move away. And maybe you're imagining it, but his gaze drops, to your mouth, then back to your eyes. Quick. Guilty. Like he hadn't meant to.
But you'd seen it.
The silence between you grows roots, tangling around the both of you. You can still feel the phantom brush of his knee against yours, the way his eyes had flicked to your mouth. It lingers, heavy, like the saxophone whispering from the CD.
Gojo clears his throat, Adam's apple bobbing. Then he clears it again. And then he blurts, "You know, statistically, unresolved tension like this usually results in impulsive decisions that compromise stakeouts."
"…What?"
"I mean," Gojo gestures helpless, corduroy sleeve slipping down his wrist, "It's – it's basic psychology. Two people with history, recent emotional clarification, physical proximity." His voice is speeding up, rambling now, "That kind of cocktail basically rewires your brain chemistry and then, um, then you end up, you know, uh —"
Gojo swallows, blue eyes fixed straight ahead, "Kissing."
You just stare at him.
Gojo winces, palms pressed to his knees like he's bracing for you to laugh in his face. "Not that I'm saying we should, I mean, I am saying that, but not in a creepy way, I just – " He cuts himself off, groaning, pressing a hand under his glasses, "God, I sound insane."
Something in your chest twists. Because under all the words spilling from his mouth, he looks…nervous. Really nervous. The kind of nerves that can't be falsified.
Then, like the world's clumsiest miracle, he drops his hand, and his blue eyes meet yours, wide and shining and sincere. His cheeks are flushed pink, breath puffing in the cold air.
"Please, I would like to kiss you," Gojo says softly, before stiffening, "Only if you want to, uh, doesn't have to be now."
The world tilts, blood roaring in your ears. You're frozen for a second, but before you can second guess yourself, you lean in, heart hammering as you press your lips to his.
At first it's tentative, testing the waters, your mouth brushing his like a question. But then Gojo's warm hand comes up, hesitantly cupping your jaw, and the way he exhales against your mouth, like he's been waiting years for this, answers it for both of you.
The trumpet solo wails on, high and bright.
The kiss should've ended at that. A brush, a sigh, a fragile thing left untouched. But Gojo makes this soft sound in his throat, half whimper, half groan, and suddenly you're tipping forward, hand fisting in his cardigan to drag him closer.
He kisses like he talks; too much, too fast, spilling over himself. His teeth click against yours, and when you gasp, Gojo's tongue darts in shyly, then a little bolder, like he's cataloguing the exact angle, the exact pressure that makes your breath hitch.
"F-fuck," he murmurs against your mouth, voice cracking, "I didn't –I've never actually..."
You pull back a fraction, dazed as you stare the swell of his glossy lips, "You've never…?"
Gojo's ears are pink, his white lashes trembling as his nose brushes yours, "I read about it. But I've – uh, not, you know. This, or anything like this. Not with anyone."
Oh. Suddenly, the fumbling, the eagerness, it all clicks. And your chest squeezes at how earnest Gojo looks, like he's terrified you'll ridicule and mock his inexperience.
"Relax," you whisper, sliding closer, your thigh brushing his., "You're doing jus' fine."
Gojo's groan is strangled, raspy as you press your lips to the juncture of his neck, "The fact that I'm even here, doing this with you is a-amazing, actually."
Then he kisses you harder, messy now, a little greedy. His hand finds your waist, hesitant at first, then tugging you practically into his lap.
Fuck.
You feel it straightaway, the thick, solid press of his cock straining in his slacks. Gojo jolts like he's embarrassed you noticed, but you grind down just a little, chasing after some friction between your legs, and he breaks the kiss with a loud gasp, forehead thudding against yours.
"Jesus Christ —" Gojo's voice is wrecked, wrecked in a way that makes heat curl low in your belly, pool between your thighs, "I'm – fuck, I'm so hard right now, this is, oh my god."
You giggle, breathless, nipping at his berry-pink lip, "Focus, genius. Stakeout, remember?"
And as if on cue —
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The car door rattles violently, as though someone has pounded their first on the window. You both jolt, scrambling, your thighs jostling as you clamber off Gojo's lap.
Sukuna, arms crossed in his windbreaker uniform. Face twisted in a scowl so utterly disgusted and sour that could curdle milk. The type of expression that promises consequences so severe that medieval executioners would tremble in fear.
Your head falls back against the seat with a groan, as you kick the door open, taking in the swarm of federal agents rushing past your stakeout car, most likely to chase after your unsub, "Oh, you've got to be fuckin' kidding me."
Gojo, meanwhile, is fumbling with his seatbelt, sliding his cardigan off to pull his windbreaker on, doing little to cover his very obvious erection, whining under his breath, "I can't go out there like this, holy shit, he's gonna kill me. W-wait, don't leave me, tell Sukuna I've caught the flu and —"
You shove yourself out the car door, shooting Gojo a look, "I'm sure he just saw that. Can only pray he doesn't send us to be hung, drawn and quartered."
Gojo follows, still muttering, still rock-hard, but trying desperately to stand up straight, "He's really gonna' kill us."
"Kento got a lucky shot, didn't he? They're gonna' have, uh, what's his name? Mahito? They're gonna' have him put away for life." Gojo buzzes, as the motel door clicks shut behind you, the muted clamour of the hallway falling away. You toss your duffel bag onto the bed, exhaling hard.
"So," you sigh, pushing off your shoes, groaning at the ache in your ankles, "How much paperwork do you think Sukuna's gonna bury us under? Forty hours? Fifty?"
Gojo groans dramatically, collapsing face-first onto the other bed. His muffled voice filters through the sheets, "I can still hear him yelling in my head. Like a banshee with a nicotine problem. I've never seen him so mad."
You laugh, unzipping your flimsy jacket, tossing it on the cheap sheets, "At least he didn't bench us completely."
"I thought he was gonna' shove my badge down my throat."
Gojo flips over, messy white hair fanned across the pillow, glasses crooked. He stares at you for a long moment, his ears pink, before he says it. Quiet. Too quiet for Gojo.
"…It was still worth it."
You freeze, turning slowly, "What?"
His hand scrubs over his face, as he pulls his glasses straight once more, "Not the badge down my throat part. The stakeout. Car. You. I don't –" he breaks off, sits up abruptly, ocean-blue eyes bright with nerves. "I've never felt anything like that before. And if Sukuna yells me into the ground every day for the rest of my life, it'd still be worth it."
The room goes hushed. Your chest tightens at how serious he looks, this tall, awkward genius who's always been a little too much, suddenly stripped down to something raw.
You cross the room slowly, settling onto the edge of his bed, "Satoru…"
Gojo's throat bobs, and the tips of ears are flushed, "Can I —" He stops, shakes his head, tries again, quieter, "Can I have this? With you. Tonight?"
Your heart lurches. He's never done this before. You can see it in the way his fingers twitch on his knees, in the unpracticed tremor of his voice.
You lean in, brushing your lips against his temple, "Yeah," you whisper, "I really want that."
Gojo's exhale is shaky, relief and hunger all tangled together. When he kisses you this time, it's clumsy but desperate, his hands hovering, not sure where to land until you guide them, pressing them to your waist, your thigh, your chest.
And then it breaks open, heat curling, restraint snapping. Gojo groans into your mouth as you push him back against the pillows, his long body sprawling, his cock already stiff and aching against his plaid slacks.
"F-fuck, I don't, 'cause I've never…" Gojo pants, face flushed, "Just tell me what to do, please, I'll do anything —"
You take in the fine sculpt of his nose, the long lashes framing his eyes, the broad press of his shoulders against the woven fabric, "I can't believe you're a virgin, Satoru."
"Hey! I've been too busy to get laid."
The laugh bursts out of you before you can stop it, warm and teasing all at once, "It's a compliment, I don't know if anyone tells you this enough, but you're hot."
Gojo groans, flopping back on the bed like he wants the carpet to swallow him. You rake your nails beneath his shirt, feeling his toned abdomen, lightly dusted with fine hair.
And oh, the noise he makes. Like his soul is trying to claw its way out of his throat.
You lean down, kissing him again. Soft at first, then not at all, because Gojo is hungry, fumbling hands tugging at your hips, and then over your ass, groaning into your mouth like he's been starved of this forever. And maybe he has.
It's clumsy, teeth knocking once, but then Gojo moans. Loud. Like you've just discovered a frequency that short-circuits his neurons. His cock twitches under you, hard already, "S-sorry," he gasps, pulling back, blue eyes blown wide, "I can't, it's so – this is so embarrassing, I'm already —"
"Hard?" you tease, grinding your hips down so his cock presses right against your building heat, "Good. Means you want me."
Gojo whines, white hair tipping back against the pillow, throat flushed pink, "Of course I fucking want you. I've wanted you since — " He breaks off with a strangled groan when you rock against him again, "Shit-shit-shit, don't stop. Please don't stop —"
Gojo's rambling, babbling like he does at case briefings, but instead of statistics, it's just desperate filth, "Y-you're so warm, I can feel you even through my pants, I think I'm gonna die, – wait, am I supposed to – should I —"
You cut him off with another kiss, tugging at his worn belt until it clatters open. Gojo's shaking, half-helping, half-getting in the way because his large hands are trembling too hard. But finally you shove his slacks down enough to free him —
And oh, he's big. Thick, veined, dripping already, precum beading at the fat tip. Virgin, sure, but blessed in ways unfair to humanity.
Gojo gasps when your hand closes around his flushed shaft. Loud. Shocked. His head knocks back against the headboard, glasses sliding askew, "Oh my god, you're – holy shit, I'm gonna cum just from this, don't make f-fun of me —"
"Not making fun," you murmur, stroking him slow, savouring the way his soft, velvety cock kicks in your grip, "I'm impressed."
Gojo groans like you've shot him through the heart, grabbing fistfuls of the sheets, hips jerking up into your hand helplessly, "Impressed —fuck, oh god, I think I l-love you, wait, shit, did I just say that out loud?"
You laugh against Gojo's throat, kissing down the column of his neck as he trembles under you, whining like he’s already on the edge, pearly slick already staining your hand.
"Relax, Satoru," you whisper, lining him up with your own slick entrance, pushing your panties to the side, feeling the thick, hot throb of his fat head near your core, "I'll take care of you."
And when you sink down, slow, tight, inch by inch, his groan could wake the entire floor.
"Oh, fuck, you're – you're t-tight, fuck, you're gonna break me —" His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding helplessly up your sides, pushing his glasses entirely off, "I-I'm inside, I can feel everything, I'm – oh my god."
You clamp a shaking hand over his running mouth, leaning in close. "Shhhh. Walls are thin, baby."
He nods frantically, eyes wet, muffling little cries into your palm as you bottom out, feeling every hot inch swab your gummy walls. His cock twitches inside you, already dripping, already too close.
And when you start to move, rolling your hips slow, grinding down until he's gasping into your hand, he nearly comes undone on the spot.
You barely get three swivels of your hips before he loses it.
"F-fuckfuckfuck, oh god, no – wait, shit —" Gojo's whole body seizes, hands clawing at your waist, voice cracking into a sob as his cock jerks inside you, thick head prodding dangerously close to that sweet spot, "I'm, oh no, I'm —"
And then Gojo's already climaxing, thick, creamy spurts spilling into you, thighs trembling, glasses long discarded on the thin sheets of the motel bed.
You blink down at him, stunned, feeling a heavy throb in your cunt, clenching around an overstimulated Gojo, "Did you just — "
"Don't say it," Gojo covers his face with both hands, chest heaving, still twitching weak spurts inside you, "Don't say I just came in thirty seconds. I know. I know. I —" His voice breaks into a whimper, muffled behind his palms, "Fuck, I'm so sorry, I didn't, wasn't even, fuck, it's like the data didn't predict this outcome."
You laugh, despite the fading ache between your legs, eager for some friction. Because only Gojo Satoru would be blushing and pulling out scientific metaphors while still buried heavy balls-deep in you.
"Baby," you coo, stroking a hand down his flushed chest, thumbing over a pink nipple, and the action makes him keen, "We're not done. Not even close."
Gojo peeks out from behind his fingers, cerulean eyes wide and wet, "Wh–what do you mean? I already —"
"Yeah," you purr, tightening around him just to watch his jaw drop, to feel that delicious ache purr back to life as your groin tacked across his sticky hips, "And you're still hard."
And Gojo is. His thick cock, flushed angry-red, still twitches inside you, leaking, pulsing like it hasn’t gotten the memo.
He makes a broken noise, "That's not biologically s-supposed to happen. Well, sometimes, it c-can."
"Guess you're pretty special then, aren't you?"
Gojo arches, loud and shameless, like you've just electrocuted him. "It's too much – wait, wait, I — fuck, I can feel everything, you're so wet, so tight, god, I can feel your pretty pussy's heartbeat around me."
You press your lips to the shell of his ear, nipping the sensitive skin. “Then c-come on, fuck me more, Satoru. I know you can do m-more than thirty seconds. Show me what you've got."
Gojo whines, rasping, "I don't, – fuck, I've only read about positions. And everyone knows the Kama Sutra actually wasn't o-originally about s – woah, mmph!"
You shut him up with a kiss, rocking down harder, grinding his cock deeper into your sticky, drooling walls. He moans into your mouth, a desperate mess of teeth and tongue as he chases after your lips, his hips finally jerking up to meet yours.
"There ya' go," you pant, breaking the kiss to bite his jaw, "Just like that. F-fuck me back."
And something finally clicks. Some primal gear in Gojo finally slots into place, and suddenly he's gripping your hips with surprising strength, thrusting up into you with a rhythm that makes your breath catch. Hitting that sweet, roughened spot over and over in a way that makes you squeal.
"Shit, shit," Gojo gasps, white hair plastered to his forehead from sheer exertion, "I'm doing it, right? Like, I'm actually f-fucking you. It's so good, is it good for you? Tell me it's g-good."
"It's a-amazing," you whine, crescent-tipped nails digging into Gojo's shoulders as your own head tips back, "Fuck, 'Toru, you're so d-deep."
He groans like you’ve just told him he solved the world’s hardest equation (knowing him, that's probably the type of shit that gets him off).
"Deep, yeah, I read average vaginal length is l-like three to four inches but your cervix can actually – fuck, fuck, fuck, you're clenching – holyshit — "
You cut him off with another grind, walls fluttering around him until Gojo groans, head tipping back against the pillows once more, flushed and writhing.
"C-can't – can't take it,” he babbles, hips snapping frantically, the sound of skin slapping sticky echoing through the room, "Too good, too hot – fuck, your pussy's gonna kill me, I'm actually gonna die a virgin after all, oh god — "
You laugh breathlessly, tightening your quivering thighs around him, pinning him to the mattress as you ride him through another orgasm. He spills again inside you, creamy and opaque, drooling down your thighs, gasping your name, shaking under you like he's unraveling thread by thread.
And still, still — he's hard.
But Gojo looks wrecked. Vibrant blue eyes dewy, cheeks wet with sweat and tears, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, "Why, why won't it go down," he moans, almost panicked, pulling his cock out to slap at your wet folds, and the stimulation over your throbbing clit makes you squeal.
You cup his face, leaning close, "H-hey, we got plenty of time to practice now, right?"
Gojo breathes out one last shattered plea, voice cracked and raw, abdomen heaving with splattered release, "Teach me again tomorrow?"
The first thing you register is sheer heat. The second is warm weight, Gojo's ridiculously toned body pressed against you. Half on top of you, and half spooled around you as though he's afraid you'll vanish.
The third thing you notice is something hard rutting insistently against your hip. Smearing warm slick over your soft flesh.
"S-sorry, pretty girl," Gojo blurts, voice hoarse, and you don't miss the mild crack at the end, "Didn't meant to wake you, fuck, where are my glasses? I just, uh, well, morning wood is biologically inevitable due to nocturnal penile tumescence cycles but this feels way better than when it just happens randomly in my sleep."
You cut him off with a lazy roll of your hips, grinding back into his cock, just at the right angle so it slips between your thighs, curving upwards deliciously. Gojo yelps, biting the edge of your shoulder.
"Please," he whimpers, eagerness thrumming in his voice, "Round two? I read that recovery time after multiple orgasms is supposed to be, like, hours but I think maybe last night recalibrated me — "
You turn onto your back, grabbing his face and dragging him down into a messy kiss. He's still nervous with it, teeth knocking, lips wet, as though he didn't carve his way through your pussy last night, but he's so adorably desperate it makes your heart ache.
"Satoru," you murmur against his sweet mouth, "Just fuck me.”
His whole body jerks, like you've just flipped every circuit breaker in his brain. Gojo pushes in deep, groaning like he's dying, hips stuttering as your glossy folds envelop his thick shaft once more, that delicious stretch making you quietly keen.
"You're so – oh my god, you're so warm, and s-so wet. It's better than anythin' that I've ever – fuck, you're squeezin' me so good."
You laugh into Gojo's mouth, clenching around him just to hear him scream, "God, you're cute. S-shut up and keep moving."
And he does. Frantic, erratic, messy, his big hands gripping your hips like lifelines, flushed cock driving into you with the enthusiasm of a man who's just discovered heaven is real and he's the only one inside.
When you finally come, with a quiet moan, stars glittering in the peripherals of your vision, heart racing as your pussy's clenching tight around him, Gojo breaks, face buried in your neck, babbling ironically sweet nothings as he spills into you again, cock plugged thick up in your walls.
His blue eyes are bright as he slumps against you, sweaty and trembling, whispering into your skin, "…So, I should have asked you this earlier, but if I asked you to go out with me, like a real date, would you say yes?"
You blink up at him, breathless, taking in the sight of the gorgeous. man hovering above you, earnest and wide eyed, "…Yeah. I would. 'Course I would, Satoru."
Gojo's grin splits his whole face, stupid and boyish and beautiful.
The entire team is staring, and Shoko's cigarette falls from her elegant fingers, "No way." She's staring between you and Gojo, copper eyes narrowed, "So if you two ended up –," she pulls a face, "I can't even say it. But that means he won, fuck me."
Sukuna's grin is all fanged teeth, and he barks out a rough laugh, "Called it."
Naoya scowls, slamming a crumpled fifty onto the table, "Bullshit."
"Pay up," Sukuna orders, already extending one tattooed hand. Geto groans and drops a twenty, shooting you a dirty look that implies you deprived him of his lunch money. Shoko sighs and pulls a fifty from her wallet. Even Kento slides over a neat fifty-dollar bill.
Sukuna collects them all with a grin sharp as broken glass, whistling as he counts the notes, "Easy money. I told you boy-wonder was gonna' crack first."
"Hey," Gojo protests, cheeks blazing, "We – we did not crack, thank you very much."
Naoya sidles past towards the churning printer, snickering "No, you got cracked."
"That's a bit unfair."
"Please," Sukuna cuts him off with a sneer, "I sent ya' on a stakeout for a serial killer, and I caught you cryin' over a boner. You're lucky you got off this easy."
"Heh, got off," Geto murmurs, and with all past rivalries apparently forgotten, he receives a joyous high-five from a gleeful Zen'in.
You groan, dropping into your chair, "Can we not?"
But Sukuna leans back, shuffling his new wad of cash with a victorious hum, stuffing the roll into a suspiciously expensive Italian leather wallet. You privately wonder if your surly boss has a private side-gig in any less illustrious black markets.
"Nah, it's deserved. But still, it's a good welcome to the team. First rule of the unit, everybody fucks up. Second rule, don't fuck during an assignment. And third?" Sukuna whistles, pushing through the doors of his office, "Don't bet against me."
Gojo leans over to whisper in your ear, mortified, "This is the worst day of my life."
But you only smile, pushing a strand of soft, white hair out of his glasses, "Relax. You're still the one taking me out tonight."
The way Gojo's ears go pink? Worth every cent Sukuna just pocketed.
wc: ~8.4k | cw: viltrumite gojo x viltrumite reader! smut, arranged reproductive pairing, reproductive coercion, breeding/pregnancy kink kinda, loss of virginity, fingering, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, contains minor spoilers for viltrumite lore in invincible
summary: with viltrum on the brink of extinction, your father selects the strongest male of your generation to help you preserve its dying bloodline.
a/n: this one has been sitting in my drafts for a MINUTE i'm sorry babes…possible part two maybe??? also, shoutout to @yanderenightmare for the inspo to write about viltrumite gojo !!
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VILTRUM WAS ONCE a planet so bountiful its end seemed impossible to ever imagine.
A world inhabited by billions of the strongest beings to ever grace the universe, where power was not a rarity but rather a birthright, and might thrived in such abundance it bled into the very architecture of the empire itself.
Viltrum did not just survive for millennia, it had spent them conquering. The Viltrumites bent a myriad of civilizations to their knees and called it order, this is what they were made to do—to inflict brutality upon those weaker, which in turn, made Viltrum prosper. A race of people so certain of its own superiority, extinction had never once been considered a possibility.
Then…the Scourge Virus came, and with it, came ruin.
The disease spread throughout Viltrum like a curse; hollowing the planet from the inside out. Billions were reduced to mere fractions; certainty tainted with panic, and proud legacy careened into desperate survival.
What once had been a world overflowing with life, power, and conquest was left gasping for air, which may have been rightfully deserved; a karmic outcome of sorts. All of that cruelty, all that destruction they inflicted among others was now occurring to their own people, with no cure, no way of stopping it. The virus claimed countless lives, taking those who were supposedly the strongest in a short matter of time, and spreading far too quickly to ever contain it.
Now? Viltrum stands not as it once was, but as a graveyard dressed in imperial red and pearly white. A planet that was so prosperous it seemed eternal now lingers on the verge of extinction, its future balanced precariously between dwindling bloodlines and the threat of yet another war—one looming close enough to feel it in the air itself. The Coalition of Planets awaits Viltrum like carrion beyond the stars, united in grief, eager to finish what the virus started.
And in the center of it all, sits your father.
Grand Regent Thragg.
Ruler of what remains, the keeper of a rapidly dying empire and the strongest Viltrumite the planet had ever borne witness to…with the sole exception of Satoru Gojo, of course.
And he has summoned you without explanation, how typical of him. When you are as powerful and feared as he, no one dares to ask why, afraid it may be the very last thing they say.
The corridor leading to the throne room seems longer today, lined in stone the shade of dried blood; the palace, similar to everything else left on this world, does not feel alive anymore. It feels artificial, preserved, like the bones of something once magnificent is now forced to pretend it has not already rotted from the inside out.
You hate being summoned here alone, not out of fear—no, you fear nothing, not even him, but because you already have a rising suspicion as to why he has requested it.
Your eighteenth birthday had passed not long ago, you are an adult now, a fully grown one in the eyes of Viltrum. And on a planet with so few women left, you can think of only a handful of reasons a father like yours would wish to speak to you in private.
The doors part at your approach with a low groan and you step into the vast chamber with your spine straight and your chin high, red light spilling through the massive windows and painting the floor in the color of fresh violence.
Your father stands with his back to you, hands clasped behind him, staring out over the tethered remnants of Viltrum below. You stop a respectful distance away and drop into a kneel, arm crossed over your heart with your head bowed. Despite the Grand Regent being your own flesh, he still commands your respect just as he does everyone else.
“Father.”
He does not turn immediately, does not say a thing. Instead, he lets the silence stretch until the one standing within it begins to feel small; he has always wielded silence well in this way.
Then, at last, his pragmatic voice cuts through the room, “Daughter…Let me explain your future to you.”
The words settle cold and heavy in your stomach. It is how he says it, as if your future has already been decided, written into scripture before you were ever born. Slowly, you lift your head. Thragg turns then and there is nothing soft in his face, there rarely is. Yet, tonight he somehow looks even less like your father and more like what he truly is—the ruler of a wretched world, a man so thoroughly carved from purpose that tenderness had never been useful to him.
“You are aware of our circumstances,” He says.
“Yes.”
“The number of remaining females is no longer sufficient enough to justify unnecessary risk.”
Your brows draw together unwillingly, "Unnecessary risk,” You repeat flatly.
His expression does not so much as flicker, it stays as hard as stone, “You will no longer participate in combat in the same capacity.”
For a second, you simply stare at him. You understand what he means, quite perfectly, and heat crawls up your spine at once, “We are on the brink of war with the Coalition,” You say, rising from your kneel in one smooth motion, “And you want me to…sit out?”
“I want to preserve what remains of Viltrum.”
A humorless laugh escapes you, unable to bite it back, “By sidelining your heir?”
“By ensuring my heir survives long enough to matter.”
The room falls still and silent once again. Cruel—that is what it is. How can his tone remain so calm and certain as if your anger is nothing more than air moving through the atmosphere?
You take a step closer, jaw tight, “I am not some delicate thing to be hidden away while everyone else goes to war in my place.”
“No,” Thragg agrees, “You are not.”
And, somehow, his agreement is worse. Because he is not suggesting you are weak, of course not, you share his genetics, there is no way you could be weak. But…your strength no longer matters.
“As my daughter and as my heir, your purpose has changed.”
Your fingers curl at your sides, “My purpose.”
“Yes.”
The words come out sharper now, barbed with disbelief, “You would remove me from battle when our species is balanced on the edge of extinction?”
His gaze stays fixed on you, “Your value to Viltrum no longer lies there.”
Your value.
Now, it is not measured by how many enemies you can kill, but by what your body can produce. You hold his gaze anyway, looking away would feel too much like yielding and you are not ready to do that, not yet, “So that is what this is? You drag me in here to tell me I have been repurposed?”
If the word offends him, he gives no indication. Though, majority of the time he is unreadable regardless, “The future of our world will not be secured through sentiment,” He states, “It will only be secured through blood.”
You purse your lips, “And you have already chosen whose, I suppose.”
“Yes.”
No surprise there. He would never summon you for a discussion he had not already resolved in his own mind. Men like Thragg do not ask, they decide and inform. Still, your stomach twists with something tight and ugly all the same, because there are only so many names he would consider suitable for a task like this.
“The bloodlines of surviving females are too closely shared with those of the remaining males. Any offspring produced from such pairings would carry an unacceptable risk of deficiency.”
Though you were already aware of this. The survivors were not merely few in number; they were descended from the same handful of families, their bloodlines crossing so many times that there was hardly any meaningful distance left between them.
Your father’s voice stays level and unfeeling, “Your mother’s lineage was preserved separately from the central Viltrumite population for generations. Through her, your blood remains sufficiently distinct from that of the surviving males.”
You knew this as well. Your mother had been descended from an isolated Viltrumite branch, one that had resided beyond the empire’s central territories long enough to avoid the tangled ancestry now burdening those left behind.
It was what made you valuable—the fact that enough of your blood was different. However, it should not feel isolating. On Viltrum, usefulness is a virtue. Value is an honor. To be necessary is to matter. And yet your arms fold over your chest in silent protest.
“The male chosen for you, therefore…” Thragg trails off, choosing his verbiage thoughtfully, “...Could not be selected carelessly.”
You swallow once, though it does nothing to alleviate the heat bubbling in your chest, “Who is it?”
Thragg does not speak the answer. Instead, with all the chilling ease of a man summoning a soldier rather than a future father to his grandchildren, he gives a short nod to the doors and they part at once.
Satoru Gojo steps through them.
The breath leaves your lungs so fast it nearly hurts.
He is the strongest besides your father. The Viltrumite they have named the Honored One.
Of course he was the one chosen.
He enters the throne room alone, tall, broad, and pale in the flood of red light, white hair catching gold where it spills across his forehead. Even now, beneath nothing but imperial summons and the weight of your father’s gaze, he moves with that same impeccable steadiness he carries into battle—unhurried, precise, devastatingly self-possessed. Eighteen years old, the same as you, and already spoken of as if he were something much older and inevitable.
He stops at your side and lowers himself into a kneel, one fist over his heart, but you see it—an almost imperceptible flicker of his eyes in your direction, before they lock onto your father, “Grand Regent.”
Up close, the sight of him is even more striking. Now he is not merely a name or the strongest of this generation or the boy you have spent your whole life seeing from the edges of training halls and state assemblies; always near, never touchable. No, now he is here, beside you, beautiful in the severe, infuriating way only very dangerous men ever are.
And as he stands here next to you, in this context, the reality lands all at once. You see exactly why your father chose him. Worse—you see exactly how easily Viltrum would use a man like this again and again if allowed.
A male like Gojo, with blood like his, strength like his, a body like his, would never be left to breed with one woman unless someone made it impossible. Something possessive flares at that thought, shocking even you.
Your father’s voice remains level, “Satoru Gojo.”
Satoru lifts his head just enough to meet his cold gaze, “You summoned me.”
“I did,” Thragg looks between the two of you as if assessing nothing more intimate than a military resource, “The future of Viltrum requires deliberate preservation. My daughter is the only surviving female whose bloodline remains sufficiently distinct from that of our males and she has reached physical maturity. Among the surviving males, several could have served the role. But, I have chosen you.”
For the first time, something shifts in Gojo. There is a tightening in the line of his jaw as he comes to the understanding that there were others considered for this position. Older males, more seasoned veterans, men with longer battle records and centuries of experience behind them, some that have even fathered offspring before. Despite that…your father still chose him.
The knowledge pleases him, but he buries it well. It stirs some private, sharpened satisfaction that does not touch his face. His sense of superiority among the Viltrumites spikes ever so slightly.
But beside him, you catch the faintest change in his posture, as if another male standing where he now stands would have sat poorly with him.
Thragg continues, “You understand what is being asked of you.”
Oh, Satoru knows. Selective breeding is not a foreign concept to Viltrum. In reality, it is the standard to assure the most sufficient children with the perfect genetics. A simple arrangement between males and females, nothing more than a means of reproduction. Though, this time around it is much different. This is a last ditch effort for salvation.
“Yes,” He answers.
“And you accept it.”
Satoru does not hesitate, “I do.”
The words land strangely because there is no reluctance in them, no visible uncertainty. They lack eagerness, too. Nothing crude, just acceptance, like this is another duty placed into his hands. And for some reason, that bothers you more than if he had smirked or displayed smugness.
You look at him fully then and…
God, he is handsome.
That only causes the flare of possession to deepen.
Because if your father has chosen him—this beautiful, terrible thing at your side who is so composed he may as well have been curated from the same stone as the palace, then you know exactly what Viltrum would do with him when given the chance.
Use him.
Broadly, strategically, repeatedly, everywhere.
No.
If your body is to become strategy, then you refuse to become the first stop in a wider plan for his.
“If I am to bear children for Viltrum,” You announce, cutting through the room before either of them can continue, “Then I will do it with him,” Thragg says nothing, neither does Satoru. You keep your eyes on the latter anyway, “But only him. He will not take other women. Not on Viltrum. Not elsewhere. Not later. If I am to do this, then he belongs only to me.”
The words ring through the throne room like steel and for one second, nobody moves, nobody even breathes. Your father studies you with a cool, almost curious stillness. Next to you, Satoru remains composed, but there is the faintest shift in him—small enough that another may miss it. A sharpening of focus.
You already can assume what your father is thinking. Monogamy? That is unheard of on Viltrum. Especially whilst on the brink of extinction? It is an almost offensive demand. But, Thragg is in no position to argue. If this is the only way to get you to accept the terms of the arrangement, then he has no other choice.
He speaks first, opting for something you did not expect, “You are possessive.”
Your lip curls, “I feel it is practical.”
His gaze lingers on you a moment longer, then lands on Satoru, “My daughter has made her condition clear.”
Satoru’s eyes flick to you again, only for a breath, but it is long enough for you to feel the full, unnerving weight of them on your face. Then he says, just as calmly as before, “Understood.”
No sign that he finds the condition unreasonable at all, despite it being unreasonable as ever.
You are not sure why that should matter to you this much, but it does.
Your father seems satisfied enough by the answer and inclines his head, “It is done,” Then his eyes harden further with expectation, “Do not delay.”
The meaning of it burns through the room at once and you hate that your body recognizes it instantly. You hate even more that some traitorous part responds.
Thragg says nothing else because there is no need to, the dismissal implicit now, both heavy and absolute. Your jaw tightens and without another word, you turn for the doors and hear Satoru move beside you a second later; the sound of his steps falling into place with yours as the two of you leave the throne room beneath your father’s cold, watchful silence.
The corridor beyond feels longer now, narrower too, and for several strides, neither of you speaks, but the quiet between you is not empty. It is crowded with the knowledge of where you are being sent and what is meant to happen once you get there.
You can feel him beside you in a way that makes no sense and all the sense in the world; the hushed gravity of a man you have known the shape of your entire life and yet have never once stood this close to.
Distance has always separated you both and now, there is none left.
You cannot find it in yourself to look at him first, unable to trust what seeing him again so clearly might do to the uneasiness weighing on your chest. So instead you keep your eyes dead ahead, on the corridor created out of blood-colored stone, and let your mind do what it has done for years when it comes to Satoru Gojo—circle him without touching.
The boy who was always the strongest, the one your father observed differently, the one whom others measured themselves against and did not live to tell the tale. The weapon who kept becoming more beautiful with age in that unfairly infuriating way, all pale severity and blue eyes so brilliant and the kind of body Viltrum revered without need to say it aloud.
And now…he walks beside you because your father has decided that he will father your children.
You almost miss a step as the thought of that haunts you. Beside you, he is still silent as ever. Entirely too composed for a man who has just been informed he is expected to bed the Grand Regent’s daughter before the hour is out. That irritates you too. Everything about him seems to.
By the time the two of you reach your chambers, your pulse is annoyingly frantic. The doors part and you step inside first. Red light spills through thin windows cut high in the walls, dragging long shadows over everything in its wake. A broad bed sits in the center, too neatly made to feel inviting, more like another imperial command waiting to be obeyed than somewhere either of you might willingly lay. A basin gleams near the far wall along with folded linens and a low table. It is obvious the room had been carefully prepared for this moment.
You hear the doors close behind him and now you are entirely alone with Satoru Gojo, and the crushing expectation of what is meant to happen next.
For an awkward while, neither of you says anything nor dares breathe too loudly. Genuinely, it is absurd. The arrangement had already been made, the purpose is as clear as day, and the room itself may as well shout well what are you two waiting for?
Regardless, the both of you simply stand there.
Until, at last, unable to bear the silence any longer, you move to sit on the edge of the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight and a second later, after the briefest pause, he does the same. He is far enough to not touch, but close enough to be painfully aware of him anyway.
And all you can do is stir over the fact that you know exactly what is expected and still have no idea how to begin.
You burn holes into the floor, then finally turn your head, “So…” His gaze shifts to you, “You are the strongest.”
The reply comes laced with that maddening calmness, “That is what they say.”
It is such a dry response that you nearly laugh, but refuse to. You let your eyes drag over him openly since there is no point in pretending otherwise now. This is the first time in your life you have been permitted to look at him this long. There is even more to appreciate when being this close.
The broadness of his shoulders, his posture is perfect in that arrogant–Viltrumite way, the pale beauty of his face works cohesively with the white uniform he adorns. A body honed by violence, primed to be one of the most formidable killers Viltrum had ever produced. You had known, abstractly, what he was. Feared it, perhaps. Admired it too, in the private way one admires storms from a distance.
Distance was much kinder than whatever this is.
And he is looking at you too. In recognition, maybe. As if he is seeing you clearly for the first time as well and finding the view more complicated than anticipated.
“You accepted quickly,” You note.
“There was no reason not to.”
You turn your gaze away from him again, to the crimson light stretched across the floor, “None at all?”
“Your father did not summon me for my opinion.”
“And that does not trouble you?”
Satoru is silent for a moment, then says, “It is what is required.”
You huff a frustrated breath, “It is easy for you to say.”
His gaze rests on your face, “Because I was not removed from the battlefield.”
You look at him after he speaks and for the first time since he entered the throne room, something in his countenance seems to slip from pure unreadability. There is nothing so openly dangerous, but understanding, possibly? At least he is not stupid enough or selfish enough to feign ignorance.
“No. You were not,” Your voice comes out harsher for the restraint wrapped around it, “I have spent my life being raised to fight. To conquer. To rule after him, if it came to that. And now, suddenly, I am told that none of it matters as much as what my body can produce.”
Satoru says nothing and you almost snap at him for it, until you realize he is not silent out of indifference. He is simply listening. You laugh this time, though it is small and bitter, “And you—you are told you are to father the next generation and you kneel and say understood.”
He does not flinch, “Yes.”
You turn toward him more fully, “That is all?”
“That is what a man in my position is for.”
His answer is what helps you remember that he is still only eighteen too. Young, but a grown man. Spoken of like he is some towering inevitability and some warrior fated to reshape whatever war he enters, but he is really, the same as you. He is merely just another body the empire has deemed useful enough to claim fully and use in this predicament. You should not find that as disarming as you do.
“And my condition…you accepted that quickly too.”
At that, something almost flickers in his blues, “I did.”
“You do not mind being told where you may and may not go?”
The corner of his mouth shifts so faintly you nearly miss it, “No.”
You narrow your eyes, “No?”
“You asked for exclusivity,” He says, “I understood.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“Then what are you asking now?”
The question catches you off guard. You stare at him a minute too long, suddenly very aware that this is the first true exchange the two of you ever had, and it is already beginning to feel less like politics. You know you need to answer carefully, but what comes out is, “I am asking whether it offends you.”
His eyes stay on yours, “No.”
The reply is immediate enough to feel sincere, “Why not?”
Satoru pauses long enough that you see him consider the words before speaking them, “Because your father chose me for you,” He says, “Not the others.”
Your breath catches in your throat. Perhaps, buried under the composure, there is something in that answer that feels a little too close to what had flashed through your own mind in the throne room, “That sounds very pleased with itself.”
“It is only true.”
“It is rather arrogant.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, “I am simply correct.”
Then the room falls quiet once more. And now that the real questions have been answered, the reason why you are here at all sits there between you. Your eyes drift to the door and you drop some of the formalities now that your partnership has become more solidified, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s waiting just outside it.”
Something similar to amusement ghosts across Satoru’s face, “I imagine he’d be disappointed by how long we’ve spent sitting here.”
You turn your head and glare at him, “You’re irritating.”
“Would you prefer it were someone else?”
No. You would not. Not at all.
The answer rises too quickly to be anything but true and the fact that he likely sees it in your expression before you can hide it only makes your blood run hotter. Whatever trace of amusement that had touched his face disappears again, leaving only that ridiculous poise.
Your fingers tighten in the sheets under you, “I don’t know what to expect…”
Satoru knows what you mean by that and he, too, does not know, being just as inexperienced as you, “Neither do I.”
The realization changes him. Beneath all of who he is, you can glimpse the outline of something startlingly young. Your gaze drops, unwillingly, to his hands where they rest on his thighs. Large, scarred, capable of splitting bodies open without a second thought and little effort—the thought of those same hands touching you should terrify you. Instead, it oddly entices you.
“This is for Viltrum,” You mutter, unsure whether you are reminding him or yourself.
He nods, eyes fixated on you, “Yes. For Viltrum.”
For Viltrum.
For survival. For bloodline. For the empire.
Though when the words settle, they almost immediately begin to sound thin.
And then he moves, slightly, one hand lifting from his thigh and your pulse jumps so hard it makes you angry. His hand comes to rest, soft as a whisper, against the side of your face and the touch is so tender it startles you more than roughness would have. You stare at him; this is the same man who tears enemies apart, the same man your people call honored, and yet his thumb brushes against the line of your cheek like you are something precious he must preserve.
He is…gentle? How strange.
Then, slowly, his hand slips from your cheek to the back of your neck. He leans in enough that the air shifts and you feel his breath before you feel anything else. Your fingers curl in the bedspread, somehow, he notices, “If you want me to stop…say so.”
You simply shake your head and close the remaining gap yourself; the first kiss is not graceful whatsoever. It is tentative and weird and misaligned from inexperience, your noses brush and your mouths meet with all the awkwardness of two people who have never done this before and are trying very hard not to show it. The sheer absurdity of it almost makes you pull back.
But then, his hand tightens at the back of your neck and he kisses you again, more certainly, and suddenly the awkwardness is no longer the dominant thing. Now, there is only heat. His mouth is softer than it should be, his hand at your neck is steadier than you expected, the broadness of his body when he shifts closer to you makes the bed dip beneath your combined weight, and a small sound slips out of you, causing Satoru to draw back an inch.
His eyes are brighter, mouth parted slightly from the kiss, breath no longer as measured as it was previously.
“You’re still being careful,” You murmur.
“I said I would stop if you wanted.”
“And I didn’t.”
God no, you definitely did not.
If anything, your body has only betrayed you more and more with every touch and every brush of his lips. It is becoming harder to remember that this is meant to be something practical. Something done for survival. For duty. For Viltrum.
Well, because practical things are not supposed to make your skin this hot. They are not supposed to make your stomach knot when his hand slides from the back of your neck to your waist, tightening to pull you properly into him.
Not getting another second to think, his mouth is on yours again, hotter now, and your hand fists the front of his uniform hard enough to wrinkle the pristine white. Satoru reacts by moving quicker, undoing one clasp of yours, then another gives way beneath deft fingers while your own fumble at his.
Eventually, within minutes, the bed is littered in pieces of white and grey, and when his hands find your skin for the first time, the air leaves your lungs all over again. Seated beside him, turned slightly inward, your bare thighs are practically touching. His hands rest at your waist where the last piece of your uniform had fallen away, large enough that his fingers span the width of it.
For a moment, Satoru only looks at you and there is nothing discreet about it. His eyes graze over every inch you have exposed to him—your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach, the smooth skin between your thighs, as if the sight requires study. The open astonishment on his face makes heat crawl from the center of your chest all the way to your cheeks and down between your legs.
You have been looked at your entire life, it is something you are not new to. You have been assessed for strength, examined for injury, watched in combat to determine whether the Grand Regent’s daughter might someday prove worthy of inheriting his place, but never like this. Never as though someone has forgotten what he intended to say simply because you are sitting before him completely naked and without anything left to hide behind.
Your first instinct is to cover yourself, although pride prevents it, “Stop staring.”
His gaze rises to your face, hands remaining settled at your waist, “I’m looking.”
“That is the same thing.”
“No,” He answers, almost absently, “It is not.”
His fingers begin to move before you can find a response, tracing the curve of your waist with a caution that feels absolutely absurd coming from him. These hands have broken bone and torn through flesh without hesitation, yet now his fingertips barely skim your skin, mapping you with an uncertain fascination.
The touch makes your stomach tighten and he notices immediately; his attention sharpens, following the small reaction as if he means to memorize it, “You trembled.”
“You touched me.”
“I’m aware.”
The faint arrogance in his tone nearly makes you roll your eyes, but then his thumb passes slowly over your hip and every clever response abandons you. Still, you refuse to be the only one left exposed beneath such scrutiny, letting your gaze drop to him.
Without the white severity of his uniform, Satoru appears somehow larger. You always knew he was built like he was carved from stone by gods themselves, but none of him is softened by the fabric anymore, and seeing him like this and this close is entirely different.
Your eyes travel over the firm planes of his chest, the powerful lines of his stomach, and the narrow taper of his waist. The strength Viltrum praises so proudly lives everywhere beneath his skin, every part of him honed through violence.
Then you notice the scars. There are more than you expected. Thin, silvery marks cross his shoulders and ribs, remnants of injuries severe enough to leave evidence even after self-healing had done its job. One cuts diagonally across the middle of his chest and fades dangerously close to his heart. Your hand lifts without warning, tips of your fingers following the pale line; Satoru goes still.
“What caused this?”
“I don’t remember.”
You glance up at him, puzzled as to how he could forget, “It nearly struck your heart.”
“It did strike my heart.”
Your fingers halt because of the way he says it so casually, “And you survived.”
The corner of his mouth shifts, “Clearly.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but your palm remains against his chest. His heart beats beneath it, faster and more erratic than it should be.
“You have scars too,” He mentions, hand leaving your waist long enough to comb over a mark along your side. The tenderness of the gesture feels more intimate than nakedness itself.
“Training.”
“With your father?”
“Who else?”
Something dark passes briefly through his expression, then his gaze drops again, following the line of your body, and your own attention drifts lower in response. The sight awaiting you there wipes every thought from your mind.
His cock is half-hard and intimidatingly large, resting heavy upon the cut of his lower abdomen. It twitches under your stare, thickening further as it rises with prominent veins running along the shaft; flushed tip already glistening.
You cannot help but wonder how something of that size is supposed to fit inside you, the sheer girth alone looks impossible—far too wide to take without splitting you open. Your lips part on a shaky exhale and Satoru follows your stare, and for the first time that evening, uncertainty breaks visibly through his composure. A faint blush colors the tops of his cheeks.
“That may be a problem,” You murmur, voice quieter than you intended.
His brows draw together, “You are Viltrumite.”
“That does not make every part of me indestructible.”
“It nearly does.”
You glare at him, but the edge of amusement touching his mouth disappears when he realizes that your apprehension is genuine. His hand returns to your waist as he says, “Lie back.”
Your pulse stumbles, and instantly, you think he is ready to start and get this over with. Finish the task that has been assigned to him. Get you pregnant.
But his voice…it is low and careful, so you find yourself obeying his words, shifting farther onto the mattress. Satoru helps guide you down, one hand supporting your back until your shoulders meet the sheets, and he follows you without hesitation.
The mattress lowers beneath his weight as he moves between your parted legs, kneeling there while you lie under him. His thighs press against the backs of yours, broad shoulders blocking part of the red light spilling through the windows. The position leaves you entirely open to him, legs threatening to close on instinct, but Satoru’s hands settle lightly on your knees before they can; merely holding them there as his striking eyes lift to yours, and he waits.
Slowly, you let your legs relax, and only then, does his gaze drop. The look of wonder that crosses his face is enough to make you want to hide all over again.
His hand travels down the inside of your thigh, rough pads of his fingertips running along a path that leaves your skin burning behind them. When he reaches the slick heat between your legs, his touch turns tentative—curious. He explores without a semblance of knowledge, parting your folds with two thick fingers, spreading the wetness gathered there, dragging them up to circle your swollen clit.
When your hips jerk against the mattress, he knows he may have done something right. He immediately looks up for confirmation, “That affected you.”
You swallow the thick lump in your throat, breathing out a strangled, “It...did.”
He repeats the motion, firmer, rubbing slow circles over that seemingly sensitive bud, while his vibrant blues stays fixed on your face. Pleasure sparks sharp through you, drawing a few unsteady breaths that he clearly hears, “Does this feel good?”
You look away, cheeks burning, embarrassment the main thing you feel. You are not a being who is supposed to feel pleasure, “...I think so.”
“You think?”
“I have nothing to compare it to.”
Recognition makes his expression soften, “I don’t either.”
But he keeps going, still cautious, though more deliberate now. He replicates what made you react, studying every tremor and every tightening of your hands in the sheets with unnerving concentration, “You are—learning very quickly.”
Satoru hums thoughtfully, transfixed on the sight of your pretty face and his fingers glistening in your folds, “I usually do.”
Even now, his arrogance finds a way to survive. You might have insulted him for it had another movement of his fingertips against your clit not stolen the words from you.
He watches your expression change and something hungry begins to replace the wonder in his eyes. Now that he has discovered he can make you feel good, the knowledge of that pleases him far more than it should.
Growing increasingly impatient and curious whether the act might feel as good to him as his touch seems to feel to you, he withdraws his soaked hand from your core and disappointment flashes through you before you can hide it. He notices that too, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly.
But he doesn't move yet, attention dropping to his fingers. They are glittering in the red light, coated so thoroughly in the viscous wetness of your cunt that it shines over his knuckles. Satoru stares, turning his hand slightly as if examining the aftermath of some unfamiliar phenomenon.
Heat rushes instantly to your cheeks, "What is it?"
His thumb drags slowly over the slick coating his fingertips, spreading it between them. The expression on his face fades from curiosity and into unmistakable gratification, "This came from you."
You scoff, slightly embarrassed by his intrigue in it, "Obviously."
He looks at you then, "Because I touched you."
The satisfaction dripping from his tone makes your stomach clench, "Don't look so proud of yourself."
"Why shouldn't I be?"
Before you can respond, he brings his coated fingers back between your thighs, dragging them one more time through your folds as though unwilling to waste the evidence; the touch pulls another small twitch from you.
Satoru is no idiot. Inexperienced, yes. But he can decipher what this means.
Your body wants him.
And in knowing that, he feels much more confident when he shifts closer between your thighs—the considerable size of him becomes impossible to ignore once again. His cock ghosts over your entrance as his hand slides beneath one of your legs, lifting it carefully as he settles over you.
One arm braces beside your head while the other remains at your thigh, trying to understand angles, bodies, where he is meant to go. Perhaps, it would be almost funny if the sight of him between your legs did not make your pulse tick so violently.
He notches the blunt head of his cock into your tight cunt, stretching you open with a burning pressure that forces a sharp inhale from your chest and every muscle in your body tenses; he stops right away, not pushing an inch further, eyes finding yours, “Tell me if I hurt you.”
“You probably will.”
His jaw tightens, and for all his power, he looks wary now, “Then tell me how much.”
You reach for him, wrapping one hand around his muscular bicep and drawing him closer, “I will.”
He studies your face for another moment, searching for uncertainty, but whatever he finds seems to satisfy him. His forehead lowers to yours, breath warm against your mouth, and he pushes in another inch, yet this time, the effect on him is immediate. Satoru’s breath leaves him in a rasping, fractured sound, so unlike anything you have ever heard from him, or anyone else for that matter, that your eyes fly to his face.
His entire body goes rigid above you, the arm braced next to your head locks at the elbow, muscle drawn taut, while his other hand clamps around your thigh. His expression is almost impossible to comprehend, appearing somewhat stricken with the violent shock of sensation.
You are so warm around him…so tight, it knocks the air straight from his lungs. He parts his lips, brows pulled together, brilliant eyes gone unfocused as though every thought inside his head has been extinguished at once. How is anything supposed to feel…this good?
And when he thrusts himself inside you deeper, his hand flees from your thigh and fists in the sheet beside you, the fabric straining under his strength, seams tearing in his fingers; but he does not seem to realize any of it, too lost in the feeling of you squeezing around his cock that he keeps sinking in deeper and deeper, until he’s buried to the hilt.
He forces himself to stay motionless, every line of his body trembling with the effort to not pull back and fully stuff his length inside you again. It is quite funny, for all the ease with which Satoru can dominate a battlefield, he seems to have relatively no command here.
At the same time, while he is above you losing his mind entirely, the pressure in your lower belly becomes almost unbearable. Your fingers close around his biceps, nails clawing hard enough to leave crescent moons in skin that ordinarily resists mostly everything.
His focus returns as soon as he feels it, “Does it hurt?”
You nod slightly, biting your lower lip, “A little.”
Although you are particularly used to enduring pain, essentially every Viltrumite is—trained to withstand even the most brutal injuries, this form of pain is too intimate to handle and surprisingly, he cares a great deal about your comfort. You half expected him not to care whatsoever; a dangerous Viltrumite who has perhaps killed many of his own kind, worries of harming you. How absurd.
He becomes stiller, which should not be physically possible, but of course he defies all odds. His eyes search your face, all hints of hunger momentarily eclipsed by concern, “I can stop.”
“No,” Your answer comes too quickly.
His jaw clenches so hard the muscle pops, “But you said it hurts.”
“It does.”
“Then—”
“Just wait.”
It should not shock you that he listens, yet it does. The strongest male of your generation remains frozen over you, chest rising unevenly, hand still tangled in the ruined sheet as if it is the only thing preventing him from losing control completely. You breathe through the discomfort of being stretched out and little by little, the pain begins to subside.
Your body adjusts around his girth, the unfamiliar pressure becoming something warmer, almost intoxicating even. The grip you have on his arms loosens and instead, your hands slide upward over the hard curvature of his shoulders and onto his back.
Satoru watches every change in your countenance, nothing escaping him. He takes it all in—your breath evening out, your thighs relaxing around him, the slight, unconscious shift of your hips beneath his.
His blue irises darken, “Better?”
“Yes…”
That single word nearly destroys him, causing his fingers to twist into the sheet and forehead to drop against yours. His breath breaks hot over your mouth as your nails drag down his back, making a sound somewhere between a gasp and a growl. His free hand flies to your waist, nails digging into your skin hard enough to remind you exactly what he is, but he catches himself quickly, loosening his grip, yet you tighten your legs around him before he can pull away.
His eyes snap open as you pull him closer to you, and whatever restraint he had left starts to die. He kisses you suddenly, without precision because he is still inexperienced as ever, though desperate all the same. His mouth hovers yours when he draws back for the first time, moving only a few cautious inches, before slowly pressing forward again.
The motion sends another flare of pressure through you, but it is different now. No longer is it that immediate pain from before.
He moves once more, slower this time, withdrawing with painstaking control before easing himself back inside you. The strange heat deep in your lower belly gathers, spreading through you with every inch until your fingers sink into his back. Satoru fixates on your face as he keeps repeating the motion, watching the tension between your brows gradually dissipate, and your lips part for an entirely separate reason.
“Oh…” You breathe quietly, this feels…unexpectedly good.
He starts to move more purposefully then, deep, rolling thrusts that turn faster and rougher, though still measured for your sake—albeit barely.
The mattress creaks with each snap of his hips; the wet, filthy sound of his cock plunging into your slick filling the chamber. Your pain has nearly vanished now, transformed into a blinding pleasure that makes your vision white out and thoughts blur at the edges.
You start meeting his thrusts without meaning to, learning his rhythm and movements almost as quickly as he learns you, and the first time you do it deliberately, Satoru stops breathing.
His face lifts from yours, “You did that.”
Despite everything, you stifle a laugh, “I did it purposely.”
“...Do it again.”
He gives the demand softly, and you comply, clenching around his cock as you grind up to meet him once more. His eyes flutter shut for a moment, and the composure he wears like armor disappears totally; the sight sends a thrill through you.
This is the Honored One.
The Viltrumite who has stood untouched before collapsing planets. The weapon who has ripped through armies and returned home with boredom in his gaze. And you—are undoing him with your tight cunt he cannot seem to get enough of.
He fucks himself deeper, more urgently, though he continues watching you with almost obsessive attention. Each little moan you make seems to draw another from him. Every time your nails score his back, his grip tightens at your waist and his cock drives harder into you.
“You feel…” He starts, and stops, voice gone hoarse.
You peer up at him with half-lidded eyes, “What?”
He stares at you like he resents the fact that language has failed him, he has never been this vulnerable, “...so perfect.”
The praise makes heat bloom through you; your hands move over his back again, tugging him down until his chest presses fully against yours, and he shudders at the feel of your breasts touching his bare skin.
Then, something in him shifts. His breathing breaks apart, his rhythm loses its careful consistency, becoming uneven and instinctive as he enters you with long strokes. His eyes widen slightly with dawning realization.
He knows what his body is approaching—a climax.
Viltrum educated him well enough for that. This was the means to reproduce.
What no one had taught him was how overwhelming it would feel.
“Satoru?”
His fingers stab into your waist, “I know.”
But he sounds as though he does not know anything at all. Because he does not. He has never ejaculated before—never even felt something half as pleasurable as this.
His body tightens over yours with such sudden force that the bed groans beneath both of you, face dropping into the crook of your neck as he stuffs himself as deep as possible. You feel his cock throb and pulse within your walls, followed by the hot, thick rush of his cum flooding inside you in heavy spurts.
For several seconds, he cannot speak or move, seemingly he has forgotten how. You feel him trembling, the hand at your waist still clamped tight as he empties every last drop of his load into your womb, and when he finally lifts his head, his pale cheeks are flushed. His white hair hangs disheveled across his forehead, lips parted. His eyes, usually so clear and cutting, appear dazed.
He knows exactly what has happened. What he does not understand is why no one warned him it would feel like being split apart from the inside in the best possible way.
His gaze lingers on your face, “That was…”
Trailing off, still searching for the correct word, you are breathing no more steadily than he is when you ask, “It was…?”
Satoru swallows, “No one said it would feel like that.”
Something about his honesty makes your chest swell, but before you can really acknowledge it, you notice his attention shifting. His eyes lower between your bodies, slowly pulling out just enough to watch his cock slip free, and a stream of his cum leaks from your swollen cunt, dripping onto the sheets in thick, white globs.
The bewilderment in his expression sharpens into one darker. Because there it is.
The abstract purpose of this arrangement suddenly made visible.
He had completed the act required of him. His body had done precisely what it was summoned here to do. Yet the satisfaction spreading through him is anything but dutiful.
His seed is inside you.
His.
There had been other males your father could have selected. Older veterans with centuries of conquest behind them. Proven fathers. Men who would have entered this chamber without hesitation, far too eager to bed you, and leave once the task was done.
But…none of them had been chosen.
Satoru had.
And you had ensured that choice would be permanent.
No other male would ever father your children. No other female would ever carry his. His bloodline would continue through your body alone, just as yours would continue only through him. The thought settles somewhere deeper than pride.
You had claimed him before he ever touched you, and now, staring at the evidence of himself inside you, Satoru realizes he would have demanded the same in return. He could not tolerate another male standing where he stood now nor could he bear the thought of someone else knowing you this way, or worse—giving you a child.
No.
You are his.
But that realization comes with another, equally consuming truth.
He is yours too.
Thragg did not order that one. That was your own doing. You had looked upon Satoru and decided that you wanted him for yourself. He would not be used elsewhere other than with you.
A deeper hunger takes hold of him then, twisted with pride, possession, and something dangerously close to devotion.
He wants more of you.
Wants your body to remember him, to accept his seed again and again until conception feels less like a possibility and more like an inevitability. Wants to see you carry the living proof that, among every male left on Viltrum, he had been chosen.
And underneath all of that, sits one startling, intoxicating truth—he belongs exactly where you put him.
His hand settles low over your belly, then slides even lower to gather whatever left of himself he can to push it back inside you with two fingers, as if to make sure it takes.
Your back arches slightly, whining, “Satoru.”
His eyes lift slowly to yours, “Perhaps…we should make another attempt.”
You stare at him, searching for any concern that this first attempt may have failed, but do not find it. All you find is the want.
“To ensure conception?” You ask curiously.
He hesitates for a mere breath, “Yes.”
The lie is almost convincing, and your reply comes before any caution can reach it. You know you should not want more of him already, but you do. Desperately.
“Then let’s make another attempt.”
Satoru’s gaze darkens at the words. And this time, when he reaches for you, all the gentle restraint he had is gone. He flips you over onto your stomach with that effortless strength, pulls your hips up, and before sinking back inside your cum filled cunt to do it over again, his mouth ghosts over the shell of your ear to whisper—
"For Viltrum…right?”
You arch up into him, “For Viltrum…” You repeat, however meaninglessly.
Because you are not sure whether any of this is for Viltrum anymore.
You're obsessed with your magic teacher, Master Qifrey, but he always treats you with the utmost respect, when you'd really love to get railed by him </3 Enter - Master Gojo. He's brought in to assist, and he has no issue giving you all sorts of lessons that Qifrey won't - like making you squirt. Qifrey is not very happy catching Satoru fingering you on the dining room table of all places though, so decides to make it both your problems!
٠ ࣪⭑ pairings - yandere! Gojo x witch! reader x Sorcerer! Qifrey
٠ ࣪⭑ warnings - Gojo being a little shit, kinda a crack fic lol, Qifrey losing it, horny reader, Qifrey and Gojo kiss on... accident!? twice! (Sure) fingering, oral (m and f receiving) p in v sex, spitting, cum swapping, Eifel tower, tummy bulges, creampies wc- 3.2k
part of my crossover event!!! I will have two more (Sugu / Sebby and Choso / Valko!) ty to everyone for two years on Tumblr - despite a couple loud haters, the majority of you all have made me very happy to write here!
qifrey art here!! Gojo art here!!
Satoru hates watching you like this, the apprentice of his damn dreams just over there drawing pretty patterns – with Master Qifrey of all people.
Oh, you'd think they got along because they're both white haired sorcerers?
Well you'd be dead ass wrong.
Satoru can't stand how much you have swooned at Qifrey since he's arrived to help with training the future witches here, don't you realize Satoru has six fucking eyes!? Qifrey has only one, how the fuck could he ever even dream to keep up with Satoru Gojo of all people?
It was amusing, him thinking he could – but was not amusing was seeing his crush with Qifrey, following him all around and giggling as if you were one of the other girls he kept. But no, you were a whole ass woman, and Satoru thinks Qifrey should keep to being a step dad, and leave you all to Gojo himself.
You were supposed to be training with him too, but half the time Qifrey was on some bullshit and just disappeared, leaving Gojo to deal with all the damn kids always getting into trouble. He was fine when he left though, when it meant moments with you all to himself.
His fists clench now, pretty blue eyes narrowing as he watches you and that white haired copycat through an arched window, you peek then, turning your head to the side as if you could feel his eyes – and catch him, making him flap his arms around and fall back on the soft grass.
Shit.
He doesn't need you to know how often he watches you, especially since he's come here - he should be focusing on the apprentices he is here to train, not dying over you, jerking his cock in the room next to yours. But you just smell so good, and you look up at him so damn pretty.
You're always simping for Qifrey though.
Satoru is right here!?
He is always trying to show you things, yet - like a brat, really - you're all doe eyed for the other white haired sorcerer. But this weekend, it’s gonna be his chance – for you to see how strong he is. Surely when Satoru shows you his own powers, you’ll get soaking wet.
Well…
You do get soaking wet, when Satoru accidentally transports you into a goddamn ocean.
“Shit!” He must have been distracted!? “I’m sorry, sweetheart… this never happens and…”
“It’s f-fine,” you’re coughing and shivering, your thin white gown clinging to your body in a way that further ruins Satoru altogether, his cock throbbing at the sight of you like this. “I think your transportation magic is… ahem… really…”
“You’re shivering,” he pouts now, tugging you to him, ignoring how good your tits feel against his chest, all lush and pretty. “I am sorry, lemme get you back home. I wanted to show you the beach, not…”
“It’s all right, Master Gojo,” you smile all tremulously, clinging to his neck as he picks you up. “I’m a little dizzy.”
“I’ve got you…”
Satoru gets you back, and after you’ve gotten into dry clothes, he realizes that the two of you are alone.
No kids up.
No one eyed Qifrey and his lover (that’s who Satoru thinks that man is, well… Satoru sure hopes!)
It’s his chance to show you a different magic.
He gathers himself that night at dinner, you're sitting next to him tonight, his hand resting on your thigh as he smiles at you, watching you bite down on your lip, a pretty flush to your skin.
"I am sorry again for today,” he murmurs, brushing a lock of your drying hair back gently. “I really thought I had that one down.”
“It was kind of fun,” you giggle now, sipping your wine, a drop of it on your lips. “Master Qifrey always keeps me away from any danger, locked up almost. So it was a little… exhilarating.”
“Yeah?” You nod and he exhales.
Thank God.
“I actually have a different method than Qifrey does for magic," he murmurs softly, as you nibble on your dinner. "I should show you some time."
"Oh, different from the ocean trip?"
"Mhm," you lean forward just a bit, pretty tits leaned out of your neckline for his hungry blue eyes to hit. You sip your wine carefully once more, feeling the intensity of his gaze taking your breath.
You may or may not have a crush on Qifrey - but you also may or may not have a crush on Satoru.
Scandalous, you can't do such things!
They're both your teachers, and you're a grown woman, much unlike the young girls that joined you as apprentices, aren't you supposed to set an example? But your thoughts are utterly wicked - imagining just how much of their cocks you can fit in your throat.
Scandalous thoughts that must end!
"I could show you, it's a little different," Satoru says, chuckling and slipping up that blindfold he wears constantly, letting pretty blue eyes drift across your collarbones. "More based on touch than drawings."
You feel your cunt clench around nothing. "Oh, touch, you say?"
"Mhm."
"Well,” you set down your glass, heart racing as the fire crackles, illuminating his tall shadow taking over yours on one of the stone walls of the Atelier. “I'm most eager to learn."
It's moments before Satoru has you spread right on that table, shoving your skirts up, his fingers pumping in and out of your needy cunt, the squelching so damn loud. He's leaning over you, as his fingers move in and out faster, a hand clutching yours as it rests on the table, your ass arched all pretty against him as you cry out.
"S-Satoru!"
Your voice is all hoarse as your head falls back, as much as you adored Qifrey - well, he'd kept it all professional. He'd never done more than brush your cheek with his fingers once, a lean close – so close you thought he’d kiss you – just to pull back and walk right out.
Not Satoru.
He had no problem kissing you messy, his eyes were insane as he hit your sweet spot over and over, laughing against your ear, lips brushing against it.
"How are my lessons, pretty little witch?"
"Wh-what... are you teaching, ngh," his teeth nip your ear, eliciting a filthy little cry. “They’re v-very – ah! Gojo…”
“Satoru,” he whispers, pumping faster with his thick fingers in your plump, messy cunt. “Say it, sweetheart.”
“Satoru!”
That's what Qifrey hears when he walks in.
"Well, here's that sweet spot, the one that makes you gush," he's honing in on it, smirking when Qifrey walks in, but your face is pressed against the table cloth, drooling on it, Satoru’s hand entangled in your hair.
Qifey is torn - between wanting to fuck Satoru up and wanting to drag you right over to himself, hearing your pathetic, mewling little cries, your squelching cunt as the dumb fucking sorcerer he brought in to help is touching you. Qifrey’s hands are damn near shaking, clenching into fists as he walks in, slamming his gear down on the ground loud enough for you both to pause.
Satoru just smirks, this little shit.
Your face is all fucked out, drool down your lips, eyes glazed over in a way Qifrey had only ever dreamed of.
Oh yes, filthy dreams of his apprentice, the one he’d tried so fucking hard to make sure not to touch, to be professional. Yet here Satoru Gojo is, with his dumb blindfold shoved up his face, grinning right at him and apparently fingering your cunt again, judging by the messy, wet sounds echoing and your little moan.
“What is the meaning of this!?” He demands, you bite your lower lip, but Satoru simply hums a bit, reaching around to grip one of your tits, squishing it in his hand.
“I was showing her my own magic, one eye.”
Qifrey snorts, shaking his head and pulling out his little notebook. “Time for you to get locked the fuck away, six eye freak.”
“Aww, can’t make her cum without your doodles?” He’s got you arching, and Qifrey’s cock is throbbing underneath his robes, his eye damn near twitching behind that spectacle, as your nails scramble for purchase on the table.
Qifrey walks over and Satoru is furious at how you grip his fingers when he’s that close, how thick your coating of slick gets, he gets so mad he slips a third finger inside, making you cry out.
“Eyes on me,” he murmurs in your ear, but the other sorcerer is gripping your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze, that eye glinting dark.
“No, eyes on me,” he says softly in that tone of his, absolutely fucking you up, his free hand trailing down the side of your pretty tit, tracing the gentle curve as you’re trying to hold it together. “You needed your cunt played with and never told me?”
“She didn’t need to tell me,” Satoru’s lips pressed against your neck, his teeth nipping your skin.
“I tried but y-you… seemed very – ngh, reserved,” he sighs, shaking his head once more.
“Here in the dining room? Really, Gojo?”
“Want dinner though,” he pulls out his fingers, dripping with you, smirking as he sees the sorcerer fucking salivate, sucking your juices right off them, moaning, his cheeks hollowed. “She’s so tasty.”
“My room. Now.”
You both pause, Satoru raising a brow, but Qifrey just walks off, looking at you both behind his shoulder.
“I said now.”
You’re sure you’re in for the worst tongue lashing of your life, even as Satoru has this big, shit eating grin on his face, walking up the winding stairs to his room, when the door shuts behind you, and suddenly it’s Qifrey, his fingers on the buttons of your gown, making quick work of them. He sighs when he sees you naked, groaning at the sight of your pretty body as Gojo’s own eyes dart across.
“Seems our first time will have to be sharing you,” he murmurs, clicking his tongue and brushing your hair back. “Shame, I wanted you all to myself.”
“Who says I’ll share her?” Satoru tugs you to him, lifting you like it’s nothing with his hands on your thighs, carrying you right over to Qifrey’s bed and laying you down, just for the other sorcerer to come right over, shoving Satoru right over.
“You already started having fun,” he presses you down against those silk sheets, cool against your heated skin, making you tremble just a bit. “Look at you…”
“Master Qifrey…” You’re all flustered, and he raises a brow, as Satoru’s slipping off his top, revealing the muscles of his hard body, while Qifrey’s fingertips trail your thighs, sliding up and making you tremble.
“You were aching all this time, hmm?” His voice rushes over you, and Satoru’s sigh is loud.
“Will you move so I can show you how to eat pussy?”
“Tch, think I don’t know how to pleasure a woman?” Satoru is snickering as Qifrey kneels at the foot of the bed.
“Do you just draw on her thigh?” Qifrey doesn't answer, he simply slips his long fingers up your skin. Watching those juices pour right out.
"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you," Qifrey murmurs, as if it’s just for you – spreading your thighs with his hands carefully. "Taste this sweet, pretty little pussy."
“You have? I–ah!” He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive folds, before his tongue makes contact with your dripping slit.
You cry out, arching against the bed, hips pressed up as he licks a slow stripe up your slit a few times, coating his tongue in it before he parts your puffy folds, circling your clit with deliberate precision. The very tip of his tongue swirling intricate patterns like drawings, all in front of Satoru Gojo.
“Fuck…” that's all he can manage, as one of your hands grip the sheets, and the other entangles in Qifreys pretty white locks.
“There it is,” he mumbles, pussy drunk as he smirks over at Satoru. “She quite likes her clit being covered in my ‘drawings’ hmm?”
Satoru watches with hungry blue eyes before kneeling down right next to him, his mouth capturing your other thigh in a little kiss, grasping dribbles that are glistening right down.
“Move over,” he bites your skin. nudging Qifrey aside. "Let me taste her too."
Instead of arguing, Qifrey simply shifts a bit, leaning over you to capture your chin, allowing Satoru to eye your dripping folds, parting your pussy wide and watching it clench around nothing.
Qifrey spits your own cum in your mouth.
“Swallow, pretty Apprentice.”
You eagerly obey, earning a pleased smirk as Satoru buries his face against you with just a bit of clumsiness, his tongue exploring every inch of your folds before pulling back with a groan.
"Fuck, you're tight," he mumbles, sliding a finger inside as Qifrey licks your clit again, the squelches obscene. "Can you even take us?"
“Mhm – ah!” Your thoughts are cut off when both men begin to eat your cunt – desperately, your hands in each of their silky white locks, one of your thighs in each hand as they spread you wide.
Qifrey leans in and captures Satoru's lips in a messy kiss as if to make sure to capture all your juices, his tongue slipping over Satoru's mouth to taste you on him. The sight makes your cunt clench around Satoru's fingers, the way they're moaning. The way the saliva drips between them – your two teachers sharing your taste between them right over your twitchy clit.
“Oh…” they both blush a bit and pull back as if it were some mistake, before diving back in, tongues circling your clit in tandem, both men's fingers working your needy cunt. “Did you two… ah. Kiss?”
“No!?”
“Indeed no!?”
You go to giggle.
Big mistake.
The two white haired sorcerers immediately position you, so you're laying on your back sideways on the bed, Qifrey settling between your thighs with his fat cock tugged out of his robes, as Satoru positions himself by your head, his pink tip dripping white little drops on your lips.
“You want me to take care of you, hmm? Pretty girl,” Qifrey’s words are fucking you up – blood rushing through your ears as you nod, feeling his cock slide between your puffy folds, while Satoru’s darts on the seem of your lips, running across it achingly slow.
"I want to watch that pretty throat bulge when I fuck it," he murmurs, moaning when you lap at his tip, your mouth opening wide. “Watch you swallow every inch."
"And I want to see myself…” He pushes right into your slick heat, you’re so damn wet your cunt takes him easy despite how fucking long he is, he lets out a little moan, eyeing that stomach bulging. “Right here.”
tBoth men eye your body, Qifrey painting pretty patterns with his fingers on your tummy, while his cock is gliding in, Satoru pressing so that you choke on him, shushing you carefully.
“That’s it, you can take us, sweetheart,” he cooes those words, watching his shape in your throat while he sees Qifrey’s cockprint moving in and out of your stomach. “Look at you. Made for it.”
“You're taking us so well,” Qifrey whispers, picking up your thighs now and spreading them wide, watching how she so greedily grabs onto his cock, every thrust making slick just pour. “I was neglecting my apprentice, I see.”
“You were,” Satoru whines out – Qifrey would make fun of that sound, but he’s doing the same goddamn thing when you grip him, swallowing around the other sorcerer’s cock. “Fuck…”
They begin to move their cocks in perfect sync, tears slip from the corners of your eyes as Satoru sinks deeper, and Qifrey’s tip is just kissing your cute lil cervix. You’re so full of both of them you can hardly see, vision fuzzy as your eyelashes flutter closed, seeing stars behind your eyes.
It’s not long before he has you on your hands and knees, sucking Satoru like that while his hand entangles in your hair, his heavy balls slapping your clit, the loud slick sounds of the men fucking you echoing in the bedchamber. Satoru’s gasping out as he shoves his cock fully inside your mouth, that tip gliding on your throat until your nose is flush with the little smattering of white hair, and Qifrey is leaned back, watching your cunt taking him.
“Look at that, so eager,” he clicks his tongue, smirking just a bit, that little eye glass fogging up with his own breaths as he pulls out fully, slapping his fat cock right on your needy cunt, chuckling. “Beggin’ for all that cum inside, isn’t she?”
Satoru pulls out so you can speak, throat sore with how he’s stretched it out, saliva just dripping from your lips. Satoru tilts your chin up, smiling down at you, thumb brushing over your lower lip now, swiping some of his pre.
“Answer him, sweetheart.”
“Want it,” you manage, peeking back to see your teacher gripping your hips, nudging his tip teasingly against your clit, coating it in sticky pre. “I do…”
“How do we ask, love?” Qifrey nudges your clit again. “Have I not taught you any manners during our lessons?”
“Please,” you whisper, gasping out as Qifrey shoves his length back inside your snug lil cunt, she’s quivering all round him as he leans close, and Satoru is tugging your mouth back open.
“Want to swallow all this cum while he fills you?” He asks, making your cheeks heat up. “Looking all innocent when you just want all this cum.”
“Mhm,” is all you can manage, tongue out, letting them both fuck their loads inside – so full you’re swallowing Gojo down, as Qifrey pumps you so full it won’t even stay in.
Don’t worry – the sorcerers make sure to clean your pussy right up, and if their tongues catch each other, well they’re just sharing your taste – and Qifrey’s cum is quite sweet, even if Satoru won’t admit it. They’re certainly not kissing, and they absolutely can’t stand each other – they’re just getting along for you!
The Sun God had never been in love. Until he saw a lovely nymph, whose beauty made his heart race with a feeling impossible to capture in the sweetest words. Until he was struck by Cupid's arrow of love, sending his mind spiralling into an obsessive lust. Until he decided to... soothe you a bit, like a true, filthy scum. But well, Satoru Gojo was truly just a man in maddening love!
included in tales, myths, romances
˖𖤓 ݁˖ pairing: ꒰ Apollo!Gojo Satoru x Nymph!Reader ꒱
˖𖤓 ݁˖ content & warnings: ꒰ MDNI 18 + :: Greek Mythology AU :: half mythologically accurate :: MY WIFE FEMJO MENTIONED :: yandere Gojo Satoru :: obsessiveness :: possessiveness :: virgin reader :: masturbation :: strong reader :: she's also meannn :: Satoru is a SCUM in love :: drugging (with aprodisiac) :: lose of virginity :: Suguru is a scum too :: we're fucking on the beach :: posessive sex :: breeding :: mating press :: oral sex :: pussydrunk Satoru ꒱
˖𖤓 ݁˖ words: ꒰ 11.4k ꒱
˖𖤓 ݁˖ notes: I need to learn how to write short fics, because it was supposed to be 6k. Anyway, it is half-mythologically accurate, as I, of course, added a few changes. There's not much said in mythology about Daphne's (nymph's) character, so I played with it a bit. Enjoy!
The common truth seemed to be that Apollo had been stricken by the wicked arrow of love by Cupid himself.
During the fight of sorts, Apollo, always so proud and pugnacious, killed the serpent Python. He slew him with a thousand arrows as the beast wrought devastation across the lush lands of mankind.
And so the God defeated it grandly, with his handsome cheeks and eyes kissed by the Mother Sea itself, shining majestically beneath the golden rays of the Mediterranean sun.
The end of the story it could be, yet the God of Music and Poetry and Sun, to put it bluntly, did not know how to shush a cheeky mouth of his that boasted round and round.
One day, flushed with foolish pride, he saw a God of Love, Eros, bending his bow, arrow drawn taut. A boy of young age who seemed too sweet not to tease, and as Apollo was known for his wicked, playful mind, he poked the little divinity with a laugh.
A laugh it was supposed to be, yet he went too far.
He joked a few too many times, laughing at how Eros shouldn't handle a weapon reserved only for the truest men. After all, who killed the serpent Python if not Apollo himself?
He had every right to be arrogant, yet the Gods and Goddesses couldn't stand the wicked smirk and unwavering haughtiness that always clouded his mind. He was beautiful and sleek, yet no one on Olympus's peak could ever match his arrogance and boldness.
Apollo was powerful, yet Eros was unkind. After he poked and played and had his fun, Apollo left Eros alone in the forest, giving him no mind. He didn't know, however, that the God of Love would prove far more wicked than he had thought.
As with his hurt pride, Eros plucked a few creamy feathers from his wings and prepared two arrows. They were completely different, one creating love, the other banishing it entirely. A savage decision, truly, yet how could a prideful man of Eros's sort leave Apollo without the fruit of his wrath?
So he drew the arrow of love and shot it right through his bones. Letting it seep deep and gravely, spreading the lustful obsession of the most wicked charm. The utterly deadly one, making one obsessed and wretched over the darling of their desires.
Usually, his arrows were meant to strike those who wished to be deeply in love. Yet, as the rage was ravaging Eros's mind, he decided to make Apollo the most obsessed yet unhappy man in the entire world.
As for the other one, meant to banish the love, he shot at the daughter of the River's God.
The most beautiful nymph of all, with a face carved by the waves themselves. A chin utterly kind and cheeks wholly sweet, as eyes carried a gentleness of petals' peppered kisses. A wild birdie she was, basking carefree beneath the searing sun, as she lay and drank and danced without giving a mind to no mankind nor other little divinities. Nothing plagued her cheeky mind, and no worry could ever haunt her velvety forehead.
After all, she was the River God's most precious child, and he allowed her everything, guided by a parent's blissful love.
Her giggle bloomed in the nearby trees, and tender gaze lit the powdery midnight sky. A true beauty of utterly rare sight, so impossible it seemed too not be caught in Apollo's sight!
The God of Sun and Music and Poetry had never been in love. He enjoyed the bodily pleasures rather often, yet had never come upon a thing so deadly and wicked called love.
He knew that Gods and mortals joyed in it with the passion seething in their blood – for there were Hades and his Persephone, Aphrodite and Ares, even Orpheus and Eurydice, too, although it seemed that love of humankind was of a rather cruel sort.
Apollo, or, well, Satoru Gojo, as his true name was, never gave it much thought. The Goddesses and Gods were utterly beautiful, true, yet none of them had ever made his heart race with the swell and tenderness that all the poets wrote of.
He had never felt this tickling pinch his spine, nor the sudden blissful pain puncturing through his heart. No lover had ever bewitched his soul in an almost maddening way, and so he thought that the thing called love was simply not a part of his fate. Even if, that was rather fine too.
And yet… the serpents of fate are wicked.
Another summer evening it was, while Dionysus threw a joyous party as Gods usually liked to do. With wine spilling all over the golden cups and jolly laughter swirling through the tall grasses of the midnight land.
Gods there were of all sorts – trees and rivers and plants, each with loveliest offspring too, joined the grand feast.
It happened thirty moons or so before Eros shot Satoru with an arrow of maddening love. One evening, when the God who devoted his mind to no one set his eyes on… you.
A Goddess? Dearests, no.
As if you were the Goddess, he would fear that Aphrodite, driven by jealousy, would quickly pluck your eyes out. For the moment you entered the banquet held on the hidden beach, where waves rolled in deep foams, and moonlight spilt its cold kisses onto the heavy stones, Satoru needed to hold his breath.
This feeling, which he had read – written – about so often, suddenly bloomed in the swells of his heart. His hand flew towards his chest, crumpling the ivory tunic that covered the sizzling skin. His mind was struck, as if by a trickery spell, making him lose interest in the men and women chirping by his side.
The lyre in his hands felt heavy as he plucked the crystal strings, producing an unpleasant tone. But how could he not, if his eyes were devouring a beauty he'd never seen before?
And that evening, he followed you like a lost pup. With an ocean gaze lingering longer on the swells of your body, wrapped in a flimsy dress, and on your sweet cheeks, giggling foxily as the salty breeze smooched them. The flicker of the candles peppering long tables cast a lovely flame upon your skin, basking it in gold and warmth, as he imagined licking it clean.
Satoru Gojo was a poet too. A God of Poetry, after all, yet his mind was miserably empty whenever he tried to put your beauty into words. No one had ever shone brighter than you, and no giggle forced this weird, foreign feeling to seep through the marrow of his ribcage.
He was always responsible for the music and jolly, while his dearest friend Dionysus spilt the wine into guests' cups. The merry atmosphere tickled him in a pleasant way, and the mere thought of going back to one of his temples with a few little birdies forced a cheeky smile upon his brazen lips.
The women, Goddesses, and little divinities who didn't wish to be smooched by Satoru's muscular arms were indeed few. Yet the nymph who bewitched his mind in the utmost wretched way didn't bestow him with lovely eyes even once.
Dionysus noticed Apollo's frown crumbling, so he jumped to his side with a whisper, "Hm, isn't she your type, my dearest God?"
Satoru glanced at the slyness on Suguru's lips and bit the inside of his soft cheek. "That's the problem. And yet it seems I'm not quite hers."
Suguru pushed a raven lock of his hair back behind his ear, and lavender eyes oogled your giggling body with a slight grin. "Do you wish me to give her a bit of my special wine?"
The special wine was simply spiked with an aphrodisiac. Some Gods loved to use it to heighten their own sexual pleasure, while others too… made the object of their desires a bit mellow. A bit more balmy and sweet, and so Satoru already imagined your body melting beneath his fingers as he held it dearly within his delicate grasp.
Feeding you the special wine would be easy. And yet, Satoru didn't wish to be a bastard.
"Oh, but you are," Suguru chuckled, sensing the thought in his friend's mind. "I don't think there's any God more selfish than you."
Satoru knew it was the truth, for his character was rather… oh well… let's simply say he wasn't known to be the kindest and most lovable pick among the women. The most beautiful one? Surely. The best in offering sexual pleasures? Indeed. Yet he was the most arrogant bastard on the Mountain's peak, and every creature living beneath the Midetarrean sun knew of it far and well.
You most likely knew it too, so that's why the stars bouncing off your eyes did not look his way even for a second.
His head fell against Suguru's shoulder, the heavy wine coating his tongue with a sweet taste. His mind buzzed with a clash of drunken and desperate thoughts, a pulsing desire already flowing like liquid through his veins.
"I want to approach her in a nice way," he muttered, feeling Suguru's body tremble with wicked laughter.
"You can only dream, my God. She had rejected all attempts to woo her. The men and the Gods were rebuffed before they could grasp the weight of her eyes," Suguru hummed, feeling Satoru's head suddenly grow heavy on his shoulder.
"Is it her father's fault?"
Suguru shook his head. "The River God wishes for nothing more than to see his grandchildren's blooming cheeks. It's she who sniffs at all her suitors. After all, she is a virgin huntress, bound by Artemis's chastity laws." Satoru's head grew heavier. "You'd better forget about her, my God."
But how could he! His heart raced for no one but her. And even if she was a virgin beauty, Satoru didn't mind it at all, for he truly believed in the power of his charming soul. The arrogant confidence of the Sun God was truly impossible to dim!
And so that evening, Apollo decided to fulfil your father's deepest wish and become a man worthy of his daughter's hand. The one who would turn the virgin huntress into his most delicate, lovely petal.
At first, he began strolling around the meadows you usually spent your time in. Where the river curved and bent like a serpent's snake, and crystal droplets smooched your body, immersing you deep. You often sat with other sisters, and Satoru would approach you all with his foxed smile, dripping with a few sweetish words about your utter charm.
The other nymphs giggled, blushing gently at the lyricism spilling from his lips, as if the words of the most passionate, heart-throbbing kind were meant for them indeed. They looked at your unfazed face with a sly smile, knowing that their sister would reject Apollo's advances as she did with all her other suitors.
The Sun God knelt on the riverbank, looking down at your naked body hidden beneath the water's gentle swells. He could see nothing but the swell of your breasts, with perked nipples smooched by the river's kisses. You were meant to stay a virgin, true, but no one said you couldn't use the charms of yours to make the men spill miserably right beneath your feet.
So you glanced, for the first time, at God's idyllic face and waved your hand with a soft sigh. "I don't need your courtship, my God. There's nothing you can say that will force my mind to change. And to answer the question you most anticipate – no, I won't marry you."
Other suitors would back away instantly, feeling the intimidating air your glance carried across the lush plains. Your head tilted wickedly, lips curving into a playful beam, as if you knew the wretched state you always left them in.
Because a man's nature was to challenge his luck. Who didn't think that maybe their fate would be to change the virgin's mind? As all of them thought of you as the gentle, timid petal, not knowing that the virgin huntress was indeed a true beast hidden beneath the loveliest female cheeks!
But the Apollo, of course, couldn't be more turned on by your harsh rejection. The truth was that he almost didn't hear a word. No, instead he focused on the way your lips curved into a tricky smile. How crystalline droplets clung to your half-dipped breasts, with liquid sun spilling all over your warm skin. He traced them one by one, dripping from the damp hair and down the chest. His eyes seemed to be enamoured by your heavy gaze, slightly squinted and teasing, as if you already knew that your rejection would pinch his wretched heart.
And so a truthful, "My Goddess, you're ethereally beautiful with this wrath-wrinkle of yours," fell with his deep, obsessed sigh.
The nymphs gasped, covering their lips with gentle hands. Their mingling eyes glanced between your squinted gaze and the God's wretched sigh, as they awaited how this concern would unfold.
"I'm not a Goddess, and I don't need your praise," you said, your voice dripping with disinterest. "Find yourself another muse, my God. There's no need to waste your precious time on a simple nymph."
You bounced off the river's edge and swam to the other one, where the Sun God knelt. With the golden halo smooching his pale cheeks and ivory tunic crumpling on muscular shoulders. Feet clad in long, serpent sandals, golden laurel laying high on frosted head.
You've seen men of his sort, yet he was the first to look down on you with such a wretched gaze. Like a doomed lover, trapped in a circle of unrequited love, as if his heart had never swelled for any beauty but your gentlest soul.
He watched you carefully as you swam his way, unhurriedly, slowly. Water flowed over your body in soft waves, and warm wind shook the sole strings of your hair as it fell.
Your arms rested on the lush grass as you looked up at him through a curtain of wet lashes. "My God, I think it's time for you to go."
Satoru smiled – foxily, slyly, yet truthfully – before his hand reached out to cup your lovely cheek. You quickly pulled back, letting the tips of his fingers only catch a whisper of your soft lips.
His head tilted, a few creamy strands falling loosely over his straight brows. "I don't wish to hurt you, my Goddess." He grabbed the hem of his tunic. "I simply hope you'll grant me a chance."
He was kneeling, propping himself on his toes, as his fingers itched to grab a single lock of yours.
"I won't. I pledged Artemis my virginity. I'm a huntress, not your silly muse. Leave this place, or you'll taste the blood of my arrows."
And these words had indeed been bold, as all three realms of this world knew that no man had been more skilful in archery than Apollo himself.
If anyone else had spoken them in such a daring manner, the wrath of Apollo would bring painful consequences.
Yet when he heard it in this lovely yet viper-like tone of yours, a shiver ran down his spine. His hair stood on end as if electrified, and an ethereal aura smouldering around his figure suddenly intensified.
He wasn't afraid, oh surely no.
But rather, the swelling enamour, pinching his fingertips, washed over his heart. Your wicked personality wasn't an issue of any sort, but rather made the Sun God burn with an unexplainable desire. Heat that seeped down to his loins as he took a whistling breath.
"My Goddess, do you know who you're threatening to?"
You knew, of course, yet the urge to play with his boastful ego suddenly proved stronger than the choice to simply leave him be. You've met men like him before – too proud, too arrogant, the ones who'd never heard the word no. Yet of all you'd rejected, Apollo – Satoru Gojo – was the worst of all.
He was the Sun God, after all, who took satisfaction in the fact that the world, indeed, revolved around him. A personification of vanity and smugness, surpassing even Narcissus's pompous pride.
He knew what spell his wicked beauty cast over the nymph's petal cheeks. He knew the virgin maiden would fall for him most pitiably, needing only a single glance from his lustful eyes. His touch was soft, and his hands roamed over the women's tender bodies in the most loving way, yet never leaving them with the true tenderness that should fill his heart.
Satoru Gojo was a simple scum you wished to have nothing to do with. A cheeky smile tugged at your lips as you rested your arms on the river's edge and lifted half your body out of the water.
He didn't try to hide the ocean gaze, immediately snapping down towards your perked nipples, with crystal droplets dripping down the lush glass. Your head tilted, eyes turning kitty-like, as the blessed kisses of sunshine, of his sun, peppered your wet cheeks.
"To just yet another miserable man," fell almost mockingly, prompting a sudden movement around his hips. You've noticed it, and so you turned your lips into a disgusted grimace. "Go away, my God, and know my mercy. I won't be that nice next time."
You fully lifted yourself from the water, standing next to his kneeling body, naked. His gaze followed up your thighs, the mound of your pussy, the plush of your belly, tracing every crystalline line carving into your body. When it finally met your eyes, his throat bobbed.
"My Goddess, you're truly underestimating my feelings for you."
A scoff slipped past your lips as your eyes rolled. "For the God of Poetry, I expected more flowery words."
And so, ignoring whether he wished to say anything next, you simply passed him by. Going deeper into the woods, leaving the Sun God with nothing but the lingering fragrance of your blooming skin in the air, and the painfully, wickedly wretched pleasure bubbling in his loins.
𖤓 𖤓 𖤓
You truly thought that he would give up.
That the Sun God, like any other man, wouldn't wish to pursue a woman who looked at him with nothing but a deep scowl between her beautiful brows.
And yet, for the next thirty moons, he always seemed to be there. Somewhere around, following you like a shadow, with eyes and lips and mind always speaking loudly, giving you neither peace nor serenity among the quiet fields of your home.
Whenever you went hunting, his arrows sliced through the air faster than yours, striking the animals and beasts with power that crumbled the heavens themselves, and a gasp always slipped past your lips.
Quiet, voiceless, yet somehow leaving you speechless upon seeing the strength the Sun God possessed.
He found you every single day, appearing like a spectre by the riverbank, a bow slung over his muscular shoulder, gold and softly feathered, mingling beneath the rising sun.
"Where are we going today, my Goddess?" He jumped to your side with a smile, immediately sniffing the fresh, flowery scent that clung to your sparkling hair.
You gave him no mind, simply following deeper into the warm, moist woods. The sun was barely high, and so you watched the trees wake from the slumber's tight arms.
"I'm going for breakfast, and you can do whatever you want."
Yet you knew that no matter how mundane your day was, Satoru Gojo would follow you nonstop. Just to steal a glance at your lips as you wrapped them around the orange's sweetest juice, the sugary stickiness dripping down your blooming cheeks. To watch the way your back bent whenever you drew yet another deadly arrow. How muscles beneath your flimsy tunic worked, and the sweat bubbled at the back of your neck as he traced it with a hungry gaze.
A few weeks had to pass before you started to tolerate his daily company.
He still acted bold and proud, often boasting like a peacock right in front of your irritated eyes, yet tried to keep his hands away, even though you'd noticed how his fingers curled whenever your tunic brushed their tips.
But then one day… something had changed.
You didn't know what, but well, he did.
Eros's wicked arrow had struck his bones, making his gut leak with maddening love. He was aware of the wretched ache in his heart, yet only after being struck by a love-spell of sorts did something beastly unlock in his mind.
As for the arrow meant to banish love, Eros shot it towards Apollo's dearest one. As all the Gods on Olympus already knew of his wretched state, Eros played his dirty trick, ensuring that the sweetest nymph would never glance at Apollo again.
But… well. A man in such haunting love is truly a hellish creature himself.
When the love-bound arrow struck his back, he took it with a wicked pleasure. Yet, when he saw another one flying boldly towards the curve of yours, he grabbed it swiftly, before the leaking peak could ever brush your skin.
It was a sudden movement as he stepped closer, his hand shooting toward something over your shoulder.
It happened yet another day, as you both walked the serpentine paths through his temple's lush garden. There's a little cove I wish to show you. How about a quick dip? After spending a month in his presence, you sighed and nodded, as nothing gave you more wicked pleasure than seeing him lose his mind at the sight of your naked body in fresh mountain waters.
And so, while your tunic fell to the ground and a warm wind brushed your hair with a soft tickle, he suddenly stepped closer.
Too close. Before a sudden crack of splintering wood sounded behind you, he drew an arrow, his long fingers clenching it.
"What is it?" you furrowed, looking at the long wooden arrow crushed in his strong grip.
He threw it to the side, taking the ivory tunic off his body. "Nothing, probably someone's lost arrow. Give it no mind."
But how could you, when something deep in your chest panged? You were a huntress, after all, so how could you not notice an arrow slashing at your side? There was never a moment when you would let your guard down, and yet, being in Satoru's presence somehow pulled a blissful laziness to seep into your mind.
He was always there – looking, watching, carefully observing each of your moves. Swooshing away a few men who dared to approach your side while he kept his eyes on you for too long.
To tear their limbs apart and unleash plagues across their lands with a single arrow. Something… you didn't know about, since there was no need to trouble your sweet mind. To reveal a sinister side of him that would shatter the gradually improving image you held of him.
His mind was already wicked. Heart wrenched by the pull of love so strong that it seeped into him from the inside. So the moment the love arrow struck his back, the feelings he had tried to keep within his heart suddenly burst with brutish, uncontrollable force.
He simply needed to make you his.
So you hummed softly, taking the first step into the little cove, with water slipping in from the nearby sea. A crisp chill hugged your limbs as you took a deep breath.
He watched you with a smile before dipping into the water too. "Rather good, isn't it?"
You nodded, leaning your arms over one of the sizzling stones. "Mhm."
Your bashful eyes roved over his ethereal body, lingering a moment longer on the broad, muscular back and meaty thighs. A warmth seeped through your loins, so you quickly looked away.
But he saw it. Of course he did, and so his body drifted a little closer, just to feel the saltiness wrapping your skin. Your hair fell loosely over your wet shoulder, and warmth crept up your soft neck.
The slight ache from the morning's hunt still pinched your muscles, so you turned to him again, only to see that he had suddenly come far too close.
A soft cough escaped your throat as you pressed yourself closer to the stone. "Could you, hm, give me a quick massage, my God?"
Satoru chuckled. "A massage? Is that how you wish to use the powerful Sun God?"
A scoff slipped past your lips as you turned back and rested your cheek against the warm stone. With eyes slightly lidded, you knew he, anyway, would give you whatever you wanted.
"Is there anything else you're good for?" A cheeky question slipped past your lips, followed by a low sigh.
He stood mere millimetres from your arched back, and the heat radiating from his body was smouldering your drenched skin. Long, thick fingers settled gently on your shoulders before he began pressing the muscles. Your body melted beneath his strong touch, and your mind went all fuzzy – nothing but soft moans and sighs would fill the little, hidden cove.
"I'm sure you can find a few things you could make good use of," his voice dripped with seduction, tickling your hair-covered cheeks.
A tsk fell past your lips. "You have only filth in your mind."
Well, how could he not? When your back arched so deliciously, with water hugging solely your slightly dipped hips? He could see the swell of your ass almost brushing his thighs, and if he took a little step forward, the tip of his leaking cock would surely brush your skin.
It was a blessing that you lay pressed to the stone in a blissfully unaware state, not knowing that the Sun God was going through pure torture right behind your back. With the fat, long cock sticking to his abdomen, little pearls of precum dripping down the veiny curve.
"You make me act filthy, my Goddess."
A month ago, you would have smacked his cheek and left him be. But now, with his fingers digging deep into the muscles of your back, a lovely laugh slipped past your lips.
"It's a pity I'm a wretched virgin, hm?" You straightened your spine, as if trying to give him a better view. "My God, you truly have extraordinary restraint."
Oh, how he loved this cheeky side of yours. The pure filth spilling from your virgin lips, eyes taking on a nasty look whenever you caught him staring at your nipples peeking through the tunic. The way you always undressed yourself in front of him without blushing like a birdie, taking full pleasure in the fact that he couldn't touch you as he wished.
Who said that a virgin should be timid and cowardly? If you could keep your chastity while still enjoying the wretched state you put men in?
And which God would be more fun to tease than the one who slipped through numerous affairs?
Satoru hummed, pressing your back a little harder. Slipping lower, and lower, through your ribcage and waist, rolling the little dimples just above your hips. "Have I? I'm afraid this restraint might one day snap."
A shudder ran down your spine as you tried to keep your head steady. Your bow lay still on the river's bank, and if he tried to misbehave even a bit, you would simply shoot him clean.
And yet, your hips rolled, as if trying to chase the pleasure his touch gave. "I'll be there when it happens." You looked over your shoulder, not missing the squint he gave you… "And I'll make sure to bring you to your senses," …and the reddened tip sticking to his hips. "I think you might wish to take care of it. Maybe with one of your muses?"
Or whores, as you actually wanted to say.
His cock trembled as you looked at it, and Satoru could only chuckle. Nastily, mischievously, with the fingers pulling your hips a bit closer. Yet not close enough for your wet pussy to feel the meaty shaft graze her lips.
"You are my muse, Goddess," he leaned closer, his warm breath brushing your cheeks. "Do you wish to hear the poems I've written about you?"
The sizzling sun licked your spine, eyes followed as his plush lips leaned to your ear. "Are they as filthy as your mind?"
He nodded, fingers slipping down towards the swell of your hips. Rolling deep circles, loosening the tightness in your muscles. "How could they not?" Snowy hair almost tickled your ear. "Who do you think I pleasure myself to? You may be a virgin, my Goddess, but I have my needs too."
With a sudden movement, he flipped you over, pressing your back to the warm stone. His thick cock stuck to the white trail of his abdomen, yet still not touching your dripping cunt.
You may've pledged chastity, yet you couldn't control your body's simple needs.
"You can't do anything to me," you said, yet something in your voice quivered.
His head tilted wickedly, and his eyes shone as he gripped the fat shaft. "But you can watch, hm?" A thumb swirled over the pearly tip, smearing the sticky cum over the reddened head. "Or is it also against your chastity?"
Maybe it was. Yet your head shook as back pressed closer to the stone. The water swelled over your hips, leaving your breasts bare to his starving gaze.
"Hm, thought so." His fingers slipped to your cheek, brushing a few wet locks away. "My Goddess, you truly are a wicked creature."
Pleasure, distress, haunting desire clashed with each other in your mind, yet your body froze in place. Lips fell only slightly open, eyes bulging like porcelain plates, seeing the fatness he gripped. Leaking with creamy droplets of precum, soaking his long fingers and veiny thickness.
Saying he was large would be an understatement.
Something in your belly squeezed, imagining his bulging head hit the deepest–
"Stop," the word slipped out in a shudder as you turned your head away. With warm cheeks and a trembling lip, as if the Sun God's look of himself pleasuring himself solely on your blooming face were against every pledge you had made. "Go and find one of your filthy muses."
Satoru chuckled before his fingers pinched your chin, turning your head back. He leaned closer, his lips almost brushing yours. "I can't think of anyone but you, my Goddess. Look what a wretched man I am because of you." His thumb brushed your lower lip, then slipped boldly onto your tongue. "Do you truly wish to put your Sun God through such a tor–"
Yet before he could finish, your hand met his cheek. A slap bounced off the water, turning his face left. To bring it back to face your wrath, you slapped it again.
His creamy face bloomed like the softest rose, and a shiver of pleasure ran down his spine. Excitement pinched his heart as fingers clenched around the fat shaft with a low, groany moan.
He bit the inside of his cheek, looking down at your face, burning with rage. "Slap me again, my Goddess, and I'll make you arch that pretty ass of yours for me again."
You didn't know where this sudden change had come from, yet the man standing in front of you was not the one who had pestered you for the past thirty moons.
No, as Satoru Gojo, who now stood mere millimetres from your body, with his musky scent clouding you tight and his fat cock trembling at the sheer look of yours – look much, much madder.
Wretched, obsessed, with the flame dancing behind his watery eyes and a wicked smile tugging at his rosy lips
Another shiver ran down your spine when he started pumping his shaft faster. Smearing the creamy cum all over the bulging veins, throwing his head back yet still following the gentle rise of your trembling breasts.
The rage bubbled beneath your heart, and a tiny thread of heat smouldered on your cheeks. He leaned a bit closer, and closer, and closer, until his forehead rested against your shoulder. He didn't touch you in any other way, yet the sole impact left you breathless.
"My Goddess, you smell so good," he took a deep breath close to your neck, letting another groan escape his lips. "So delicious, ah, I can only imagine how sweet the scent is down there."
A shuddered breath escaped your tightened throat, feeling his muscular, massive body looming over yours like a deathly threat. Long fingers pumped his cock faster, breathless moans hit your drenched skin, before he finally stilled.
With the gentle, petal kiss upon your shoulder and his cheek nuzzling against your skin.
Something warm spilt over your belly. And you didn't need to look down to know what it would be.
"You're disgusting," fell in pure wrath, as you pushed him away. "Nothing but filthy scum. I hope this satisfied your hunger, because the next time I see you, my God, not even your wicked arrows will be able to save you from my rage."
You left the water with a shuddering, vexing tremor washing over your spine, and this little, agonisingly rubbing feeling that spilt hotly all over your mind.
Satoru followed your body with a slick smile, the saltiness of your skin still tasting heavy on his lips.
The Sun God was of a cunning nature. Wicked and wrathful, always doing things one way. His way.
Three weeks had passed before he had a chance to see you again.
His heart heaved in agony as he couldn't find you anywhere. As always, he came at the first break of day to join you on the morning hunt, but you simply weren't there. Waiting for him with a scowl, yet still giggling at all his foolish jokes and accepting a bit of help.
He was waiting by the river's bank from morning till night, yet you hadn't appeared even once. As if the waves themselves had trapped you beneath the surface.
He asked around – the nymphs, the Goddesses, the plains – yet everyone said they hadn't seen you for days. Or maybe they simply lied to him, as you couldn't simply disappear.
And so for the next three weeks, he walked through the lands like a shadow. He barely enjoyed anyone's company, sitting in his temple only to get drunk on the sweetest wine, letting his creamy skin be scorched beneath his own, merciless sun. A shadow of a man he was, as his heart simply couldn't bear the separation you imposed with such anger.
After two weeks, he met his twin sister, Artemis, to whom you pledged your chastity. He loved his sister dearly and knew her like the back of his hand. Thus, with a single glance, he could tell she knew everything that had happened between the two of you.
And based on her furrowed forehead and tsk that fell when she saw his grinning face entering her temple – she wasn't happy.
"I won't tell you where she is," she murmured, brushing her long, creamy hair aside as she enjoyed the warm kisses in the sun.
She lay on the sofa by her pool, with nothing but a long tunic gently wrapped around her body. Satoru hung over her wrinkled forehead and pressed a finger to satin skin. "My sister, such a beautiful woman you are, and yet you always seem so angry."
Shihori smacked his hand, glancing up at his brother with the same blue eyes. "Because you always make me angry, fool."
Satoru lifted her legs and rested them on his thighs as he joined her on the sofa. "Tell me where she is."
Shihori couldn't care less about her brother's wicked wish, so she shook her head. "You know she pledged her virginity, hm?"
Satoru hummed, playing with the long tunic as he brushed his sister's ankles. "I do."
"So you also must know what will happen if she breaks her vow?"
Of course he knew. That's why he came here.
"What if I told you I love her?" he asked, drawing his sister's attention. "I want to make her my wife. Give her to me, and I promise I will be in your debt forever."
Shihori propped herself up on elbows, letting long white hair brush her rosy cheeks. She was as beautiful as her younger brother – by a minute only. Possessing the same archery skill and a power that trembled the heavens.
With a slim chin and wicked eyes, matching the proudish smile. Strong and bold, with neatly carved muscles bulging beneath her satin skin and an authoritative tone that always made Satoru slightly squirm. But she was his older sister, after all, so how could he not feel the utter love and respect for the same blood?
"And why would I do that?" Shihori lifted her straight brow. "Why would I change my rules for this little nymph?"
"Because you love me," Satoru grinned. "And I suppose it would be rather proper to remind you that enjoying women's company also counts as losing one's virginity. My dearest virgin-goddess sister."
Shihori squinted, kicking his side with her foot. "Whatever I do with my nymphs is none of your business."
Satoru grabbed her ankle before biting her big toe, just as he used to tease her when they were children.
"I suppose some Gods would be interested in how the protector of young women and their virginity fucks with her dearest followers," he chuckled as she kicked him again. "You're no better than me, my sister. The same scum-blood runs in our veins. So let me have her, and I won't say a word."
Shihori glared at him. Morality and the need to give her little brother everything were clearly at war in her mind before she waved her hand and lay back down.
"Fine, I won't punish her. Just don't do anything stupid," she laughed, feeling Satoru's sweet kiss on her cheek. "She'll join another feast in a week. Just wait for her there. Oh, and bring me some of this Suguru's special wine."
Satoru tilted his head, another wicked grin already tugging at his lips. He knew his sister wasn't the saint everyone took her for, yet he had no idea how coy she was.
"And what do you need an aphrodisiac-spiked wine for?"
She opened one eye, shooting a set of daggers straight at his heart. But before another bark could pass her plush lips, Satoru chuckled once again. "Ah, what was this rumour, hm…" His eyes gleamed with a foul grin.
"What rumour?" Shihori asked through her teeth, yet the rosy warmth hit her cheeks.
Satoru stood up from the sofa, giving his muscular back a long, groany stretch. He scratched his chin before looking over his shoulder towards his sister. Oh, her anger only fueled his playful mind.
"Nothing, just that our dearest stepmother has been surprisingly benevolent lately," he observed, another wave of warmth wrapping around her neck. "I suppose it's because Hera truly enjoys the company of her stepdaughter. I wonder what makes her so happy that even Zeus no longer gets scolded for all his affairs."
Shihori slipped a pillow from beneath her head and threw it at his head. "Go out, before I change my mind!"
And so he left, with a crackling chuckle bouncing off the temple's walls and his older sister burning from embarrassment.
Yet now, with his sister's blessing, there was nothing that could stop him from pursuing your love.
And so he knew that the next time you met, he would make you his, whether you liked it or not.
𖤓 𖤓 𖤓
The moon spilt coldly over the feast's heavy tables as the Gods and Goddesses gathered around the flickering candles. The night was warm, as the summer breeze tickled the cheerful cheeks of the giggling nymphs, who listened to Satoru playing soft harp tunes.
An ivory tunic, as always, fell down his muscular shoulders, as the moon spilt dripping kisses on the lightened side of his face.
Finger played softly through the harp's gentle strings, yet lingered on your laughing cheeks. Something panged deep in his chest at how carefree you were with other divinities. You sipped your wine without giving Satoru much thought, as if you hadn't disappeared from Earth for the past three weeks.
Your laugh sliced sweetly through the air, tickling his ears. He desperately tried to force eye contact, yet you gave him nothing but the lovely side of your cheek.
An irritated tsk escaped his lips, an unpleasant anger bubbling deep in his chest. A few Gods approached you with a smile, forcing another wave of rage to wash over Satoru's spine.
Before he could step in, seeing how you slowly warmed yourself to some small God's side, a low, chuckling whistle slashed through the air.
"It seems like things didn't work your way," Suguru said, brushing Satoru's arm with his. "What? She rejected you?"
Satoru sighed, rolling his tense shoulders. "She's just a little nervous."
Suguru squinted his lavender eyes, clearly dissatisfied with such a roundabout answer. Raven hair tickled Satoru's cheek as he tilted his head. Satoru rarely saw his friend concerned with anyone but him, yet his forehead furrowed with a gentle wrinkle.
"Give her some of this wine," Satoru mumbled.
Suguru drew in a long breath, shooting his head towards Satoru. "But you said–"
He started, but Satoru quickly added. "I know what I said." He bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes squinting furiously. "Give her a little. Just to soothe her a bit."
Suguru chuckled, hitting his friend's back. "As you wish, my God."
"Ah, also, prepare a bit for Shihori."
Looking over his shoulder, Suguru rolled a laugh. "Your sister? What does she need it for?"
Satoru gestured with his chin towards the start of the table, where three of the brothers and their wives sat among the elite. With Persephone straddling Hades's hips, a quiet goddess wrapped around Poseidon's arm, and Hera… sitting utterly bored and giving Zeus's drunken laugh no mind.
Suguru followed his gaze before a devilish laugh escaped his throat. "Don't tell me she fucks with the queen mother herself?"
Satoru crossed his arms over his broad chest and let out a soft hum. Suguru tilted his head, admiring Hera's gentle cheeks. "Well, she's quite beautiful. No wonder she's stopped going crazy over Zeus's affairs lately."
Satoru watched as his friend took another pot of wine before rejoining the Gods. His golden tongue whispered the sweetest secrets, and the divinities laughed and blushed beneath Dionysus's soothing lines. After all, a God of Laughter, Wine and Theatre, he knew exactly how to play on people's minds.
You weren't an exception. As he approached and wrapped his arms around you and your friend, a gentle laugh made your eyes lift. Satoru bit the inside of his cheek, catching Suguru's sly glance, while his fingers clenched around your soft arm.
But still, he poured you another cup of the sweetest wine, watching you close as you took a sip. And another, another, another, before humming softly about how delicious it tastes.
A few minutes passed before something warm began to spill across your chest. A kind of fog clouded your mind – sweet and gentle, yet sizzling like the sun.
The nymph sitting right next to you grabbed your arm, looking at your hottish face with a furrow. "Hey, are you okay? Do you need some water?"
You drew in a sharp breath, feeling her cold skin against yours. Your head shook as a soft "I'm fine" barely passed your lips.
Excusing yourself, you rose from the chair and headed to a quieter part of the beach, where gentle waves lapped inside the small cove. Surrounded by the forest and shielded by tall trees, the spot offered a peaceful retreat. The salty breeze gently touched your cheeks, while your throat felt parched, and you scratched it with long nails.
The fog clouding your head was getting thicker, denser, spreading all over your body till the fingertips tingled with a pinching pleasure.
Something wet dripped down your inner thighs, and as you hid yourself behind a tree and slipped a hand beneath the long dress, you felt the stickiness coating your sizzling skin. But more so… the moment your finger brushed your swollen folds, a low bounce of the softly rolling waves.
"Fuck," slipped in a whisper, as you felt the burning pleasure fill your lower belly.
You looked around, seeing that neither mortal nor God peered into the little cove. The bay seemed completely private, with nothing but moonlight spilling onto the smooth sand and soft whispers rolling off the crystal waves.
You took a deep breath, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together. Just to feel a faint friction, yet too embarrassed to slip your finger up again.
You've never felt it before. This… sensation.
Pleasure.
Or maybe you did, yet your mind refused to accept that Apollo, or Satoru Gojo, was the only man who woke a dangerous flame deep in your chest.
Maybe you simply wished to forget about the warmth that boiled deep within your lower belly when his muscular body stood right in front of yours. The look on his handsome face, lost in utter pleasure, and his long fingers wrapped around his filthy cock.
You tried not to think of it again, as the moment the image of his shaft slipped again into your mind, another moany sigh rolled past your lips. Your pussy clenched around nothing, letting another batch of stickiness coat your thighs. Trickling down the skin, till you've noticed a little, wet drop landing on the sand.
"Fuck, fuckfuckfuck," you cried, feeling the burning sensation pinch your skin harder. Perking your nipples, softening your body, as if preparing you to accept the pleasure that needed to be spilt.
Bracing yourself against the stony wall, you took a few steps. On trembling legs, you felt the weakness slowly seep into your marrow. You walked slowly, trying to go deeper into the nearby forest, just to reach the river.
Somewhere safe.
You moved slowly, with wetness dripping down your legs and heavy breaths escaping your burning lungs. Your eyes were misty, nearly teary, as the feverish, floral heat enveloped your entire body.
Waves rolled past your bare feet, sandals long forgotten somewhere in the back. Your burning body couldn't bear the dress clinging to your skin, so you began to undress unconsciously.
One cloth after another, before falling down your knees, to crawl towards the river's banks.
"Do you need help, my Goddess?"
Someone's voice filled your balmy mind.
No, not someone's.
His.
Of the God whom you wished to see the last, as the sole fragrance of his skin pinched your senses in an utmost sinful way.
And, oh, he must've watched you now in such an embarrassing stance!
Kneeling with your sizzling body, you shed the sea-drenched dress behind you. The intense desire overwhelmed your reason as you presented yourself fully before his daring gaze.
"Go away," you barely breathed. "You can't see me in such a state."
But Satoru merely chuckled before you heard his heavy footsteps coming your way. Ocean eyes hummed at all the garments you'd left behind before settling on your clenched thighs and slightly arched back as you tried to crawl towards the nearest river.
He squinted, seeing the wetness dripping down your thighs and a gentle shimmer from your swollen pussy.
"My Goddess, it seems that you do feel unwell," He chuckled, taking another step your way. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
Your head shook as you tried to crawl faster, only to get away from him as fast as you could. An attempt to stand up ended in a miserable fall onto the sand, drawing a soft giggle from Satoru's lips. He knelt by your side, brushing away a few strands of hair sticking to your cheeks.
"Oh my," he hummed, seeing the utter loveliness of your drugged face.
With cheeks sweet as fresh cherries and eyes softened by an alluring scowl. A gentle pout tugged at your lips as you unconsciously nuzzled against his skin. Another hand cupped your cheek as he held your face in a possessive grip. His big thumbs, tight yet delicate, brushed your skin.
"What is it, my Goddess?" He whispered, allowing a lenient sigh to spill past your lips. "What happened here, hm? Are you a bit too drunk?"
You nodded, thinking of nothing but the pleasant grip of his fingers.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, you were slowly giving in.
A miserable attempt to push him away ended solely with you even more pathetically landing on the soft sand. Your back hit it with a dull thud, as Satoru placed his fingers on your knees. Thumb rolled gently in circles, as if he knew how much pleasure your body took from each brush of his skin.
"Say it," he muttered, leaning closer. Plush lips brushed one of your knees, eyes never leaving your fogged face. "Say that you want me to help you, my Goddess. I know how to make you feel good."
Oh, and you knew too, which is why your knees tried to close again. But his grip was too strong, and he brutally forced them forward, folding you in half.
With your bare pussy dripping filthy onto the sand and perked nipples waiting to be softly brushed by his thumb.
The moonlight kissed his handsome, sharp side as he leaned in once again. To hang right over your face, observing with wicked pleasure the tears forming beneath your lids. As if he could see the fuzzy mess of your mind, with morality and a simple, human need drawing a brutal tight.
"I c-can't," you mumbled, feeling the heat drip down your tongue. It felt much heavier than before, barely touching your feverish roof. "Stop, I can't, the chastity–"
"Shhh," Satoru cooed, pressing your thighs to your chest. Till the swell of your ass glued off the drenched sand. "Artemis will forgive you."
His nose traced the plush of your cheek. Lips peppering your skin softly, leaving traces down your chin. His tongue swirled sweetly around one of your nipples, through the burning neck, perked breasts.
You wished to fight it – you truly did, yet a sugary moan slipped past your lips.
"No, she–ah!" you cried, as he softly bit your nipple.
"It's alright, my Goddess. Don't resist it," he murmured, with one hand feeling your breasts as his lips traced a path down your body. He gently bit, grazed, and nipped your skin before resting his cheek against your mound. "Allow me to take care of you. Just say you want it," he whispered, as his finger rolled your nipple, causing another cry to escape your lips.
"I'm a v-virgin, wait…" Your hand landed on Satoru's head, tugging softly on his hair.
Satoru groaned, feeling your gentle finger scratch his scalp. "I'll take good care of you. It won't hurt, I promise," he mumbled right into the drenched mound of your cunt, as the fragrance of sugary juices already hit his senses. "Fuck, my Goddess. Just let me have a taste. I won't put it in…" promise?
You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling his warm breath almost brush your core. Not quite, yet the mere sight of him, lying so handsomely between your thighs, was enough to force a nod.
A nod, which would never happen if your mind wasn't on the verge of spilling. If your body wasn't melting beneath his touch, thighs spreading even wider, just to open your cunt to his starving mouth.
It was utterly embarrassing, humiliating, mostly sinful act and yet… when his tongue finally licked the juices off your clit, a shuddering moan bounced off the cove's stones.
He didn't waste a time, pushing the drenched muscle right inside your spasming cunt. Slurping, ravishing on the waves of wetness that spilt from your hole in unnaturally large bursts. Droplet after droplet, trickling down his chin and landing softly on the sand.
"My Goddess, fuck, I knew you would taste so good," he slurred, letting your juices stick to his lips. "My sweetest love, mhm, I was waiting a month for you."
Your fingers clenched around his hair as you tried to slightly pull him back. "W-wait, that's–nghhh–too much, my God!"
Your body had always been much weaker than his, but now, with neediness running through your blood, it seemed impossible to do anything but allow yourself to be wrapped in his lips.
He took your hand, slipping it down your belly. Down to your clenching cunt, only to press your two fingers against the swollen clit.
"Do you feel it, my Goddess?" He chuckled, looking up at your warm cheeks. "Do you feel how wet you are? That's what you wanted to take away from me."
He directed your pads to press softly, pinchily, till another moan spilt past your lips. His tongue slurping on your tight core, fingers of one hand rolling your nipples. Squeezing the plush breasts, till a painful pleasure tickled your spine.
And the other hand…
"Wait!" You screamed, quickly catching his wrist. "N-no penetration… just…" Oh dearest, how embarrassing it was to say out loud! "… use your tongue. I can't lose my virginity."
My sweet foolish nymph, Satoru thought, before an innocent, "Of course, my Goddess," fell past his plush lips.
The waves and waves of ethereal pleasure washed over your spine as he devoured your sweet pussy with a starving need. Nose all glued with your juices, cheeks nastily squeezed by your trembling thighs, tongue working on your clit and hole, trying to stretch her as much as he could.
His creamy forehead furrowed with a wrinkle, brows tight, as you pushed a few soft strands of his hair away.
"My God, please t-take a breath," you cried, yet the spilling lustfulness seeped like a flame through your skin. "I'm–mhmm–t-there's something…" Before you could point at your lower belly, his hand pressed right there.
Squeezing your little pouch, as if trying to feel the slick, filthy cum splashing beneath your skin.
"You need to cum, my Goddess," he mumbled drunkenly, sucking on your plush clit. "But for that, I need to put my finger in."
You bit your lower lip, looking down at his wretched face.
His cheek nuzzled against your soft thigh, kissing the clit softly. "Please? Just a finger. I promise, it'll be fine."
Oh, he looked stunning. With those alluring eyes and innocent pout, as if aware that his angelic face alone was enough to make your head spin.
So you nodded, rather unconsciously, and watched him push one finger in.
"Oh," slipped moany at the new feeling. "Oh, my God, mhmm, i-it's–"
"Now you can cum for me," Satoru whispered, going back to sucking your clit.
He knew where your sweet spot was – how couldn't he? – so within a second, you started squirming beneath his grip.
One of his hands rested on your belly while the other was deep inside your tight, clenching walls. He kissed, brushed, and lightly peppered your most sensitive spot with his finger until your thighs finally clenched around his head.
Locking him in a tight, shuddering embrace as he drunkenly moaned over your spilling juices. With a single flick of his tongue, you melted beneath his maddening touch, squirting all over his cheeks, chin and nose, till the Sun God was left nothing but a wretched man, hugging nastily to your velvety skin.
Your head felt a bit less feverish, with the crimson fog finally clearing from in front of your eyes and fresh summer air finally filling your lungs.
For a mere second, you felt normal again.
Satoru still lay between your spread legs, kissing the slippery skin of your inner thighs softly.
"Welcome back, my Goddess," he muttered, licking the last juices dripping from your pussy.
You watched him with pure terror swirling behind your eyes. "I… this feeling…"
"Mmm," he hummed, softly biting a plush of your thigh. "Someone must've spiked your wine, my Goddess. Have you angered anyone recently?"
Oh, he was such a scum.
Your lovely brows furrowed, a drop of sweat slipping down your temple. "No, I… I don't know. There was…" you, wanted to slip, yet you bit down on your tongue.
Satoru pouted, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. "My Goddess, I vow to find that bastard and slash his throat," he whispered, kissing your thigh and moving upward, even biting gently into your calf. "But for now, brace yourself for another wave."
And true to his promise, the heat once more kissed your cheeks. It climbed up your neck, seeped into fingertips, curled beneath lower belly, and caused another slick to slide down your cunt.
A fogginess once again swirled in front of your eyes, and an anxiety bubbled somewhere deep in your tightened throat.
Satoru flipped you onto your belly, with a soft, "Shhh, it's fine, my Goddess. You'll be fine."
Gentle, wet kisses landed on your shivering spine, leaving hottish traces down the skin.
"What a-are you doing?" fell shuddered.
But you didn't catch his reply. Truly, you heard nothing at all but the swoosh of his tunic as it landed close to your sand-plastered face.
"My God–ah!" Slipped in a pitched moan, as something fat poked on your swollen pussy.
The heat was teasing, gently pinching your damp folds, rolling waves of intense pleasure whenever Satoru stirred your cunt. His fingers spread the heat in a soft hum, and something heavy, round, pressed against your tight entrance.
"My God, what–"
"My love," Satoru let out an utterly innocent whimper, as if trying to stifle the tears wracking beneath his lids. You couldn't see the devilish smile tugging at his lips, his face tightly pressed into the sand. "Allow me to make you feel good. I can make the pain go away, just let me…" His swollen head slipped in a little, forcing a shattered moan from your throat.
"Wait!" You tried to crawl away, but he pressed a hand between your shoulder blades. Keeping you tight in place, with his massive body fully resting on yours.
"It's okay, my love. It won't hurt, I promise," he hummed, another hand massaging the swell of your hips. Spreading your drenched folds a bit farther to see the tip of his cock getting sucked by your weeping cunt. "My Goddess, don't make her wait any longer. She's just wishing to get fucked, ahh."
You bit the inside of your cheek, trying to stop your hips from slamming against his. As, dearest heavens, the way his sole head stretched your cunt brought an unparalleled, maddened pleasure, bubbling deep inside your belly. The pledge you made re chastity was trying to fight the aroused, lustful thoughts. The thick, warm fog that made your body liquefy beneath his touch, and your mind go all hot.
"My virginity–" You started, yet Satoru quickly snapped back.
"I talked to my sister, love. She won't punish you," he whispered, leaning down to lick a long stripe down your spine. "Because now you're mine. So say you want it, hm? Say you want me to fuck your tight cunt and fill her up."
He bit, licked, kissed your skin, while slowly, oh so painfully slow, poking your drenched hole.
"Just the tip, my love," he whispered, brushing away a few strands of hair hiding your lovely side. "I don't want to hurt you, my Goddess. I'll slip just a little tip."
And with an arousal fogging your mind, you nodded. Forcing a wicked laugh past his plush lips as he kissed your cheek.
"Mhm, that's right, my love," his cock slid through your tight walls, snugging inside your plush warmth. "Oh fuck, my Goddess, you truly are a fucking virgin."
You drew in a sharp breath, feeling his heavy cock slip into your belly. It was anything but the tip, forcing a sudden burst of tears to roll down your cheeks.
The pain mixed with pleasure as his shaft forced its way deep inside your pussy. You could feel every pulsing vein throbbing against your walls, the pumped head smooching your sweet spot, as he pushed and pushed, while pressing your body to the sand.
A moany cry bounced pitifully off the crystal waves before he quickly rolled you again.
This time, your back hit the sand, thighs folding up to your chest.
And when you looked up at his face… oh.
The Sun God hung over your crying cheeks with nothing but an utterly wicked, handsome smile. Eyes shining beneath the cold moon, adding to their ocean-blue hues a kiss of sin. He giggled, kissing the single tear that soaked your cheek.
And an angel, no, rather a demon, keeping you in his tight, possessed embrace.
Your hands pressed to his chest, as he pushed harder. "My God, you said just the tip," fell harshly, seeing a grin coiling in his gaze.
"My Goddess, you truly are ruthless," he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your lips. "How could I ever lie to you? I'm barely in, I promise."
Yet when you tried to look down, his strong fingers grabbed your chin, keeping your eyes fixed on his.
"You don't trust me?" He pouted, peppering your skin with soft kisses. "Don't look down there, my love. Focus on me."
Your head lulled right as he bit the side of your neck. Licking, sucking on it gently, while still forcing his cock through your walls.
It wasn't just the tip, and although you should be angry, the way he kept you folded left little room for movement. With his single arm pressing your legs tight, fingers keeping your chin up, and massive, heavy body leaning on yours.
He started to move faster, faster, faster, pumping you poor, weeping cunt with his heavy cock. It hit every inch of your lower belly, brushing past the sweet spot and smooching up to the slowly swelling womb. You could feel his round head nuzzle deep inside your pulsing warmth, as your tight walls wrapped around him, as if trying to lock him in.
A low hiss slipped past his rosy lips as you cried out in painful pleasure. Your blood ran hot as he tried to fuck each drop of aphrodisiac from your veins, pushing your body deeper into the sand.
The nasty squelch bounced off the water, spilling deep into the cave and catching in your scattered hair. He brought your face back, giggling at the sight of your utterly fucked eyes.
"My beautiful Goddess," he whispered, before slipping his hand down your belly. At this point, with heat bubbling in your belly, your thighs stayed open, pressed to your chest, as if your body was freely inviting him in. "My sweet, beautiful Goddess. Tell me how good you feel."
His demand forced wrath and balmy submissiveness upon your fucked mind, and so a sweet, honest, "G-good, ahh, you're filling me s-so good," fell embarrassingly past your lips.
As no matter how much you wanted to refuse, it did feel good. Dearest, it felt amazing, handling his hefty cock fully sliding inside your warmth, till wet balls hit your lifted ass. Head kissing your womb, veins pulsing in rhythm with your plush walls, as they pushed out waves and waves of fresh cum. Coating his full length in your juices, till whenever he pulled out, a crystal thread formed between your cunt and his creamy, happy trail.
His hands kneading your softness turned your mind to balm, and fingers playing with your swollen bud forced a moan, so you truly, shamefully so, allowed your body to give in to his touch.
"My God, nghh, I'm going to–"
Before you could finish, he crashed his lips against yours. He slipped a groan deep inside your throat as he started to fuck you faster. More relentless, brutal, forcing upon your virgin cunt a strength you weren't used to.
"My God, p-please–ahhh–slow down," you cried into his lips, yet received only a low chuckle.
"I know how to make you cum, my love. Your pussy needs to be fucked properly," he licked the tears dripping down your cheeks before capturing your lips again. "You're close, hm? I can feel it in your belly."
His hands pressed to your lower pouch, feeling his cock hit the soft skin, before slipping down to your cunt. Rolling your clit in mean, squelching pinches.
"S-satoru," his name finally escaped your throat, as you wrapped your arms behind his neck. "So good, you're–ngh–filling me–ahhh."
He chuckled, seeing your lidded eyes and messy blabber falling past your lips. "I know, my Goddess, your–ahh–pussy feels so fucking good. My sweetest, I promise to take good care of you."
He hid his face in the crook of your neck before finally going still. Your back arched, nipples pressing to his chest, before a soaked cry ripped from your throat. Juices gushing all over his abdomen, cock, as he hit your womb painfully, filling it with sticky ropes of cum. Till you felt the heavy creaminess sticking to your walls, stuffing you heavily, madly full.
A filthy fog once again seeped into your mind, and for a single minute you felt your strength return to your body. For a mere moment, it allowed you to smack his fair cheek. It left him fully unfazed, with a cheeky grin still plastered to his handsome face and a low chuckle forcing its way past his lips.
"My Goddess, is that how you should treat your future husband?" he asked, then brutally turned you back onto your belly. You tried to crawl, kicking him back, but he simply smacked your ass. "Come on, my love. Don't try to fight me. If I hadn't found you, who knows who would?"
Your breath hitched when you felt his cock harden again. Still snuggling deep inside you cunt, as you felt his shaft stretch your poor, weeping walls.
"I–ahh–I fucking hate you," you snapped through gritted teeth, your hips slowly rocking against his. Whatever you'd drunk still flowed in your veins, forcing another fog over your mind. "I hate you, so, s-so–mhm Satoru, just, fuck, p-please–"
His fingers dug deep into your perked-up ass, ocean eyes glimmering at the sight of your arched back. Sweat beaded on your neck, and your teary gaze looked over your shoulder in a furious, desperate, pleading manner.
He chuckled, taking a little vial from his tattered tunic. Opening it with his teeth, he handed it your way.
"What is it?" you asked, trying to sound at least a bit suspicious.
His eyes squinted, lips turned wickedly up. "Just a simple water. You'll feel a bit better."
"Drink it first."
"You don't trust me?"
You bit down your lip, shaking your head a bit.
Satoru hummed before taking a sip of the liquid without hesitation. It seeped warmly through his body, dripping down to the burning loins.
Seeing that he truly acted normally, you took it from his fingers and drank it all in one go. But… oh.
You shot head his way, seeing nothing, but a nasty grin. "This…"
He leaned closer, pressing his hand back between your shoulder blades. His face drew nearer, then he licked your lips with his wine-sweetened tongue. "Tastes similar, my love?"
A wave of heat was rolling faster, an even stronger aphrodisiac flowing through your veins. Breathing became harder, your mind already blind, as he pushed your melted body into a deeper arch.
"I love you so much, my Goddess," he whispered, peppering your sizzling cheek. "I'll make you feel so good. So fucking good, I promise. My sweet, beautiful wife. Just trust me."
𑣲 mdni (18+), f!reader, fratjo x reader, frat boy au, fuckboy gojo, enemies to lovers (only if i make a pt.2 tbh)
credits for any images used at the bottom!
THIS IS A LONG ONE IM SO SORRY LOL
✦┆𝐁𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞┊𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮
You hated parties. Honestly, you couldn't pin down exactly why maybe it was the drunk college kids, or maybe it was just the fact that you couldn't hear yourself think over the music but you knew one thing for sure: frat parties sucked.
You never really cared for the social scene at college. Even when Yuji would beg you to come out with him, you'd always find some excuse to stay in, claiming you had to study or sleep before an exam. Half the time, it was true, you were on a scholarship and couldn't afford to screw up but tonight, you couldn't use that. Yuji had texted you an hour ago, basically begging you to come to the Alpha Pi house as his birthday gift.
What kind of friend would you be if you actually said no to that?
You'd put in more effort than usual, too. You pulled on a halter top, a pair of shorts, and nylon tights, throwing on an old cardigan you actually liked and your favorite sneakers. You felt decent enough, until you actually got there.
The second you had to squeeze past a few hockey players blocking the open front door who were busy arguing about which girl had the biggest ass you immediately regretted coming out. The music was already too loud, and the two story house was so packed with strangers that you could barely move without bumping into someone.
Before you could even fish your phone out of your pocket to text Yuji, his voice cut through the noise, calling your name. Your head snapped toward the sound automatically, and immediately, your stomach dropped.
There was your best friend, standing next to the only person you wish you didn’t run into tonight. He was standing there like he owned the place which, considering he was the frat president, he basically did. Gojo Satoru. The white haired prick who had been your personal nemesis since you started studying here.
It wasn't just the fact that he was the only person who could actually give you a run for your money in class, it was everything else. The way he carried himself with this infuriating, untouchable confidence. The way every girl in the room seemed to be orbiting around him for a chance to get at him like he was some kind of god. To everyone else, he was the golden boy, the charming star student. To you? He was just a cocky asshole who knew exactly how pretty he was and used it to get away with everything.
You made a beeline for Yuji, pointedly ignoring the way Gojo's blue eyes tracked your movement as you crossed the room.
"Holy shit, Y/N! You actually showed up!" Yuji grinned as soon as you got close enough, pulling you into one of those bone crushing hugs that made your ears ring. He kept an arm draped over your shoulder as he let you go, moving next to you.
"I told you I'd come, didn't I?" you muttered, though you were already wishing you didn’t.
"Satoru, man, this is Y/N my best friend!" Yuji said, tilting his head toward the white haired guy. He took a casual swig from his red solo cup, clearly oblivious to the annoyance you were feeling.
You didn't bother with a polite smile. Instead, when you locked eyes with Gojo, your expression went flat. You didn't miss the way his gaze deliberately raked down your body lingering on your legs before snapping back up to your face. It wasn't a respectful glance; it was a slow stare that made your skin prickle with irritation.
"Ohhh. Y/N." He said your name like it was something he was tasting, dragging out the vowels in a way that felt deliberately provocative.
“Yeah, you got second highest scores recently,” Satoru remarked, his voice cutting through your annoyance with that infuriating confidence. He crossed his buff arms over his chest, grinning down at you like he was already savoring whatever reaction you were going to give him. “First being me, obviously.”
You didn’t give him one, not at first at least. You kept your jaw tight, and your mouth shut. When you didn't bite, he leaned in a tad bit closer, tilting his head like some innocent student asking a question.
“You know, I actually make an excellent tutor if you ever need help catching up,” he offered. The moment those words hit your ears, annoyance washed over your face.
A scoff escaped you before you could stop it. You finally tilted your head up to face him, arms locked across your chest as you narrowed your eyes. "I'd rather eat glass."
The corner of his mouth quirked up into a smirk that was downright predatory. He didn't seem offended; if anything, he seemed delighted. "Harsh," he drawled, letting out a low whistle that made something uncomfortable twist in your gut. "Have fun being stuck in second place for eternity then, princess."
You rolled your eyes so hard it actually hurt, but your pulse was hammering against your ribs. He knew exactly which buttons to push, and as much as you wished it didn’t work… it always did.
"C'mon man, leave her alone." Yuji intervened, smacking Satoru's shoulder hard enough to break the tension. Yuji straightened up, looking between the two of you with an exhausted expression. "Can you two please just pretend you don't want to murder each other for one night? For my birthday?" He pleaded, clasping his hands together in mock desperation.
You looked at Yuji, your sweet, caring best friend and then back at Satoru, who was still watching you with that infuriatingly knowing glint in his eyes. You let out a long, defeated sigh.
"Whatever. Fine." You held up your hands in mock surrender, taking a step back to put some much needed space between you two.
For the next hour and a half, you performed. It was exhausting. Everytime Yuji glanced over to make sure you two were playing nice, Satoru would shift just enough to brush up against you. Every now and then he would lean close to your ear, murmuring a mix of patronizing comments or to crudely comment on your appearance.
Thankfully, some blonde girl had dragged him off about thirty minutes ago, finally giving you the space to relax. Though, that relaxation only lasted about 15 minutes before you completely lost sight of Yuji. One minute he was doing shots with friends, and the next he had disappeared into the crowd.
You let out a huff of annoyance as you pushed through the ocean of people, sneakers sticking to the dirty wooden floor. When you finally managed to climb the stairs, you let out a breath of relief. Thankfully, upstairs seemed empty, minus the couple making out at the top of the stairs that you had to squeeze past.
Your head was beginning to throb from the bass vibrating through the floorboards. Desperate for five minutes of peace and a bathroom that didn't have a line forming you ducked into the first doorway you found.
You pushed it open gently, only to freeze mid step as you saw two people tangled in the sheets of the bed. "Sorry!" you hissed, slamming the door shut so fast you nearly caught your fingers.
The next room you opened was different. It was dark, oddly tidy, and lacked the dirtiness of the rest of the frat house. You slipped inside, closing the door behind you with a soft click before heading straight for the attached bathroom. After locking yourself in and flicking on the harsh fluorescent light, you leaned against the marble counter, staring at your reflection.
You stayed there for a moment, trying to steady yourself, when you heard the bedroom door shut. Muffled voices followed. A quiet groan escaped your lips and you were seconds away from leaving when you froze.
Your hand was already reaching for the knob, ready to bolt, when you heard it. That voice.
It was lower than usual, stripped of the performative arrogance he'd used on you all night. It was rough, gravelly, and dangerously intimate. There was no mistaking it, especially not after he had been talking in your ear half the night.
"Fuck, you look so good," Satoru rasped, followed by a sharp intake of breath that sounded almost pained. There was a soft creak of a mattress and then a giggle, causing you to freeze.
You held your breath, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
"Do you like this?" the girl asked, her voice breathless and needy as wet sounds met your ears. Your face flushed at the images that popped into your head and you slapped your hand over your mouth.
A low, dark chuckle vibrated through the wall, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Yeah, just like that," Satoru murmured, his tone dripping with something that sounded far too much like satisfaction.
You backed up from the door, face bright red with embarrassment as your hip hit the counter and your hand landed on the edge to steady yourself. As your skin met the cool marble, your palm hit something and knocked it to the floor, and you nearly died from the fear of potentially being labeled a pervert.
You held your breath as the room went quiet, eyes stuck to the door like it would burst open any minute. Their conversation started back up, muffled now by the sound of your heartbeat in your ears and then you heard the sound of a door shutting.
Standing there for what felt like forever, you waited for a few minutes before carefully opening the door and popping your head out of it. A breath of relief left your lips when you saw the empty bed and the shut door, finally stepping out of the bathroom.
But the moment your body started to relax, a chuckle startled you and you spun around. Satoru stood by the now closed bathroom door, eyeing you with a look you couldn’t quite figure out as you looked at him.
The silence between you two was deafening, filled only by the distant, muffled thud of the bass from downstairs. You couldn't stop the way your chest was heaving, your breathing uneven as you tried to play off your panic as mere annoyance.
"What?" you snapped, though your voice came out higher than you intended. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, desperate to create some kind of barrier between you and the way his eyes were raking over you.
Satoru didn't answer immediately. He just kept leaning there, one hand shoved into his pocket, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who had just been caught in the middle of... that. A slow, crooked smirk spread across his lips.
"Oh, I don't know," he drawled, taking a deliberate step forward. "Maybe I was waiting for my audience to come out."
Your blood turned to ice. "You- I wasnt-“ You tried to come up with something, but your mind was blank.
"Don't lie, princess. It doesn't suit you." His voice dropped, returning to that rough, intimate tone that had been vibrating through the bathroom wall only minutes ago. "Did you like the show?"
"Wasn’t much of a show," you countered through gritted teeth, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. "I was in here first, Satoru."
The smirk didn't leave his face; if anything, it deepened, turning into something more daring as he took another step closer. "In my room?" he mused, his voice purring as he closed the distance until you could feel the heat radiating off him. "Funny. I don't remember giving you an invitation."
"I didn't ask for one," you snapped, but your back hit the bedroom door with a soft thud. "And I certainly didn't ask to hear whatever... that was."
Satoru leaned in, one hand coming up to rest on the doorframe right beside your head, caging you in. He was so close now that the tip of his nose nearly brushed yours. Up close, the evidence of what he'd been doing was impossible to ignore the way his pupils were blown wide, the flush across his cheekbones, the faint pink kisses that trailed from his jaw to his neck.
"What was 'that' exactly?" he whispered, his breath ghosting over your lips. "Be specific, princess. Since you're clearly such an expert on my business."
"You're insufferable," you breathed. Your heart was hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it. "Move. I need to find Yuji and get out of here."
Instead of moving, Satoru tilted his head, his gaze dropping to your mouth before dragging slowly, deliberately, back up to your eyes.
"Why the rush?" he asked, his thumb grazing the wood of the doorframe mere inches from your ear.
“We were supposed to be pretending to like each other tonight, remember? Yuji's orders,” he said, his voice dropping to a murmur. Before you could retort, he leaned in further, deliberately pressing the full length of his body against yours.
Your breath hitched painfully in your throat as you felt him. The solid heat of his chest, the hard plane of his thighs, and the undeniable pressure of his bulge grinding against your lower stomach. The contact was electric, sending a jolt through you that made your vision swim for half a second. Your head fell back against the wood of the doorframe with a soft thud, your eyes fixed on his.
“You’re so annoying,” you huffed out. Your hands were clenched into fists at your sides, your nails biting into your own palms as you fought every urge to reach out and touch him.
“I’m not going to be one of your conquests, Satoru,” you stated, your voice steadier than you felt. You hated him. God you hated him. You hated his smugness, his arrogance, the way he walked through the world like he owned every inch of it. But fuck, the way he was making you feel right now was intoxicating.
Satoru didn't flinch at your words. Instead, he smirked. He leaned down until his lips were hovering just an inch from your ear, his breath hot and deliberate.
"Conquest?" he repeated, the word coming out as a chuckle that vibrated against your skin. "That sounds like I'm trying too hard, princess."
He shifted again, a slow, torturous grind that made your knees nearly buckle. "Besides," he whispered, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. "If I wanted to conquer you, I wouldn't be playing nice. I'd already have you screaming my name."
One of your hands found his chest immediately, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you gave him a soft shove to pull him away from your ear. The sudden absence of his heat nearly stung and goosebumps erupted along your neck at the cold air rushing into the space where he had just been. You let out a shaky, uneven breath that betrayed exactly how affected you were.
“You’re a pig,” you said in a hushed tone, but the insult lacked any real venom like your usual ones did. Your words died in the air as your gaze betrayed you, flickering down to his lips full, parted slightly, and still flushed from what you'd heard moments before.
What was it about Gojo Satoru? It was maddening. You wanted to push him away with everything you had, to walk out that door and never look back, and yet you wanted to pull him in until there was no space left between you two. You wanted to fight him, and you wanted to feel him all at once.
Satoru didn't retreat. Instead, he caught your wrist with one hand, not roughly, but with enough pressure to keep your hand pressed against his sternum.
"A pig?" he echoed, his smirk fading into something darker, more serious. His blue eyes locked onto yours, searching, almost daring you to look away. "Do you think I’m gross?"
He leaned in again, slower this time, giving you every possible second to retreat, to push him harder, to leave. But you remained there, trapped between the doorframe and the overwhelming gravity of him. All because you knew, deep down, that you wanted this. Wanted him.
"Because from where I'm standing," he murmured, his free hand sliding up from your wrist to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip with a softness that you didn’t know he had in him, "you don't look like you're disgusted at all."
Your heart hammered against your ribs, and for the first time since you met him, you didn’t argue back. The air around you was thick with tension, and when the dam finally broke, it wasn’t gentle.
Your hands traveled upwards, lacing through his white hair and yanking him down. You smashed your lips against his in a kiss that was full of nothing but hunger. It was messy, desperate and laced with all of the frustration and annoyance you’d carried for him.
Satoru let out a sound that was somewhere between a gasp and a growl, his entire body tensing before he surged forward to meet your aggression. His tongue swept against your lips, forcing inside, tasting like a mix of mint and alcohol.
“Finally,” He breathed out, muttering the words against your lips. One of his hands slid from your jaw to the back of your head, fisting a handful of your hair to tilt your head back more. His free hand landed against the small of your back, pushing your body roughly against his.
You let him lead, let him guide your body in any way he wanted. When his hands left you momentarily, you nearly whined in annoyance before he hooked his arms beneath you, hauling you into the air. Your thighs wrapped around his waist, seeking friction as your back was pressed hard against the door with a thud. He grinded his pelvis against your heat, a broken moan escaping your lips before it was quickly muffled by his tongue.
He carried you away from the door, one hand possessively gripping your ass while the other gripped the skin on your hip so tight you were sure it was going to bruise. The kiss broke for one breathless second as he dropped you onto the bed. A startled yelp escaped you as you landed, arms propping you up as you leaned back slightly.
Before you could say anything, you were staring up at him. Satoru stood over you, silhouetted against the dim LEDs of his room. As he pulled his shirt over with both hands, your gaze was glued to him. Part of you wanted to look away, to mumble something about how annoying he was but you couldn’t manage to say anything as you admired him.
He watched your face as your eyes trailed from his biceps to the ridges of his abs and down to the pronounced v-line and white happy trail. He saw the way your eyes were wide, the way you pulled your kiss-swollen bottom lip between your teeth and the way you squeezed your thighs closer together. He loved the way you looked at him, like he was something worth worshipping. A smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth, lazy and annoyingly satisfied.
“Like what you see, Princess?” he asked, voice rough and low. His veiny hands went to his belt, fingers undoing the buckle at an agonizingly slow pace. He didn’t rush. He wanted to savor this, to remember the way you looked at him.
He took his time, forcing you to watch every movement, every inch of him. Your hands fisted the comforter behind you as you tilted your head up, eyes meeting his. “You’re so fucking annoying.” You breathed out.
It was supposed to be an insult, but as the words left your lips they sounded breathless and wrecked. “Am I?” he asked, his voice a low purr. He tossed his belt aside without breaking eye contact, the leather hitting the floor with a sound that made your stomach flip. A cocky, knowing grin spread across his lips as he looked down at you. "Tell me to stop, Y/N. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop."
You opened your mouth to deny it, to find some spark of anger to push him away, but nothing came. The air in your lungs felt too thin and the feeling growing low in your belly was enough to keep you quiet.
Satoru climbed over you, his heavy weight settling between your thighs and pinning you to the bed. The heat of him was overwhelming, pressing through your clothes as he loomed above you. His hands moved with practiced ease, first finding the edges of your cardigan.
The soft fabric slipped off your shoulders in one smooth motion, pooling around your wrists and behind your back before he tossed the clothing away. His hands didn’t linger; they traveled from your shoulders to your hips, giving them a squeeze as he leaned down to find your lips.
Your thighs were bent backwards, pressing between you and him as he left a trail of wet kisses to your neck.
When he sat up to breathe, your chest tightened at the sight of him. One hand trailed from your side to your stomach, fingertips skimming your skin with a torturous slowness before he hooked them under the hem of your halter top. He lifted the fabric inch by inch, his gaze fixed on the swell of your chest. He paused there, licking his lips with a hunger that made your pulse spike, before yanking the shirt over your head in one fluid motion.
For a moment, he simply stopped. He sat still above you, blue eyes raking over you with the same intensity of a man who had just found something sacred. His palm traced the lace of your bra, a gentle caress that rivaled the predatory look in his eyes. His fingers traveled behind you, hooking beneath the clasp. With one practiced flick, he unclipped it. Your breathing became ragged as he helped you out of the flimsy lace, and you immediately bit your bottom lip. You turned your head away from him as hot embarrassment crept up your spine.
A large, warm hand suddenly found your cheeks, fingers squeezing tightly to force your gaze back to his. “Don’t look away,” he commanded, his voice dropping to a rough, gravelly register that sent shivers cascading down your spine. His free hand climbed higher, his palm cupping one breast while his thumb brushed over your nipple, teasing the sensitive peak. “You’re too pretty for me not to see your face when I take what I want.”
A low hum rumbled in his chest as his gaze dragged downward, landing on your shorts. His fingers fumbled with the button and the zipper, the metallic sound echoing in the quiet room like a countdown. You gasped, shifting your hips to help him slide the denim down your legs. He pulled off your sneakers seconds later.
As the shorts fell away, leaving you in nothing but your plain white panties and the thin black nylons over them, a wave of self consciousness crashed over you.
Fuck, If you’d known you’d be doing this you would’ve worn that cute lace set you own. His eyes darkened as they raked over the pale cotton against your skin, then moved to the dark fabric of the tights stretched over your thighs. He used one arm to pull your legs together and push your knees to your chest, giving him a full view of the wet cotton and nylon between your thighs.
His free hand rubbed the side of your thigh gently before running a finger over the damp patch of your heat. A whimper escaped your lips and his lips twisted into a smirk. “So much for hating me, huh?” He hummed, twisting the tights just enough to rip through them, causing you to gasp. “Shut up,” You mumbled, white knuckling the comforter.
His fingers didn't give you a moment's peace. He pressed against you, testing how slick you were, before his thumb began to grind slow, torturous circles against your clit through the damp fabric. Satoru watched your face, drinking in every twitch of your eyelids and every shuddering moan. The sounds you made were like fuel to him, egging him on until he reached down and hooked the sides of your panties, dragging them to one side to expose your glistening entrance.
The sight of you made his breathing grow ragged. He propped your legs straight up against his shoulders, his arm locking around your knees to hold you in place. A neediness washed over you, as he reached for his own pants. When he freed himself, you couldn't help but gasp at the sheer size of him long, veined, and already leaking pre cum and the way his bare thighs tensed as he settled into the bed.
He didn't ease in. He didn't give you time to adjust. Satoru leaned forward, his weight settling between your thighs as he pressed the swollen head of his cock against your entrance. "Look at me, princess," he growled, his hips giving a short, demanding thrust that tested your tightness. His tip was pressed inside you, inching forward. "I want to see your eyes when I fill you up."
Without waiting for an answer, he drove home. He sank into you in one smooth, relentless motion, stretching you to your absolute limit. Your hips bucked involuntarily as you felt yourself being split open, the fullness of him flooding your senses. A high, keening cry tore from your throat as your body fought to accommodate his girth, your walls clenching around him in desperate spasms.
Satoru let out a guttural sound half growl, half groan and stared down at you, watching as your face flushed and your lips parted. When you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, he pressed as far into you as he could.
“Fuck, Y/N.” He groaned, his head tilting back for a split second as your slick walls swallowed him whole. He stayed still for a heartbeat, his blue eyes locked onto yours. When he saw the haze of pleasure clouding your eyes, he began to move.
It wasn't a gentle rhythm. Satoru moved with a punishing, relentless pace. He pulled back until he was almost entirely out, teasing the sensitive entrance of your cunt before slamming back home with enough force to make the bed frame creak. Each thrust was deep, bottoming out against your cervix, sending waves of electricity crashing through your nerves.
"Satoru" you gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets. The friction of his cock sliding against your swollen clit with every thrust was becoming too much. "Please" you begged.
"Please what?" he challenged, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. He increased the speed, his hips working like a piston, driving into you with an increasing force. "Tell me what you want, Y/N. Say it."
"More," you whined, your breathing ragged as your climax began to build. "Fuck, I hate you!" You whimpered. A dark laugh rumbled in his chest at your words and he stopped moving, leaning over you until your knees were pressed against your chest. His hand gripped your face, forcing you to look at him. “You hate me? You hate this?” He asked in a hushed tone, face inches from yours as he slammed deep into you. Your eyes nearly rolled into your head as a moan left your lips, brain a mix of pleasure and blankness. “Mhm, I hate.. I hate you.” You babbled out the lie, knowing you felt anything but hate for him right now and knowing that he’d give you exactly what you wanted because of it. His hips pulled away, only for a second, as his grip on your face tightened until it hurt. Then, he thrusted into you again, your hips bucking up to meet him.
A string of curses left his lips as he shivered, pulsing inside of you, hand leaving your face with a soft tap. In a swift movement, he flipped you over. Before you could even gasp at the sudden change, he grabbed your hips, hauling them upward until you were on all fours, your spine arched and your ass thrust high.
"You're a shit liar, Y/N," he growled against the shell of your ear, his breath hot and ragged.
Without warning, he slammed into you from behind. One rough, devastating thrust sent him fully inside you. He pressed your head deep into the mattress, pinning you down while he began a relentless, driving assault. The sound of his hips slapping against your ass filled the room with a wet, rhythmic sting that punctuated every thrust.
He leaned further over you, his weight crushing you into the mattress as both hands pressed against either side of your head. The pressure inside you became unbearable with each thrust, a coiled spring of heat that finally snapped. Your vision became white as you came, your body arching violently beneath him. A broken moan tore from your throat, drool escaping your parted lips as you lost all sense of where you ended and he began.
Satoru let out a groan at the feel of your cunt clamping around his cock. His pupils were blown wide as he drove into you one last time, a final thrust that buried him to the hilt. "Fuck " The curse was ripped from his lungs as he came, his body stiffening as he flooded you with heat. His hands slid down from your head to your hips, fingers digging bruises into your skin as he pinned you down, holding himself impossibly deep to make sure every single drop of his release sank into your core. Your walls seized around him in desperate, rhythmic spasms, milking him with every frantic flutter of your climax.
The silence that followed was deafening. As the overwhelming waves of pleasure went away, leaving you boneless and hypersensitive, the reality of what had just happened began to crash down on you. Your skin felt too hot, your thighs felt weak, and worse your brain was finally starting to function again.
You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling, chest heaving. The feeling of the wetness between your legs and the humiliating sting of your own surrender was enough to make you upset.
You weren't upset because it was bad, God, it had been devastatingly good. You were just upset because you had let Satoru use you, probably how he used all the other girls on his roster. You had fallen for the performance, the dominance, the way he made you feel like the only thing in his world, knowing damn well he probably acted the same way to half the city.
Beside you, Satoru let out a long, satisfied exhale. He rolled onto his back, limbs sprawled across the sheets with the casual arrogance of a man who had just won a war. He looked utterly unbothered, his pale eyes half lidded as he watched you with that infuriatingly smug expression. It wasn’t until he said something, that you realized you were glaring at him.
"Don't look at me like that," he murmured, though you hadn't said a word. "You enjoyed every second of it."
"Fuck you," you snapped, though it came out more as a breathless wheeze than the insult you intended. You scrambled backward onto your knees, clutching the tangled sheets to your chest to cover your body, trying desperately to reclaim some shred of dignity. "Get out."
Satoru raised an eyebrow, one corner of his mouth curling upward. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," you said, your voice gaining strength even as your thighs squeezed together at the sight of his smile. You pointed toward the door with shaking fingers. "Get out of the room."
A low chuckle rumbled in his throat, making your stomach flip in a way that infuriated you. "That's my bed you're currently naked in, Y/N. It’s my room."
"I don't care! Out!" you demanded, your face flushing crimson. Reaching towards a pillow, ready to throw it at him.
Satoru stared at you for a long moment, his gaze raking over your flustered face, lingering on your swollen lips. For a second, you thought he might push it, that he might try to pull you back into him. Instead, he simply rolled out of bed with an amused grin on his lips.
"Fine, princess," he said, reaching for his scattered clothes with zero remorse. When he was dressed again, he paused at the doorway as he pulled it open. The booming sound of music poured inside and you watched as he pre-locked it. "But we both know you don’t hate me as much as you claim you do."
With a wink that made you want to throw a pillow at his head, he disappeared back out into the party, leaving you alone in his sheets, furious at him, furious at yourself, and terrified of how badly you already wanted him to come back.
art by thatsallitchief , dividers by @uzmacchiato , @pixopix
Park Jimin x Jeon Jungkook Masterlist Part 2 - Long
Note: This masterlist is only for long fanfiction (30k+ word fanfiction only). This list will be updated with the last updated date noted above.
✸ - complete
⨳ - ongoing
✸wishing on the sky - 195k - the leader of the rebellion, alpha jeon jeongguk's sole mission in life is to free his mother land, lychenniae, from the tyrannical king park, the power hungry ruler of serenia. the troops are ready, the plan is set. the fire in his veins burns bright but his mission gets sidetracked when his desire for park jimin, the youngest prince of the park kingdom, burns brighter.
2. ✸learning curve - 154k - To anyone looking in from the outside, Professor Park Jimin seems to have it all—the brains, the looks, the career. What more does he need?
But he feels inert, like life has no excitement in store for him. Nothing to look forward to and nothing awaiting him.
Until Jeon Jungkook, his student and the captain of the university’s soccer team, walks into his life and turns his entire world upside down.
3. ✸what i never knew i always wanted - 202k - Jimin knew he was weak for big brown eyes, nose scrunches, and adorable smiles. He was just under the impression he only had to worry about the eyes, nose, and smiles of his five year old daughter--not her piano teacher.
4. ✸Deadly Match - 228k - When ruthless gang member Park Jimin finally gets the chance to obtain his belated revenge, he expects it to be easy, but he's proven wrong when part of the plan includes wrapping Jeon Jungkook, the son of his biggest enemy, around his finger and both of them end up more intertwined than necessary
5. ✸The Rogue - 226k -
His eyes flash like twin flames, something in his gaze enough to make Jimin shiver with what he sees.
"Wild," they whisper.
"Feral," they warn.
But even still, Jimin's omega claims something far more dangerous.
Mine.
6. ✸Project: Boyfriend - 63k -
Jimin accidentally (but not really) signs up for a couples retreat in the mountains. There’s just one small issue: he’s single. Desperate to avoid embarrassment, he convinces Jungkook to pose as his boyfriend, with Yoongi and Namjoon tagging along as their not-so-helpful chaperones, bringing their own emotional baggage.
What could possibly go wrong?
7. ✸where the quiet lives - 60k - The Park household is full of shouting, slammed doors, and expectations Jimin can never meet. Every word from his parents feels like another crack in the walls around him, until even breathing feels like disobedience.
Jeongguk’s apartment is different. It smells like laundry detergent and vanilla, sounds like laughter spilling over late-night takeout, feels like safety pressed into his skin. With Jeongguk, Jimin doesn’t have to be perfect—he just has to be himself.
But love isn’t simple. Secrets unravel. Friends notice. And as winter break closes in, Jimin is forced to choose: the family he was born into, or the home he’s found in someone else’s arms.
8. ✸Now I'm over pretending (so let's put the end in friends) - 57k -
"I don't know what to do," admitted Jimin. "By the time that party happens tomorrow, everyone there is going to think we're dating."
Jeongguk looked down at him for a long moment, head cocked—and then he shrugged. "Let them, then."
Jimin stared at him. "You're not serious."
"Hyung." Jeongguk stepped closer. "I can be your date if you want."
Jimin swallowed hard. "Fake." He cleared his throat. "Fake date."
Jeongguk cleared his throat too, glancing away. "Right." He pushed his thumb into his lip rings. "Fake."
9. ✸Chorus for a lone wolf - 51k -
At twenty-three, Jeon Jeongguk is not your typical city alpha—quiet, shy, and sweet, he’s never fit into a society that favors the loud, the brash, and the aggressive, yet he’s done his best to blend in, if only to keep his brother Namjoon happy.
But there’s only so much he can hide, and when he falls sick with a mysterious illness no city doctor can diagnose, his only option is making the journey to the distant valley of Serein, where the healer Park Jimin resides.
Like no wolf Jeongguk has met before, Jimin is mysterious, endlessly kind, and beautiful, coaxing him back from the brink of death in his quiet hanok on the outskirts of the village and showing him that life is so much more than just existing.
Or, a story of unending, sweet rain, of lotus blossoms and shadowed forests, of tea and bells in the wind. A tale of two wolves, one hollow, one whole, and the love that grows between them. A tale of heartache and healing and hope, and becoming the best versions of ourselves.
10. ✸Home is where you belong - 120k -
Knowing nothing except a life of misfortune and loneliness, searching endlessly for peace amongst the suffering that plagues his days, Jimin happens across a world-shattering discovery when a tragic accident leaves him for dead.
Even more than wolf shifters or packs in the mountains, he finds a place where he truly belongs for the first time.
Jungkook is his home.
11. ✸born to be loved - 119k -
After a lifetime of being treated as a burden, Omega Park Jimin is cast aside by his birth pack in a desperate political bargain. He is sent to be the mate of a formidable Head Alpha Jeon Jungkook from a powerful and unfamiliar pack. He expects to find only cold duty in a foreign land.
But in his new pack, he discovers a devotion he never thought possible. Here, his striking appearance is cherished, his voice is heard, and his position as Head Omega is one of true respect. As he begins to heal and find a home in his new mate's arms, he learns that his worth isn't in what he can provide, but in who he is.
Amidst a world of ancient traditions and pack loyalties, he discovers a love that was waiting for him all along and a place where he truly belongs.
12. ✸The Gold Rush - 84k -
Jeon Jeongguk, a professional Formula 1 driver and world-renowned for being the youngest South Korean to win a Grand Prix title, is now a lonely alpha still trying to move on from Park Jimin, his first love, the omega who stole his heart during their teenage years, but whom he hasn’t seen in almost nine years since a sudden and senseless breakup.
What Jeongguk never expected was that, after so many years and countless disastrous attempts to find new love, move on, and build a family of his own, Park Jimin would come back into his life. And he wouldn’t be returning alone; he’d be bringing along an eight-year-old child, the result of their young love.
Her name is Park Yumi, their daughter.
The little girl who will completely change Jeon Jeongguk’s life and make sure his home is never quiet again.
13. ✸Beautiful Nightmare - 326k - Who is the one to bear the consequences when a blessing is considered a curse instead? The blessed, or the cursed one, of course.
Park Jimin is a special omega born with the moon goddess's blessing, but somehow that same blessing ended up turning his life into a living nightmare. Just when he believes that it can't get any worse, fate throws Jeon Jungkook in his way.
14. ✸a crown called content - 242k -
When Jungkook’s family is framed for the assassination of their king, he must escape into the neighboring kingdom of Sanha—the sworn enemy of his people. With nothing left to his name, he erases his identity and poses as a beta exile from the wild lands in order to start his life over.
He knows that one day he must either clear his family’s name to return home or go overseas and leave his past behind entirely. What he doesn’t expect is for the crown prince of Sanha, Park Jimin—a cruel dictator, according to the propaganda in Jungkook’s homeland—to take a particular, and concerning, interest in him.
✸a sigh upon a midnight pillow - 52k -
With the immediate threat of war avoided, Jimin and Jungkook settle into their lives as kings, trying to unite their long-divided homelands.
But with their new responsibilities come new struggles and threats. And some unexpected surprises.
15. ✸the last thing i wanted (but all that I need) - 337k -
Park Jimin has been running from his Guide heritage his entire life.
He was transferred to a base in an obscure part of the galaxy to work on androids.
Why is the android 058 so handsome and why is it calling him baby doll?
That isn't supposed happen right?
AND
Sentinel Jeon Jungkook was at the pinnacle of his career when he was betrayed.
All he wants now is revenge, it is the only thing that keeps him going.
16. ✸(pick me up) - playing with fire - 164k - "I'm older, that makes me your hyung." He explains as if it wasn't obvious and jungkook has the audacity to actually look offended.
"But I'm an alpha and you're an omega. Age doesn't matter, I'm above you."
17. ✸the weight of jade - 97k - Park Jimin has served the Joseon court for twelve years. An omega with a jade collar, he is competent enough to be indispensable and careful enough to remain invisible.
For years, he has managed his biology with suppressants, his emotions with restraint, and his impossible feelings for the king with silence.
Then someone begins courting him quietly.
Anonymous gifts appear. Thoughtful ones. And three months ago, a white plum tree appeared in his courtyard, planted overnight like something out of a folktale.
What begins as a secret courtship quickly becomes something far more complicated: visible affection, political scrutiny, and a court increasingly unsettled by the idea of an omega standing beside the king not as decoration, but as an equal.
As suppressants fail, factions move, and the palace turns its attention toward them, Jimin finds himself forced to confront something far more frightening than being wanted.
Being seen.
Some courtships are subtle. Some loves survive quietly for years. And some are powerful enough to change the shape of a court.
18. ✸Let's take this offline - 71k - At almost thirty-one, Park Jimin has achieved the ultimate millennial dream: a thoroughly mediocre corporate existence that demands absolutely nothing of his soul. He has his ergonomic chair, his perfectly timed commute to avoid elevator small talk, and a flawless system of mutual procrastination with his work-bestie, Hoseok. His life is boring, ordinary, and exactly the way he likes it.
Then their boss hires Jeon Jungkook.
--------
Jungkook was standing up, leaning his forearms over the low fabric partition that separated their desks. He was smiling brightly, pointing a finger directly at Jimin's monitor.
"I saw the little 'Jimin is typing' bubbles popping up on Slack for like two minutes, so I figured you were taking a break from your presentation," Jungkook said, completely oblivious to the murderous intent radiating from Jimin's soul. "Since you're answering now, I can just walk you through my notes! It's super fast, I promise."
Jimin slowly slid his headphones down to his neck. His sanctuary was breached. His code was under attack. Synchronous, unprompted communication was happening.
His boring, ordinary life was officially over.
19. ✸Hellstrip Flower - 85k - For two barely functioning university students, Jimin and Jungkook are oddly good at surviving the apocalypse.
They’re good at scavenging, fighting, keeping each other alive, and, most of all, making bad decisions in close quarters.
Feelings are a whole different story.
But love always finds away, just like a stubborn flower in a hellstrip.
20. ✸His Sanctuary - 89k - The apocalypse killed billions. The aftermath killed the rest.
Jungkook survived by being the worst of what was left. A rogue, ruthless and caring about only his own survival and that of Bam, his companion.
Though when one night, he finds an omega on the verge of death in an abandoned temple, everything might change. Jungkook will have to make new choices in life. Is the –possibly last– omega worth living or dying for?
21. ✸Serendipity (love me now, touch me now) - 84k -
Jungkook had once been nothing more than a stubborn, red-eyed little alpha kid. At least, that was how Jimin remembered him.
But the eyes staring at him now were unfamiliar… they were dark, dangerous and far too hungry.
Or
Childhood friends to lovers but make it omegaverse pack dynamics.
22. ✸First Snow - 73k - Jeongguk has never been a fan of the holidays, but all that is about to change when he finally gives in after years of nagging and takes his brother, Seokjin, up on his offer to spend the season at Princess Lodge and Resort, a charming luxury getaway nestled at the base of a scenic mountain range. He arrives with no plans to take part in the seasonal lineup of activities, but all of that is about to change thanks to one shy, pretty omega with a silver bell laugh and a mysterious past who claims to have never gotten the chance to celebrate Christmas…
23. ✸I wanna be yours - 66k - "Jungkook is a private chef for Jimin, who is busy busy busy and has literally no time for himself because of his career (your choice as to what it is; idol, businessman, etc.). Jimin likes to come back from work to a home cooked meal, so he allows Jungkook a key to his home. Jungkook has a major crush on Jimin and he hates that he's running himself ragged at work, but all he can do as his private chef is make the best meals he can so at least Jimin's belly is full and he feels his love through the food.
One day, Jimin texts Jungkook to ask him to make enough food for two that night. Jungkook's heart sinks because he thinks that Jimin's going to be bringing someone home, but when Jimin walks through the door, he's still alone -- like he always is. Jimin invites Jungkook to eat with him because he's tired of coming back to an empty house and eating alone. Jimin starts inviting him to stay so often that it becomes a thing and Jungkook's crush get SO much worse."
24. ✸oh, horny nights - 54k -
Spending the days leading to Christmas in a picturesque location, at a hotel designed to look like Santa's chalet, and with his two best friends and his long-term roommate, should be nothing but enjoyable for Jungkook.
Except he’s been crushing over his roommate for well over a year now, he’s been single for a while too, and there was a mix-up with the hotel reservation.
So now, Jungkook, pining and probably a little too horny for the holiday’s spirit, has to share a bed for eleven whole nights with the object of his suffering: Jimin.
25. ✸On thin ice - 163k - "What do you say? Drop the overly strict self-discipline, all the planning and schedules, and just be human with me."
~ World renowned figure skater Park Jimin thinks he can’t be anything less than the Ice God both on and off the ice. However, being alone on the highest pedestal above the clouds can be lonely and maddening. Enter Jeon Jeongguk—an unruly hockey player with the audacity to talk to Jimin like they’re the same—and Jimin is faced with the dangerous idea that he could be a human once in a while. To cry, to laugh, to love, to feel. But emotions come at a cost for him. Are they worth it?
26. ✸vows in velvet - 77k - Jimin hates pretty much everyone who walks the face of the Earth: as one of the worlds leading fashion designers, he simply doesn’t have the time for petty relations, or sappy friendships—but the person that grates Jimin’s nerves the most, just so happens to take the form of a charming pop star named Jeon Jungkook.
And Jungkook thinks starting a fake media marriage will solve all their problems.
Jimin has a lot of problems.
27. ✸sometimes i like when you get angry - 76k - The late Head Alpha's son thought he'd marry this omega he had been dreaming of for years. Just his luck that his father passed before he had the chance and he was arranged with the chief's first born omega son. A promise made between the men. Someone he grew up with but now only saw in passing. Someone who had murmurs floating around him for years due to being mateless with a young son and pushing up against dynamic expectations. Jeongguk couldn't help the shame he felt having to be tied to this headstrong hunter omega.
Now, building a home, pushing through the whispers, and dealing with his new family and overlooking his pack, Jeongguk had a lot on his plate. He wondered if he'd ever grow to love it.
28. ✸tell me, do you feel it too? - 59k - Jeongguk made a checklist in his head of things he wanted. To fuck Jimin? Yes. To kiss him? Yep. Hold his hand? Definitely. Cuddle him on the couch and spoon him in bed? Absolutely. Fall asleep with him and wake up with him? Desperately. Be the person Jimin came to when he needed someone? Check. Take him on dates? Uh-huh. Call him his boyfriend? That too.
Jeongguk let his imagination spin out around him. He wanted to cook for Jimin and kiss him while he sat on the counter, getting so caught up in each other that the food burnt and they had to order in. He wanted to shower together and make stupid shapes with shampoo in each other's hair, and then kiss until the water went cold. He wanted to take him dancing, and then slip away to be the one getting him off in the bathroom. He wanted to tuck Jimin's always cold hands into his pockets on walks. He wanted to give him his sweatshirts to wear. He wanted to take him to his favourite restaurants and make sure he ate enough. He wanted to spend all night mapping out ways to make him feel good.
He wanted to take him with him to Sapporo and tell him he loved him under the snow.
"Fuck," said Jeongguk, with meaning.
29. ✸Light of Mine - 161k - Park Jimin will do anything to keep his beloved daughter safe from the horrors of the traditional life he narrowly escaped from.
Living as a wolf—a pup-bearing omega—in a society that not only disavows, but ostracizes and outright rejects the existence of shifter descendants makes things infinitely tougher than they already are. It’s imperative that he lives in secret, keeping every aspect of their identities hidden to protect them from the evils of the world.
Survival mode.
Jimin barely scrapes by from one day to the next, pouring everything into giving his baby what she deserves.
He could’ve never predicted that a tattooed, piercing-riddled biker named Jeon Jungkook would somehow roll in, subvert all of his expectations, and change the course of his life forever.
Love always comes on time.
30. ✸dissonance - 60k -
He always feels a bit like they’re stuck in a race where Jungkook is faster than him. Where he’s miles ahead and unreachable in a way that’s unfathomable. Where Jimin is struggling to keep up and is forever destined to stare at Jungkook’s back, a hand perpetually extended to try and reach for him.
Jimin doesn’t want to surpass Jungkook. He just wants to run alongside him. As an equal, as a friend, as a partner. Is that truly so much to ask for?
Or: Following the end of their Vietnam trip, Jimin stumbles across a video compilation of the rocky relationship he had with Jungkook at the very beginning of their debut years. Slapped with a blast from the past and suddenly drowning in insecurities he thought he'd long suppressed, he decides that slowly pulling away from Jungkook is the only right thing to do.
Jungkook, however—a redeemed man, a pining expert, and someone with an extremely low tolerance for any kind of space between them—has much to say about it.
31. ✸Where we burn - 73k - After years away, Park Jimin returns to Seoul knowing exactly what waits for him: scrutiny, strategy, and the quiet expectation that he will eventually mate for advantage.
As the omega son of one of the city’s most powerful underground families, his future has never truly been his own. His presence strengthens alliances. His choices are meant to be calculated.
Then there is Jeon Jungkook.
Ruthless. Untouchable. A man forged by the same blood-soaked world Jimin has spent years trying not to resent. Jungkook embodies everything Jimin distrusts about mobsters, the power, the bloodlust, the effortless dominance.
And yet he looks at Jimin like he isn’t something fragile to be managed.
Jungkook doesn’t pursue lightly. He doesn’t choose without intent.
Which is exactly why Jimin refuses to believe he’s being chosen at all.
Because wanting Jungkook would mean wanting the very world he claims to hate. It would mean admitting that the danger, the control, the fire, it doesn’t repel him.
It calls to him.
The only thing more dangerous than Jeon Jungkook is the fact that Jimin wants him anyway.
32. ✸Never anything but always - 63k -
Jungkook and Jimin have been best friends their whole lives, and Jungkook has spent most of that time quietly in love with Jimin. It's never amounted to anything, because Jimin is straight.
When Jimin gets divorced, and him and his kids move in with Jungkook, old memories resurface, new feelings emerge, and revelations threaten to rock the foundation of their friendship and everything Jungkook thought he knew.
Or: A story told in flashbacks, about friendship, and fear, and commitment; a story about the moments that change us, and the choices that shape us, and the people we choose to stand beside, again and again and again.
