So my brain would not shut up about this idea while I was out on a walk so I decided to write up the first chapter. I'll post as the chapters come to me but I hope everyone enjoys it. Gabriel isn't featured a lot in this one but he will be in the following chapters, I just wanted to set up Layla. I also decided to go with an OC since she will talk more about her family and such in later chapters and I know people would get fussy if an xreader had stuff about a family or background. But anywho, I don't see much about Janitor!Gabriel on here so I felt it was needed lol, hope everyone likes it!
Word count: 2,889
Pairing: Gabriel x Fem!OC
Warning: None, just a few guys being typical college guys.
Also yes, we are doing more of the wing trope because I'm a sucker for it lol.
⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞. I also do not give permission to use my story in any AI platform⚠️
I also have a Ko-fi
This can also be found on ao3
She quickly put on her boots, racing to grab her keys and phone as she glanced around the small apartment her friend had set her up with. Purse-check, keys-check, phone-check, books-check. The clock read that she had about twenty minutes to get to the school and her new setup before class would start, so with one last look, she locked up and headed for the elevator.
Hastening her steps as she saw the doors at the end of the hall beginning to close, calling out for it but watching as they shut. She cursed under her breath as she turned towards the stairs door, being on the sixth floor sucked at this moment, but she had to do it, though, looking at how steep the stairs were she was happy she wasn't a heels type of girl.
Finally making it down to the first floor after a bit she turned to exit into the lobby when she caught a sudden flash of gold out of the corner of her eye. Whipping her head around she looked towards the little alcove under the stairs, her breath slowing as she listened, steps hesitant while she walked towards the area draped in shadows. The stairwell was quiet, eerily so, and just as she peered into the darkness…her phone chimed.
Jumping slightly, she let out the breath she didn't know she was holding while she reached forward, hand making contact with the block wall, nothing. Fishing her phone out of her pocket she looked at the cause of the chime.
👸Kaylee: Where are you?? You're gonna be late!
Looking at the time Layla realized that she now only had sixteen minutes to get to the campus.
🔥Layla: I'm leaving now, I'll explain my horrible morning when I get there
She texted back while rushing out of the lobby and to the parking lot, her baby waiting for her as she jumped in, cranked her up, and quickly left. Five minutes later she was pulling up Springfield University, Crawford Hall to be exact, and Kaylee was already waiting at the entrance for her.
“What happened?” The blonde asked, heels clicking on the polished floor.
“Alarm failed, luckily my internal alarm woke me up before noon, but not early enough. I rushed to take a shower and the hot water was not working so I had to let the landlord know about that. My keys got lost in the eternal abyss for a good ten minutes, and then I had to take the stairs down.”
“Holy shit”
“Yeah, but I'm here”
“You're here, and you're gonna do amazing!” She smiled, and all Layla could do was nod, hoping she was right, this was a lot for her after all. When the two of them broke apart, Kaylee going to her own class and vowing to sit with her at lunch, Layla continued down the hall, her mind wandering back to how she even got here.
It had started with a phone call, Kaylee was someone Layla had met years ago through her job and had surprisingly kept in touch with…maybe it was because Kaylee kept her in her life, lord knows Layla drifted. But she called her that night not with her normal three hour long life update, but with a request.
“My school is getting a new class, it's like a cross between cryptozoology and folklore legends. Guess the principal's kid is really into it and wanted it so they decided to implement it. I know this is right up your alley! You could be the teacher!”
“Teach? Kaylee I don't have a teacher's license, I didn't even go to public school”
“I'm sure you have people that can work something out! Please! Otherwise there is going to be some loony toons old man come in here who doesn't know his ass from a hole on the ground and try to show the kids pictures of slightly crushed sticks and say it's a Bigfoot footprint”
“It could be”
“Layla!”
“Kaylee I can't teach, I don't know the first thing about teaching, I don't do crowds, and I don't care for people staring at me”
“You said you taught your nieces and nephews”
“That's different”
“Don't you think these kids should be aware”
“...Kaylee”
“Please, it would be perfect for you, plus you said you wanted to get away, settle down a bit. I can help you get an apartment and everything. Please…just…think about it”
And Layla did, so here she was, walking down the hall towards what she felt like was her doom. Man she hated the thought of this, why did she let Kaylee talk her into it? She stopped for a moment, taking deep breaths while trying to psyche herself up…she could do this…it was just like teaching the little ones…she's got th– another flash of gold caught her attention as she quickly whipped her head towards the hall to her right, empty aside from a few doors.
She waited for a moment, hesitant, before making her way towards them. The first led to a janitor's closet, nothing gold. The second, an empty classroom, again, nothing.
“What the hell?” she whispered to herself, knowing full well she saw what she saw. She was about to step into the room when the warning bell rang loudly in the quiet, her eyes widening as she quickly shut the door and rushed to her class, taking one last breath before pushing open the door.
Eyes fell on her as she walked in, and it didn't take long for a wolf whistle to ring out, God how she hated college guys, she swore their hormones played peek-a-boo with the lone brain cell they probably had left from all the parties.
“Hey pretty lady, you can find a seat on my lap til the teacher gets here” one yelled out, followed by laughter from who she assumed were his equally brain dead friends.
“Hey new girl, you and me can party in my car after class” another one called out, followed by a few girls telling them to shut up and stop being gross. But she was used to it, having brothers, she knew how men could talk. So instead she walked over to the teacher's desk and sat her books down before grabbing the chalk and beginning to write her name, a smile forming on her face as she noticed the class having gone silent.
“Now that you know my name you can stop calling me girl and lady. I'll also give you one chance to apologize for the crude language and give you a moment to reflect on why you shouldn't talk to women that way, that is, if all of your brain cells haven't been completely annihilated by either alcohol or stds” She spoke while turning, raising a brow at the two boys who had spoken before and watching as they adjusted in their seat, uncomfortable with the fact that all eyes were now on them…good…now they know how it feels. She waited, listening as they coughed before giving a muttered apology, and she figured that was the best she was going to get.
'Just like with the kids Layla, you got this’
“Ok, so, I'm hoping you are all in this class because you are interested in cryptids and folklore, not because you think it will be some easy extra credit. Because it won't be, sorry. Cryptids, monsters, folklore, fairytales, whatever you want to call them aren't just things that go bump in the night, or things people think they catch on some grainy footage from the seventies. They have history, some from multiple cultures, some dating back centuries. And we are going to go into detail about all of them. By the time you finish my class you'll be able to write full novels on each. So if that already sounds like too much” she gestured to the door while leaning against the front of the desk. She looked over the class, there were a lot of faces, a lot of eyes, all staring at her…But no one moved…No one left. Everyone watched her with a look she had seen on the little ones back home…a look of hunger for knowledge. With a smile she nodded and pushed off the desk.
“Alright, let's start off with a crowd favorite, who here likes vampires?”
She walked into the lunch room with her wallet and headache forming in the loud atmosphere. Man she was glad she had been homeschooled. Making her way to the “teacher” line, as the sign above the second entrance to the kitchen called it, she grabbed a tray. She wondered if Kaylee was already at a table or if she had even arrived yet, being the art teacher, she was sure Kaylee was the type to stay behind with any student who wanted to. Grabbing a bottle of water, and the shaker salad, but also a few of the chicken nuggets that were offered to her by the elderly lady who gave her a wink as if to say “I don't know if you're eating healthy, but I saw nothing just in case”, she turned and heard a voice behind her speak up.
“You must be Mrs.Matthews” she reached the register before she turned her head to look at the man while handing over the money.
“Ms, and that'd be me” she nodded, thanking the woman who gave her her change.
“Sorry, my name is Arthur Cox, I'm the psychology teacher here” he explained, causing Layla to nod at the older man.
“Oh, nice to meet you Mr.Cox”
“Likewise. I do have to say, I'm shocked the school hired someone so…young” he spoke, eyeing her up and down. She had to force herself not to roll her eyes, was every guy in this school a perv?
“Well it helps when you have friends here. And I'm thirty-two, not that young” she noted.
“Thirty-two is still young,” he smiled back.
“Meh, not when your back says your eighty some days” she shrugged, her statement causing him to laugh.
“I understand that, so what made you want to take up such a subject to teach?”
“Stuff like that has always interested me”
“So you believe it all to be real”
“I believe anything is possible. I believe the human mind can only comprehend so much so we write a lot off as fiction to save what little sanity we have. But I believe the world jades us to a lot of things as we get older, we're a lot closer to what some would consider the “spiritual world” as children, therefore we believe a lot more as children.”
“Facinating”
“What?”
“Just that as an adult you still fully believe in things like that”
“there could be an explanation behind every cryptid, from pareidolia, mass hysteria, animal gene modification experiments the government isn't telling us about, to perhaps…something real. How else would cultures who are on opposite sides of the world have stories about similar creatures dating back to when people were still discovering land”
“I prefer proof”
“Be careful what you wish for” she trailed off when she saw that same flash of gold, this time by the lunch room doors as they swung close. What the hell was that?
“Layla!” she heard Kaylee's voice before she saw her, waving from a small booth a bit away from her.
'Saved by the friend’
“I should get over there before she gets sent to the principal's office for disrupting lunch” Layla nodded towards the giggling blonde.
“Of course, she can be rather…excitable. It was nice talking to you Ms.Matthews”
“You as well Mr.Cox” she nodded and turned to quickly sit down with Kaylee.
“Thank you for saving me from that” she sighed with an eye roll.
“No problem, as soon as I saw I knew I had to step in, did he hit on you?”
“Not outright but the looks hinted at it. Though I think I turned him off when I started battling against his psychologist mindset”
“Good! He needs to be knocked down a peg, he thinks he's a big shot cause he's an author, but he's just a sleeze”
“Got that vibe” Layla nodded while eating a nugget and shaking up the salad.
“Oh! Gabriel left this for you, as a sort of welcome to the school” Kaylee spoke while pushing a small container towards her, she looked down at the slice of cake, funfetti…it was her favorite.
“Who is Gabriel?” She asked, looking at the fancy piping on top.
“The janitor, at least the one for Crawford Hall. He's a total sweetheart, and he's always got the best sweets on hand. I swear he just pulls them out of thin air or something” she laughed.
“not only does he always have a candy if you ask, but he even brought me the cutest little cake for my birthday, hang on, I have a picture,” Kaylee spoke, grabbing her phone and quickly scrolling while Layla finished her nuggets and started on the salad.
“Here is it!” Kaylee smiled while turning her phone to reveal the most colorful cake Layla had ever seen.
“He's got you pegged” she laughed.
“Right! It was so sweet!”
“Should Evan be worried?” Layla joked, knowing full well how head over heels Kaylee was for her fiancé.
“No!” She smiled.
“Gabriel is just a sweetie, you'll like him when you meet him” Layla simply nodded, finishing up her salad and grabbing the fork Kaylee offered her before trying the cake…it really was a good cake…honestly the best she had ever had.
After lunch they returned to their classes, Layla teaching the second round of students the same thing she taught the first, really only scratching the surface for vampires, but she knew it would take them a bit to really grasp everything. Though, there were a few in her classes she could already tell were going to be doing their own bit of research, if their requests for book recommendations were anything to go by.
Over all, she was satisfied with her first day, invigorated almost…she could do this…there weren't any monsters waiting around the corners, just the ones in the books. There weren't any spells to try to find cures to, no new cases to research, no random motels, long drives, and gas station food…she could breathe, take a moment…relax…there wasn't anything supernatural here except her class.
A knock on the door broke her from her thoughts, Kaylee stood at the entry, along with another woman, this one shorter than Kaylee, curvy, curly red hair and a very librarian style, her round glasses resting on her full cheeks as she smiled at Layla.
“This is Marie, she's the history teacher here” Kaylee explained.
“I mean this as a grand compliment, I would have taken you as the librarian,” Layla chucked as she gathered her books and made her way over.
“Compliment accepted, I would have been if the position had been open” Marie giggled.
“But I'm a huge history nerd so…history teacher is second best. I told Kaylee I wanted to meet whoever got to be the lucky winner of this class, the history and folklore of cryptids and such, ugh, can I take your class?” She giggled again, causing Layla to let out her own light laugh at the woman's enthusiasm.
“There's still seats open”
“Don't tempt her,” Kaylee joked as they all made their way towards the front…this was nice. Layla couldn't remember the last time she had people to just joke with that weren't her family…even they were not around that often, always on hunts of their own…when was the last time she had a conversation with someone who wasn't Kaylee? Did she ever have lunch with anyone like today? Or listen to gossip? Was this what normal felt like?
‘Nothing supernatural’
She sighed, falling behind the women who were engrossed in their own conversation, when she saw it again, the flash of gold…This time though…This time it wasn't fleeting, it didn't move, and as she turned her head her breath caught in her throat.
Wings
Large…golden…wings
They were the most beautiful and breathtaking things she had ever seen, an almost bronze color at the very base of every feather, the color slowly lighting to a honey tone at the tips. They reminded her of a sunset, or maybe it was the golden light that shown in the window onto them that made her think that, as it made them almost glitter while they shifted.
Her eyes dragged over them, going from the very bottom and inward until they met blue…blue work overalls of a man who was casually leaning against a mop as he looked out of the large window in front of him. She couldn't see his face, only his golden brown hair.
She wasn't sure how long she had been staring, but it must have been enough for Kaylee and Marie to realize she wasn't following anymore because their voices were soon right next to her.
“See something you like?” Kaylee giggled, causing Layla to look over.
“What? No! I-”
“That's Gabriel” Marie added, and as if hearing his name, even from so far away and with glass separating, he turned towards the three of them. Golden eyes meeting green.
‘So much for nothing supernatural’
Chapter 1 done! I hope everyone enjoyed it and it liking Layla so far, she's a bit of a "take no shit" kinda girl but also a protective friend. I'll have the next chapter out as soon as I can, and I'll add an ao3 link to this when I get it uploaded to there. Thanks for reading!
Gahhhhh stupid tumblr! Was reading a jjk story about the reader having a secret crush on Yuji but Yuji and Ozawa got together and broke it over group chat. But Megumi knew about her secret crush and start showing up with her favorite snacks and stuff, It was a aged up fic, and tumblr just randomly closed and I lost the story 😭😭😭. Does anyone know where I can find it??
UPDATE! I FOUND IT!!
💬 43 🔁 84 ❤️ 1504 · BFF! MEGUMI helps you get over your crush MDNI
you're heartbroken when your crush, yuji itadori starts dating ozawa.
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here! part 5 here! part 6 here!
cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X
By Thursday afternoon, the campus had already slipped back into its familiar rhythm. Inside the café, students drifted in and out between classes, backpacks slung lazily over one shoulder, coffee cups balanced precariously in their hands as they hurried to their next destination. Laughter echoed through the room while the sharp hiss of the milk steamer rose from behind the counter.
None of it reached you.
Your notebook lay open in front of you, the same page untouched for the past ten minutes. The coffee you’d bought had long gone cold.
It had only been a few days since everything that happened at your apartment, and your brain still hadn’t fully caught up.
A few weeks ago, your biggest worry had been trying to steal glances at him without getting caught. He always sat in the same seat — impossibly tall even when slouched over his notebook, white hair catching the sunlight streaming through the lecture hall windows. He listened to every lecture with an almost embarrassing amount of focus, occasionally pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose when they slipped.
Now…
Well. Life had taken a very strange turn.
Your fingers traced the edge of the paper cup absentmindedly as a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips.
He used to borrow your notes. It still sounded ridiculous.
Satoru Gojo — arguably the smartest person in any room he entered — would lean over after class with pink ears and that adorably hesitant smile.
“Could I borrow yours?”
At the time, you’d assumed he’d actually missed something. Or that your handwriting was just easier to read.
Now? You almost laughed. There was no universe in which Satoru Gojo genuinely needed your notes. He had just been looking for an excuse.
"...Idiot" you muttered
Though honestly, you weren’t sure if you were talking about him or yourself.
Your thoughts drifted again, unbidden, back to that hallway at Choso’s party. To the way you’d walked away convinced you had ruined any chance of things ever being normal again. To the guilt that had eaten you alive the next day… only to find out he had been unraveling just as badly.
You still didn’t know what to do with that information.
Or maybe you did — with a dark, warm certainty that settled low in your stomach.
Your mind betrayed you once more, replaying the image you’d been trying—and failing—not to revisit.
Satoru sitting in that chair. Head tipped inward. Glasses slipping down his nose. Looking up at you with those impossibly blue eyes, waiting for permission before doing something as simple as moving his own hand.
You swallowed.
You had spent days wondering what kind of woman could reduce someone so smart and composed into a hopeless, whimpering mess.
Turns out… it had been you all along.
Your mind immediately went back to it. That night in your room. You were there again, vividly—the way you had spread your legs on your own bed, handed him the dildo, and told him to show you exactly what he wanted to do to you. You could still feel the phantom weight of him between your thighs, the broken, jagged sounds he made while fucking you with it, his eyes locked on yours the entire time, glasses fogged up, face face flushed with a mix of shame and raw lust.
You remembered the way he had desperately moaned when you finally gave him permission to touch himself, how hard he came while staring at you with such reverent, shattered worship, and the quiet, hiccuping sobs that followed once he was spent. The memory of the look on his face when you finally opened the door and sent him home—dazed, hollowed out—sent a fresh wave of heat pulsing through your body.
You’d seen a side of him no one else had. The one who looked at you like every word out of your mouth was worth obeying. The one who blushed so beautifully. The one who tried so hard to be good for you.
You couldn’t stop wondering what would happen the next time someone leaned over his desk after class. The next time some girl smiled at him. The next time someone called his name with that same sugary sweetness you’d heard a hundred times before.
None of them had ever seen him falling apart beneath a single whispered command. None of them knew how desperately he tried to please you.
And, for reasons you weren’t quite ready to examine… You didn’t want anyone else to.
That thought lingered a little longer than it should have.
Shit.
Maybe that was the problem.
You’d walked into his apartment that night fully convinced you were the one about to ruin him, eager to finally confront him about that secret porn channel he’d dedicated to you. You’d wanted to watch him squirm, to see him realize he’d been caught in his own web of obsession.
Now you weren’t so sure who’d gotten the worse end of the deal.
“You’re gonna burn that page if you keep staring at it.”
Shoko’s voice cut cleanly through your thoughts. You flinched, the sharp edges of your reality snapping back into focus.
You blinked and finally looked up as she slid into the chair across from you. She looked effortlessly cool, condensation from her iced coffee dripping onto the table, that signature knowing grin already stretching across her face.
“I guess pretty eyes has you zoning out again,” she said, her voice dropping into a playful, teasing tone.
“Maybe” you muttered, your voice raspy. You took a long, calculated sip of your now lukewarm coffee, using it as a shield to avoid her piercing gaze. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks—not from the coffee, but from the vivid memory you’d just been replaying.
“Oh, that’s bad.”
“…What?”
“You said maybe,” Shoko pointed out, clearly delighted. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “A week ago, you would’ve denied it in 0.2 seconds, probably with a whole lecture about academic focus.”
You rolled your eyes, desperately trying to regain your composure, but a small, reluctant smile tugged at your lips.
“I hate you.”
Shoko snorted and leaned back in her chair, studying you with open amusement, her gaze sharp, analyzing the way you were fidgeting with your cup. “…So?”
“So?” you echoed, already knowing where this was going.
“Are you gonna tell me what happened after you practically ran from Choso’s party following that hallway situation?” She tilted her head, her expression softening into mock-seriousness. “Or am I supposed to keep surviving on breadcrumbs for the rest of the semester?”
You looked away, tracing the rim of your cup with your thumb. The memory of Satoru’s wrecked face—glasses fogged, lips swollen, cum staining his hoodie—flashed behind your eyelids like a neon sign.
“We talked,” you said eventually
“Mhm.”
“And… some things happened.”
“Some things” Shoko repeated slowly, tasting the words. She took a slow sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the cup. “Interesting choice of words for someone who usually has a descriptive analysis for everything.”
“I’m not elaborating.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, though her grin made it clear she was dying for details. She stirred her iced coffee absentmindedly “I’ve seen the way he looks at you, though. It’s written all over him.”
You frowned. “You met him twice.”
“Don’t need much more than that. It took me approximately thirty seconds to realize he would’ve folded like wet paper if you’d asked him to bark.”
You nearly choked on your coffee. Shoko just laughed softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.
“I’ll admit…” she continued, her voice dropping “I didn’t exactly picture you being the one calling the shots”
You raised an eyebrow.
“You thought I’d be the one getting bossed around?”
“…No. But I also didn’t expect him to hand you the leash on a silver platter with a little bow on it.”
A surprised laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“Neither did I” you admitted, shaking your head.
Shoko glanced down at her phone, then back at you with a mischievous glint.
“Oh, by the way. Suguru’s having people over tonight.”
You paused. You’d heard the name before—just some guy Shoko had been taking a class with lately. She’d mentioned him in passing once or twice, though you’d never bothered to pay much attention to the details.
“He said I could invite you.” she added, tapping the screen.
“I think I’ll pass” you said.
Shoko smiled, slow and dangerous.
“No, you won’t.”
“…Why are you so sure?”
“Because pretty eyes is gonna be there. He’s friends with Suguru.”
You froze for half a second. You hadn't known that. The new information clicked into place, shifting the dynamics of your evening instantly. The anticipation hit you with a cold, sharp thrill.
“So… wear something cute” she added
“I’m not dressing up for him.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m serious.”
“Sure you are,” Shoko said, dismissive. She leaned forward, smirking “Just don’t make the poor guy cry in someone else’s house.”
—
Back in your apartment, the silence felt almost suspicious after the constant, buzzing chatter of the campus café. Your bag lay abandoned on the couch, one boot discarded near the bedroom door after you’d kicked it off without thinking. You settled into your desk chair, laptop already open.
Almost instinctively, you opened the shared document:
Draft - Chemistry Project / Vancomycin Resistance
The cursor blinked, mocking you for a heartbeat before it moved—a sudden, frantic shift in the discussion section. You stared. He was online.
You watched, mesmerized, as Satoru smoothed out a clunky sentence, fixed a typo, and added a citation with effortless precision. Of course he was working on it on a Friday afternoon.
Your lips curved into a slow, satisfied smile.
Nerd.
You skimmed his edits. He had formatted the references with almost mathematical obsession and left a small, tentative comment beside one paragraph:
Not sure if this explanation is clear enough. Feel free to rewrite it!
You snorted softly. It was perfectly clear.
Still…
You scanned the text, searching for the smallest, most insignificant thing you could change. You found it: a misplaced comma and a slightly awkward word choice. You fixed both, savoring the tiny thrill of editing his perfection.
After saving the document, you hesitated for a second before typing a single comment beneath his:
Now it's perfect.
You laughed as you imagined him reading it. You could practically see him adjusting his glasses, his brow furrowed as he frantically searched for the "mistakes" he’d made.
Closing the laptop, you stretched, the tension in your shoulders finally easing, and wandered toward the bathroom.
Thirty minutes later, the apartment had grown darker, the late afternoon light replaced by cool evening shadows. You stood in front of your closet, telling yourself this wasn’t a big deal. Yet you still reached for your denim skirt and the soft off-the-shoulder blue top that left your collarbones exposed.
You pulled on your knee-high boots, the leather snug against your calves. Catching your reflection in the mirror, the familiar traitorous thought slipped in: Would he…
You rolled your eyes at yourself and shook the thought away.
You’re not dressing up for him.
You reached for your perfume anyway, pressing the cool mist against your wrists.
“…Whatever” you whispered to the empty room.
Your phone buzzed on the bed.
Shoko: Leaving in ten.
You grabbed your bag, slipped your phone inside, took one last look around the apartment, and turned off the lights.
—
The music could already be heard from the hallway, soft and low, more background than anything else. You and Shoko stopped in front of the door, and she knocked twice.
Suguru opened it almost immediately. His eyes lit up when he saw her first.
“There you are,” he said with a warm, easy smile, pulling her into a quick hug. “Took you long enough.”
Shoko laughed and stepped inside. “Traffic was annoying.”
Only then did Suguru’s gaze shift to you. He paused for half a second, studying you with quiet curiosity.
“You must be the chemistry partner,” he said, tone light and friendly. “Nice to finally meet you.”
Chemistry partner. Satoru had clearly talked about you. The realization sent a warm, dangerous flutter through your stomach.
“You too” you replied, offering him a small smile.
“Come in,” he said, stepping aside. He handed you a cold beer without asking, the gesture casual. “Help yourselves to whatever’s in the kitchen. We’re just chilling for now.”
As he walked away, you took a sip of your beer, your eyes scanning the room instinctively.
You found him on the couch. And, of course, the blonde girl from your chemistry class had already claimed the spot right beside him, her body angled toward his with irritating confidence.
Seriously? Again?
Satoru was mid-sentence when his gaze lifted and found you across the room. His eyes widened slightly. For a moment, whatever the girl had been saying died in the air between them.
You took him in with one quick look: a clean white t-shirt under an open light-blue shirt, black trousers, and those familiar dark glasses perched perfectly in place.
The blonde followed his line of sight. The moment she saw you, her expression shifted. It was a micro-interaction—No eye roll, no sneer. Just a slow, tight smile that flickered and faded the moment she realized who he was looking at. A silent, instinctive understanding.
She tried again, her voice slightly clipped. “Satoru?”
He didn’t respond. He didn't even blink.
So she made her move. It was natural, social, and perfectly acceptable—a hand resting lightly on his knee. A gesture meant to bridge the gap and drag him back to her reality.
“Toru… you heard me?” she asked, sweeter this time.
He blinked, finally tearing his eyes away from you. He looked slightly dazed, like he had to manually drag himself back to the conversation.
You took another sip of your beer, trying to ignore the sharp urge to walk over and remove her hand yourself.
Choso’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts. He approached with an easy grin, beer bottle dangling from his fingers.
"There she is"
“Hey,” you greeted, relaxing a little. “You know Suguru?”
“Yeah. Mutual friends.”
His eyes flicked toward the couch where Satoru was sitting, then back to you.
“You ever made it to his room?” he asked quietly.
You looked at him over the rim of your bottle. “Mmh.”
One corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smirk. “Got it. I’m not Shoko — I’m not gonna interrogate you.”
“Thank you.”
Before you could say anything else, Shoko appeared and grabbed your arm, guiding you and Choso toward the empty space directly across from Satoru’s couch. The shift in the room was immediate.
Satoru’s head snapped up. His lips curved into a small, genuine smile.
You returned a faint one, but your eyes immediately dropped to the girl’s hand still resting on his knee.
Why the hell won’t she move it?
The conversation around you flowed with laughter and music, everyone talking about classes and exams. But everything felt secondary to the tension stretching between you and Satoru. Shoko was clearly entertained, watching the whole thing like free drama.
The girl, realizing she had lost his attention completely, tried to pull him back. “Satoru, you disappeared from the party that night. I never got the chance to ask where—”
“He was busy.” you cut in, your voice sharp and calm.
Satoru choked on his drink, coughing as his face flushed a deep pink.
The girl stiffened, her smile turning into a brittle mask of confusion and offense, clearly trying to figure out exactly who the hell you were to speak for him. Beside you, Shoko let out a surprised laugh, covering her mouth with the back of her hand.
Before the silence could get too awkward, Suguru appeared from the kitchen, clapping his hands once.
“Alright, everyone,” he announced, eyes darting between you and Satoru with clear amusement “Who’s up for a game? Truth or Dare sounds fun tonight.”
—
The game started innocently enough. A loose circle had formed in the living room — some people on the couches, others sitting on the floor with drinks in hand.
Choso went first.
“Truth” he said, leaning back with a lazy grin.
Suguru asked something harmless about his worst date. Choso answered with brutal honesty, making the whole group burst into laughter.
Shoko was next. She picked Dare, of course. Suguru made her text her most recent ex something ridiculous. She did it without hesitation, adding her signature acidic commentary that had everyone cracking up.
Suguru was clearly enjoying steering the game. There was a glint in his eye every time he asked a question or gave a dare.
You stayed mostly quiet, observing.
Satoru was the most timid of the group. He kept picking Truth, answering in short, shy sentences, cheeks pink every time someone teased him.
“Crystal,” Suguru said, looking at the blonde girl. “Truth or Dare?”
“Dare” she answered confidently, smiling brightly.
Crystal. So that was her name. You’d never cared enough to learn it before.
“Sit on someone’s lap”
Crystal didn’t hesitate. She stood up gracefully and lowered herself onto Satoru’s lap, settling comfortably as if she belonged there. Her arm draped casually over his shoulder, body pressed against his chest.
Satoru froze.
You watched from across the circle, jaw tight.
Crystal laughed softly and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. Her hand rested on his arm, then slid to his shoulder, and briefly across his chest.
You hated every second of it.
Satoru was visibly tense. His back was rigid, hands hovering awkwardly like he didn’t know where to put them. He answered her in monosyllables, his eyes flicking toward you every few seconds — searching, almost apologetic.
It helped a little. But not enough.
Because her hand was still on him. Her body was still pressed against his. And you had to sit there and watch.
Shoko noticed everything. She didn’t say a word, but you could feel her gaze shifting between you, Crystal, and Suguru. You could practically hear her thinking: This is going to end badly.
Then your turn came.
Suguru looked at you, that dangerous little smile playing on his lips.
“Truth or Dare?”
You didn’t hesitate.
“Dare.”
Suguru’s smile widened.
“Pick one person. The two of you have to stay locked inside a room for fifteen minutes.”
A chorus of cheers and whistles erupted around the room. Someone wolf-whistled loudly. Shoko let out a laugh into her beer, already shaking her head in amusement. Suguru leaned back, looking far too pleased with himself.
You rose to your feet, your gaze locking onto Satoru. He was already looking at you.
“Satoru.”
A beat of heavy silence fell over the circle. Crystal blinked, her smile faltering completely for the first time that night.
Satoru swallowed hard. He gently helped her off his lap and stood up, a nervous expression on his face.
Without another glance at anyone else, you turned toward the hallway. A second later, you heard his footsteps following behind you.
The noise of the living room faded behind you as you walked down the dimly lit corridor, your boots clicking against the wooden floor. Satoru’s longer strides caught up quickly, though he kept a careful distance.
Suguru had locked the door behind you with a dramatic click and shouted “Fifteen minutes, lovebirds! No cheating!” followed by laughter from the group.
Now it was just the two of you in a small guest bedroom that smelled faintly of laundry and someone’s cologne.
You walked over to the dresser on the left and turned to face him.
Satoru stood near the door, hands shoved deep into his pockets, white hair messy under the warm lamp light. He looked tall and awkward and unfairly beautiful, like he didn’t quite know what to do with his own body in this small, intimate space.
“So…” he started, voice softer than usual, almost shy. “Fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah you replied leaning back against the dresser, trying to appear calmer than you felt. “Fifteen minutes.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The silence stretched between you, thick with anticipation. Finally, he spoke again.
“I didn’t think you’d pick me,” he admitted, eyes flicking to the floor before returning to yours. “I thought maybe… I don’t know. Someone else.”
“Why? Are you upset you had to get up from where you were sitting comfortably with Crystal?” The name left a bitter taste on your tongue. “That is her name, isn't it?”
He winced. “What? N-no—I mean, she's nice, but—”
“I'm sure she is,” you cut him off, jealousy flaring in your chest. “You let her sit on your lap.”
The image flashed in your mind again — her perched on him, laughing, while he looked uncomfortable but didn’t push her away. Even though you knew it meant nothing to him, it still stung.
“It’s— It’s not like that,” he rushed out, eyes wide with urgency. “She just sat without asking and I didn’t know how to say no without being rude.”
God, he’s so cute when he panics like this.
You pushed off the dresser and stepped closer, holding his gaze. Satoru’s breath hitched audibly. His ears turned pink, the flush quickly spreading across his sharp cheekbones.
“I’ll be so good. I’ll do anything you want”
The words from one of his videos echoed in your mind, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body.
“Sit on the bed” you ordered.
He obeyed instantly, walking to the mattress and lowering his tall frame onto the edge. The bed dipped under his weight. You followed, climbing onto his lap and straddling him without hesitation.
Satoru’s eyes widened, a sharp inhale escaping him as your thighs settled on either side of his hips. You could already feel him starting to harden beneath you, the growing bulge pressing against your core through his jeans.
Heat flooded your body at the contact.
“Would you prefer her sitting on you like this?” you asked
“N-no, please” he breathed
“Mmmh.” You hummed softly, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Do you like my outfit, Satoru?”
Of course you had dressed for him tonight, even if you’d pretended not to.
He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly. “Y-Yeah… You look… beautiful,” he said, voice hoarse. “You always do.”
Your chest tightened with a confusing mix of affection and lingering jealousy.
“What do you like?” you pressed, leaning in closer.
“Your—” His breath hitched as you pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the side of his neck. You felt his pulse jump wildly under your lips. “Your collarbone.. it’s exposed. I like it.”
His hands remained obediently at his sides, fingers gripping the sheets tightly. The sight of his restraint made something dark and satisfied bloom inside you.
“Touch it” you whispered.
“What?”
“Touch it” you repeated, taking one of his large hands and guiding it to your neck, then slowly dragging it lower. His palm was warm against your skin.
He swallowed again, struggling to keep his breathing steady.
“And what else?” you asked, guiding his hand further until it rested on the swell of your breast.
“Your… tits,” he admitted, voice cracking. “They look so pretty.”
You smirked and pressed his hand more firmly against you. Satoru let out a soft, broken sound, dropping his head forward to bury it in the crook of your neck. His breath came hot and shaky against your skin.
“Look at me, Satoru.”
He lifted his head. His eyes were dazed, glassy with arousal.
You shifted on his lap, your short skirt riding up higher and exposing more of your thighs. “And my skirt?”
His gaze dropped immediately, drinking in the sight of your thighs spread over him, the tiny skirt bunched up around your hips, and the obvious, thick bulge straining against his jeans. He was fully hard now, throbbing beneath you.
“I like it so much…” he whispered.
You took his other hand and guided it between your legs, pressing his fingers against the soaked fabric of your panties.
Satoru whimpered — a raw, needy sound — and his hips jerked up instinctively against you.
“Ahh—fuck…” he gasped, voice breaking as his fingers felt how wet you were. “You’re soaked.”
The jealousy from earlier still simmered under your skin, now mixing with raw, overwhelming desire. You rocked your hips slowly against his hand, letting him feel every bit of your heat while you leaned in close to his ear.
“Remember when I said we’d take this slow and you’d be rewarded?” you whispered, lips brushing his skin.
He nodded frantically, lips parted, breathing ragged.
You reached down between your bodies and palmed his hard length through his jeans. The moment you slowly unzipped him, his cock sprang free — heavy, flushed, and leaking at the tip. The sight made your mouth water.
You wrapped your fingers around him, giving one slow, teasing stroke. Before he could even process that you were finally touching him, you lifted your hips and positioned his throbbing cock right against your soaked panties.
“Ah—fuck, please” he begged, voice loud and desperate.
“Be a good boy and don’t cum, yeah?,” you murmured against his lips.
Satoru moaned loudly, head falling back as his hips twitched beneath you, fighting hard to obey.
You kept your hand wrapped around his thick length for a moment longer, savoring how it pulsed hot and heavy in your palm. Then you lifted your hips just enough to drag the swollen head of his cock along your drenched panties.
The first slide was devastating.
His cock was burning hot; the thick head nudged against your clit through the thin fabric, parting your folds slightly and sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.
“Ahh—fuck!” Satoru choked out, the sound raw and broken. “You’re so wet—I can’t”
“Look at me” you ordered, voice husky.
Satoru forced his eyes open. His pupils were blown wide, lashes fluttering. His cheeks were flushed dark red, lips shiny and parted as he panted. He already looked completely ruined, and you’d barely started.
You rocked your hips faster, pressing your soaked core harder against his throbbing cock. The way it slid between your folds — even through your panties — felt sinful. His thickness spread you open with every pass, the head nudging insistently against your entrance before sliding back up to torture your clit again.
Satoru’s hands fisted the sheets so tightly his knuckles turned white. His hips jerked up involuntarily, chasing the heat of your pussy.
“I—I can’t… you feel too good,” he whimpered, voice cracking beautifully. “I’m trying— fuck, I’m trying to be good—ahhn—”
You bit your lip, drunk on the desperate sounds he was making. Then you reached down, hooked your panties to the side with two fingers, and slowly nestled the bare, leaking head of his cock against your dripping folds.
Skin to skin for the first time.
The moment his hot, velvety cock pressed directly against your slick pussy, both of you moaned. The sensation was overwhelming. There was no fabric left between you — just the burning heat of his throbbing length sliding between your wet folds, coating him in your arousal.
“Oh my god—” Satoru gasped, eyes rolling back. His cock twitched violently against you, a thick bead of precum smearing across your clit. “It’s so warm… fuck— I can feel you dripping on me”
You started grinding on him again, slower this time, savoring the way his thick shaft slid perfectly between your folds. The swollen head bumped your clit with every upward stroke while the veiny underside dragged along your entrance, teasing you both mercilessly. The wet, obscene sounds filled the room — slick schlick-schlick-schlick with every roll of your hips, your arousal making everything deliciously messy.
Satoru was trembling beneath you, thighs shaking, breathing in short, desperate gasps. Sweat beaded on his collarbones. His cock was so hard it looked painful, flushed dark and twitching every time you slid over him.
A broken sob escaped his throat. “Y-yes— I’ll be good, I promise…”
You kept grinding on him, slow and deliberate, letting his bare cock slide between your slick folds. Satoru was falling apart underneath you, whimpering shamelessly with every pass. “Ah— ah— ah—”
“God… you have no idea how much I want your cock inside my tight pussy” you moaned.
Satoru let out another broken sob, hips jerking helplessly beneath you.
“I’m trying to punish you,” you panted, pressing down harder so his thick head caught against your entrance again and again without ever slipping inside, “but with every second I’m closer to just sinking down on you.”
His whole body trembled violently. You looked down between your bodies, watching his massive length slide through your glistening folds.
“Fucking biggest thing I’ve seen in my life…” you moaned, grinding faster, “and all I want is to bounce on it.”
Satoru cried out, head falling back, eyes glassy with desperation. His cock pulsed wildly, leaking nonstop all over your pussy as he fought not to cum.
“Fuck— please— don’t say that—” he whimpered, voice cracking. “I’m already losing my mind…”
He looked like he was in pain. Thighs shaking, veins standing out on his neck as he struggled with everything he had not to thrust up and bury himself inside you.
Satoru cried out, head falling back again, eyes glassy with desperation. His cock was pulsing wildly, leaking.
“Good,” you whispered, leaning down to bite his neck. “Suffer for me, Satoru. This is what you get for letting another girl sit on your lap.”
Satoru was nearly sobbing now, whimpering pathetically with every roll of your hips.
“You’re mine, Toru,” you panted, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Not Crystal’s. Not anyone else’s.”
“I’m yours— I’m yours— please—”
You could feel your own orgasm building — that tight, hot coil in your lower belly winding tighter with every wet slide. His cock was so hot, so hard, the veins dragging perfectly against your sensitive folds while his precum mixed with your slick, making everything obscenely slippery.
But he was getting too loud.
You reached down and yanked your top down in one smooth motion, freeing your breasts.
“Shut up, Toru,” you hissed, voice husky with pleasure. “They’re gonna hear you. Be a good boy and keep your mouth occupied.”
Satoru’s eyes widened with raw hunger. Without hesitation, he took off his glasses and tossed them onto the bed, then surged forward and latched onto your right breast. He sucked it into his hot, wet mouth like a man starved, his big hands gripping your waist.
“Fuck— yes…” you moaned softly, threading your fingers through his white hair and pulling him closer.
He whimpered loudly against your tit, the vibration shooting straight to your clit. He sucked harder, tongue swirling around your stiff nipple, alternating between sucking and licking as he lost himself completely in you. His moans turned muffled — wet, desperate sounds vibrating against your skin.
You started grinding faster, more desperately.
“That’s it… just like that,” you panted. “Feel how wet I am for you? My pussy’s dripping all over your cock, Toru.”
Satoru moaned pitifully into your breast, sucking harder as his hips jerked up to meet your movements. His cock twitched violently between your folds, clearly on the edge, but he fought it with everything he had.
“Ah— ah— mmph—!”
You rolled your hips in tight circles, pressing your clit firmly against the head of his cock. The pressure was perfect. Your thighs began to tremble.
“You’re being such a good boy,” you whispered, voice shaking with pleasure. “I can feel you leaking so much… you want to cum so bad, don’t you? But you’re not allowed. Not yet.”
Satoru let out a wrecked, muffled cry against your breast, sucking even harder as his body trembled violently beneath you. His hands gripped your waist tighter, fingers digging into your skin.
You were so close.
Your grinding became frantic and sloppy, your soaked pussy sliding faster along his cock. The wet sounds were obscene.
“Fuck— Satoru— I’m gonna cum” you gasped.
Your orgasm hit you like a wave.
You cried out, thighs clamping around his hips as your pussy clenched and pulsed against his bare cock. Pleasure crashed through you in powerful waves, your slick gushing over his length while you kept grinding through every pulse of ecstasy.
Satoru whimpered loudly into your breast, body shaking as he fought not to cum with you. His cock throbbed wildly between your folds, but he held back — barely.
You rode out the last aftershocks, breathing hard, still slowly grinding your sensitive pussy along his drenched cock while he continued sucking greedily on your tit.
When the pleasure finally faded, you were left panting and trembling on top of him. Satoru was still sucking gently on your breast, whimpering softly, his cock throbbing painfully between your folds, denied any release.
You looked down at him — flushed, desperate, and crying again.
You winced, remembering Shoko’s earlier words.
“Don’t cry, baby,” you whispered, voice hoarse. You cupped his face with both hands and gently pulled him off your breast. “You’ve been such a good boy. You did so well for me. I promise it’ll be worth it.”
Satoru let out a shaky, broken whimper at the praise, his blue eyes glassy and unfocused. His lips were swollen and shiny, cheeks burning red. He looked completely wrecked.
Just then, a loud knock echoed through the door.
“One minute!” Suguru called, amusement clear in his voice.
“Now we’re going back out there,” you murmured, leaning close to his ear, “and you’re going to hold it in until we get back to my place. I’m going to give you exactly what you want.”
Satoru nodded frantically. “Y-yes… I’ll hold it. I promise.”
You leaned in and kissed him deeply, slow and filthy. He moaned softly into your mouth, hands gripping your waist like he never wanted to let go.
When you finally pulled back, you climbed off his lap. Satoru stayed seated for a moment longer, breathing hard, trying to pull himself together. You fixed your top and skirt while he tucked his painfully hard, leaking cock back into his pants, wincing at the obvious bulge. He ran both hands through his messy white hair, rubbed his eyes, and put his glasses back on, attempting to look at least a little less destroyed.
As you both walked toward the door, you glanced back at him. The words spilled out before you could stop them.
“Don’t get close to Crystal again.”
Satoru nodded immediately. “I won’t” he whispered, voice still hoarse.
He didn’t argue. Didn’t ask if you were serious.
Just… I won’t.
It should have felt like a victory. Instead, it left a dangerous thought echoing in your mind:
Since when had you started acting like you had the right?
This was... STIMULATING, to say the least
Also... not Crystal making another cameo lmao🤣 (see this one)
Reblogs are sooo appreciated
part 8 coming soon !
masterlist
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here! part 5 here!
cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X
Before you read, I’m going to be completely honest: this was barely proofread. Sorry in advance! I’ll go back and edit it later if I find any typos
If you like listening to music while reading, I recommend this!
-
“Were you filming yourself while thinking about me, Satoru?”
The words hit him like a punch to the chest, knocking the air out of his lungs.
His heart slammed against his ribs so hard he was certain you could hear it. His mouth went dry instantly. Between the two of you, the phone screen glowed like a live grenade on the coffee table; his own wrecked, pathetic voice still spilling from the speakers, mocking him with every confession.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He wanted to disappear. He wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole. He wanted to grab the phone and throw it out the window. Or throw himself out the window. But the worst part — the most humiliating, soul-crushing part — was that he was already getting hard again. A slow, shameful throb in his sweatpants, triggered simply by the way you were looking at him.
“I…” His voice cracked immediately. He swallowed but his throat was tight with rising panic. He forced himself to look at you.
Big mistake.
You were sitting on his couch like you belonged there, legs crossed, watching him systematically fall apart with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.
You reached forward and tapped the screen, silencing the video. The sudden quiet was deafening. The absence of his own moans left only the sound of his ragged breathing and the frantic beating of his heart.
“You what, Satoru?” you asked, your voice deceptively soft.
The heat crawled up his neck, burning his ears a deep, painful crimson. He could feel sweat gathering at the back of his neck. His mind was a storm of static and shame.
She knows.
She knows I came in my pants like a pathetic loser in that hallway.
She heard me begging.
She knows I’ve been jerking off to her for months while pretending to be normal in class.
She knows exactly how disgusting I am.
“I—Yes” he whispered finally. The word tasted like surrender. He dragged a hand through his messy white hair, pulling at the roots as if he could yank the thoughts right out of his brain. His mind was a labyrinth of static and shame.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of you, but the image of you was burned into his retinas. When he opened them, you were still there. Still watching. Still judging.
“I tried to stop,” he continued, his voice dropping to a low, fractured mutter. “After the first time, I—no. Fuck. That sounds like an excuse. I’m just making it worse.”
His cock twitched traitorously against the cloth, a sharp, stinging reminder of how badly he wanted to be at your feet. He shifted in the chair, a futile attempt to hide it, though he knew with agonizing certainty that you had noticed. He looked up, his blue eyes glassy, shimmering with a desperate vulnerability.
“I’m sorry” he muttered “I know how fucked up this is. You must think I’m disgusting. Some creep who’s been jerking off to you for months while borrowing your notes like nothing was wrong.”
The silence that followed was torture. Every second stretched painfully. His pulse thundered in his ears. He felt stripped bare, raw, and completely at your mercy. And, in a way that made him hate himself even more, he found that he absolutely craved the feeling.
He swallowed hard, his throat clicking, his gaze dropping to his lap where the bulge in his pants was becoming impossible to ignore. He felt so exposed it was killing him.
“I’ll delete the channel,” he said, the words tumbling out of him, desperate and jagged. He looked up again, his eyes wide and pleading, searching yours for any sign of mercy. “I’ll delete everything. All of it. Just… please, don’t hate me.”
He waited for the rejection. He braced himself for you to stand up, to leave, to call him a freak—anything would have been easier than this terrifying, steady gaze of yours.
“No” you tilted your head “That would be such a waste, don’t you think?”
His brain short-circuited.
For a second he just stared at you, lips parted, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. The words didn’t compute at first. His heart was hammering so violently he felt dizzy.
She said… waste?
A violent shiver ran down his spine. His cock, already half-hard and traitorously interested, gave a full twitch inside his sweatpants. He hated how his body reacted before his brain could even process it.
“You…” His voice came out hoarse, almost broken. “W-What?”
Inside his head, the thoughts were screaming.
She knows everything. She saw me crying in the shower like a pathetic whore begging for her. She heard me say I wanted her to sit on my face in the hallway. And she’s saying it would be a waste to delete it?
Heat flooded his face so intensely he was sure he looked feverish. Shame burned through him, thick and nauseating, but underneath it — god, underneath it — there was a sick, desperate spark of hope. Of want.
You stood up slowly.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched you rise from the couch. You rounded the coffee table, and instinctively, he turned in his chair to keep you in sight. By the time you stopped in front of him, towering over his seated form, he had to tilt his head back to meet your eyes.
You leaned down, one hand resting lightly on the back of his neck. Your breath ghosted on the other side of his head, just against his ear
“You’ve spent so much time performing for me, Satoru,” you whispered, voice velvety. “Begging for me in front of a camera…”
He leaned forward slightly, almost unconsciously, like his body was begging to get closer to you.
You continued, lips brushing the shell of his ear.
“Don’t you think it’s time you do it in my face?”
Then you slowly pulled back. His heart dropped as you walked around the coffee table and sat down on the couch again, facing him directly. The distance felt both relieving and agonizing.
Your gaze dropped for a second to his lap, then back up to his face. You bit your lip.
“Show me” you said quietly.
Satoru’s brain malfunctioned.
“W-what…?”
“Touch yourself,” you said. “Right now. In front of me. And tell me everything you’ve been thinking about when you do it.”
The room spun.
Satoru stared at you, mouth dry, heart thundering so hard he felt dizzy. He looked at you with wide, glassy eyes — desperate, ashamed, and so painfully turned on it hurt.
“I’ve been watching your videos for the last two weeks, Satoru,” you said, voice steady and clear. “Touching myself while listening to you moan. Cumming harder than I ever have in my life. I’ve been driving myself crazy thinking you were talking about some other girl. And I suffered because of it.” You leaned forward slightly, eyes locked on his. “So now you’re going to touch yourself in front of me. Right now.”
Satoru’s brain imploded.
She… subscribed?
The realization hit him like a freight train. All this time… you had been there. His mouth fell open. His eyes widened in pure, devastating shock.
It was you.
The question about the molecule on his hoodie. The way you suggested vancomycin for the project without hesitation.
You had known for weeks. And instead of exposing him or hating him… you had been getting off to it.
He didn’t even have time to process it when you spoke again
“Touch. Yourself” you commanded, your voice cutting through his stupor like a whip.
He didn't need to be told a third time. His obedience was instantaneous, a desperate reflex born from the knowledge that you had seen every pathetic, broken moment of his obsession. With fingers that felt thick and clumsy with adrenaline, he untied the drawstring of his sweatpants.
The moment he freed himself, his flushed, aching cock sprang out, heavy and leaking at the tip. He looked up at you, pupils blown wide with shame and lust, silently begging for any sign of mercy.
But what he found was far worse.
You were biting your lip, eyes dark and fixed on his cock, as if the sight genuinely delighted you.
That was enough. A broken whimper tore from his throat before he could stop it. His hand finally wrapped around his throbbing length, and the first stroke pulled another pathetic sound out of him, his head dropping forward, white hair falling over his eyes and the thin frame of his glasses as he tried to hide from your gaze.
“Look at me” your voice was calm but firm. “If you had no problem saying those filthy things on camera while thinking about me, then you can say them to my face, Satoru.”
Satoru let out a shaky, humiliated sob. Slowly, he lifted his head, forcing himself to meet your eyes.
His hand started moving, slow and trembling.
“I… every time you walked into class…” he whispered, voice cracking, “I couldn’t stop staring at your legs… fuck— I kept imagining them wrapped around my head…”
“Faster.”
Satoru whimpered and obeyed instantly, his hand speeding up.
“Your face… You’re so pretty— ahh— I’d cum thinking about you looking down at me while I eat you out…”
“Slow down.”
He let out a desperate noise but obeyed, slowing his strokes to a torturous pace, hips twitching helplessly.
“I thought about your tits constantly… how soft they’d feel… how much I wanted to bury my face between them and suck on you until my tongue gets sore…”
“Squeeze the head” you murmured.
Satoru gasped sharply, thumb pressing over the sensitive head on every upstroke, precum dripping over his fingers.
“I kept wondering if you— fuck— if it would’ve fit…”
“Faster again. Keep going.”
His hand immediately picked up speed, strokes becoming frantic.
“Your voice… how smart you are… the way you explain things in class like it’s nothing, it— it turned me on so much”
His thighs were shaking now. He was dangerously close.
“And your perfume… I could smell it every time you walked past me… it made me so fucking hard I wanted to drop to my knees and bury my face between your legs right there— Fuck— I can’t—”
“Stop, Satoru.”
The command hit him like a bucket of ice water.
He let out a broken, pained whimper. His hand froze around his throbbing cock, right on the edge. Every muscle in his body tensed as he fought the overwhelming urge to keep going. His hips twitched desperately, trying to chase the friction, but he forced himself to stay still. Tears slipped down his flushed cheeks. The effort was inhuman. His cock pulsed angrily in his hand, leaking steadily, begging for release.
You stood up slowly. Satoru stayed exactly where he was, hand still wrapped around himself, trembling violently as he fought not to cum. He watched you kick the small coffee table aside with a harsh scrape. Then you stepped between his spread knees, towering over him.
Gently, you slid his glasses off his face and perched them atop his messy white hair before leaning down until your faces were only inches apart.
“Cum” you whispered against his lips.
Then you kissed him.
The contact was the final spark on a fuse. He let out a wrecked, muffled moan directly into your mouth. Thick, heavy ropes of cum spilled over his hand and onto his hoodie in powerful, uncontrollable spurts. His whole body shook violently as he kissed you back with desperate need, whimpering and whining against your lips with every pulse.
When the last spasm finally faded, you pulled back slightly. You lowered his glasses back onto his nose with careful fingers. He could barely focus — his vision was blurry, his mind completely blank.
“You don’t know how much I want to fuck you Satoru…” you murmured, brushing your fingers along his jaw. “All I want is to sink down on your cock right here… but you’ve been a really bad boy.”
Satoru let out a broken, needy moan at your words. The confession hit him like a punch to the gut. You wanted him. You actually wanted to fuck him. The thought made his spent cock twitch weakly in his hand.
“So we’re going to do this slowly,” you whispered, your thumb stroking his bottom lip. “And you’ll be rewarded like the good boy I know you can be. Yeah?”
He could only nod weakly, completely fucked out. His mind was blank, his body still trembling, eyes glassy with exhaustion and overwhelming emotion.
You straightened up, gave him one final look, and turned around, leaving him there — hand still weakly wrapped around his spent cock, covered in his own mess, completely ruined.
—
Leaving Satoru’s dorm took far more self-control than you expected. The second the door clicked shut behind you, your legs felt weak. You leaned against the wall in the hallway for a moment, heart still racing, thighs pressed together as you tried to calm the throbbing between them.
Sitting in front of him, you realized that the camera had done him zero justice. In person he was so much thicker, longer and prettier, with veins that mapped all his length in beautiful lines. The memory of how that thick, pulsing length felt in your mind, and the impossible size of him made your stomach drop. You could almost feel the phantom of his cock opening you up, the exquisite, sharp pain of being filled by someone who wanted you that badly.
And you had made him cum just from your voice and a kiss.
The memory made your mouth water like a bitch in heat.
By the time you reached your dorm, you were so soaked it was uncomfortable. You locked the door, stripped down to nothing, and touched yourself furiously on your bed, replaying the sounds he made when he came — those broken, desperate whimpers right against your lips. You came twice that night thinking about him, no video needed.
The next day in class, when you saw him walk in wearing that stupid vancomycin hoodie, you were fighting for your life.
You wanted to drag him into the nearest empty classroom and ride him so hard neither of you could walk for days. You wanted to push him against the wall and take that thick, heavy cock in your mouth, feeling his hands tangle in your hair while you worked him until his knees buckled. You wanted to hear him lose his mind, to make him beg, to hear the exact moment your name turned into a plea.
But you held back.
You wanted him desperate. You wanted him to be just as hollowed out and starving as you had been, shivering in your bed while you watched his videos, consumed by the agonizing, burning jealousy of wondering who else he was touching himself for.
So you stayed cruel.
You ignored the way he looked at you in the hallways with those big, pleading blue eyes. You ignored how he seemed to hover near your usual seat, body language practically screaming for a sign, for a touch, for a reason to snap. Every time you walked past him, feeling his gaze tracking you, you tightened your thighs, reminded of how easily you could break him.
The days dragged on like that. Torture for both of you.
Until Friday night, when you finally picked up your phone and typed the message.
Tomorrow 6pm? For the project. My dorm.
You hit send. Then you watched the little typing… bubble appear.
Disappear.
Reappear.
Disappear again.
Nearly a minute passed before your phone buzzed.
I’ll be there
—
By the time Satoru knocked on your door at 6pm on Saturday, you had already decided how the night was going to go.
You opened the door wearing nothing but a thin white tank top with no bra and tiny black pajama shorts. The moment he saw you, his eyes widened, dropping straight to your chest, then to your bare thighs. He swallowed hard.
“Come in” you said calmly, stepping aside.
He walked into your dorm like he was entering sacred ground. His eyes darted around — the desk covered in notes, the photos on the wall, the faint scent of vanilla hanging in the air. He looked nervous.
It was endearing.
For the first hour, you actually made him work. You explained papers, pointed at diagrams, asked him questions. He tried his best to focus, but you could see the way his eyes kept drifting to your chest, the way he shifted uncomfortably every few minutes.
You loved how hard he was trying.
You leaned in closer, pressing your soft tits against his arm as you pointed at something on the laptop.
“You’re doing so good, Toru…” you murmured near his ear. “Keeping focused even though you’re already so hard for me.”
He let out a shaky breath, the little nickname breaking something inside him.
You kept teasing him like that — small touches, pressing your body against him, whispering praise while talking about the project. By the time you finally closed the laptop, he was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, cock visibly straining against his sweatpants.
“Come with me?” you said softly.
You led him into your bedroom, the air suddenly thick and stifling. The only light came from your bedside lamp, casting shadows across the sheets—the very same sheets you’d ruined yourself on multiple times watching him.
Satoru stood in the center of the room, looking like a man standing on the edge of a cliff desperate to jump.
“Close the door, Satoru” you said
He obeyed instantly, the click of the lock sounding like a gavel. He turned back to you, his blue eyes blown wide, searching your face behind his glasses.
“You haven’t said a word since you got here, aside from chem stuff” you remarked, stepping closer. “Are you enjoying the torture? Is that what this is for you?”
“It—It’s not torture,” he rasped, his voice rough “I just— I can’t breathe. I’ve been thinking about you all day, all week”
You stopped right in front of him, looking up at his tall frame.
“Tell me, Satoru…” you said softly, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw. “What do you want to do to me? Say it.”
He swallowed hard, struggling to get the words out.
“I… I want to drop to my knees and bury my face between your legs,” he whispered, voice trembling. “I want to taste you until you’re pulling my hair and telling me I’m doing good”
He was breathing faster now, clearly humiliated by his own honesty, but he kept going.
“I want to feel how tight you are around me. I want to hear you moan my name while I fill you up…”
His voice cracked at the end, eyes dropping to the floor in embarrassment.
You smiled softly, heart racing with satisfaction. Without saying anything, you turned around and walked slowly toward your nightstand, giving him a perfect view of your ass in those tiny shorts.
“And what do you want to do to my pussy, mmh?” you asked over your shoulder
You opened the drawer and retrieved your new toy—thick, realistic, and a little oversized. You’d bought it with one purpose in mind: to stretch yourself out until you could finally handle him
You turned around, holding the toy in your hand, and climbed onto the bed. You sat against the headboard, legs slightly parted, and looked at him.
Satoru’s eyes were glued to the dildo. His mouth was open, cheeks burning red. He looked completely overwhelmed.
With your eyes fixed on him, you hooked your thumb into the waistband of your shorts and panties, sliding them down your legs in one smooth motion. You tossed them aside and spread your legs slowly, exposing your glistening pussy to him.
You extended the dildo toward him.
“Come show me,” you said softly, voice dripping with need. “Show me exactly what you want to do to me, Satoru.”
Satoru froze. For several long seconds he just stared, completely stunned. His mouth fell open slightly, blue eyes wide behind his glasses as they raked over your body — your nipples hardening through the thin tank top, your spread thighs, your wet, shiny pussy right in front of him.
He had spent months fantasizing about this exact moment. Months touching himself while imagining you like this. And now it was real.
He crawled between your legs like he was in a trance, breathing ragged and uneven.
“Fuck…” he whispered, almost to himself. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose as he leaned in closer, eyes glued to your dripping entrance. “You’re too beautiful, I’m going to die”
His hand trembled violently as he took the dildo from you.
“Stop waiting for permission Satoru” you groaned, impatient “Show me how badly you want to be inside me“
He obeyed, pressing the thick head of the toy against your folds, rubbing it up and down slowly, coating it with your slick. His breath hitched every time he felt how wet you were.
You moaned softly.
“Put it in” you encouraged.
He slowly pushed the tip inside you. The sight of your pussy stretching around the toy made him let out a broken, needy moan.
“Oh my god…” he breathed, voice wrecked. “You’re so wet…”
He started thrusting the dildo slowly, almost reverently, his eyes never leaving the point where it disappeared inside you. He reached out with his free hand, resting his palm gently against your thigh.
“You’re doing so good,” you murmured, rolling your hips to meet his movements. “Fuck— this is not even as big as you… You’re going to fucking rip me up, won’t you?”
Satoru whimpered loudly, pushing the toy deeper.
“I want to…” he confessed, voice trembling but growing bolder with every thrust. “I want to stretch you open so bad… I want to feel how tight you’d be around my cock… I’ve jerked off so many times imagining how you’d squeeze me…”
His strokes became more confident. The shame was still there, burning on his cheeks, but the hunger was winning. He was getting lost in the sight of you.
You moaned louder, one hand reaching down to rub your clit.
“Faster” you breathed “Show me how you’d ruin me.”
He complied instantly , fucking you with the dildo harder, eyes glassy behind his glasses as he watched every inch slide in and out of you.
“You’re so wet…” he whispered, almost in awe. “I can hear how soaked you are… I want to bury my cock inside you so bad… I want to feel you clench around me while I fill you up.”
After a few minutes, you looked at him with dark, hungry eyes.
“You can touch yourself,” you said. “Stroke that big cock while you fuck me with the toy.”
Satoru didn’t hesitate. He pushed his pants down with his free hand and wrapped his fingers around his throbbing cock, stroking himself in time with the thrusts of the dildo.
“Fuck— you’re so tight…” he groaned, eyes flicking between your pussy and your face. “I don’t know how I’m going to fit —ahh—but I want to try so bad. I want to stretch you open until you’re —fuck—crying my name”
Satoru’s breath hitched, his strokes growing erratic and desperate.
You reached up, threading your fingers into his snowy hair and yanking him down into a fierce, messy kiss, swallowing his broken moans as your tongue claimed his mouth. He melted instantly, letting you lead, his strokes turning sloppy and frantic as he fucked you with the toy exactly how you wanted.
The coil inside you snapped first. You cried out against his lips, thighs trembling as your orgasm ripped through you, clenching hard around the dildo while pleasure flooded your body.
The moment you started cumming, Satoru broke.
“Mmph—!” His muffled whine vibrated against your mouth as his whole body jerked. Thick, warm spurts of cum spilled over his fingers and onto your stomach while he kept desperately kissing you back, needy and sloppy, like he couldn’t bear to pull away even while he was falling apart. His hips stuttered, hand still weakly pumping his cock through the orgasm, completely lost in you.
When you finally let him breathe, he was panting heavily, cheeks flushed deep red, lips swollen and shiny. His forehead dropped against your neck, hot and shaky breaths fanning over your skin.
You were still coming down from your high, gently stroking his hair, when you felt it — something warm and wet against your collarbone.
You blinked, tilting your head slightly.
He tried to hide it by pressing his face harder into your neck, but his shoulders were trembling and little sniffles kept escaping him.
He was crying. The realization made you start to panic.
“Satoru, no—I’m s—”
“God—” he choked out “That was the best thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
You buried your face in your hand, his breath still lingering against your neck.
Now, you were the one who was truly fucked.
You finally got a taste... you can’t say I’m edging you anymore LOL 😭
Reblogs are sooo appreciated
part 7 coming soon !
masterlist
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.
Exam stress leads to a late night horny decision. Everything is going great, until the guy in the video starts sounding a little too familiar
part 1 here! . part 2 here! . part 3 here! . part 4 here!
cr: 3vangel1ne_ on X
If you like listening to music while reading, I recommend this!
-
You woke up the next morning with a dull pounding in your skull and your mouth painfully dry. For one merciful second, your mind was blissfully blank. Then the memories crashed over you all at once.
The dimly lit hallway.
Satoru’s tall frame pressed back against the wall.
The broken whimper that escaped his lips when your mouth found his neck.
Your own lips still felt faintly swollen, as if you could still taste the warmth of his skin—sweet, soft, and addictive. Between your thighs, a traitorous heat lingered at the mere recollection of his hardness pressing against you.
The memory refused to leave you. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw his flushed face—lips swollen, eyes wide with shock and something dangerously close to desperate want.
But it was the scent that haunted you the most. He smelled so good—deliciously masculine, soft, and unmistakably him. And now, as you lay in bed, the faint trace of his cologne still clung to your skin, inextricably entwined with your favorite vanilla fragrance.
By the time you dragged yourself to the small breakfast counter in your dorm, guilt twisted sharply in your stomach making it impossible to eat. The jealousy that had fueled your drunken courage the night before now felt pathetic and ugly in the daylight.
The chat with Satoru had been open for nearly thirty minutes. The cursor blinked mockingly at the end of another half-written message you’d already deleted twice.
Hey, about last night…
Delete.
I’m really sorry. I’ll finish the project, you won’t have to see me anymore.
Delete.
Satoru, I need to tell you something important. I know about your channel. I’m not going to tell anyone, I swear. I just—
You stopped.
How the hell were you supposed to explain this without sounding like a complete stalker? Hey! I’ve been getting off to your videos while pretending I didn’t know it was you and then I basically attacked your neck cause the real thing was too much to resist?
You groaned, burying your face in your arms on the counter. He hadn’t texted you either. But what were you expecting him to do anyway? After what you’d done, he was probably avoiding you cause he thought you were insane.
“Fuck” you muttered.
By the afternoon, the guilt had become unbearable. You still hadn’t texted him, instead, you forced yourself to open the shared document for the chemistry project. You tried to work for a while, adding a few clumsy notes and sources, but every sentence felt forced and meaningless.
Shoko texted asking how you were feeling. You replied with a vague “hungover af, but alive” and quickly ignored her follow-up asking if you’d talked to “pretty eyes” yet.
Eventually you gave up on the document, flopping onto your bed, grabbing your phone to try and write an apology one last time.
Hey. About last night… I’m really sorry. I was way too drunk and I shouldn’t have done that. Can we still work on the project? I promise I’ll keep things professional.
You didn’t send that one either. Professional. As if you hadn’t left hickeys on his neck and felt him hard against your stomach while he whimpered into your mouth.
You realized then that you were terrified of the silence between you. If you sent that message, you would be forcing him to acknowledge what happened, and you weren’t sure you could handle his rejection—or worse, his pity. You just couldn’t do it.
You were just about to lock your phone when a notification banner slid down from the top of the screen.
⤷ blue.sg uploaded a new video! 2 min ago
You knew you were a hypocrite. A massive one. You’d spent the entire day feeling guilty, writing fifty different apologies, and yet, here you were—thumb pressing on the notification before your brain could talk you out of it
There was no title. Just a short description: from last night.
The video started abruptly.
The camera was propped up on the sink, slightly crooked, as if he had thrown it there in a rush. Steam already filled the bathroom. Satoru stepped straight into the shower, fully naked, and the water crashed down on him immediately. His face was out of frame, but the water ran down his abs and over his impossibly hard cock.
He didn’t tease. There was none of his usual slow, shy build-up.
This was pure desperation.
His large hand wrapped around his throbbing cock and he started stroking immediately — fast, rough, almost punishing. The wet, obscene sounds of his fist flying over slick skin were loud even over the running water.
“Fuck…” he groaned, voice already wrecked. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”
His hand moved frantically, squeezing tight, thumb pressing hard against the sensitive head every time he stroked upward. Precum mixed with the water, making everything look deliciously slippery.
“I accepted that—fuck—invitation cause I knew you were going to be there…” he panted as hips jerking forward into his fist. “I hate these things but I just wanted to see you.”
His strokes became even faster, almost angry.
“I was trying to make up my mind to send you a text….something I would never do anyway —ahh—fuck—but then you show up in front of me looking like the prettiest fucking angel I’ve ever seen in my life and I completely forgot how to function”
His voice cracked beautifully as he twisted his wrist on the upstroke. A broken whimper escaped him, high and needy.
“I know you were drunk… I know it didn’t mean anything to you. You weren’t thinking straight, but I… fuck—”
He was breathing hard now, almost sobbing between words. He fucked his fist harder, hips snapping forward desperately. Water ran down his toned abs and over his throbbing length as he squeezed tighter.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. That vanilla is like a fucking drug. I can still smell it on my skin. You smelled so fucking good.” he whispered the last word as he leaned his forearm against the tiled wall for support “Your lips were so soft and wet… you tasted like alcohol and sweetness and I— ahh— I got so fucking hard it hurt. I came in my pants like a desperate loser. I couldn’t even move. Just sat there on the floor with your lipstick on my neck and my pants ruined like a pathetic puppy.”
A particularly filthy moan tore out of him. The camera caught everything: the way his heavy cock throbbed in his hand, the way his abs clenched, the way his knees almost buckled.
“I’m so fucking pathetic for you…” he whimpered, voice hoarse and trembling. “And I know it was nothing to you, but to me— fuck, to me it was everything. I wanted to beg you to keep going. I wanted you to push me down, sit on my face, use my cock however you wanted. I would’ve let you ride me right there in that hallway”
He let out a ragged, shuddering breath, his head dropping.
“I wanted to cry after you left. I sat on the floor with cum in my pants and still got hard again ten minutes later just thinking about your tits pressed against me” He let out another filthy, desperate moan “—fuck—I wanted to grab them so fucking bad, wanted to bury my face between them and suck on them—ahh— please… even if you regret it, even if I’m just a mistake, use me. I don’t care how pathetic I sound. I’ll whimper and beg and cum all over myself every time you want. Just— fuck— just let me have something.”
He was stroking so fast now the motion was almost blurry. His balls were drawn up tight, cock swollen and dark.
“I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum— fuck—!”
A loud, broken cry ripped out of him as thick, powerful ropes of cum shot against the shower wall. He kept stroking through it, moaning shamelessly, body jerking with every spurt. There was so much that even with the water running, it dripped down the tiles in messy streaks.
He stayed there for a long moment afterward, breathing hard, forehead pressed against the tile, water cascading over his trembling figure.
Then, almost like he suddenly remembered the camera existed, he reached out with a wet, shaky hand and stopped the recording.
You sat there in silence for a second, heart hammering against your ribs.
The screen went black, leaving you staring at your own reflection. Your breath was shallow, your heart still racing, and the air around you felt thick with the heavy, lingering presence of Satoru’s confession.
He’s talking about me.
The realization slammed into you with dizzying force.
You’d spent the whole day torturing yourself, convinced you’d crossed an unforgivable line by watching his content and then kissing him. Meanwhile, Satoru had an entire secret porn channel dedicated to jerking off and whimpering for you.
And last night, after what happened at the party, he had run straight home and broken down in the shower once again because of you.
The irony hit so hard you almost laughed, except the sound came out as a shaky exhale. For a long moment you just sat there, chest heaving, panties soaked and thighs pressed together.
Suddenly, all the guilt transformed into something hot and sharp in your chest.
Power.
This shy, sweet boy who blushed when you looked at him had been secretly obsessed with you. Filming himself falling apart for you. Begging the camera for you.
And now you knew.
A part of you wanted to close the app, to preserve the sanctity of what you’d just witnessed, but the need to see how the world reacted to your boy was too strong to ignore. You tapped it.
You read through them, a wave of possessiveness washing over you, layering itself onto that newfound sense of power.
You didn’t need to watch any more. You had seen enough. The adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin had shifted into something else entirely, no longer fueled by the video itself, but by the idea already taking shape in your mind.
Without another thought, you opened your messages and typed:
Cho. I need a favor.
—
The hallway outside room 127 smelled faintly of instant ramen and laundry detergent. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you stood outside Satoru's door, your fist hovering in the air for a split second before you finally knocked.
The lock clicked.
Satoru looked exhausted. His white hair was a mess, as though he'd been dragging his hands through it for hours. Dark shadows sat beneath his eyes, and an oversized black hoodie swallowed his frame. His blue eyes widened when they landed on you.
“Can I come in?” you asked.
He swallowed, then stepped aside without a word.
The apartment was quiet. The small living room was neat enough to look recently cleaned, yet something about it still felt lived in—a mug abandoned on the table, the white hoodie tossed over the arm of the couch, the faint scent of coffee still hanging in the air.
Satoru hovered awkwardly by the kitchen counter.
“You can... sit.”
You lowered yourself onto one end of the couch.
He remained standing for another second before sitting on the chair opposite you, hands resting on his knees, unable to meet your eyes for more than a moment.
“Do you want anything? Water? Tea...?”
You shook your head.
“No.”
Silence settled between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was suffocating.
Satoru’s knee bounced almost imperceptibly. His fingers twisted together before he forced them apart again.
Every few seconds, he'd glance at you, only to look away the instant your eyes met.
You reached into your pocket without saying a word.
Unlocked your phone.
Opened the video.
Then, leaning forward, you placed it face-up on the coffee table between you and gently slid it across until it stopped in front of him.
He frowned, then looked down. The moment he recognized what was on the screen, every trace of color vanished from his face.
The video replayed from where you’d left it paused.
The shower. His voice. His hand.
Slowly—almost fearfully—his gaze lifted to yours. His expression was pure panic.
You held his eyes for a long moment before finally speaking.
“Were you filming yourself while thinking about me, Satoru?”
the song that sounded in my head after the end
1- I'm sorry
2- bro is so famous he got 248 likes in like 10 minutes
3- that ""smau"" took SO long to make. I hated every second of it. it doesn't make ANY SENSE but I needed to do it.
4- actually I'm not sorry
Reblogs are sooo appreciated
part 6 coming soon !
masterlist
So, iirc, a zanpakuto spirit is born from the soul of its master, right? So it embodies an essential part of who they are. Their inner world is a reflection of their own soul.
My point. My point is that Hyorinmaru is Toshiro’s zanpakuto. Often cited as the strongest ice-type zanpakuto. And Toshiro has made repeated reference to how the struggle, for him, was never in unlocking or strengthening Hyorinmaru’s power, but in trying to hold him back.
And it just occurred to me. Toshiro is protective as all heck. Overprotective as all heck. Only of like, one or two people, but still.
It’s so freaking obvious and adorable I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.
Hyorinmaru is overprotective of Toshiro.
You have this big eff-off Ice Dragon that could freeze anyone solid with a glance, and he sees his master—a tiny little boy—and this absolute primordial force of freaking nature looks at this tiny little lonely kid and goes:
“If anything happens to this child, I will kill everyone in a thousand mile radius, and then myself.” bruh you’ll already be dead but that’s beside the point
And whenever Toshiro goes into battle, he has to hold this guy back.
Hyorinmaru’s in full-on Papa-Dragon, I’ll-Make-Sure-You-Don’t-Ever-Speak-To-Me-Or-My-Son-Again mode, ready to murder everyone in the same area code of whoever so much as threatened his boy, and Toshiro has to focus on making sure he doesn’t.
And of course. Of course now I’m picturing their interactions through this lens. I mean. Can you just. Imagine an overbearing, manifested Hyorinmaru coiling around his little master and grooming him like a kitten.
T: “Oi. You’re freezing my hair.”
H: [growls]
T: [sighs]
I remember during the Zanpakuto arc there was a scene where Toshiro was recovering in the squad 4 barracks, and Hyourinmaru was sitting next to his bed and had frozen everything in the room (including making an ice statue of himself bowing to Toshiro). And when Isane removed all the ice and tried to warm up the room stating that it would make Toshiro sick, he just kept freezing the room again stating that Toshiro needed it cold lol.
Getting into the bount arc now, I'm gonna watch it, I know it gets a lot of hate but I honestly don't remember any of it so I'm curious why it gets so much hate lol
The moment when you stopped watching Bleach years ago during the like Vizard/Espada stuff, and now you're rewatching it and coming up with your own character, thinking you're coming up with a really cool Zanpakuto...Only to realize that yeah a character later on had one that was extremely similar....screw it, she's still having them lol.
But like, here I thought I was being original af, having her have a sword that could mimic other's shikai or bankai and now I'm finding out some dude named Tokinada Tsunayashiro has the same thing 🤣. Ah well, hers adds a darker twist so I suppose their different enough.
Writing a story with an OC you have only really just came up with definitely helps you flesh them out. Here I thought Rizu was this badass fighter that would stand next to Ichigo if he needed it and be on his level...Instead I'm realizing that she's more of a pacifist that only wants to fight if she absolutely has to, and instead would rather be the healer like her mother.
I found a song the other day that honestly makes me think of Kenpachi so much that I feel like it would make like the dirtiest smut, but like I also wanna make a tiktok video about him with it 🤭. Should I try writing it? Is there enough Kenpachi girls out there or should I just keep it in my head 😂
So this is based on a dream I had last night (that's why it's so short)
Went to bed thinking of Kenpachi and had a Hitsugaya dream lol, you can't forget your first love I suppose.
Synopsis: Rangiku knows you have a crush on Toshiro, and knows Toshiro likes you too, and decides to have some fun while trying to get you two together
Pairing: Toshiro x Reader
Word Count: 734
Warnings: None
⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞. I also do not give permission to use my story in any AI platform⚠️
“Ok give me just a second to change Rangiku” You called as you made your way into your room, you had just gotten back from a full day of the cheerful lieutenant dragging you around shopping, and not only were you (and your wallet) exhausted, but she wanted to go meet everyone for dinner.
“And by everyone, I mean everyone” she had smirked at you, knowing exactly who you were thinking of, the only reason you agreed to go instead of calling it quits. You sighed as you laid out the new clothes you had gotten, now to decide what to wear.
Meanwhile
“Rangiku, there had better be a good reason you called me all the way back here” Toshiro sighed as he entered the home and spotted his lieutenant sitting on the couch, a pile of clothes in front of her.
“Captain! There you are! I need your advise” she stated, causing the man to rub out the headache that was already forming.
“Rangiku”
“I'm bringing drinks tonight and I need to know what you think would be better?” She asked, holding back her smile as she shoved the red liquid towards him.
“I'm not drinking that Rangiku”
“But Captain,” she pouted.
“I need to know if someone other than me thinks it tastes good”
“I'm sure if the others have the taste buds you do, they will like it” he grumbled while trying to push it away, but his lieutenant was ready for him, and pushed harder, causing the liquid to slosh right onto his white shirt.
“Oops” placing her hand in front of her mouth to cover her smile…step 1 done.
“Rangiku” The white haired man seethe, ready to simply head back to the Soul Society and say screw it to this whole mission.
“I'm so sorry Captain, but don't worry, I actually got you some new clothes while y/n and I were out shopping today! I put them in her room.
“Why…you know what, I don't even care” he sighed while standing up and moving down the hall to your room, why Rangiku hadn't put it in the spare room he had been staying in while they stayed with you he would never understand, unless she just dumped out even more of her bags in your room. He unbuttoned the two buttons on the polo shirt and brought it up over his head while he opened your door, ready to get rid of the article that now reeked of berry alcohol.
You froze as you stood in front of the mirror, holding up two different outfits you had put together, all the while only in your bra and underwear. When you heard the door open you looked over, expecting to see Rangiku ready to help, but instead your eyes widened. Slowly raking over the smooth planes of the pale chest that entered your room, his face obscured by the shirt he was removing, and like a deer in the headlights, all you could do was stare. You watched the muscles move as he pulled the shirt higher, arms flexing as he finally pulled it off, eyes opening as if this was some sort of slow-mo scene straight out of a J-drama. His eyes widened as soon as he spotted you, and both of you simply stood there, your eyes dancing across his chest before returning to his face only to see his own lingering on your form before quickly darting back to meet your own gaze. And suddenly it was like the two of you realized what had happened, you quickly pulled one of the outfits to cover you, and he raced out of the door and slammed it shut.
“I-I-” You heard from the other side
“I-It's ok” you told him, your own voice shaking while your heart raced, you don't think you will ever forget that sight even in a million years. You could feel the blush without even looking in the mirror…and that was when you heard it.
“Oh! Wait, the shirt I bought for you is out here Captain!”
Rangiku….
“Rangiku!” You both shouted, knowing very well she did that on purpose. You wondered how you were going to be able to even look at him the whole time they stayed here now.
“Is it too late to just stay in?” You sighed, looking back at the clothes, and as you expected, your beet red face.
