đŠč jean, sasha, and connie star in " lps family trip "
you and your bestest of friends go to a meadow to heal your inner children when disaster strikes.
note : need friends like this THANK YOU FOR REQUESTINGGG i haven't had fun like this in a while oh my god. the picture is LITERALLY them by the way. see the end of the post for an extra pic <33
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you set up the pink digital camera against the grass, giggling profusely. sasha dumps out all of the accessories from her purse onto a flat rock that you'd found earlier. she sits on the back of her legs and begins to sort them out into character specific piles, grass sticks onto her skin.
on the other side of you, connie talks with jean about what voice he's going to give his pet. jean gives pointers and shares what he's planning on doing too.
"alright guys!! the camera is all set up," you announce and everyone gathers close by.
jean groans, "are we actually posting this?"
"yes, i have a youtube channel and everything," sasha sticks her tongue out.
đŠč aux : boom clap by charli xcx
"we're gonna be famous," connie cheers. jean simply rolls his eyes, but he doesn't complain further.
jean shrugs, "what are we even doing?"
"okay, so basically," sasha starts, "we're a family going on vacation, yeah? then like something bad happens, just improv it, okay??"
"this is a disaster."
"it's going to be fun," you retort.
he gestures widely towards the setup, "don't these things have a script? there's no way they're all improving."
"omg so you are watching the videos i send you?" you giggle.
"quit it," he grumbles in return.
you wave your hand dismissively, "we will be fine. i'll edit it and make sure it's not shattering anyone's egos."
"yeah jean," sasha teases, "can't shatter your fragile ego."
he gives a playful glare towards sasha, "thanks, [name]."
"okay let's freaking start already," connie protests with a whine.
sasha giggles and presses the red film button on the camera. it beeps once, you pick up your butterfly dachshund and place her next to the small toy car, your sparkly pink nail with pressing up against the pets forehead. it beeps twice, sasha squeals anxiously when the bow falls off of her pet. it beeps a third time, connie reaches his arm across the lense to pick it up, sticking it back on the dogs ear.
"okay just... edit that out," sasha sighs. the cameras red dot indicating it's already filming.
connie clears his throat, "so where are we going?"
"camping," you raise the pitch of your voice slightly, "the car is all packed already, you can thank us for that."
you raise up the brown dachshund slightly and move over to jeans greyhound, bumping faces with his affectionately. you slide closer to jean on the grass, thighs almost touching.
"thanks mom and dad!" connie says so genuinely that it almost makes you slip out of character. he bumps sasha's arm when she doesn't say anything.
she attempts to cease her laughing, "right, right. thanks you two!!"
"don't mention it," jean replies sarcastically.
you roll your eyes, "okay! everybody get in the car."
the small toy in your hands waddles over to the car door, you reach your hand into the frame to help open it. you squish her into the passenger seat and click the tiny seatbelt onto her. jean follows close behind, opening the doors to the backseat as well as the drivers.
you glance over to his face, his brows are furrowed in concentration. in all the years you've known him, you've never seen him this focused before. you almost can't help the laugh that threatens to emerge.
sasha and connie practically toss their lps into the back seat, sasha accidentally hits connie's dog ear with her paw.
"mom, she hit me!!" connie yells.
this time you can't hold in your laugh. sasha leans over the set, her hair dangling into the frame, cackling uncontrollably. it even gets a chuckle out of jean.
"oh so you all find this funny, this is sibling abuse," connie crosses his arms dramatically.
that only makes it worse for sasha, she hits her thigh as she wheezes out laughs. you press your lips together as you try to hold in your amusement but it bubbles up uncontrollably. connie narrows his eyes at you dramatically and crosses his arms.
"you guys aren't taking this as seriously as you should be," he rolls his eyes.
you finally cease your laughter, clearing your throat, "you're right connie, i'm sorry."
jean pushes the car from the back bumper, inching it along the grass slowly. you gently pick up sasha's camera and move it across as smoothly as you possibly can. connie and sasha crawl along the grass behind, hissing out insults at each other like siblings.
"if you guys play nice we'll get ice cream on the way home," jean glares up from his focus.
the two of them immediately pipe down, only hushed giggles remain. jean stops moving the car a few feet away from where it started. everyone takes their pet from the car, sasha yawns and pretends to stretch.
"finally!" she exclaims, "i thought we'd be in that car forever."
đŠč aux : last friday night by katy perry
jean eyes her, "you two just got to sit in the back of the car relaxing. me and your mother did all the work!"
you cover your mouth to hide your smile, he's taking it so seriously. after taking a deep breath, you nod, "exactly, you should be more grateful. look where we are."
sasha slowly moves the camera towards the beautiful view. mountainous scapes, endless clouds, a beautiful blue sky, and a big of jeans shoulder fall into the frame. you pull him closer to you slightly as you watch the cameras flip screen. he's out of the shot now.
connie gasps softly, "i actually hadn't looked at it, woah."
you look at it too, adverting your eyes from the screen and towards the real view. it's absolutely breathtaking. you stretch your legs out and find yourself captured by nature. you can only assume the same has happened to the others considering their silence. it doesn't bother you that the camera is still rolling, you don't even care that much anymore.
the warm sun on your face feels more noticable now, the fresh breeze with a slight chill finds its way through the fabric of your sweater. everything
you let out a refreshing breath and finally turn back to the scene, "wasn't that worth the trip?"
sasha nods, "absolutely. it was worth connie's incessant, annoying voice."
"that's it!" connie yells, using his dog to tackle sasha's.
you roll your eyes, "good grief, you two."
"brats," jean sighs.
you laugh and pull out your stern voice, "quit it!"
they both pause and you hear connie swallow hard. all of their reactions they put into the pets, it's absolutely adorable and even though you're supposed to be the upset parent, it makes you want to laugh.
you ponder in your mind how to lecture them in a funny way when you notice slight movement in the distance. you instinctively peer up at it and your blood runs cold.
"oh my god, is that a bear??" you squeal, your grip against the pet loosening.
sasha leans closer, "[name], i didn't bring a bear lps..."
"no," you shake your head, "sasha there's an actual fucking bear right there."
her head spins on a swivel, eyes locking onto the fluffy creature standing at the edge of the woods.
"oh, it's just a brown bear," connie reassures, "they're the nice ones."
sasha squeaks, "no it's the other way you idiot! oh my god, we're gonna die filming a lps video!!"
"shh!" jean hisses, "just don't move. i don't think it sees us."
for the first time all day, everyone goes absolutely silent. all you hear is the hitched breathing of sasha beside you. she bites her lip hard, keeping an relentless glare on the animal.
jean is right though, it doesn't seem to notice you. it just stares off at the mountains. you wonder if maybe it's just enjoying the view like you are. after a few moments, it just turns back around into the woods.
you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. you hadn't realized you had a hand firmly planted on sasha's thigh, your nails were probably stressfully digging into her jeans. you pull away as your heartbeat slows down a bit.
connie starts to laugh. you raise your eyebrows and stare at him, but you can't help the giggle that escapes you too. before you know it, all of you are laughing at the insanity that just happened. you run your fingers through your hair and lean back against the grass.
"i can't believe that just happened," you huff out.
sasha snorts, "it probably smelled connie's b.o. and ran off."
"you mean my aura??" connie scoffs.
she slaps his leg playfully and all of a sudden it was like you were kids again. when you turn to look at sasha, for a flash it's 12 year old sash with her pigtails and braces, covered in grass in the meadow. connie hits her back in the shoulder, his wrist in a cast like it somehow always was when you were kids. even jeans laugh sounds like it did back then.
your mind locks into that nostalgia and you let out a soft sigh, smiling at everyone. for a while, it's just that.
then, sasha's laughter wavers, "but we should definately leave in case it decides to come back..."
synopsis: you answer toji fushiguroâs job listing to be his babysitter, unknowingly signing yourself up for a summer of drooling over your employer. you just hope heâs drooling over you too.
a/n: this part is lowkey a jumbled mess of different days but only because itâs an intro but promise future parts will be more coherent and yummy hehehe and will probs be actually smutty
summer break had officially started and you were beyond excited for a break from long lectures except that meant one thing: without your on-campus job, you were officially unemployed and broke. hence why you were sitting in your shitty apartment, looking through various job listings on your beat-up laptop. really fulfilling the broke college student prophecy.
technically, you could survive without a job for the summer but that would require missing out on clubbing and hanging out with friends which was so not okay. a listing caught your eye and you paused the endless scroll to click on it.
'in need of a babysitter for during the day -- pay is up for discussion'
the listing was vague but sounded easy next to others that were regarding excessive lawn work. and, working during the day was perfect because you really only liked to have fun at night. after going back to scrolling for a bit, you decided that the babysitting gig might be your best bet despite the blank profile picture of the account.
you just hoped it was some busy parent and not a kidnapper. the phone rang only a couple times before your call was picked up. kind of vague information was exchanged. mostly a consistent set of working hours, single dad, 5 year old son, etc. it sounded pretty easygoing.
before you knew it, you were meant to meet with mr. fushiguro for your first shift in a couple days.
. â . + *
you showed up to the relatively nice one-story house, double checking the address on your phone once more. the summer heat was sending droplets of sweat down the back of your spine as you clicked the doorbell.
being the girl you were, you didn't really have clean clothes that weren't either too slutty or too modest for the heat. so, you'd decided on your longest denim shorts (which weren't that long..) and a waist-length tanktop. it couldn't be so bad, right?
it's not like a 5 year old would care. hopefully his dad was an average nerdy corporate worker who was too work-obsessed to care.
the door finally swung open and your eyes widened a fraction as you looked at the man in front of you. he was not at all a regular nerdy corporate worker.
you'd be surprised if he could even fit into those cube sized offices with how big he was. and not like big as in pot belly, big as in tall and built and like his biceps were twice as big as your head. a total dilf. well at least your summer job came with some eye-candy.
you pasted on a sweet smile and hoped he hadn't noticed your staring though he didn't make any indication, his expression serious and even a little scary.
"hi! you're mr. fushiguro right?" you said cheerily, holding out a hand.
he glanced at your hand and then briefly took in your outfit, which you were more unsure about now. his gaze seeemed to heat but you weren't sure if it was out of irritation or something else
âyes, i'm toji fushiguro. come in." he said simply and stepped aside to give you room.
you entered in and glanced around at the simplicity of the house. there weren't many decorations on the wall and the only bright colors came from the excess amount of toys laying in different places.
the door shut with a click and he led you to the living room. you guys sat down on a soft couch, a large gap between you guys.
"so.. hi again." you said, hoping to fill the silence that was filling up the room.
he assessed you with a neutral expression but something burned in his eyes.
"we already spoke on the phone but just to confirm, you're fine working every week day basically? and you don't mind the 9-5 schedule?" he asked, raising an eyebrow slightly. you nodded quickly a few times.
"sounds perfect. i only party at night anyway." you said lightheartedly with a laugh in attempt to lighten the atmosphere. he only cocked an eyebrow at you and basically ignored the info, moving on.
finally, it was time to meet the kid. you weren't too nervous but just hoped he'd be less serious than his dad. he waddled out of his room after being called on, walking over to you with his head slightly lowered.
your heart fluttered at the sight, he was already such a cutie. toji's serious expression melted into a soft smile as he watched his son. your gaze lingered on his face for a moment before finally looking away.
"hii! i'm y/n." you spoke softer, smiling as he walked to stand in front of you and his dad.
"hi, i'm megumi." he mumbled a little shyly, looking up finally.
you held out your hand which he took quickly with his tiny fingers. he gave you a small handshake which nearly melted your heart. at least one fushiguro boy knew about handshakes.
"i'm your new babysitter, we're gonna have soo much fun together." you said earnestly.
he made a small pouty face, glancing at his dad. "okay.. but i don't need a babysitter. daddy is just.. too much." he said seriously, seemingly not having a big enough vocabulary to describe his feelings.
you returned the serious expression with a nod. "i know, you're such a big kid. but its okay, i wont bother you as much as him." you murmured jokingly, earning a small smile and nod in agreement from megumi.
you looked up to see toji watching the exchange with an amused look, not bothering to defend himself.
once toji had debriefed you on all of megumi's favorite snacks, movies, toys, basically everything in the world, he was finally ready to head out. you flopped onto the couch next to megumi who was knee-deep into some random cartoon. "you're right, your dad is a lot."
. â . + *
the next few weeks at the job passed smoothly for the most part. you'd arrive on time mostly, except for mondaysâalmost always hungover from the weekend. you dressed in outfits for the heat so mostly different combinations of shorts and tanktops or cute tops.
your friends accused you of trying to seduce the old man but in your defense, you were just dressing to impress? the way toji assessed you every morning at the door was definitely one of the more interesting part of your days. it was difficult to read him but hey, a workplace crush never hurt anyone.
sometimes there were even times where moments would occur between you and toji that made you think maybe there was some mutual attraction in the air:
like one time, you were bringing megumi his plate of pancakes and eggs that toji had been working on at the stove. he shuffled around the kitchen heavily as he moved to grab his coffee.
you were busy bent over the table setting up gumi's utensils and water until you felt small fingers grabbing at your arm. you looked over at him with a raised brow. "what?"
megumi gestured for you to lean down closer before leaning up to meet you. he cupped his mouth to your ear, loudly whispering with a boyish giggle. "daddy has a staring problem."
you tried to sneakily glance at the kitchen, only to find that the kid was right. toij stood there and was definitely staring at you, his dark eyes appeared darker than usual but was it with scrutiny or desire?
you straightened and looked down at megumi, pinching his cheek. "stop being bad. eat your food." you whisper-shouted but your body and face had totally heated at the idea of his hot dad finding you hot back.
and that one time when you'd shown up early for once and were let in by megumi. you smiled down at him and shook your head. "i don't think you're supposed to open the door mister."
he shrugged innocently and grabbed your hand with his tiny one, leading you inside. "daddy asked me to bring him a towel buttt I can't reach." he said as he dragged you off to a storage closet between the two bedrooms.
you narrowed your eyes at him before reaching up to grab the towel, handing it to megumi. he stared at it for a moment before exclaiming, "nose goes!" he tapped his nose after throwing the towel at you and ran into his room. the door shut and locked, leaving you confused and holding the towel.
you hesitated a moment to see if gumi would come out and to your surprise (not) he didn't. slowly, you approached the bathroom door. at the same time, the doorknob turned and the door quickly opened.
toji opened his mouth, likely to shout at megumi but stopped in his tracks as he saw you. your eyes widened as you looked back at him. he was nearly naked save for the small towel he held over his crotch. his hair was dark from being wet and water droplets trailed down his chest and arms, dripping down towards defined abs.
you met his eyes, your own wide with horror as you realized you had just shamelessly stared at your employer's naked body.
to your surprise, his cheeks appeared slightly flushed and his expression was similar to yoursâas if you'd caught him doing something. a part of you wondered and maybe hoped that you'd been on his mind during his shower.
you turned your back on him and held the towel out, shaking your head at yourself for not reacting quick enough.
"oh my god, i'm so sorry mr. fushiguro! megumi locked himself in his room and basically told me to give you this. I hope Iâm not fired for harassment" you rambled, tone turning lighthearted at the end to hopefully lessen the tension.
he cleared his throat and took the towel. "you're not fired." he said simply and shut the door.
you buried your face into your hands and ran off to megumi's room, knocking on it hard. "open up, youre in big trouble buddy." you said, trying not to think about how delicious toji had looked.
there was also how sometimes, toji would come home from work lateâexhaustion clear on his face. you'd usually be laying on the couch with megumi at that point.
one time, you accidentally drifted off with him loosely in your arms. he'd snuck away from you at the sound of his dad entering meanwhile you barely stirred.
toji walked over to you quietly, kneeling beside you on the couch. he gently nudged your shoulder, admiring the peaceful look on your face as you slept. how your lips were slightly parted and your lashes looked extra long with your eyes closed.
"hey, you should head home." his low voice woke you up. you slowly opened your eyes to look at himâeyes half-lidded with sleep.
his expression was much softer than you'd ever seen it when looking at you. your eyes opened wider as the situation hit you and you quickly sat up, fixing your hair with your hands.
"oh yeah ofcourse, im sorry for falling asleep." you rushed out, standing up. he shook his head and led you to the door once you'd gathered your things.
"that's okay, be safe out there." he said, slowly resting his hand on your lower back to guide you.
you heated instantly, this was the first time he'd really put his hands on you. it was so not a big deal but you felt your workplace crush grow tenfold at the contact.
ugh, you just wanted to know if he wanted you back or not.
[ SERIES SYNOPSIS ] â it was obvious when this started, it was simply a mutual understanding between two horny college students â with very high libidos, and didnât want any random stds â that this was purely a sexual relationship only. and yet, both of you are unintentionally toeing the line between that and something else. [ frat!kuna fwb series ]
[ TAGS ] â MDNI. 18+ nsfw. contains explicit sexual themes and content. piv. angst. friends with benefits. toxic frat culture. hazing. fraternity/sororities. hurt/comfort. hurt/no comfort. SLOW BURN. fluff. spit. rĂĄw. rough. heavy spanking. degradation. dacryphilia. slight exhibitionisim. pda. soft sukuna. choso + yuuji r his younger brothers. every position. heavy creampies. violence. depression/anxiety. anger issues. squirting. cockwarming. alcohol. family death. family trauma. reader slightly oc. sukuna is a footballer (soccer) too. HAPPY ENDING. tags will be updated as series continues.
âź ch 1 || how it all started âź ch 2 || miss me already?
âź pinterest board âź ask tag âź main masterlist âź ao3 âź
[ INFO ] : the chapters are the actual series. it begins mid-spring semester JUNIOR year. the parts exist in the same story, but as stand alone canon oneshots and will not be mentioned in the chapters (like filler eps). they take place between sept-nov fall semester of their SENIOR year [parts and chps can be read separately]
THERE IS NO SERIES TAGLIST ⊠age should be visible on your blog tho (art: @/xhealer_ tt, dividers: @/lariesographic)
synopsis. the frat president is so much sweeter than you expected
contents. sfw! fluff + a smidge of angst. frat!jo x fem! reader. college au. satoru is sickeningly sweet. a little ooc maybe. cw. mentions of drinking + cheating âą reader is freshly broken up with an unnamed ex. art creds: shesofyee on x Ë àŁȘ . àż
frat parties have never been your thing. you hate the sticky-sweet smell of cheap alcohol that clings to the air, to your clothes, to your skin. you hate the way the music makes your ears ring. you hate the way you have to shout to be heard. you only came to this party because your now-ex-boyfriend had asked you to, promising it would be different this time. it wasnât.
the fight was a blur of muffled words in the middle of the sea of people dancing and laughing, completely oblivious to the world crashing down around you.
he didnât even have the decency to look ashamed when youâd confronted him about his infidelity, heâd muttered something about it ânot being a big dealâ and claimed you were overreacting â a casual dismissal of the time and effort youâd poured into him.
the cruelty of it all sent you stumbling through indifferent bodies until you found sanctuary in the quiet of the upstairs bathroom.
youâve been crying for ten minutes straight. your makeup is a smudged, runny mess, and your face feels puffy and raw. youâre huddled on the closed toilet lid, knees drawn to your chest, head buried in your hands, when the doorknob rattles violently.
âgo away,â you mumble to the door, the words muffled by your palms as you press your knuckles to your swollen eyes.
âcâmon dude, i gotta piss!â a voice slurs as the doorknob continues to shake, âyouâve been in there for-fucking-ever.â
âchill, thereâs another one downstairs,â another voice cuts in, this one you recognize. itâs the frat president satoru gojo. youâve seen him around campus, youâve heard all the rumors. heâs exactly the kind of guy you avoid.
his words are followed by a disgruntled sigh and the sound of retreating footsteps.
you think youâre alone. you try to take a deep breath, a shuddering inhale that does little to calm the beating of your heart. you need to compose yourself enough to leave this disgusting bathroom and figure out how youâre getting back to your dorm. your ex is definitely not your ride anymore. your phone is dead, so no uber. and the thought of walking the mile and a half back to your dorm alone, in the dark, is terrifying.
your head snaps up as the lock clicks and the door swings open.
satoru is standing there, filling the doorway with his broad shoulders. heâs not wearing the obnoxious sunglasses you usually see perched on his nose, and his ridiculously blue eyes, the color of summer skies , are full of concern that seems so out of place on him.
âshit, sorry,â he says, his voice much softer than it was a second ago. âthe lock on this door is whack. if you twist it enough it clicks open. i just wanted to uhh. . . you okay?â
you just stare at him, tears still trickling down your face. âiâm fine,â you lie
he doesnât buy it for a second. he steps inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click, effectively blocking out the worst of the noise from the party below. he leans against the counter, giving you space.
âthat was your boyfriend, right?â he asks, nodding vaguely toward the door. â. . . the guy you were yelling at earlier.â
âex-boyfriend,â you correct, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, the skin coming away wet and smudged with black.
âahh shit," he says sympathetically. âthat sucks.â
âyeah,â you sigh, another sob wracking your body, âit really, really sucks.â
âdonât waste your tears on him,â he frowns, brows furrowing. âheâs not worth a single one, âkay?â
you look down at your hands, twisting a loose thread on your jeans until it threatens to snap. the small, repetitive motion is the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart again. âi donât know what to do,â you admit, the words tumbling out in a rush, âwe came together and my phoneâs dead and i just. . . i canât be here anymore.â
heâs silent for a moment and you brace yourself for the âsounds like a you problemâ, the kind of dismissal youâd expect from someone like him. instead, he shifts, pushing off the counter to stand before you.
âfair enough,â he says. âfirst, weâre getting you out of this gross bathroom. then weâre getting you home.â
your head snaps up. âbutââ
âno cuts, no buts, no coconuts,â he cuts in, and despite everything, a watery snicker escapes you. âiâve got you. iâm not letting you walk home alone this late. iâve been drinking, so i canât drive, but i can walk with you. itâs not a problem.â
satoru gojo â the guy whoâs rumored to have a different girl in his bed every weekend â is the last person youâd expect to show you even a hint of kindness. youâre not even sure if he knows your name.
âare you serious?â you ask, your voice barely a whisper
âdead serious,â he holds out a hand. for a beat, you just stare at his long fingers and neatly trimmed nails, then up at his face. he waits patiently until you finally place your hand in his.
he pulls you to your feet effortlessly. you sway a little, unsteady from the crying and the stuffy air of the bathroom, and his other hand comes up to steady you, hovering just above your elbow before dropping away,
a fresh wave of embarrassment washes over you as you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror over the sink. itâs worse than you thought. your face is blotchy and swollen, your eyes are rimmed red, and your mascara has created smudgy, black circles under your eyes that make you look like a raccoon. you groan, turning away from your reflection and pressing your face into your hands.
âi look awful,â you murmur into your palms, the words muffled. âi canât have anyone see me like this.â
ââs nothing a little damage control canât fix,â satoru says, turning toward the sink and grabbing a few squares of toilet paper from the roll. he runs them under the faucet until theyâre a damp clump. âitâs not the fancy skincare stuff you girls usually use,â he admits, holding up the damp wad of paper, âbut it should work.â
he turns back to you, the wad of toilet paper balanced between his fingers. he takes a step closer, and you instinctively stiffen, your body tensing.
he moves slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. you donât. his fingers gently cup your jaw to hold your head still. his touch is feather-light, his thumb rests softly on the curve of your cheekbone and itâs oddly comforting. your eyes flutter shut as he gently dabs at the mascara smudges under your eyes. he manages to wipe away the worst of the mess without being too rough
âthere,â he hums softly, dropping the damp paper into the trash and letting his hand fall away. you immediately miss the warmth of it. âbetter?â
you open your eyes and risk a glance in the mirror. you still look like youâve been crying, but you no longer look like a character from a tim burton movie.
âyeah,â you sigh, your voice barely audible. âbetter.â
âgood,â a small, genuine smile finally graces his lips
âwhy are you being so nice to me?â you turn away from the mirror to look at him directly.
âi donât like seeing pretty girls cry,â
the words hang in the air between you, âoh,â you murmur, because you canât think of anything tangible to say.
he clears his throat, his easygoing smile sliding back into place. âcâmon, letâs get you out of here.â he holds out his hand again, and this time you donât hesitate.
satoru keeps a firm hold on your hand as he leads you out of the bathroom and back into the party. he uses his broad shoulders to part the crowd, people seem to naturally move aside for him. you keep your head down, focusing on the scuffed linoleum floor
just as youâre nearing the hallway that leads to the front door, a figure detaches itself from a group lounging on a nearby couch and blocks your path. itâs suguru geto, satoruâs other half, the vice president to his president. equally as infamous around campus.
âthere you are, satoru,â suguru says, his eyes flicking from satoru to you, and then down to your intertwined hands. âtoji and sukuna are talking mad shit again. come play beer pong with us.â
satoru doesn't even break stride, he keeps pulling you gently along. âmaybe when i get back.â
âget back from where exactly?â suguru raises a brow, he glances at you again, a look of genuine confusion crossing his features as he tries to place you, and comes up empty.
satoru finally stops, letting out an almost imperceptible sigh. he tilts his head in your direction. âwalking her home.â
the shift in suguruâs expression is immediate. his lips part slightly, his eyes widening as the pieces fall into place. he opens his mouth to say something teasing that would make your face burn with embarrassment. but before he can get a single word out, satoru is already shaking his head. âdon't.â
suguruâs mouth snaps shut. he narrows his amber eyes, looking between your tear-streaked face, your clasped hands, and the uncharacteristically serious look on his best friendâs face. a knowing grin spreads across his lips.
âright, right,â he laughs, stepping aside and gesturing toward the door with a sweep of his arm. âyou two have fun.â
as satoru pulls you past him, you catch suguru muttering under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear over the loud music âabout damn time, you idiot.â
you donât understand the full weight of his words
you donât know that satoru has pointed you out to suguru countless times before, wayyy back during orientation week when you were all freshmen trying to figure out where your classes were.
you donât know that he calls you âthe pretty girl with the sketchbookâ . you have no idea that for the past two years, satoru gojo has been nursing an unrequited crush on you â the girl who always seems to be in her own world, a world he desperately wants to be a part of.
all you know is that the campus player is currently leading you out into the cool night air, his hand warm and steady in yours. and for some reason, it feels right
you catch a glimpse of your ex laughing with his friends by the beer pong table, completely oblivious. he doesnât even notice satoru pulling you through the doorway. it stings, but itâs duller now
cars are lined up haphazardly along the street outside the frat house. people are sitting on the hoods, vaping, their faces illuminated by the blue glow of their geek bars. a few call out to satoru as you pass, but he barely acknowledges them. one of his ex-flings is glaring at you from the porch, whispering to her friends as she stares at your interlocked hands.
âwhich way?â he asks, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. he seems to realize heâs still holding your hand and lets go of it suddenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. you rub your arm nervously
you point to the left side of the street. âthat way. itâs like, a twenty-minute walk on a good day.â
âcool,â he says, falling into step beside you. you walk in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the distant thump of the party fading behind you and the scuff of your shoes on the pavement. his eyes are fixed on you while yours are locked on the cracks in the sidewalk,
âso, what did he do?â he pipes up, then immediately seems to regret it. âactually nevermind i probably shouldnât be asking that right nowââ
âheâs been cheating on me,â you sigh, âhe gave me his phone so i could text my roommate and i had a gut feeling so i went through it andââ your breath hitches
âoh fuck donât cry again,â satoru frowns
âsorry itâs just . . . â
âdonât apologize either,â he says, ânone of this is your fault.â
âwe were together for eight months,â you sigh, the admission feeling heavy in the cool night air. âi thought. . . i donât know. i thought everything was good. i thought he loved me.â
âheâs an idiot,â satoru says, so matter-of-factly that it makes you believe him. âanyone who would cheat on you is either blind or just plain fucking stupid.â
âyouâre just saying that to make me feel better.â
ânah iâm saying it âcause i mean it,â he shakes his head.
you donât know what to say to that, so you just smile at him with your watery eyes and he swears he feels his knees buckle. even with puffy eyes and a quivering lip youâre the prettiest girl heâs ever seen.
he musters up a smile and looks away, a faint blush creeping up his neck. you keep walking. the cool early spring air caresses your cheeks, carrying the smell of petrichor from a recent rain shower. you donât notice him staring at you, or the way his gaze softens as he watches the streetlights cast your face in a fluorescent hue
you frown down at your phone. itâs completely dead and he wishes heâd offered to charge it for you in his room at the frat house so he couldâve spent more time with you. he wants to spend more time with you. he knows he may never get the opportunity again.
heâs grinning like the cheshire cat when your stomach lets out a loud growl and you look positively mortified.
âyou hungry?â he asks, as if the answer isnât obvious.
âa little,â you nod meekly, your stomach rumbling again in agreement. the crying and the vodka have made you feel hollow.
âme too,â he says. âthereâs a konbini a couple minutes away, we can grab something to eat if you want.â
you end up stopping at the konbini. the store is a stark contrast to the cool darkness of the streets. you wander the aisles, your eyes landing on a shelf of instant ramen cups. nothing sounds better than a salty, savory meal
âramen?â you ask, holding one up, âi get this brand a lotâ
âyouâve got good tasteâ he says, grabbing one for himself. âi like this brand tooâ
you end up with a cup of spicy ramen, a strawberry milk, and a box of cookies n cream pocky. he grabs a bottle of water and pays for everything before you can even pull out your card, waving away your protests. he uses the hot water dispenser by the door to prepare your ramen, handing it to you with a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brush against yours.
you eat sitting on the curb outside the store, the steam warming your face. itâs the best thing youâve ever tasted.
âi feel bad for dragging you away from the party,â you say between slurps. âiâm sure your girlfriend is wondering where you are.â
ânah, i donât have one,â he shakes his head, taking a sip of his water. ânot really my thing.â he regrets the words the second they fall from his lips.
ânot your thing?â you raise a brow. âyouâre notorious for having girlfriends.â
his eyes crinkle as he laughs, a genuine, bright sound. âiâve never had one.â
you donât seem convinced.
âiâve had girl friends,â he says, âi donât really do labels.â
stop. fucking. talking. he groans internally.
âsomeoneâs got commitment issues.â you hum
for most people? yeah. the thought of a relationship with the girls he fools around with makes him break out in hives. but you? he would commit to you in a heartbeat. heâd do everything under the sun and then some if you asked him to.
a cold breeze picks up, rustling the plastic bag from the konbini, and you shiver.
âcold?â he asks, already shrugging out of his jacket before you can answer.
âno, iâm fine,â you lie, your teeth chattering slightly, betraying you.
he drapes his jacketâa black and crimson varsity jacket with the fratâs letters stitched on the chestâover your shoulders. itâs heavy and warm, and it smells like him, a clean, sharp mix of cologne and something sweet, like vanilla
âi donât need it,â you protest, even as you snuggle deeper into it
âyou do,â he says, his voice soft. âitâs cold out.â
you accept defeat, finishing your ramen with his crossing jacket around you.
the rest of the walk passes in comfortable silence. you donât feel the need to fill it with small talk, and he doesnât seem to either. itâs just the sound of your footsteps on the pavement and the hum of the city. his jacket is a heavy around your shoulders and you find yourself unconsciously pulling it tighter.
before you know it, youâre turning the corner onto your street. your dorm building is a few paces down, tired-looking brick walls and a flickering porch light that casts long, dancing shadows on the sidewalk.
âi didnât know you lived in the dorms,â he says, looking up at the building. he shoves his hands in his pockets, his thin t-shirt clinging to his frame in the cool air.
âmm my family lives a couple hours away, itâs convenient,â you mumble, suddenly feeling shy.
you trudge up the concrete steps together, the silence stretching between you. you fish around in your pocket for your keys, your fingers fumbling with the cold metal. you finally manage to get the key in the lock and push the heavy door open.
âwell,â you start, shrugging out of his jacket. âthanks. for everything. really.â you hold it out to him. âi appreciate you walking me home. and paying for my ramen and stuffâ
he looks at the jacket in your outstretched hand, then back at you. he doesnât take it.
âkeep it,â he says. what he doesnât say is that it looks better on you than it ever will on him, the way the crimson fabric brings out your eyes, the way you seem to swim in it, small and delicate.
âwhat? no, i canât. itâs your crossing jacket.â you feel heat rise to your cheeks. âisnât this like, a huge deal for you frat boys?â
âyeah well. . .â he says, a small smile playing on his lips. âi need a reason to see you again,â he says, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners.
you blink at him, completely taken aback. âoh. . rightâ
âyeah,â he says, rocking back on his heels. âget some sleep.â he gives you one last smile before turning and walking away. you watch him until he turns the corner, his silhouette disappearing into the night.
you stand there for a long moment, the cool air raising goosebumps on your arms, before you finally turn and head inside. you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a second, letting out a long, slow breath.
you shrug the jacket off your shoulders, intending to just drop it on a chair, but as you do, something slips from the inner pocket and flutters to the floor. itâs a small, crumpled piece of paper.
you bend down to pick it up, itâs the receipt from the konbini. youâre about to crumple it up and toss it towards the trash can, but you see the faint blue lines of ink on the back. in messy, scrawling handwriting is a phone number. and underneath it, a short message:
keep the jacket!!! text me if you wanna hang out some time - satoru :p
you stare at the note, a soft smile spreading across your face, butterflies fluttering in your stomach. satoru gojo is so , so much sweeter than you expected.
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: heâs the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastestâand 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 Gojoâs flirtations. You just canât stand him- or so you sayâŠ
Youâ1. Gojoâ0.
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
ââGetoâa beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.â 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 dribbleâheâs quickly bypassing some of the opposing teamâs defenders- and it doesnât take long before Gojoâs coming face-to-face with the goal.
ââthe famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. Itâs a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoringâŠâ Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojoâs eyes canât help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
âyou were laughing.
At him.
âAnd it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Ohâwhat a blow for the Japanese teamâhey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?â
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojoâs missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to pointâŠstraight at you. And then itâs cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.Â
âAaaaand thatâs half-time, folks!â
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?
Gojoâs eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As youâre 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, youâre 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 doesnât suppose that youâre 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?Â
And Gojo Satoru is the star playerâmind you. Heâs justâŠhaving an off day? Itâs exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojoâs life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent theyâd 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, heâs motherfuckinâ Gojo Satoru (donât quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his âtwinklingâ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimpleâs insured for „2,000,000.
But it wasnât just fanfare and his dashing good looks. Thereâs no football without Gojo Satoru, and thereâs no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed toâŠcall for him.Â
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel heâd put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then heâd 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 heâd started playing.Â
Heâd 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 heâd make them- heâd make them keep up.
He admits he wasnât 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 heâd gather the teams, heâd assign their roles, heâd play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the restâŠwas that he wouldnât 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 heâs got dimples to boot?Â
He wonât 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. MostâŠwhoâve never even talked to him.Â
And he doesnât regret not letting any of that âsweet Spring loveâ 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 understandâwhat did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasnâtâŠlike 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, heâd go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes heâd simply sit and stare off into the distanceâwhat was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesnât 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? Wasnât that childâs play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls youâd banged or whether or not youâd actually tasted beer. He himself wasnât one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people startedâŠdistancing 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 didnât 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- isnât he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isnât he going to wake up? Grow up? He didnât need them. He didnât 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 heâd 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 heâd 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 heâd been then, walking, wondering whether theyâd 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 worldâs prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.Â
All thatâŠfor this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And heâs blaming it on youâwas that necessarily fair?Â
HmâŠnot likely. But nothing matters when heâs in the zone and heâs 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 YagaâŠheâs marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yagaâs choked-up call of his name and his teammatesâ confusion.Â
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, heâs 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 youâre turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens âround your mic, and youâre immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
âAnd here we have the star player-â It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. â-Gojo SatoruâsâŠbest friend in the distanceâcan the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?â
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojoâs mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isnât even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedlyâhe coughs into his fist.
And then youâre turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect âohâ.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the cameraâs turning to him at that very moment. Thereâs a small smirk at the edge of your lips as youâre bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasnât his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.Â
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, youâd fired your questions away at him.
And sureâŠthere were the usual ones he already scripted for. But youâd quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojoâs case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as âThe Strongestâ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athleteâs diet (Yaga lectured him after that oneâŠjokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why heâs never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe heâs simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (âŠmillion) 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. ActuallyâŠGojoâs first ever professional interview was almost with you- but thatâs a story for another time.
ââand weâre live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.â Youâre plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- âItâs your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?â
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. âG-good. Good.â And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - heâs instantly shaking his head free ofâŠwhatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. âOh- yâknow me, sweetheart. Iâm always good~â
âIs that so?â You ask. âIâm glad to hear that. Because it seems like weâre going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell meâwhat changes might the defense have to see in the next half if weâre going to beat the opponentâs two-point lead?â
âWell, I canât share every secret here now, can I~?â Gojo chuckles. âBut just know that weâre going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.â
You nod. âSpeaking of- how is Geto Su-â
âWeâre talking about me.â Gojo whines. And heâs sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and backâbut it doesnât matter when youâre smilingâŠlike that. When youâre throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
âMy apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.â You hum. âBut I see youâre rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-â
âNothing.â
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. âErm- my apologies, I didnât seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?â
âI did.â And for how priggish you might act - youâd never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, âAbsolutely nothing. Iâm perfect.â
âOh-â
âIâm Gojo Satoru, donât you know? Neeeeext question~â
âYes IâŠI am aware.â You mutter under your breath. âUnfortunately.â
âWhat did you just-â
âBut whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point leadâŠâ 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. âAnd I have only one more question for you: will we win?â
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
Itâs a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. Youâre not letting your gaze waver from his, and heâs not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? Itâs spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And whoâd have thoughtâŠthat the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that heâs not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesnât exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and youâre not letting go either..âNah, Iâd win.â
Someoneâs breath hitches- either yours or his.
Heâs leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.Â
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaksââAnd if I doâŠhow about I get to take you out on a date?â
âYou what-â Around you, cheers are erupting. And youâre wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it wasâŠthe two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasnât paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting âsay yes, say yes, say yes-â
âSo, Miss Reporter?â Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. âWhatâll it be?â
Youâre biting down on the inside of your cheek- and itâs only too late that youâre realizing itâs to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. âYes.â Your heart leaps.
And youâre sure that Gojo heard you- youâre sure of it. But heâs taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourselfââIâm sorry, what was that?â
âI saidâŠâ Something akin toâŠadrenaline? Something akin toâŠexcitement? You didnât know what name to put on it, but itâs making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. â-yes.â Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojoâs hearing a call of his name from the coachesâ bench. Realizing that heâd nearly spent the entire break with you- heâs throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.Â
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojoâs ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. Thereâs a fierce look of concentration on his faceâ
âYouâre staring~â Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. âHe really is even better-looking in person, huh?â Sheâd long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. Youâd 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. âI wasnât staring-â
âMhm.â
âI was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.â
Shoko smirks. âThatâs if he loses that bet.â
âWellâŠâ
And then youâre 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 wasnât going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
âItâs incredibleâJapan has won! The Japanese team has really won!â The commentatorâs voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. âGojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finalsâ!â
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, youâre feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before sheâs back at it and recording close-ups of the playersâ tearful reactions.Â
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. Theyâre 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.
âI repeat, folksâGojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! Itâs a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.â
Theyâre 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 goalkeeperâs shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, heâd pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
âWhoâs gonna win?â Heâd mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
Youâd 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 maybeâŠjust maybe theyâd buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japanâs succession into the semi-finalsâcould 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. Heâs 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 himâa 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.Â
To you.
And stops right before you.
âSoâŠâ He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. â-about that dateâŠ?â
You sigh.
But you canât help yourself- you chuckle.
âFine.â
âFuck yeahhhhâ!â And then Gojoâs darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it heâs being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestlyâŠyou had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadnât even thought youâd be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.Â
But that earnestness in his eyesâŠ
You wonder if-
Nope. And then youâre watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - youâre sighing and wondering just how youâre going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of visionâand youâre just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
âAh ah-â Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. âThe interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japanâs pride and unofficial prettyboy?â
âTerrible.â You state, extremely seriously. âIn fact, Iâm considering breaking up with him this very second.â WellâŠpartially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. âAfter a hatrick like that? Why?â
Youâre waving breezily. âIâve always been more of a Geto or ModriÄ fan myself. Strikers arenât my thing.â
âWell theyâre about to be your thing because youâve got a date with one-â Shoko checks her watch. â-in just a few hours.â
Itâs sinking in. And although you donât regret saying yes- âFuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.â
Shoko nods. âI wonât disagree with that. Iâll miss you when youâre gone.â
âShoko- darling- sweetheart- youâre supposed to disagree to make me feel better.âÂ
She shrugs. âYouâre a reporter- give âem hell. Whack them with your mic or something.â Sheâs then finally handing you the micâand youâre smoothing out your suit with a sigh. âBut until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.â
âNo promises.â
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until youâre On Air again, youâre stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadnât 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 youâre rolling.
.
.
.
âShoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?â
âI donât know, ask the Akinator.âÂ
âShoko, thatâsâŠactually I should have done that.â 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.Â
And not to mention- you hadnât even begun to check your social mediaâaccording 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 itâd been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And thatâs not even beginning to dive into Gojoâs stan TwitterâŠthe horrorâŠ
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, youâd searched a few up.
And youâd have to sayâŠthat they were veryâŠdescriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- itâs 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 thoughtsâŠand your lookâŠand yourself. After putting her on video callâthe two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, youâd decided on a chic outfit youâd 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- âJust get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?â
AhâŠ
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.Â
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. âAbout 21% of people think this is a PR stuntâŠ18% think you two wonât actually go on the dateâŠand 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.â
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeahâŠâAnd the other 2%?â
âAh- well theyâre out for blood.â Shoko casually closes her laptop. âReady?â
You shudder. âAs Iâll ever be. Do I look okay?â
âYou look good enough to eat- now go.â
Someone from what you assume to be Gojoâs 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, youâd just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when theyâd texted you.
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when weâre going on a date~ (ÍĄoâżOÍĄ)
(Foot)ballz: iâll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where youâre staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel Iâm at, you pervâŠ
(Foot)ballz: IâVE BEEN CAUGHT (Ê ÍÊ Ê)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however youâd expected Gojo Satoru to text likeâŠit certainly wasnât this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once youâre done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here âž(*ËáË*)âž
With a small huff of laughter, youâre grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.Â
And you donât exactly know what led you to think that in the first placeâbecause when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?Â
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochĂšre was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type youâd 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 driverâs seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.Â
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suitâsuch 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 thatâŠ
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, Gojoâs 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. âThis isâŠâ
âI know I know-â Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. âIâve outdone myself.â
And without further ado, heâs tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and youâre shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. âYou look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isnât just me saying-â
âGojo.â You smile. âShut up and get in.â
He wastes no more time.
âDâyou like the car?â Gojo asks as he buckles up, âItâs a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- youâre the first one in here besides myself.â
âSeriously?â You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. âThis is amazing.â
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. âThen buckle up, sweetheart. Weâre gonna be the hottest couple in town.â
âNot a coup- oh.â He speeds away.
.
.
.
âGOJO- GOJOâLOOK HEREâ! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?â
âGOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHTâDID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?â
âGOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?â
ThatâŠlast one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, heâd given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maĂźtre dâ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant wasâŠfancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it wouldâve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly wouldâve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then youâd catch a glimpse of a menuâŠand 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 youâd 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 donât doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for himâbut for youâŠletâs just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasnât phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.Â
âSo uhâŠwhat did you say the name of this place was, again?â You ask Gojo after heâd orderedâŠwhatever he was having. Youâd gone with the same primarily because you didnât want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
âHm?â Gojo delicately folds his napkin. âBig Dâs, why?â
Youâre biting back a laugh, âNo reason.â
He sends you a look. âAnd umâŠhow was your day?â
âWhat are we, an old married couple?â Though there was something strangelyâŠjarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one youâve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something soâŠmundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan clubâmaybe what ranking heâs surpassed now. You sigh. âBut if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while todayâso that was fun.â
âGakuganji Yoshinobu?â Gojoâs interest clearly piques. âOh, heâs a legend. Did you know that since retirements heâs taken up-â
âElectric guitar.â You nod eagerly. âAnd heâs damn good at it, too.â
âI was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.â
âYou seem like the type to never retire.â
And so the conversationâŠhad 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 platesâand servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every tableâŠbut yours.
âDo you think they forgot about us?â You whisper to Gojo.
âMaybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-â
âOkay.â And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, youâre standing up in your seat. Gojoâs mirthful expression dropsâbut before panic can start setting in, youâre gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you werenât going to leave him in the phallus restaurantâŠyou surprised even yourself with that. âCâmon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza youâve ever seen.â
âOh, please.â Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big Dâs 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 ownâyou 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 couldnât do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, youâd have been the one writing it. But tonightâŠâEveryoneâs going to think weâre dating after tonight.â
âI know.â 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 sayâŠhow strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. âBut strangely enough- I donât mind.â
âGetting dating rumors?â
âGetting dating rumors with you, I mean.â Gojoâs saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. âAlthough, of course, youâd be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~â
âYou mean the Gojo Satoru whoâs never gotten a dating rumor in his life?â You scoff. âYâknow before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?â
Gojoâs gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, youâre 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 waterfrontâthe 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.
âDid you really mean it?â
Gojo, whoâd been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. âHngh?â
SighingâŠyou hand him your final bite. âDid you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?â
âI did. Why?â
âNoâŠjust thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least youâre not the worst option.â
âAwwww-â
You smirk. âAlthough, Geto would have been-â
âLet me have this momentââ
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojoâs 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 heâs pepperinâ the most filthiest kisses. Youâre moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoruâs wave of needâmolten desperation shooting through your veins.
Thereâs 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. âMmm-â He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. âAnd who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?â
âMmm, dunno.â You bat your lashes up at him. âProbably the best player on the team.â
A priggish smile toys at Gojoâs lips, and heâs leaning ever-closer to you. âAnd just who might that be?â
Youâre 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. Youâre basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans inââGeto Suguru, of course.â
And Gojoâs letting out just the softest surprised gaspâ
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and youâre getting the feeling that no oneâs ever said anything like that to him before. Gojoâs eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, heâs crashing his lips onto yours. âMmmââ Heâs lappinâ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. Thereâs a squeaky noise thatâs being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. âCherry.â He notes.
Youâre 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. âYou taste sweeter than you are, yâknow that?â
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- youâre dragging him right back to you. âAnd youâre better when you shut up.â
Eventually, youâre backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasnât all that spacious, and itâs only a few hasty strides before youâre preparing to push him onto the mattressâ
But Gojoâs reflexes are too quick. And heâs flipping the two of you around so that itâs your back thatâs 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. âWanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what youâre thinking about, pretty girl~â He husks.
And youâre letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You canât help it - youâre arching into him already. âAnd whatâs that?â
âMe.âÂ
As he chuckles, youâre rolling your eyes. âYouâll have to be more specific than that.â
âOh?â Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak toâthen it was a challenge. And maybe you, butâŠyou didnât need to know that just yet. âThen let me be clearerâŠyou were thinking about meââ 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. â-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, werenât you?â
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. âMaybe. Maybe not.â
He chuckles. âAnd then you mustâve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeperââ Through your fabric, heâs pinching your left nipple and you moan. â-did you know that?â
âI did.â You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballersâ careers and lives.
âAnd then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?â The urge to roll your eyes is immenseâbut youâre 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- youâre feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- âOr these arms.â Down. âOr these thick thighs. Heh.â Dooooown.
All the way until heâs between those tremblinâ legs of yours. At least his face was.
âBut most of allâŠhow about this glorious face?â Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cuntâpearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. âAnd I know mâfucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that Iâd look even prettier between your legs.â
And just as heâs about to lean in-
Youâre sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.Â
But youâre merely shaking your head. âYouâd be hard-pressed to think that Iâd let you get all the bragging rights.â You scoff. âGet up. Let me sit on your face.â
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. âNow youâre speaking my language.â
âShut up and get over here.â
And youâre sure that Gojo murmurs something about âmaking him shut upâ (youâd be more surprised if he didnât) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6â4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, youâve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesnât seem to notice. Or maybe he doesnât 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 cuntâ
âBut just ooooone thing.â Youâre 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.
âYes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isnât having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?â
âHmm, nope.â You pop the âpâ. Without wasting more time, youâre fumbling with Gojoâs outrageous dress pants until theyâre managed off. Whatâs revealed to you first is his v-line that stands outâmoving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then youâre almost done. âHow about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?â
âA reward?â Youâre not turning to look at him- but you donât need to to know that Gojoâs eyes were probably shining by now. âWhat kind of reward?â
âHmmmm, how aboutâŠâ You suggest. âThe winner gets to decide the position for se-â
âIâm in.â
And thatâs all thatâs being said before Gojo reaches up nâ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwearâthat already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips nâ soaking wet for him already.
âWhatâs that about not being so wet?â Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. Youâre keening out sweetly on top of him- he didnât even know you could sound that sweet-
âYou said that out loud.â Youâre grumbling behind at him. âDonât tell me youâre pussydrunk already, hotshot?â
âAwwwwââ Gojoâs spankinâ that swollen exterior of your cunt. âYou think Iâm hot?â
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knowsâŠ
Soon enough, youâre hearing a rip-rip-riiiiipâ! 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- âNow, I know that isnât what I think it is.â
âAhâŠâ He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. âBuy yourself whatever you need usinâ this, sweetheart.â
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then heâs divinâ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties onâletting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once heâs done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippinâ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
Itâs just so much.
Youâre arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least youâre attempting to. But whatâs 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 Satoruâs black card, of all thingsâŠ?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. âD-donât think youâve won the bet just because youâve gotten a headstart.â
âOh?â Gojo coos. âI think Iâve won the bet regardless by how much youâre stutterinâ and whining like a slut on my tongue.â Heâs spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. Heâs drizzling a splash of saliva that heâs using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
âWas I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Whoâs the bwestâ?â Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you wonât let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, youâre spittinâ out his damn black card and dragging Gojoâs boxers down. By how much heâd been showing through his bulgeâŠyouâd already assumed that heâd be massive.
But Gojo wasâŠreally massive.
Mentally youâre 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 youâre sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojoâs thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
âCock got yer tongue?â He giggles wetly. âWhyâre you stupefied, huh? Looks like mâgonna win~â
From the top of his shaft, heâs ooooozing out a constant source of precumâand youâre leaninâ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but itâs 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. âO-ohhhh, now youâre playing dirty, sweetheart.â
âMâjust doing the same thing youâre- mmm, doing.â You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
âTch- yeah.â Gojo admits. âBut sâonly fun when youâre the one getting all drunk on my tongue-â And just because heâs babbling away doesnât mean that heâs stopping his ministrations for a single second - heâs lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchinâ you out just a little bit more. âWhy canât I be the one to have all the funâ?â
âDo you always have to win?â
âYes.â
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesnât surprise you that it came out of Gojoâs mouth.
The very same mouth thatâs becoming more nâ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojoâs 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.Â
Heâs sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. âTch- this is my fuckinâ winâand this should be my pussy, girl.â Deeper. âCâmon. Câmon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in tâme, sweetheart.â
âF-forget? SneakyâŠyou just wanna win.â
You can feel him smile against your cunt. âAwww, you know me so wellââ
âSo selfish, Satoru.â You huff.Â
âOhhhh.â And heâs shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. âCall me that again~â
âSatoru.â Youâre plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasnât something that youâd expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impressionâhis cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment youâre putting your mouth on him nâ starting to suck, heâs spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here nâ there. The moment youâre 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 youâre massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. Youâre repeating this sequence a few more times.Â
But heâs not holding back either - Gojoâs now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And heâs grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
âSweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.â He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and readyâhe hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until youâre soaking all down his face. âMmm- again, sweetheart.â Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. âCâmon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.â
âSatoruuuuuâoh.â Youâre gasping. âBut youâre not winning before I do-â
 Heâs immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
Youâre relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapinâ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. Itâs the competitiveness thatâs getting to the both of youâand youâre 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 Gojoâs cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberinâ all down his plump inchesâand him eatinâ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.Â
But you have to realizeâŠthat a draw just isnât enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers âround the orifice of your cunt. âRound and âround a few times. Before heâs then letting them sliiiiiiiip inâhe replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
Youâre removing yourself from Gojoâs cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp nâ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
âHow about it now?â Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitchâas heâs probinâ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. âHow about you say- ngh- âSatoru youâre the best~â and maybe Iâll go easy on you when I win?â
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. âYou fuckinâ wish.â
âNow, thatâs not very nice~â
And he wasnât 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 himâso heâs able to drive apart your sticky walls nâ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.Â
He was filling you up sooooooo good - âOh p-pleaseâŠâ Tears drizzle down your cheeks. âThat feels so good-â
âThatâs not what I wanted you to sayâŠâ Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. âCâmon- tell your Satoru that heâs the best.â
âS-Satoruââ Noâyou canât give up so easily. And lazilyâŠyouâre instead slobberinâ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You canât even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojoâs fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblinâ for air.
Speaking of tender spotsâŠ
âYâknow Iâm real close to the goal.â Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. âReal close. I could justâŠâÂ
âO-ohhhh, fuck-â All three of those fingers are slippinâ 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 cuntâs channel. âYouâre bluffing.â
âBy how much wetter youâre gettingâŠâ He smirks. â-I think the fuck not. Câmooooon the worldâs strongest striker is eatinâ your pussy out, and you canât even be nice?â
âN-no-â
âI sure can be.â The area of Gojoâs knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cuntâs folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nubâyouâre starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. âBut only if you admit mâthe best. Câmon, tell me Iâm the best- tell meâŠand I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.â
âS-SatoruâŠâ Itâs inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling âround wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that youâre about to reach your high. Itâs simmering right underneath your skin. âOh no-â
âOh yes.â Gojoâs eyes glimmer with delight. âClose, huh? And what do you have to sayâ?â
âSatoruââ You knew that youâd have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo wouldâve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. âY-youâre the bestâŠâ
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as theyâre rollinâ 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 - itâs burning hot and feels more blissful than anything youâve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but youâre seeing stars as you cum on Gojoâs tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. âMmm, you think Iâm the best, sweetheart?â
âYeahâŠâ You breathe. âWhen you shut up.â
Immediately, youâre pushing back into Gojoâs mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cockâs floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being usedâyour walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.Â
Gojoâs eyes roll to the back of his head. âG-goalâŠâ
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelinâ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that heâs managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And whatâs driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers âgoal, goal, goal, goalâ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Thereâs no use trying to make him cum soon afterwardsâyouâre too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojoâs attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clitâs properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.Â
By the time youâve ridden through your high - youâre well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
Heâs left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadnât even had to fucking try to overstimulate youâheâs just that good with his fingers. Heâs just so flexible with his tongue. Heâs just so-
âIs this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?â You ask him. And itâs with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that youâre managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasnât for a lack of trying from his partâGojo chases after your drippinâ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? Heâs having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
âWoah-â Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. âAre you okay there, Satoru?â
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you donât see that.Â
âYouâre fucking asking me if Iâm okayâ?â
Using that same helping hand youâd lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your backâs facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then youâre both shuffling down the mattress, so that youâre being bent into-
âA mating press.â Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something soâŠdark. âSince I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and thatâs not all.â
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- âGive the great Gojo Satoru one second.â And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were hisâit doesnât take long for Gojo to find what heâd been looking for.Â
And youâre feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoruâs handsâŠwas his own jersey.
âYou had Getoâs jersey.â He smirks. âI knew you mustâve had mine in there somewhere, too.â
âSomeone should teach you not to go through othersâ things.â You huff, crossing your arms.
âOh, my apologies.â Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. âHow about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.â
And, well, a bet is a bet.
Youâre raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on youâone youâd never even admitted to Shoko that youâd bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that theyâd 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 heâs admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his teamâs colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he canât help but reach out and pinchâ
âChange of plans.â Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadnât planned to say this. âWeâre doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.â
You grumble but youâre changing positions anyway. âEver heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?â
âAre you the river because youâre so wet, orâŠ?â
âNo, donât worry- that dried me up enough.â
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. âLies.â Smirking.
Youâre 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 youâand Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
âMmmmâand this is my win, isnât it?â He rasps against your skin- thereâs aâŠslightly crazed tone in Gojoâs voice that youâd never heard before. You shiver. You nod. âMhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.â
In the time that youâd been distracted by Gojoâs 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 lettinâ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. âAnd yer wearing my name, arenât you~?â It makes him fucking blush - out of everythingâŠthis is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You canât help but nod again. âThen youâre doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.â
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
Heâs 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. Gojoâs length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cuntâand he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
âCock got your-â
âYou already used that line, Satoru.â Youâre grumbling- though itâs a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend youâre not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. âYâknowâŠyou might not be honest.â He titters in your ear. And then heâs shovellinâ in a few more thick inchesâyouâre feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. âBut this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?â
âI-I donât need toââ
âSheâs sayingâŠâ
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, heâs un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as youâre startinâ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojoâs merely pattinâ 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. âNeedy girl. Be patient for a fuckinâ minute- sheesh.â
And then heâs tugging at your jersey.
Youâre looking up in confusion.
Then heâs pulling at your jerseyâ
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, heâs twistinâ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with itâthen heâs dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And heâs taking you right along with him.
Now youâve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying positionâŠexcept Gojoâs 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 pushingâwielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that itâs as if the manâs entire body has been set alight.Â
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojoâs letting out such an animalistic growl- âSâmy fuckinâ name on youâŠâ
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews wasâŠ
Gojoâs never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very momentâpussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, heâs chasinâ 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 heâs managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that itâs as though you were sucking Gojoâs sanity - and soul - right out of him.
âMy fucking name.â 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 youânâ theyâre pouring down Gojoâs vast shaft. âMy fucking number on you.â
âSh-shiiiiitââ Youâre clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawinâ at Gojoâs own sweaty scalp instead.Â
As he rams in again and again and againâyour poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojoâs almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. âFuck-â
The audacity that he hasâŠno one but Gojo Satoru could have. Heâs mocking your moans- âSatoru, fuck~â Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyinâ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. âYeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what Iâmâoh.â
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. Heâs gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And itâs not just that.
Just then Gojoâs breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he canât breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yoursâand youâre being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojoâs letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojoâs 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 itâd taken the self-proclaimed worldâs best striker to shatter on your pussy- youâd gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. âPussy got your tongue, Satoru?â
He frowns. âHar harâvery fun- fuck, donât squeeze me like that.â Gojoâs eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think youâre seeing tears. âI th-think I might cum.â
âJust that from a winner?â Youâre tutting. âI thought you were the strongest, Satoru.â
âI-I am-â
âThen wouldnât the strongest also have incredible stamina?â Youâre looking at himâGojoâs peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. Thereâs a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage youâŠYou pout. âAnd here I was hoping we could go- all night.â
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But youâre not done just yet. âBut ahâŠI suppose if you canât, then maybe Get-â
You donât get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojoâs hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojoâs starting to fuck you like an animal.Â
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooongâall the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until youâre feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojoâs white pubic hair pushed nâ 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 heâs teasinâ that sweet nub. Again and againâtugginâ. âI c-canât believeâŠâ Gojo chokes out eventually.
âWhat was that?â Youâre asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.Â
And the man above you instantly shudders. âDonât think I donât know what youâre doing, girl.â He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation itâs simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. âIt doesnât matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk youâre getting meâŠâ
Youâre keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
âBut I- wonât- forget- whose- jersey- is on- youââ Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more nâ 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.
Gojoâs touch is searing as heâs pinching your clit once againââBut just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdyâŠhow about you remind me?â Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does heâŠâBecause it feels fucking gooood wearing the winnerâs jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?â
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. âY-yesâŠâ
âOh yeah? What does it say, then?â The team captain whispers. Heâs using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and youâre whimpering.
âFuck-â
âI already told you before- oh. Mâalready fucking you.â Gojoâs mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. âBut thatâs not the- hah, question. What number is it?â
âS-six sixâŠâ Youâre letting out in a defeated gust of air.
âMmmm, good girl.â Maybe because youâre 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 youâand youâre shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. âAnd what name?â
He canât stop himself from nudginâ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. âO-ohhhhh, fuck, there-â
Gojoâs face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. âTell me the fucking name, sweetheart~â
âGojo Satoru.â Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. âWhat was thaaaat?â
âGojo Satoru- fuck.â
âAnd how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?â
Youâre clawing at the pillows by now. âTh-threeâ!â
âOh yeah?â Gojo hums. âMâgonna double it tonight.â
You donât need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, heâs reeling his hips baaaaack and snappinâ them. Once from the very blushinâ tip-top and down to the hilt. âGoal.â 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. âH-heh.â
âYellow card for being such a dick.â You whisper.
âOh, but you love a winnerâs dick.â He counters. And itâs barely three seconds later that youâre feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edgeââOh- and goal.â
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. âGoal- oh, look at thatâŠa hatrick.â His voice is on the verge of shattering- âCan we make that double hatricks?â
âO-oh my god, Satoru-â
âItâs captain.â
And then heâs pumping out those final few thrustsâhands a blur upon your throbbinâ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojoâs name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- âGoal.â Itâs radiating the heat that your body was giving off. âGoal.â
Itâs displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of hisâGojoâs bending down until heâs 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. âGoal.â
And itâs inevitable that youâre crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- youâre 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 itâs by pushing past that little resistance that Gojoâs 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 hadnât even known thatâd be possible (not to boost Gojoâs ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peakingâand then heâs banginâ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlinâ just beneath your skin every time he didâand you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. Itâs a pounding drum in your ears, your chestâŠand your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently âround Gojoâs 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 youâre feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. âYouâreâŠâ 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.Â
Overspilling.
There wasnât to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojoâs fingers alternate between rolling over your clit nâ 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 heâs swiping it away using his thumbâpopping it inside his mouth. âN-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?â
Your eyes are shooting open. âHate?â You frown. âIâve never hated you, Satoru.â
And that makes the smile slip off his face. âHuh? But I always thoughtâŠyou always asked me those probing questions and-â
âSatoru, thatâs because Iâm interested in youâŠas a player. Of course.â Youâre 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. âI thought you hated me-â
âMe?â Gojo gapes. âWhen have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-â
âYou flirt with everyone.â You huff. âBut itâs justâŠthat time after youâd gotten your offer for the national team. I donât know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-â
âOf course I remember.â He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. âBut then- why didnât you show up?â
âPardon?â
âYou promised youâd do your first interview with me- and I promised youâd be the first athlete I interviewed.â Thereâs a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. âI waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.â
âYou waited for me?â Gojo gasps.
âYeah? I didnât want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-â
âI didnât want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.â
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, youâre laughing.
And heâs following right after. âI think we have a lot to talk about.â
âMhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?â
âAw, man.â
âAnd then next Iâll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.â
âFuck yeah.â
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
âAre you new here?â
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting roomâŠas Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldnât know.
But outside was the waiting room.Â
He also wouldnât 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 itâgleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFAâs most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupiedâperhaps 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 hadnât noticed you until you actually spoke to him. WhichâŠyou must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoruâs mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.Â
And yetâŠwith your soft call- he turns to you. Thereâs an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile thatâd 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 unbiddenâand Gojoâs suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. âYes?â
âDonât do that.â You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didnât seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. âThat smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?â
âIâŠâ Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smilingâjust for the experiment. âOh- I suppose I do.â
You shrug. âWin âem over with that smile, I tell you. Youâre Gojo Satoruâthe youngest recruit for the team, arenât you?â
He feels his heartbeat pick up. âI donât knowâŠI hope so.â
âTch- donât be silly.â And it shocked Gojo just how casually youâd waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. âThe interviewâs basically a formality. The entire buildingâs 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.â
The more you spoke, the more Gojoâs eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
âYouâre like the Luffy of football right now, man.â You smile. âHave some more confidence- youâre Gojo Satoru.â
At the time, he hadnât known how to respond to that. So heâd simply askedââAnd are youâŠâ
âNot a player.â Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. âIâm an intern for the sports reporting department- itâs all Iâve ever wanted to do when I was young.â And he watched in something heâd later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. âAll those photographs? All those articles? Itâs because of reportersâand if I canât play on the field, maybe I can write the fieldâs stories, yâknow?â
You sigh.Â
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
âEverything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.â And as Gojoâs awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. âOr- something like thatâŠI donât know itâs just-â
âDonât do that.â He interrupts. This time, thereâs a faint smile on his lipsâand you could see the dimples. âBe confident, ermâŠâ
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, thereâs a call of his name. Gojoâs jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And heâs just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his lifeâ
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. âHow about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?â
You blink. âIâd like that.â Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. âIâd really, really like thatâoh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luckâ!â
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. Heâs almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadnât exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when heâs looking back youâre already disappeared.Â
Ah, thatâs fine. He supposes.
Heâll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoruâs first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now canât remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, whoâd taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldnât have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldnât have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasingânot unless thereâs bound to be aâgoal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
Thereâs a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudlyâthe 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, becauseâ
âJapan 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 againâ!âÂ
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose youâll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white nâ 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, thereâs only one thatâs untangling himself free from the embrace and running straightâto you.
Youâre in Gojoâs strong, sweaty arms before you even know whatâs happening.
âAnd is that Gojoâ?! 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 fromââ
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- âWe did it.â Gojo pants - and youâre vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. âWe did it, sweetheart.â
Youâre pulling back slightly from him and smiling. âI always knew you could.â
He kisses you and heâs never meant anything more.
A/N. WHEREâS MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh Iâd been SOBBING during ModriÄâs final match.
part two! :: (18+) :: content â frat!gojo x fem!reader, college au, smut, dom!gojo, p in v, missionary, kind of exhibitionism (?), taking pictures
part one!
âwhy donât you like posting me?â
you only asked this because youâve noticed something about your now-boyfriend, frat!gojoâs, instagram profile.
he posts parties. posts him at the gym with his friends. fuck, he even posts himself at the library sometimes. but satoru just wonât post you.
you understood at first, sure; after the first night at his place, when youâd ended up dating, youâd quickly learned how prized of a possession that instagram account was to him. he loved making everything scenic, talked about story highlights and grid covers like they were meticulous, and would never post anything remotely uncharacteristic â not even for you.Â
itâs easy to understand when all you two do for the first few months is watch movies in his apartment (and have sex) and study together, because thereâs hardly anything scenic about textbooks and spilled popcorn.
but then satoru starts going harder â he takes you out to fancy dinners, the kind with candlelight and dishes you canât pronounce, takes you to the amusement park, takes you out to markets with cute little analog photobooth studios.
theyâre the kind of dates that irritating couples would plaster all over their stories, rubbing it in the faces of anyone whoâd care to click. in fact, theyâre the kind of people youâd make fun of â that is, before you found yourself longing to be immortalized in satoruâs infamously curated instagram profile.
seriously.Â
all those dates, all that money your boyfriend spends on you, and you donât even get a candid shot on his stories? preposterous.
âdo I ruin your aesthetic?â you scoff at him one day while you two are attempting to have lunch together in his apartment, dropping your chopsticks onto the bowl dramatically. âare you ashamed of me?â
satoruâs eyes widen comically, pausing in between bites of noodles, before shaking his head profusely. âwell, of course not? youâre gorgeous.â
ânot gorgeous enough for your main account.â
âdonât be like that,â the white-haired man groans, pushing his glasses up into his hair with one hand while the other attempts to hold yours under the table, as if reminding you how sweet and perfect he is otherwise would get him out of this mess. and satoru just frowns as you tug your hand away, shaking his head and trying to meet your defiant gaze. âitâs not that i donât want to. i mean, i kind of donât want to, but itâs not what youâre thinkingââ
you gasp. itâs an outrage. âyou donât want to?â
he clicks his tongue. âbaby, thatâs not what iââ
âyou take so many photos of me,â the inside of your cheek catches between your teeth, head turning up like a child refusing to eat their vegetables. âi know you do. on my phone, too. and you have so many good ones to choose from, so i wonder why the furthest Iâll ever make it is the dump accountââ
âi donât post you there either.â satoru mumbles under his breath.
ââ see what i mean?â a huff escapes your lips. your eyes narrow, head finally snapping back to your sorry-ass boyfriend, whoâs taken to tilting his head at you, eyeing you with some amalgamation of frustration and glimmering amusement. you ignore it for the greater good. âdo you want more pictures? is that what you want?â
âi just donâtââ
you click your tongue, raising a finger as if you already knew what he was going to say (and what you think heâs going to say is actually the farthest from it, but whatever). âsave it. iâm not holding a conversation with you until you post me.â
satoru tilts his head.
blinks once. and has the audacity to blink twice before realizing that once youâve turned your nose up at him, it was going to be absolutely impossible to get you to change your mind. he sees that â and doesnât believe it.
âjust eat your noodles,â the white-haired man shakes his lead, a tiny laugh falling from his lips.Â
âyouâd miss me too much.â
clearly, satoruâs severely underestimated your willpower. clearly, he doesnât believe in your ability to extend the silent treatment. because two weeks into this stupid argument (if you could even call it that), satoruâs exhausted every trick in the book, all for your conversations to still look like this from the past few days:
satoru: babe
babyyyÂ
satoru: i bought sushi
salmon nigiri and the entire set
the entire menu actuallyÂ
ifff someone wants to come over ;)
satoru: HELP BABY im drowning
tjeres no lifeguard need u to savemeÂ
HRLPPP IM GOIGNUNDERR
satoru: nvm im safe dw :(
satoru: if i call will u pick up
satoru: [1 missed video call]
you: [5 attachments]
first two for story, last three for post
satoru: COME ON
for you, itâs absolute war â you havenât been over to satoruâs frat house nor any of his apartments in weeks, and despite the loss of free meals and good sex, you still feel like you have something to prove. for godâs sake, youâve sent him nearly a hundred bombshell photos of yourself to your own boyfriend in the past two weeks, and he still hasnât worshipped you on his precious fucking main account?
does he really want to do this or not?
however, satoruâs fed up and most definitely not backing down; he fucking misses you. misses how his laundry would go missing because you liked his so-called nerd hoodies better than he did. his closet is just too full and too organized. his bedsheets are way too made. heâll go days without having anyone push his glasses up for him and be brought close to tears.
besides, satoruâs come to get you pretty well, and between you and your feud with his instagram profile, thereâs a chance he might get you to relent if he cuts you a good enough deal.
so, surely enough, all it really takes?
satoru: photoshoot. come over now
best 3 pics get storied
youâre at your boyfriendâs door within minutes.
and youâve come with what you think is an aura of menace: youâve worn something hot, something blue, something aesthetically pleasing that would shine like diamonds on a social media feed, makeup done to the actual gods. itâs so overdone that there was no way you wouldnât be in control here.
until satoru leads you to his bedroom and locks the door. until he eyes you once â twice â and sweetly asks you to get on the bed.Â
â.á
for a while, you think youâve been duped.
itâs only a matter of minutes until the frat boy has your back pressed up against his pillows, tangled up in his bedsheets with your legs wrapped around his waist as he eases his huge cock into you. your eyes screw shut, lips parting open, all swollen and split-slicked, the perfect picture to encapsulate the sinful sounds radiating throughout his bedroom.
and satoru drinks in your expression with a low groan, teeth scraping at your jawline as he presses himself down into your chest, letting your entrance adjust to that big stretch.
âthatâs it â hah, fuck, so tight â baby,â satoru gasps out into your skin. âkeep making those pretty little faces for me, okay?â
your voice is a whimper, eyes all hazy as he rolls his hips into you as if claiming your insides. ângh, satoru,â
âshit.â he laughs hoarsely, eyes darting from your bruised and bitten lips, the red and purple blooming across your neck, the way your mouth parted all glossy with both of your saliva â how you scrunched your gorgeous little nose up with every brush of his leaking tip against your cervix. âgod, youâre gorgeous. wanna show off â fuck â for everyone, huh?â
it goes in one ear and out the other, your mind instead choosing to focus on digging your nails into his back tighter, hips chasing his fat cock, lifting off of the bed as if chasing the friction of him dragging against your sensitive inner walls.
satoru just chuckles, no stranger to the way you clench deliciously around him, making sure youâre soaking his dick and absolutely drunk on it.
âthatâs okay, gorgeous,â the frat boy whispers, letting out a rough exhale as he uses one hand to pin your arm to the pillows and steady his thrusts. âjust be nice and pretty for me.â
and then satoru pulls out, so cruelly that it has you whining, as if heâs savoring the way his tip teases every single nerve ending inside you. youâre pawing at his back as if itâll bring him back.
âmnh,â you hum, dazed as you attempt to glare at him â although it doesnât really do much when satoru just laughs, a little further away for a second before his weight rests back on top of you.
âyes?â
âsatoruâ ngh!â
you see stars when your boyfriend just coos, right before pounding back into you so deep that your thighs shake, eyes rolling back in your head, jaw falling slack. drool pools at the corner of your kiss-bitten lips, your hand gripping his skin so tight it may scar. and youâre so fucking cockdrunk that you donât see it coming when he justâ
click!
his phone camera.
âwhaâ hahâ huh?â
youâre caught between a cry and a confused little hum, and you have half a mind to chew your pretty (stupid) boyfriend out for clicking his tongue, ignoring your confusion to snap his hips into you harder, as if bruising your cervix and making you scream would do anything. then heâs cupping your face, squishing your cheeks, and posing you for another picture.
click!
âhah,â he grits out, eyes darker now as he fucks back into you faster, just to watch your lips go wet. âmy little model. wanted â shit! â this so bad, didnât you? want me to show everyone how perfect you are?â
âsatoruââ
âyou even sound pretty,â you donât even realize how reverent his voice sounds, hips erratic as satoru sinks into you with something reckless, as if trying to claim something without even realizing it. and all you can do is keen, head nestled against the pillows, hands just as claiming on his skin as he lets you scratch him up. he chuckles into your ear, making you shiver. âshould i take a video too? voice note?â
âsatoru,â you blink up at him almost tearily and feel the way his hips jerk. âfuck â justâ just keep going, please,â
god, you look pretty, you sound pretty, you beg pretty.
youâre telling him to keep going as if he would ever stop.
click!
âso sweet,â satoru mumbles, phone pressing against your neck as he stumbles forward and shoves his tongue past your lips to taste that voice of yours in your filthy throat. âcanât let anyone else see this â hah. too good for my stories.â
you barely hear it, but that lovesick tone has you gushing around his cock. the filthy slap of skin has your entire body hot, flames in your fingertips as they leave his back and find his chest.
âyeah?â is all you manage to gasp out in response before he groans and plants those glossed lips back onto yours.
âyeah.â he mumbles hotly into your mouth. âyour pictures are â ngh â all fucking mine, baby.â
satoruâs thrusts turn almost desperate, thick cock twitching inside you erratically with each delectable thrust, with each kiss of his fat tip deep inside of you. and when he prods at your g-spot, your body lights on fire, back arching into his chest, lodging his tongue deeper into your throat and making you scream.
âfuck!â you cry out, drool all messy against his lips as he laughs against you. âsatoru, shit, right thereââ
he clicks his tongue, the next thrust so close, but just not deep enough. âright where?â
youâre on the edge. your stomach is tight, skin hot, eyes almost bleary enough that you get desperate enough to beg. to babble out his name. youâre half-dumb on satoruâs giant cock, and heâs still deciding to be an asshole.
you suck up your pride and exhale, that breath so sweet it makes something hitch in satoruâs throat.
âmore, please,â you whisper against his lips. âneed it. need you.â
he just grins, just as drunk on you as you are on him. âsay that again?â
âplease.â you cry out this time, fingers skimming his neck, trailing across, worshipping his skin, mapping out where youâd press your lips and leave marks on him. blinking up at satoru, your thighs shake around where heâs gone slower, shallowly pushing into you, leaving your aching pussy half-clenching around nothing and waiting for him. âplease, i need more, just fuck me properly, satoruââ
click!
âthat oneâs just for me.â satoru murmurs. âjust like seeing you beg.â
at this rate, theyâre all just for him.
but heâs picking up the pace now, punching the air out of you as he suddenly slams himself all the way in, prodding at your g-spot so perfectly at every single thrust. satoru sucks on your bottom lip, pulling at it with his teeth just to hear you whine for him, his own breaths turning ragged with the way your cunt wraps around him like a vice.
deftly, his fingertips trail low, pace never faltering, before those same fingertips tease at your nipple, pressing a thumb against your tit, making your skin prick and your stomach tighten.
youâre overwhelmed with the pleasure coming from all ends, your moans almost symphonic, little broken off breaths of satoruâs name. âahâ hah, satoru, soââ
âso fucking perfect,â satoru rasps against your neck, mouth latching onto your jawline. âno one else gets this.â
âmmh!â your voice is a filthy gasp as he pinches your nipple.
âno one gets â fuck, too tight â to see you like this,â the white-haired man worships against your jawline, mouthing little bruises into your skin. âno one else gets to see you cum.â
his thrusts are erratic now, frantically chasing the high both of you were inching towards. âsatoru, please, so close â nghââ
âyeah?â he pants out, pressing the cold metal of the phone tighter against your neck as he slams his hips into you over and over again, determined to make you cream on his cock. âgo on, pretty girl. use me.â
âshit, baby â please, itâs soââ youâre nearly crying now, and satoru lifts his thumb to smear the drool across the corners of your lips before slamming his mouth down onto yours. and heâs hungry, gasping and groaning into your throat, letting you swallow him whole. and your boyfriendâs ripping at the seams, desperate to fill you up, to feel you cum, to fuck you dumb until youâre all his.
satoru whines now as you clench tighter around his dick with every rapid thrust. âfuck. love you so much, youâre so pretty, shitââ
the words have you crying out, stars behind your eyes as you gush on his cock, soaking him all the way. and at the same time, he buries himself deep into your messy cunt and cums, white-hot seed spilling against your cervix, filling every inch of you, leaking out of your sensitive hole. itâs smearing all across your pussy lips, marking you and leaving you glistening with him.Â
itâs filthy, the mess of hot gasps and saliva between your lips and the lingering smell of sex in the air as satoruâs head falls forward against your shoulder for a moment.
youâre basking in the bliss, hair splayed out across a sea of silk pillowcase, eyes half-lidded and cloudy with the haze of your orgasm, lips parted and inhaling slowly, attempting to catch your breath. thereâs a slight sheen of sweat beading across your skin, casting something almost ethereal across your face.
itâs tranquil, for something after sex. quiet. and almostâ
click!
perfect.
your eyes narrow, blinking away the fog as you glance up at your boyfriend, whose gaze is trained on the mess of slick where his dick is buried inside you as if mesmerized, and whoâs just snapped a picture of you in your post-fuck reverie.Â
âyouâre ââ a small exhale passes your lips. âare you actually posting those?â
a pause.Â
satoruâs lips slowly upturn into a lazy grin.
he ends up posting nearly ten stories for his newest highlight that day â nine are public, just old photos from old dates, which youâd picked out yourself. heâd taken you on a picnic and snapped a candid of you while you were unpacking the food, a few photobooth strips of you two, a few selfies of his lips pressed to your cheek.
no one bats an eye.
the last one â his favorite â is on satoruâs close friends.Â
because it's just for him, really. zoomed in, parted lips, bleary eyes, a flash of bare skin, and the sound of you cumming that only he will ever hear when he sees it.
⥠Synopsis: in which your ex boyfriend left you with your biggest blessing in life, or- a bundle of a blessing. And he doesnât even know it.
⥠tags/warnings: 18+, (explicit content in later chapters) angst, and drama, exes to lovers, hidden baby trope, Toji is an asshole (but we love him), Reader just wants to raise Megumi in peace, CEO Toji, possessive Toji, emotionally constipated Toji, Tension, misunderstandings, Flashbacks to past relationship, Heavy themes of abandonment, trust issues, and redemption, baby Megumi is a cutie, Megumi is a mamaâs boy, reader works at a flower shop
âą synopsis: when your daughter starts kindergarten at the quirky all-girls school across town, you form an alliance with the only other solo parent in her class: hot single dad miya osamu. what ensues is a year's worth of chaos â and a love you didn't think you deserved.
âą what to expect: friends-to-lovers, slice of life, found family, tooth-rotting fluff, occasional angst, mentions of absent parents, any 18+ nsfw content will be tagged!
âą how to read: each installment stands on its own, but there's an ongoing story that unfolds if you read it chronologically!
âą listen while you read: ufo, better than, worth it
âą status: in progress!
1. lunch boxes
âą when you get a call from your daughter's teacher that a classmate ate her lunch, you're determined to give the parents a piece of your mind â only to meet hot single dad miya osamu instead.
2. bake sale
âą at your first pta meeting of the school year, osamu ropes you into running the fall bake sale with him.
3. on the house
âą osamu treats you to lunch at onigiri miya â and grows determined to change your half-hearted relationship with food.
4. bug fair
âą osamu finds out about his daughter's school project the night before it's due. in a rare moment of panic, he calls you for backup.
5. pick-up lines
âą you meet osamu's twin in the pick-up line of your daughter's school.
6. stage fright
âą osamu comforts your daughter before her first music recital of the school year.
âą osamu notices you're having an off day and wants nothing more than to comfort you. the only problem? you're both chaperoning the kindergarten field trip.
9. tooth fairy
âą when osamu tells his five-year-old daughter that the tooth fairy isn't real, he, you, and atsumu team up to do damage control.
...stay tuned for more!
please note: there is no taglist for this series! i wish i had time to maintain one, but alas, adulting is hard. feel free to turn on post notifications for my blog instead!
Ë àŒ đŒđŠčâïœĄË a pledge to keep series masterlist Ë àŒ đŒđŠčâïœĄË
summary: getting knocked up by your older brotherâs fratbro wasn't exactly apart of your five year plan. least of all with notorious fuck boy ryomen sukuna.
pairing: frat!kuna x reader
content: everything in this series is considered 18+ so not minor friendly! contains mature content such as rough sex, breeding, spanking, spit play, lactation kink, descriptive child birth, postpartum depression, probably more
dividers by: @petalpxl | series moodboard | art by @xxlorinmower
chapter one: how you met \ chapter two: of course it's yours, you fucking idiot!
chapter three: meeting the itadori's \ chapter four: hospitals and hot dad walks
chapter five: fratuncles \ chapter six: more than co-parents
series oneshots/drabbles:
1. stinky feet bandit â 2. late night feeds â 3. daddy's little poop monster â 4. baby carrier experiment â 5. yuji loves his baby cousin
In which youâre Sukunaâs neighbor who has been watching over Yuji for him when heâs busy, but he still is rude !
Youâve been living in that old shitty building for a while now, it was nothing fancy really, just a big building, 12 floors, four apartments each floor in the middle of town,
Youâve been living here over two years now, balancing between your personal life and your job at the pharmacy cross the street, those walls saw you crying, laughing, in love, heartbrokenâŠ
You didnât really have time to get to know your other neighbors, and it wasnât like youâll find anyone your age in that building, it was full of families and old folks.
But there was that neighbor next door, he lived with his nephew, it was them against the world.
You didnât know why the little boy lived with his uncle instead of his parents, nor what was his uncleâs job
You just sometimes watched over the little boy, Yuji while his uncle wasnât there
And that sometimes after his day at school heâd come to your pharmacy stay with you until Sukuna came to pick him up.
You didnât mind, the kid was an angel, but his uncle wasnât really civil.
summary; after moving out of gotham, you've forgotten your best friend. but he hasn't. and now that you've returned, you have a hard time recognising that, that hot guy in your class is the same little boy you once knew.
wc; 5k
ramblings; first tumblr fic kinda nervy. i genuinely do not understand how to write here i'm doing whatever lmao. my first language is not english so, my apologies for any mistakes.
How could you.
Damian's knuckles connected to the punching bag with rapid succession, each strike sharper than the last. He's been at it for two hours. Two hours of punishing himself because sleep had been impossible. Again.
How could you forget about him?
Four years since you've moved away, four years since he'd walked into Gotham Academy to find your desk empty, your locker cleared out, and not so much as a goodbye note waiting for him. Four years of telling himself it didn't matter, that he didn't care. That you were just some kid from his past. A fleeting chapter in the book of life of Damian Wayne, son of Batman, heir to Wayne Enterprises, trained by the League of Assassins since birth.
You were none of those things. You were not even remarkable in the way he would proclaim. You were just⊠you.
Warm. Annoyingly persistent. Stubborn in your kindness. The only person in that entire damned school who hadn't flinched when he'd snapped at you. The only one who'd kept coming back, day after day, asking questions he didn't want to answer, sharing lunches he didn't ask for, laughing at jokes he hadn't meant to be funny.
His first friend.
And yet, apparently, for you he was nothing but another friend you had. Another stranger you shared class with. Another anyone.
Because after four years of being away, you came back to the same halls you left behind, the Gotham Academy, and you didn't remember him.
Oh but he does remember the day you came back.
The courtyard buzzed with the usual first-day energy. Students reuniting after summer break, comparing tans and sharing exaggerated stories of their expensive vacations. Damian moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his expression carefully neutral, his posture radiating a clear message: Do not approach.
Most didn't. They'd learned years ago.
A few nodded in his direction. He acknowledged them with the barest tilt of his head. These were the ones who'd become⊠well, not friends exactly. Acquaintances. People he could tolerate. People he'd learned to coexist with because you'd shown him it was possible.
He'd never told them that, of course. He'd never told anyone anything unless necessary.
His eyes swept the courtyard automatically, a habit born of years as Robin. Assess threats. Identify exits. Note unusual behavior. It was second nature, as natural as breathing.
And then he stopped breathing entirely.
You were standing by the old oak tree near the science building. Damian's feet locked to the pavement. His heart, that traitorous organ he'd trained to remain steady under sniper fire and explosive decompression, stuttered violently in his chest.
It was you.
Older now, obviously. Taller. Your features had sharpened and softened in all the right places, the awkwardness of childhood burned away by adolescence. But it was unmistakably you. The way you tilted your head when listening. The easy, open posture that invited people in. The laugh that carried across the courtyard now, warm and bright as sunlight.
You were surrounded, just like old times. A cluster of students had gathered around you, their faces alight with recognition and delight. Hands touched your shoulder, your arm. Voices overlapped with questions and exclamations.
"You're back!"
"Oh my god, I can't believe it!"
"How long are you staying?"
"Did you really move to Metropolis? What was it like?"
You answered each one with that same patience Damian remembered, that same genuine interest in every person who spoke to you.
Something cracked inside him. Something he'd carefully preserved for four years.
He straightened his spine. Smoothed his expression into one of cool indifference. This was fine. This was good, even. You were back. He could simply... approach. Casually. As if four years of wondering where you were, if you were safe, if you ever thought of him, meant nothing.
As if he hadn't replayed every conversation you'd ever had a thousand times.
As if he hadn't kept the stupid origami crane you'd folded for him during a boring lecture, pressed between the pages of a book you recommended but he'd never admit to reading.
He started walking toward you.
Each step felt deliberate, calculated. He rehearsed the words in his mind; a perfectly calibrated greeting. Casual, aloof, something that would convey that he'd noted your return without suggesting he'd given it any particular thought.
"You're back. How... unexpected." No, too cold.
"I see you've returned. The courtyard hasn't been the same." Absolutely not. Too warm. Too revealing.
"Tt. You." Perfect. Simple. Ambiguous. He could work with that.
He reached the edge of your group, close enough now to hear the individual voices, to see the way the morning light caught in your hair. You were mid-laugh at something someone had said, your head thrown back, utterly at ease.
Damian waited.
One beat. Two.
You finished laughing, your gaze sweeping naturally across the faces around you. It passed over him. Skimmed right past his face like he was no more remarkable than the tree behind him. You turned back to the girl on your left, picking up the thread of conversation without missing a beat.
Damian stood there. For one second. Two. Three.
You hadn't looked at him. You hadn't stopped. You hadn't even registered his existence.
He turned and walked away.
His face betrayed nothing. His posture remained impeccable. But inside, something was burning. Something hot and humiliating and utterly foreign to someone who'd been trained since birth to control his emotions.
How. Dare. You.
The words hammered through his skull with every step toward the main building. Four years. Four years of wondering. Four years of you occupying space in his mind without permission, without warning, without any goddamn reason except that you'd been kind to him when no one else was.
And you didn't even recognised him.
But after that, he started planning. If you didn't remember, he'd make you remember. He didn't know how yet, but he would. You'd look at him and you'd see. You'd remember the scrawny, angry boy who'd snapped at you for asking about his weekend. The boy you'd kept talking to anyway. The boy who'd eventually, reluctantly, started saving you a seat at lunch.
The boy who'd never forgotten you. Not for one single damn day.
The corner table in the north end of the cafeteria had been yours since forever. You even carved Damian's name on it. It was an unspoken agreement; It had belonged to the two of you since you were ten. You'd claimed it first, dragging him there when he'd tried to eat alone in the library. After that, it became a habit. Your spot, his spot.
Eleven-year-old Damian had pretended to hate it. Sixteen-year-old Damian had never forgotten the exact angle of the sunlight through that particular window.
He arrived at that same table four minutes before lunch time. Of course, it was empty. He sat in his old place and waited. His lunch sat untouched in front of him; He wasn't hungry.
Students filtered in, the cafeteria filled with noise and movement. Damian's eyes never left the doorway. You appeared seven minutes later, laughing at something, surrounded by your group of friends.
You scanned the room for a place to sit. Your eyes passed over the corner table. Over him.
And then you turned to your left, joining a table near the windows with your friends, your back turned to him.
Damian's jaw tightened.
Fine. He could try another method to catch your attention.
The next day, Damian positioned himself outside your third-period classroom before the bell. He leaned against the wall, expression bored, holding loosely a copy of The Hobbit.
It wasn't a random choice.
In sixth grade, you'd done a project on fantasy literature. You'd been obsessed with Tolkien for an entire semester, forcing Damian to listen to detailed summaries of every chapter whether he wanted to or not. You'd lent him your copy of The Hobbit, with your name written on the inside cover in gel pen, and made him promise to read it.
He had. Four times. But he never told you. And now, he was holding that exact same copy, waiting for a reaction.
Students spilled from the classroom. You emerged mid-conversation with a girl Damian vaguely recognised.
He shifted position slightly, making sure the book's cover was visible. Hold it at the perfect angle.
You walked past him, glanced at the book.
Then looked away and kept walking.
Damian stared at your retreating back, something hot and indignant rising in his chest. The Hobbit. Your favourite book. The one you'd pressed into his hands with genuine excitement, telling him he had to read it.
And yet, nothing. No reaction whatsoever.
âTt.â The sound escaped him before he could stop it.
Day three. Damian refined his approach.
Subtlety wasn't working; You were either willfully ignoring him or genuinely oblivious, and Damian's pride wouldn't allow him to consider the former without definitive proof.
He needed something more direct. Something that would reach you without requiring to actually see him.
âŠYour locker. Of course.
You always stopped there between fourth and fifth period, usually alone for a minute or two while your friends rushed ahead to claim seats in their next class. A small window opportunity.
The gum was a long shot. A specific brand that you'd always had in the past. You'd offered him on every day for three months before he finally accepted. He pretended to hate them, but secretly, he started buying his own.
On day three, he left a single tin on the top shelf of your locker, positioned so it would be the first thing you saw when you opened the door.
He watched from the end of the hallway as you approached. Watched you spin the combination. Watched you pull open the door.
You saw the tin. Frowned at it.
Looked around the hallway with a puzzled expression.
Your eyes swept past him without stopping. Then you shrugged, dropped the tin in your bag, and continued to your next class.
Damian didn't know whether to feel triumphant or murderous. You'd taken it. That was⊠something. But you hadn't made the connection. Hadn't stopped to wonder why someone would leave mints in your locker. Hadn't thought of him at all.
Unacceptable.
By day four, Damian had abandoned all pretense of subtlety.
He positioned himself outside your shared first-period class before the bell, waiting. When you approached, he stepped directly into your path.
You stopped. Looked up at him. Your expression shifted from surprise to polite confusion to⊠was that wariness?
"Can I... help you?" you asked.
Damian looked down at you. Four years. Four years and you were standing right here, close enough to touch, close enough that he could see the exact shade of your eyes in the morning light. And you still didn't know him.
He opened his mouth.
"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to."
You frowned. "Excuse me?"
Damian waited. The quote hung in the air between you; Bilbo Baggins, The Fellowship of the Ring, the line you'd recited to him once when he'd complained about yet another school field trip.
You stared at him.
He stared back.
"...Okay," you said slowly. "That's... a quote. From a book. Cool." You stepped around him carefully, as if he might be unstable. "Nice talking to you?"
You disappeared into the classroom. Damian stood in the hallway, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
You thought he was weird. You thought he was some random classmate reciting Tolkien at you for no reason. You didn't see him. You didn't remember.
He wanted to throw himself to the sun. Maybe Jon could help with that.
He took a breath. Then another. Control. He was in control. He would simply have to try harder.
From your point of view, the first week back at Gotham Academy had been mostly wonderful and slightly bizarre.
Wonderful because your old friends had welcomed you back like you'd never left, because the teachers remembered you, because the city felt like coming home after years away.
Bizarre because of him.
You didn't know his name. You'd checked the class rosterâ his name started with D, but that was all you had. Dark hair. Green eyes. Incredibly good-looking in a way that made you slightly annoyed at yourself for noticing.
And weird.
He sat in your old spot at lunch. The corner table where you used to eat with your friendâwhat was his name? David? Daniel? Something with a D. You hadn't thought about him in years, but the corner table brought back memories. You'd have sat there yourself, but some intense-looking boy had already claimed it.
Then there was the book thing. You'd seen him holding The Hobbit outside your classroom, and for just a second, something had flickered in your mind. A memory. A feeling. But then it was gone, and you'd dismissed it as nothing.
The mints were the strangest part.
Someone had left a tin of your favourite gum in your locker. The same brand you'd carried everywhere in fifth grade, offering them to anyone who'd take one, especially that angry boy you'd been so determined to befriend.
You'd kept the gum, obviously. Free gum was free gum. But you couldn't figure out who'd left them or why.
And then this morning, the same boy of the cafeteria cornered you in the hallway and recited Tolkien at you. Tolkien. Your favorite. The obsession that had consumed you for an entire year when you were eleven.
It was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like... something.
You mentioned it to your friends at lunch.
"There's this guy in my first period," you said, picking at your salad. "He keeps... I don't know. Being weird around me."
"Weird how?" your friend Isabella asked, intrigued.
"Like, he stares at me a lot. And he was holding The Hobbit outside my class yesterday, which, okay, maybe a coincidence. But then someone left gum in my locker and this morning he quoted Fellowship of the Ring at me like it was supposed to mean something."
Isabellaâs eyebrows shot up. "He quoted Tolkien at you? As a pick-up line?"
"Is that what this is? A pick-up line?"
"It has to be." Another friend, Jess, leaned in. "Hot guy does weird things to get your attention? Classic move. What's he look like?"
You described him. Dark hair, green eyes, always looks slightly annoyed, incredibly toned, speaks like he's delivering a royal proclamation.
Isabella and Jess exchanged a look.
"That's Damian Wayne," Isabella said.
"Damian Wayne?" The name meant nothing to you.
"Bruce Wayne's son? The billionaire's kid? He's been here since like... fifth grade or something. Super intense. Never talks to anyone. Total loner vibe but in a hot way."
Something stirred in your memory. Bruce Wayne's son. Fifth grade. A boy with a perpetual scowl and an attitude problem who'd glared at you for weeks before finally, reluctantly, accepting your friendship.
Damian. That Damian.
Your friend in fifth grade. Your only real friend that year, if you were honest. The one who'd stopped scowling at you eventually, who'd started saving you a seat, who'd once smiled at something you said before catching himself and going back to glaring at the world.
Damian.
You looked across the cafeteria toward the corner table. He was already looking at you.
Your eyes met. His expression didn't change; still that same intense stare, still that same set to his jaw, but something in his posture shifted. Like he'd been waiting for you to notice him.
Oh shit.
The thought hit you with uncomfortable clarity. Oh no, he's hot.
You looked away quickly, face warming.
"Wait," Isabella said, watching your reaction with amusement. "You like him?"
"I don't even know him."
"You just said he's been here since fifth grade. Didn't you go here in fifth grade?"
"Yes, butâ" You stopped. Fifth grade. Your friend. The one you'd left behind without a proper goodbye because your parents had sprung the move on you with three days' notice and you'd been too overwhelmed to think straight.
The one you'd always wondered about. Wondered if he'd missed you. Wondered if he'd made other friends. Wondered if he'd forgotten you completely.
You looked toward the corner table again.
He was still watching you. This time, when your eyes met, he didn't look away. Neither did you.
Then someone dropped a tray nearby, the crash breaking the moment, and you both startled. Damian's gaze snapped away, fixing on some point across the room with deliberate intensity. You turned back to your friends, your heart beating faster than it should.
Damian.
The name echoed in your mind. The pieces were starting to click together. The corner table. The Hobbit. The gum. The quote.
He wasn't being weird because he liked you. He was being weird because he knew you.
And you hadn't recognized him at all.
Damian Wayne had faced down armed assassins. He'd traded blows with villains who could level buildings. He'd stared into the cold eyes of his own grandfather and refused to flinch.
None of that prepared him for walking toward your lunch table.
His footsteps felt too loud. His posture felt too stiff. His hands felt strangely useless at his sides. He'd considered bringing a book. Something to hold. Something to make this look casual. But that would require carrying a book to lunch, which he never did, and you'd notice, and then you'd know...
Know what? That he was trying? That he'd spent four years not forgetting you? That he'd constructed an entire multi-phase operation just to make you look at him?
Pathetic. And true.
You were sitting with the same group from before. Maya, Jess, and two others he recognized from various classes. Your tray held the remnants of lunch; a half-eaten sandwich, an apple with one bite missing, a carton of chocolate milk.
Your chocolate milk. You'd always drunk chocolate milk.
Damian remembered that information away for no reason at all.
He reached the edge of your table. You were mid-conversation, gesturing animatedly about something. No one had noticed him yet.
He cleared his throat.
Isabella looked up first. Her eyes widened slightly in recognition, surprise, the particular look people got when Damian Wayne voluntarily approached them. Then Jess looked up. Then the others.
Then you.
You turned, and your eyes met his, and for one suspended moment, everything else fell away.
"May I sit here?"
The words came out more formal than he'd intended. More stiff.
You blinked. "Uh. Sure?"
Isabella made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. Jess's eyebrows climbed toward her hairline. The other two exchanged glances loaded with meaning Damian couldn't decipher and didn't care about.
He sat.
The bench was too close. He'd calculated the distance poorly, or maybe you'd shifted without noticing, but whatever the reason, his knee was approximately three inches from yours and the space between you felt charged with something electric and deeply inconvenient.
No one spoke.
Damian became acutely aware that he had not brought any food. He had nothing to look at, nothing to do with his hands, nothing to explain his presence here except the truth, which he absolutely could not reveal.
"So," you said finally. "Damian, right?"
His head snapped toward you. You knew his name. You'd learned his name. That was... something. Progress.
"Yes."
"I'mâ" You started to introduce yourself, then stopped, a faint flush coloring your cheeks. "Right. You probably know my name. From class. Never mind."
"I know your name."
The words came out too fast. Too intense. Damian cursed internally.
You looked at him oddly. "Okay. Cool."
Another silence. Isabella and Jess were watching this interaction like a tennis match, their heads swiveling between you with barely concealed fascination.
Damian needed a subject change. Something neutral. Something that wouldn't reveal how much he knew about you, how many details he'd stored away over the years, how often he'd thought about you when he should have been focusing on patrol or training or literally anything else.
"The weather," he said. Everyone stared at him. "Has been... agreeable. Lately." He wanted to die. He wanted the floor to open and swallow him whole.
You stared at him for another beat. Then the corner of your mouth twitched. Then you were giggling. Not at him, exactly, but at the situation, at the absurdity of this intense, gorgeous boy sitting at your table and talking about the weather.
"Yeah," you said, still smiling. "The weather's been great. Really sunny. Very... weather-y."
"Indeed."
Isabella made a choking sound.
Damian's jaw tightened. He was failing. Spectacularly. This was worse than the mints, worse than the quotes, worse than any of it. At least when you'd ignored him, he hadn't had to sit here and witness his own social destruction in real time.
But then you did something unexpected.
You turned toward him fully, your smile softening into something almost familiar. "It's good to meet you, Damian. For real, I mean. We've been in class together all week and I don't think we've actually talked."
We have talked, he wanted to say. We talked for an two entire years. You taught me that not everyone wants something from me. You made me laugh when I didn't think I could. You were my first friend and I never forgot you not for one single day.
Instead, he said: "Likewise."
Your smile widened. "So. Damian. What's your deal?"
"My... deal?"
"Yeah. You know." You gestured vaguely. "You're kind of intense. Always sitting alone. Quoting Tolkien at people in hallways." A pause. "That was you, right? With the Bilbo quote?"
Something shifted in Damian's chest. You'd remembered the quote. Not the context, not the connection to your shared past, but you'd remembered the quote. It was progress. Small, infinitesimal progress.
"Yes. That was me."
"Why?"
The question caught him off guard. Why. Such a simple word, such a complicated answer.
Because you loved Tolkien. Because you made me read The Hobbit and I pretended to hate it but I didn't. Because it's the only thing I could think of that might make you remember.
"I thought you might appreciate it," he said carefully. "The reference."
Something flickered in your eyes. A thought. A question. But before you could voice it, Jess interrupted.
"Oh my god, you two are so weird. Just kiss already."
Damian's entire body went rigid. You choked on your chocolate milk.
"Jess!" you sputtered, wiping your mouth. "What the hell?"
"What? He's been staring at you all week. You've been talking about him nonstop. The tension is literally suffocating the rest of us.
"I have not been talking about him nonstop!"
"You absolutely have. 'He quoted Tolkien at me. He left gum in my locker. He was holding The Hobbit. He looked at me today. He looked at me yesterday.'" Jess's imitation was spot-on, complete with dreamy inflection.
Your face had progressed from pink to crimson. "I hate you. I hate you so much."
Damian sat frozen, processing. You'd been talking about him. To your friends. You'd noticed the gums, the book, the quotes. You'd noticed him looking at you.
You'd noticed him.
"I should go," he said abruptly, standing.
The movement was too fast. His knee bumped the table, rattling trays and sending your chocolate milk carton tipping sideways. You caught it instinctively, but not before a small arc of brown liquid splashed onto his sleeve.
"Shitâ I'm sorryâ" You were already reaching for napkins, your expression mortified.
Damian looked down at the stain spreading across his cuff. Then back at you, flustered and apologizing and so familiar it made his chest ache.
"It's fine," he heard himself say. "It's only a shirt."
You paused, napkin halfway to his arm. Something in your expression shifted. "That's... that's exactly what you would say."
"What?"
You blinked, seeming to come back to yourself. "What? No one. Never mind. Here, let meâ" You dabbed at his sleeve, your fingers brushing his wrist, and Damian forgot how to breathe.
The touch lasted two seconds. Maybe three. It felt like an eternity.
"There," you said, stepping back. "It'll probably stain, but at least it's not dripping."
"Thank you."
You looked up at him. Your faces were closer than they should be. When had that happened? When had the space between you collapsed to nothing?
For a momentâjust a momentâhe saw something in your eyes. Recognition. The real kind, the kind that went beyond knowing a name or remembering a face. The kind that said I know you. I remember you. I see you.
Then it was gone, replaced by the polite stranger-look you'd worn all week.
"I should go," Damian repeated. "I have... a thing. A meeting. I'm late for it."
"There are still twenty minutes left of lunch." Maya pointed out.
Damian ignored her. He was already moving, already retreating, already cursing himself for a coward. But he couldn't stay. Couldn't sit there across from you, pretending to be a stranger, when every fiber of his being wanted to grab your shoulders and shake you and make you remember.
He made it halfway across the cafeteria before your voice stopped him.
"Damian!"
He turned.
You were standing now, slightly flushed, looking like you weren't quite sure why you'd called out. Behind you, your friends watched with varying degrees of amusement and confusion.
"Um." You shifted your weight. "Same time tomorrow? If you want. To sit with us, I mean. If you don't have any other... meeting... during lunch."
Damian's heart did something complicated.
"I'll consider it," he said, which was the most Damian Wayne way possible of saying yes, absolutely, I'll be here so early I'll have to wait for you to arrive.
You smiled. Not the polite stranger-smile. Something warmer. Something that made his chest feel too full.
"Cool. See you tomorrow, Damian."
He nodded once and walked away, his pulse hammering, his stained sleeve forgotten, his carefully constructed composure in tatters.
Progress, he told himself. That was progress.
The next day, Damian arrived at lunch seventeen minutes early.
He told himself it was strategy. Better positioning. He wanted to secure a seat that would allow optimal visibility. It had nothing to do with the way you'd smiled at him, or the way his name had sounded in your voice, or the fact that he'd lain awake half the night replaying those two seconds of contact when your fingers brushed his wrist.
Nothing at all.
He sat at the edge of your usual table, facing the door, and waited.
You arrived six minutes later, alone for once. Your eyes found him immediately, and your face did something complicatedâsurprise, pleasure, and something else he couldn't quite read.
"You're early."
"I'm punctual."
You laughed and slid onto the bench across from him. "Fair enough. Thanks for, you know. Yesterday. Jess is an idiot but she means well."
"She's... forthright."
"That's one word for it." You pulled out your lunch. "So. Damian. Tell me something about yourself."
"What would you like to know?"
"I don't know. Anything. Where you grew up? What you do for fun? Why you quoted Tolkien at me like it was a secret code?"
Damian's stomach tightened. "The Tolkien quote was... an experiment."
"An experiment." You raised an eyebrow. "What kind of experiment?"
He could lie. Should lie. Should come up with something plausible and mundane and entirely unlike the truth.
He opened his mouth to do exactly that.
"I knew you. Before. Years ago. We were... friends."
The words hung in the air between you.
You stared at him for a long moment. Then you laughed; not the warm laugh from before, but something higher, more disbelieving. "Oh my God. I've been here for a week. A week. And I didn'tâ you're so differentâyou were so smallâ"
"I grew."
"Obviously, butâ" You pressed your hands to your face. "I knew you were him. My Damian, I mean, but- no, wait, I didn't meant it like that- fuck. I just didn't recognised you."
Something warm kindled in Damian's chest. You said he was your Damian. You'd just said it. Out loud. To his face.
"It's understandable," he said, striving for nonchalance. "I've changed."
"Understatement." You dropped your hands, your expression shifting to something more serious. "Damian, I'm so sorry. I didn'tâwhen I left, it was so fast, and I wanted to say goodbye but there wasn't time, and then I thought about you for years but I figured you'd forgotten me or hated me or bothâ"
"Why would I hate you?"
"Because I left without telling you? Because everyone else had given up on you and I kept saying I wouldn't, and then I did? Because you were my best friend and I justâ" You stopped, swallowing hard. "The last time we saw each other we were like, what, twelve? I didn't know how to handle it. And by the time I was old enough to realize I should have tried harder to find you, it felt too late."
Damian absorbed this. Turned it over in his mind. Compared it to the narrative he'd constructed; the one where you'd forgotten him completely, where you'd moved on without a backward glance, where the friendship that meant everything to him had meant nothing to you.
"That's not what happened," he said slowly.
"What do you mean?"
"I thought... I believed you had forgotten me. Entirely. When you didn't recognize me on the first day, I assumed our friendship meant nothing to you. That I meant nothing."
Your expression crumpled. "Damianâ"
"I was angry. Hurt. I created an entire operation to make you remember me, convinced you were willfully ignoring our shared history." He paused. "It seems I was mistaken."
"An operation?"
"The gum. The book. The quote. All calculated memory triggers."
You stared at him for a beat. Then you started laughing again. He really loved that laugh.
"That'sâ holyâ you're insaneâ"
"I prefer 'dedicated.'"
"You left gum in my locker because you thought I'd forgotten you." You wiped your eyes, still grinning. "Damian, I've thought about you for years. I just... you were this scrawny, angry kid who always looked like he wanted to bite someone. And now you're..." You gestured vaguely at him.
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm what?"
"That." Your gesture encompassed his shoulders, his jaw, his entire person. "Tall. And... you know. Built. And your face is different. Better. I mean, not better, justâ different in a good way. You were cute before, but now you'reâ" You stopped abruptly, face flooding with color. "Anyway. The point is. I didn't recognize you because you're hot now. That's the whole reason."
Damian's brain short-circuited.
You'd just called him hot. You were sitting across from him, blushing furiously, clearly mortified by your own honesty, and you'd just called him hot.
"I..." He had no idea how to finish that sentence.
"Can we pretend I didn't say that?"
"No."
"Please?"
"Absolutely not."
You groaned, dropping your head to the table. "I hate everything."
"I don't."
The words escaped before he could stop them. You lifted your head, looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.
"You don't... what?"
"Hate everything. Or this conversation. Or..." He trailed off, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt. How much he'd already revealed. How little armor he had left.
You were still looking at him. Still waiting.
"I didn't forget you either," he said quietly. "Not for one day."
Something shifted in your expression. Softened. Became something he didn't have a name for but wanted to see again.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You smiledânot the stranger-smile, not the laugh-smile, something new and warm and just for him.
"Good," you said. "That's... good."
Around you, the cafeteria continued its noise and chaos. Isabella and Jess would arrive any minute, full of questions and teasing. The bell would ring eventually, dragging you both to separate classes. The world would keep turning.
But for this moment, just this moment, Damian let himself sit in the warmth of your smile and the knowledge that you hadn't forgotten him after all.
You'd just thought he was too hot to be the same person.
It was, he decided, the most ridiculous and wonderful thing anyone had ever thought about him.
âââ â TEMPORARY CHEMISTRY ; e. yeager (chapter five)
modern!eren yeager x fem!reader
summary: you have a crush on jean kirstein and your friend eren yeager has a solution: fake date him to make jean jealous enough to notice you. unfortunately, eren is very good at pretending to be your boyfriend.
words: 5.8k
part: 5/? (pt 1) (pt 2) (pt 3) (pt 4)
content warning(s): modern au, college au, frat boy eren, mentions of drinking and doing recreational drugs. mentions of sex. eventual smut. no so slowburn. friends to lovers. porn with some plot. minors dni.
chapter specific warning(s): alcohol, slight jean/reader, oral sex (fem receiving), exhibition :p, slightly dubious consent, dirty talk, making out & kissing.
author's note: enjoy! this chapter is lowkey long because well . . . idk just read it.
Bodies moved shoulder-to-shoulder with the music loud enough to rattle your brain, flashing lights shining from the high ceiling. The line to get inside was practically wrapped around the block, leaving you standing in your black heels for forty minutes with Jeanâs coat around your shoulders before you made it to the door.Â
You stood with him near the bar with a drink, trying not to look incredibly nervous every time that you made eye contact with Jean, his hand placed firmly around your waist. He leaned over the counter to grab two drinks from the very busy bartender. And damn it all, he looked good. He wore a dark button-up shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, hair styled and topped off with a watch around his wrist that definitely cost more than your rent. You always knew that Jean had a good childhood, but you werenât aware how good it had been.Â
âI didnât realize it would be this busy,â he said in a low tone, leaning so close to you that you could smell his cologne. He gave you a smile, handing you your next drink, it was the easy kind of smile that you had spent months hoping he would give you someday. âLetâs go get a table.âÂ
He ushered you to one of the tables near the back of the club, farther away from the dense crowd so that you could actually hear yourself think. It was elevated from the dance floor, giving you a view of the moving bodies below illuminated by the flashing lights of purple and red. Jean moved to sit next to you in the booth, and you sighed for the relief from standing in heels. You watched him move, thinking that this was exactly what you wanted. This was the entire reason that you had agreed to Erenâs ridiculous plan in the first place.Â
You cringed internally when you thought about Eren. Ever since that night he hadnât texted you as normally as he had before. He hadnât stopped texting entirely, that wouldâve been easy if it had been that way. The texts were shorter and less frequent. He didnât send the endless strings of triple and quadruple texts that heâd send when a thought would cross his mind. He didnât send you random pictures or complaints about guys in Acacia. It was like he was testing the waters, which was the exact opposite of the Eren Yeager that you knew.Â
Something had changed and you didnât know what. Itâs not like he remembered what happened anyway. It was like he regretted this whole elaborate plan or he had found a girl that infatuated him more than being a fake boyfriend. You wouldnât put it past him.Â
Conversation flowed easily in Jean. Awkwardness didnât even exist between the two of you, every single topic led into another and nearly an hour had passed with the two of you sitting. Jean was nice, he was funny, and he was so attentive of you that you felt like you gave your entire life story to him without even noticing.Â
Jean Kirstein was different from the version you had built in your head, but it was a good different. He was halfway into telling this story about how Connie gaslit Sasha into thinking that there were secret tunnels underneath campus.Â
â . . . she was so convinced that she even went to the place he said the entrance was at. He never let that down.âÂ
You laughed so hard that you almost had to spit some of your drink out. âNo, thereâs no way that actually happened.âÂ
âIt did!âÂ
Jean placed his hand over his chest. âI swear on my life that itâs real.âÂ
Around your table, the club continued with its usual noise. Sometimes a group of people would walk past the booth carrying a whole plat of shots, laughing loudly about things that probably didnât matter. Somehow it felt quiet, separated, the two of you were occupied in your own little corner.Â
âThis is nice,â you said, looking right into his eyes.Â
âYeah?âÂ
He rested an arm on the back of the booth around your shoulders. âIâm really glad you came.âÂ
And the way that Jean looked at you now, you were glad too. Red light washed all over his face, merging with the blue light to cast purple. His attention didnât falter the way it had before, making you acutely aware of the way the bass of the music pulsed beneath your feet. His hand shifted, a little bit closer to actually touching the skin of your shoulder, like he was giving you a way to pull away if you wanted.Â
But you didnât pull away, watching the way that his eyes casted down to your mouth for just a moment then back up. His expression seemed to soften when he realized that you were watching him, and surprisingly, he didnât shy away.Â
âCan I kiss you?âÂ
It was honest and simple. He actually asked. There were no games or any assumptions, he cared enough to ask and that made your heart swell. For a moment you just stared at him, watching the brightness in his eyes, the anticipation making him swipe his tongue for just a moment on the top of his bottom lip. You nodded, a smile replacing his tentative face.Â
Jeanâs hand moved to cradle your jaw, leaning in and giving you a kiss that you hadnât expected. It wasnât rushed or messy like you were used to, his lips moved over yours in a way that was warm and intentional. His thumb brushed against your cheek, pulling you closer to him until your thigh was pressed against his own. Your hand raised, eventually making its way to the crook of his neck, shifting your head up to account for the height difference.Â
He pulled away, lips parting while he leaned his forehead against your own. The look he gave you, like you were the only thing in the entire room, made your body feel like water in his hands. Jean gave you a smile, soft and real, unlike the way that anyone had ever smiled at you before except for . . .Â
âDo you want to go dance?â You asked in a low murmur.Â
Jeanâs thumb brushed against your cheek again, giving you a nod. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, reaching over to take the last few swigs of his drink then extending a hand your way, which you took gladly.Â
You both made your way back down to the dance floor, once again packed between the bodies of others, though you didnât mind as much now as Jean pressed himself closer to you in order to shield you from the bumps of a few drunken idiots. His hand stayed on your lower back, eventually finding a good place to stand, grabbing you so that you were chest to chest with him, gentle and protective. Every now and then, he would lean down to stay something in your ear, lips impossibly close to the spot between your ear and hairline, kissing it a few times for good measure.Â
The attention he gave you should have made you melt while you tilted your head to the side, glancing and drifting your eyes over the crowd of people without necessarily having any real destination. Someone was screaming the lyrics to the song playing, but it didnât matter how loud it was. You felt safe with him, your arms coming up around his neck as you swayed your hips.Â
You turned again, feeling the familiar effects of alcohol beginning to sway your mind in different places. One of the many bar tables caught your eye, seeing some woman throw money practically in the face of the bartender, cringing at the secondhand embarrassment. Careening your gaze, thatâs when you saw familiar blonde hair.Â
Armin.Â
Confusion was the first thing that came to your mind, Armin was the last person that you would expect to be here. He looked uncomfortable, which you would have expected even if you had your eyes closed. Armin held three drinks in his hands, splaying his fingers out to accommodate all of them to not spill. His shoulders were hunched over, like he was trying to make himself invisible to everyone else except the bartender who was passing his card back over to him.Â
You could see him apologize to a couple who bumped into him, even though it wasnât his fault. The sight made you laugh, shaking your head for a moment.Â
Then, your eyes widened.Â
Armin hated clubs. He always talked about how he would rather spend his time in a three hour written test than step foot into some place like this or lock himself in a library for a whole night to get out of it.Â
There was only reason that he would voluntarily be here.Â
There was only one person who could convince him, anyway.Â
If he was there then that meant that âÂ
Your eyes left Armin and drifted into the crowd, searching for someone you already knew was somewhere. The flashing red and blue lights made it hard to make out faces, and it didnât help that bodies were moving in every single direction, hands and arms flying, the sound of drinks slamming on the floor. Your attention momentarily stalled on Armin again when you couldnât find what you were looking for, now walking back from the bar into another direction that you followed. Soon enough, you saw him.Â
You felt as if you had been smacked in the face.Â
Eren stood near the edge of the crowd, his arms wrapped tightly around a blonde girl that you didnât recognize. Her hand was pressed against his chest, standing on her tippy toes to say something in his ear. You saw Eren grin, leaning down and pressing his lips against the column of her throat, you could practically see his tongue lick a long stripe against the skin of her neck. She giggled, capturing his lips in a searing kiss.Â
You felt sick.Â
He looked so effortless with her. She was the type of girl that he typically surrounded himself with. The sight really shouldnât surprise you. This was Eren. This is exactly the type of thing that you had seen him do a dozen times before. You spent years watching him, commenting on how ridiculous he was to Mikasa, disappearing with girls at parties. Years hearing stories about whoever he was talking to this week. Ever since you two have been in high school he was like this.Â
The blonde pulled away from him, wrapping her arms around his neck, dancing to the song, practically grinding on him. His hands travelled up and down her sides, like he had done it hundreds of times before.Â
He probably had.Â
The music in the club kept going, so did the bodies dancing and so did the conversations. Except they began to blur until your mind felt empty, entirely focused on Eren, like your body could only be focused on him as a focal point. You couldnât stop watching him, even while he was with this girl, watching them with what? Jealousy? You had no reason to feel this way. None of the things that went on between the two of you was real. It was all fake. Jean? Jean was real. Jean was real and he was standing right in front of you, holding you, dancing with you. Jean had kissed you, just like you always wanted.Â
Yet for some reason, your eyes were glued to Eren.Â
The distance couldnât have been more than thirty, maybe forty feet. Yet it felt like you were a million miles away. The lights flashed across his face. Red. Darkness. Blue. Darkness. It mixed with purple before repeating the pattern, his head tilting to hear whatever the blonde was saying. He almost looked . . . annoyed. If you didnât know him as much as you did, you wouldnât have been able to notice. But you had been friends with Eren for years, you had learned how to read him.Â
Eren leaned back down and kissed her, like he was trying to get her to shut up. You saw the way that his tongue practically flew to her mouth, but his attention wasnât fully on her. His eyes opened, giving a look to Armin who still looked very uncomfortable talking to some girl next to him, sipping on his drink.Â
You looked away for a moment, to glance back at Jean who was none the wiser to what was going on. And when you turned your attention back to Eren â he was staring right back at you.Â
The blonde was still pressed against him, her arms around his neck as she bounced to the music. Yet Eren wasnât looking at her, he was looking at you. It wasnât casually, the way that a friend would acknowledge another friend, really looking at you. People still danced, lights flashed over both of your faces, and you wanted to look away, you really did. But you couldnât not when Erenâs annoyingly green eyes hadnât left yours for a second, ignoring the pounding of the music over the speakers.Â
It felt like a century had happened within that moment. A whole lifetime in just a single gaze. A gaze that you couldnât come up with the words to describe.Â
âHey.âÂ
Jeanâs voice was what finally broke eye contact, making you look up at him as you tried to act like everything was normal. His hair was disheveled from dancing, flush on his cheeks from the alcohol. Guilt riddled your body, realizing that you werenât even thinking about him while being in his arms.Â
It was too hot. You couldnât think.Â
âIâm going to go get some air,â you said, pulling back just a bit.Â
Jean gave a look. âYou okay? Do you want me to come with you?âÂ
His concern only made you feel worse.Â
âYeah, Iâm good.âÂ
As if something in the universe was in your favor for something, you heard the familiar voice of Reiner behind you, yelling towards Jean. Good, he would be entertained while you could slip away for a couple minutes. Or thirty. Or however long it took for you to put yourself back together. You pulled away from Jean, giving an apologetic squeeze to his forearm. Then you began the task of weaving through the people on the dance floor, slipping between bodies while you tried not to think about stumbling over your own feet.Â
Someone stepped on your foot and apologized, you didnât even care. You needed to get out of this crowd. Everything pounding around you along with the lights flashing made it feel like a bad dream you were trying to escape. You went past the bar, past a cluster of girls taking shots, even past Armin, who didnât see you while he stared into his drink.Â
What was wrong with you? What the hell was wrong with you? You were on a date with Jean and somehow Eren had managed to ruin it. Though, Eren hadnât done anything. He had just looked at you. It was entirely your head that created this moment where you could barely breathe. Your chest felt like you had been stabbed.Â
Your feet took you into one of the less populated hallways, a balcony greeted you at the end of it, where you leaned over the rails and tried to slow your breathing.Â
A minute passed and then you heard your name being called.Â
Maybe if you didnât look it wouldnât be real.Â
âHey.â You heard a scuffle and the sound of a shove somewhere behind you. âHey, what the fuck asshole, watch where youâre going, Jesus Christ.âÂ
Eren.Â
You kept your gaze toward the skyline. You could hear his footsteps get closer to you. âGo away, Eren.âÂ
âAre you okay?â
You turned then, leaning your back on the railing to keep some semblance of space between the two of you. âI said go away, Eren.âÂ
The worst thing is that you meant it, and he knew you did. Eren spent enough time learning you as you did him throughout all the years. âYou never meant that before,â he said, almost like he was hurt a bit, masked by his fleeting attempt to be confident. You hadnât ever wanted him gone, no matter how many times the two of you got into arguments or fought, which happened a lot when you were younger but less now.Â
âWell, thereâs a first time for everything,â you said back to him.Â
You moved to push past him, deciding that you would rather feel suffocated by the hot club than be anywhere near him right now. Erenâs arm shot out, grabbing onto the top of your arm, holding you there and looking to the side. âWhy are you acting like this right now?â He asked, obviously beginning to get angry himself.Â
You wiggled out of his grasp, starting to walk faster inside. It seemed like he had no intention of letting you get away, following you back inside the hallway. There wasnât enough distance between the balcony and the hallway to lose him, you could still hear his footsteps behind you. The music started to grow louder while you moved closer to the noise, the familiar feeling of the bass vibrating through your heels from the floor.Â
âWill you just fucking slow down!â Eren said.Â
You didnât even look back, a laugh leaving your mouth. âEren, Iâm so fucking serious right now.âÂ
You grabbed the nearest handle that you could find, stepping inside to one of the single use bathrooms. It was small, but it would be fine for you to stand and try to compose yourself again. There was a vanity in one of the walls for the sink, a mini white tiled floor that surprisingly shined despite it being a club bathroom. Turning to reach for the door to lock it, you realized that your hand was shaking.Â
That momentary pause was enough for the door to be pushed open and Eren rushed in, the door closed behind him and he stood in front of the handle so you couldnât leave. You saw his hand behind his back to lock the door, effectively leaving both of you in the cramped bathroom.Â
âSeriously?â You asked him, your eyes squinting. âWhat the hell is wrong with you!â
Eren genuinely looked pissed, running a hand through his hair, half of it basically falling out of the bun. âWhatâs wrong with me?â He spat back. His cheeks were red, a flush that seemed to envelop his entire top half, or as much as you could see. He sported a black tank top, one that was cut low enough that you could see the key tattoo that he had gotten the second he turned eighteen. You still remember sitting in the seat next to Mikasa while he got it to keep him company.Â
âAre you serious right now? Who the fuck bursts into a bathroom?â You countered.Â
âYouâve been acting insane!âÂ
You gave him a look of disbelief, anger rising to your chest. âOh, Iâm the one acting insane?âÂ
âYes!âÂ
âYou were having a wonderful time shoving your tongue down that girl's throat, maybe you should let me out and get back to doing that,â You spat.Â
Eren stared at you, like he couldnât believe what heâd just heard. âSeriously?âÂ
You crossed your arms in front of your chest, ignoring the way that you could feel your heart hammering through the top you wore that you only put on when you went out. âWhat?âÂ
âThatâs what youâre upset about?âÂ
You felt exposed. âNo!âÂ
âThen why are you standing here like I committed a crime?âÂ
âOh, Iâm so sorry,â you said, throwing your hands up in the air dramatically. âI forgot Eren Yeager is allowed to do whatever the fuck he wants at any time. The Acacia president who is so untouchable nobody is able to talk down or question anything that he does.âÂ
Eren stared at you, laughing, actually laughing through his anger. You could practically see him shaking, eyes rolling from agitation. âAre you hearing yourself right now, you sound crazy!âÂ
âAre you? You spent weeks telling me to go after Jean, practically shoving me at him, telling me to text him, and then you get angry and follow me the second you see him with his arms around my waist on the dance floor?âÂ
His jaw tensed, you could practically see the pulse point of his neck bouncing up and down. âThatâs not what ââÂ
âNot what, Eren? Seriously, youâre so aggravating! Youâve been acting weird ever since ââ You paused, realizing you were about to talk about that night at the party.Â
âEver since what?â He asked, stepping closer to you, charged air between the two of your bodies.Â
âWe are not doing this right now, can I go? Youâre going to make me burst an aneurism or something,â you said, trying to deflect.Â
âYou know what your problem is?âÂ
âOh yes, just what I wanted, to hear what my problem is from you.âÂ
Eren didnât pause. âYou finally got your little date with Jean and you canât stop looking at me. A little counter intuitive donât you think? Since you wanted to be with him so badly.âÂ
âOh fuck you, Eren.â You reached around him for the door lock.Â
âJust admit that youâre jealous of the girl I was with and then you can leave.âÂ
You stopped dead in your movement.Â
He continued. âYou looked like you wanted to kill her and I didnât even know her nameâÂ
âOh really, thatâs your argument?â You looked up at him then, realizing just how close you were. If you took even an inch of a step, you would collide into him. You could see every single detail of his face when he looked down at you. All the things that you had silently noticed about him throughout the years. The small scar that was beneath his eye, healed over a shade of white, the flush of his cheeks from alcohol. His green eyes, which somehow looked brighter despite the low light of the bathroom, looked right through you.Â
His voice, lower now, said, âSo tell me Iâm wrong.âÂ
You paused, licking your lips without even thinking about it, though maybe you did absentmindedly because you glanced at his own. âYouâre wrong.âÂ
Eren gave a smile, an almost evil smile.Â
âSee, the thing is, I donât believe you.âÂ
His hand came up, grasping your neck to pull you up to a kiss. It wasnât a nice one, it wasnât the same lustful way that he had kissed you before. It almost hurt, it was angry. You knew it would bruise, but you couldnât find it in yourself to care. Eren kept you there, hand around your throat, squeezing not enough to constrict air, but enough to keep you anchored to him. Your hand reached for his waist, but his other beat you there, grabbing your hand and pushing you backward, feeling the cool surface of the vanity against the top of your thighs.Â
And he kept pushing you farther back, his hands moving down to your thighs, hoisting you up onto the surface. You instinctively opened your legs, allowing him to slot in between them, invading your space. His mouth moved over yours a second longer, before he pulled away, giving you a glance before busying himself by kissing down your neck. It wasnât like the way he did with that girl out in the club, he put his time into it, licking and biting until your head felt dizzy. It wasnât from the alcohol, it was from him, the messy and sloppy entirety of him.Â
âEren,â you breathed, eyes closing and feeling your mind think back to that night at the party, how laid back he had been back then. Now he was hungry, finding that place against your pulse point and biting. You bit back a moan, which apparently he didnât like, and he bit down again, fast enough to have the moan spill out of your mouth shamelessly.Â
You felt him laugh. âThatâs it,â he whispered against your skin.
You wanted to scream at him again, wanted to tell him that you still thought that he was an annoying asshole for cornering you. But the words died in your throat when his hands ran from your thighs to underneath your skirt. Eren knew exactly what he was doing, continuing his kiss down your neck before settling against your collarbone. One of his fingers grazed the elastic of your underwear near your inner thigh, obviously teasing you, slowing down his movements purposely.Â
Your hand flew to his hair, pulling it up so he was forced to look at you, his lips red. âDonât think youâre getting away with what you said,â you said to him, your voice wavering while his finger ran a firm line up your slit through your underwear. Your eyes widened, gripping his hair a little bit stronger this time. He laughed when he saw your reaction, which shouldâve annoyed you, but it didnât. âIâm serious, Eren. You make it really easy to hate you.âÂ
Erenâs eyes flickered down your body, noting the way your skin burned red, chest heaving up and down from how much he was affecting you. âFine,â he said, making eye contact with you again. âHate me then.âÂ
He dropped down to his knees, and thanks to his height, he was eye level with your spread legs. Eren got to work right away, pressing a deep kiss to your inner thigh, making you use one hand to grip against the vanity, knuckles burning white. The other stayed in his hair, conflicted between pushing him away or pulling it forward. But Eren didnât give you the time to choose, since he kissed your thighs again and again, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter until he was face to face with your clothed pussy. You could feel his breath through the thin fabric, and all thoughts about hating him seemed to subside.Â
His fingers hooked around the waistband of your underwear, pulling them down your legs until you were bare before him. Erenâs hair fell forward, obscuring his eyes, but you could see the way he looked entirely too confident in himself. He looked as though he owned the space, owned the bathroom and you were shamelessly in, and most importantly, like he owned you.Â
There was no word of warning. Eren leaned in and buried his face in between your legs. His tongue lashed out with a blunt but practiced hunger. Your first instinct from the feeling was to close your thighs from the sensitivity, but he kept them open by his hands gripping your thighs so intensely you thought that it would bruise in the morning. He wasnât being gentle regardless of your experience, he was being thorough.Â
It was a vulgar enthusiasm, the way his mouth worked against you, forcing a choked and desperate sound from your throat. You wanted to hate how much he knew exactly what he was doing, that he could get down on his knees and control you like this. But any thoughts about anything else other than the feeling he was giving you flew out of your mind. It was just too good.Â
The sound of the club thumped through the wall of the bathroom, music easing through the door, but it was nothing compared to the wet and sticky sounds of Eren working between your legs. While one of his hands stayed anchored to your thigh, the other came in between your legs, spreading you out and he spat. You felt the liquid drip down you onto the vanity, which made your toes curl, the sound of one of your heels falling and clanking to the floor.Â
His tongue traced the folds, pressing down in a way that made you see stairs. The hand in his hair pulled him closer, but he didnât dare pull away from you, not when he was so content where he was. Eren was greedy, licking with vulgar intensity, paying attention to your clit and sucking it into his mouth.Â
âFuck fuck fuck,â you muttered, biting your lip and throwing your head back until it hit the mirror behind you. From this position you could watch him, and almost terrifyingly, he was watching you. His eyes stayed on your face, watching every single movement of your face, like he was memorizing it for later. And you were giving him a show, the way that your mouth stayed parted, your back arching and basically giving yourself over to him. You could tell that he liked the way you looked while you were being pulled apart, stripped of all that hatred you claimed you felt for him just a few moments before.Â
Eren didnât let up in his borderline attack on your pussy, tongue swirling against you in a greedy rhythm, prolonging the moment even though he knew that you were getting closer to your breaking point. It was the same feeling you had felt at the party for him, a coiling, bubbling feeling in your abdomen. You were shaking, breath coming in ragged and shallow hitches, watching him take his time, taking your desperation with his mouth.Â
âWerenât you just saying that you ââ Lick. ââ hated me?â He taunted against your skin, digging his nails in your thigh. âCan you even â Lick. ââ think right now?âÂ
You didnât even have it in you to say something back, legs opening wider as you felt yourself get closer and closer. He took the opportunity to dip his tongue down to your hole, pressing it inside of you and spreading your wetness all the way back up to your clit. With a deliberate flick of his tongue, he drove you to the brink, green eyes watching as you fell apart.Â
He let out a low, guttural sound, watching your pupils blown wide and jaw going slack, whimpering his name over and over. Eren didnât pull away to show you mercy, he leaned in and continued to press kisses to your pussy while you tremored, spitting again just to make a mess of you. Even as your breathing slowed into pathetic gasps, he stayed, tasting the salty sweetness of your orgasm. He gave one more slow, possessive lick that made you moan in exhaustion.Â
Eren stayed there for a moment before pulling away to sit on his heels. His hand came to wipe the drops of moisture on his mouth and chin, lips glistening and hair a mess. His eyes burned with a look of triumph while he stood up, reaching to brush a damp stray of hair from your face behind your hair.Â
You didnât know what to say, feeling your thighs still tremble as you closed them, hopping off of the counter and using him to stay upright. Eren checked his watch, then looked into the mirror to make himself look a bit more presentable.Â
âYou should get back to horse face,â he said, so nonchalant. âBefore he starts wondering where you are.âÂ
âAre you serious?â You asked, that annoyance from earlier making a reappearance.Â
Eren turned to give you a grin, hands going down to pull your skirt back down. âDeathly serious. Iâve gotta get Armin out of here. Heâs probably dead right now.âÂ
âYou just did that and youâre talking about Armin?âÂ
âWeâll talk later,â Eren spoke. He gave your cheek a small tap, grabbing your hand to pull you out the door. âBesides, do you really want to talk in a club bathroom?âÂ
âI think weâve pretty much defiled the bathroom at this point.âÂ
âWeâre definitely not the first people to do that.âÂ
Ew.
âWait, wait,â Eren said, turning back to look at you. You were about to ask him what he could possibly want now, but you were silenced by his lips against yours, tongue dipping into your mouth. Taunting you with the taste of your release still swirling in his mouth. Once he pulled away, he turned like nothing happened. âGood, right?âÂ
You didnât have time to say anything before he opened the door.Â
The music from the club greeted you once again, Erenâs hand leading you back to the main room. He leaned down to give you a goodbye, walking in the opposite direction where he had been earlier with Armin. You watched him leave, long enough to where you could barely see him above the crowd. Then your attention turned to wherever the hell Jean was, or rather, where you had left him with Reiner, and walked before stopping again.Â
You felt . . . bare. Like you were missing something, but no, you had your skirt on, you had your shirt on. And yet . . .
Eren took your panties. Of course he did, he was trying his best to rattle you when you went back to Jean. You could just imagine him right now, smirking, trying to get Armin out of the crowd while he held your panties in his back pocket like some goddamn trophy.
âIâm going to fucking kill him,â you said out loud.Â
A girl next to you obviously heard your exclamation. âYes girl, go kill him!â The rest of her group hollered. They said a string of drunken man hating comments, then all sipped on their drinks when they really needed to drink water instead.Â
At least a cluster of drunk girls were on your side.Â
Eventually, you found your way back to Jean. He was talking to Reiner, joined by Connie and Sasha who seemingly showed up to the club while you were away.Â
âHey,â Jean said, hands reaching for you. âI was wondering where you were, did you get sick?âÂ
You gave a nod, not trusting your own voice. It was better for him to just think that instead of the alternative, and it gave you time to push down the guilt you felt for being with Eren. Jean smiled, wrapping his arm around you. Connie and Sasha gave you a nod, along with Reiner who unsurprisingly gave you a squeeze on your shoulder before throwing back the shot in his hand.
âWell, you really didnât miss much. We were thinking about heading out soon anyway. I can walk you home?â Jean asked.Â
âSure, sounds good,â You said.Â
Jean pressed a kiss to the top of your head, saying, âGood, just wanna make sure you get home safe.â His face stayed close, and his eyes looked down, pressing a kiss to your mouth. His tongue gave a tentative swipe around your mouth before pulling away, teasing you and looking oh so pleased with himself. In any other context, you wouldâve welcomed any kiss from Jean. But this time . . . well, you felt like you were carrying the biggest secret of your life.Â
You wondered if he could taste Eren, or even more embarrassing, your own release.Â
Obviously not, because Jean was right back to talking to Reiner about football. Your phone buzzed in your bag, and you knew exactly who it was. Because who else would it be?
synopsis: a kid calls Jean your "husband" and that's all he can think of for the rest of the night.
pairing: jean kirschtein x fem! reader
word count: 3.6k
c.w: modern au!, trost is a modern city, fem! reader, making out outside, smut, shower s-x, p in v, lots of sweet talk, a little bit of dirty talk, disgusting fluff mixed with some smut.
Your heart was going was to burst out of your chest.
Youâre not sure how to put it into words, the way he crouched down when you told him that your heels were hurting your feet, his big and warm hands working their way around your ankles to massage them. Or the way he looks up when you put your hand on top of his head, heat crawling up your neck when your eyes meet his.Â
Jean Kirtstein, the man who asked you to be his girlfriend a year and a half ago, was the text-book definition of the perfect man. An attentive lover, someone who pays attention to what you do or say â husband material. You would be lying if you said you didnât think of marrying him six months into your relationship, but you knew it would be too soon to bring it up and you would hate to freak out the man.Â
Even then, what would you say? You treat me better than half of the men I have been with, and so now I need to marry you.Â
Yeah, that would sound absolutely insane.
Tonight was no different, you could feel the love pouring out of him with every move he made. The arm wrapped around your shoulders, the hand squeezing your arm to make sure that you were warm. Trost was known to be a rather cold city, especially at night, but it never stopped you from having your date nights.Â
âWhat are we watching next?â Jean leans down to stare at your phone with you. You were scrolling through the long movie list you had made together, reading carefully through the movie titles.
âWe can do⊠Beautiful Boy? We havenât watched it yet, surprisingly.â You look up at your boyfriend and he nods.Â
âOkay, Beautiful Boy.â
âOh, Iâm gonna ugly-cry thoughâŠâÂ
Jean lets out a laugh before pressing his lips to the side of your head, pulling you closer to him. âNot the first time Iâve seen you cry.â
You roll your eyes before shoving your phone back in the pocket of your long coat. âYouâre lucky I love you.â
âOh you do?â Jean smirks, a dangerous glint in his eyes. âI wouldâve never guessed.â
But before you could come up with your own smart retort, a rather loud bang interrupts your moment. It pulls you back to reality for a moment, and you find yourself holding onto your boyfriendâs arm.
âWhat was that?â You whisper, too nervous to step closer to the sound.Â
Jean immediately goes into protective mode, gently pushes you to hide behind him.
âWho is there?!â He yells out, all protective and serious as his eyes scan for potential danger. You wouldâve run away, had it not been the alleyway that leads directly towards your apartment building.Â
Another soft, wet sound comes from the alleyway, but this time Jean squints as he takes a closer look at what was happening.Â
Orange, white, a little bit of blackâŠ.white, and then orange again. Fur. There is fur everywhere, and multiple pairs of bright eyes stare directly into yours and Jeanâs souls.Â
Cats were gathered around the dumpster, only distracted for a moment by your presence before diving back into their food. You step from around Jean and towards the animals, your voice careful and concerned.
âI hope theyâre not eating something spoiled.âÂ
And as if they could understand what you were saying, their gaze immediately shifts towards something in the sky.
Or more like someone.
âMiss! Watch out!â A childâs voice can be heard from above, and you look up at the third floor window.Â
Two kids â a boy and a girl, had their heads sticking out of the window. The light was very bright from where they were looking, and you assumed that they were probably in the kitchen.Â
âOh,â you place a hand on your chest as you realize what was happening, and you turn to Jean with what he can only describe as the biggest smile on your face. âLook, I think theyâre feeding them.â
Jean approaches you with a warm smile, reaching his hand towards your face where he gently holds your jaw before leaning down to kiss your forehead. His carefulness makes butterflies dance in your stomach, and you move closer to him as the two of you watch the cats eat.
âMommy says we canât go out and feed them at night.â Itâs the boy who speaks up this time, his words laced with disappointment. Jean is quick to respond to him.
âYour mommy is right, itâs dangerous at night.â
âBut youâre outside at night.â The pout is so evident in his voice that it makes you chuckle.
His sister hisses at him, quickly correcting him. âTheyâre grown ups, dummy! Grown ups can walk outside at night!âÂ
âThen I wanna be a grown up some day!â The boy exclaims loudly, before tossing another piece of meat down to the cats.Â
It seems that this was a regular occurrence, as the cats look fairly healthy and are full after a couple of bites. The kids bid them goodbye very loudly, and then you hear a loud shush coming from inside their apartment.
âItâs way past your bedtime!âÂ
âBut mommy! Itâs the weekend!â
âAnd I let you feed the cats, now itâs time to sleep.â
âI wanna say byebye to the nice lady and her husband!â
That elicits a chuckle from you and a surprised sound from Jean who looks down at you. âAm I just an accessory now?â
You wrap your arms around his middle. âA nice accessory.â
âByebye!â Both kids wave at you, and you and Jean wave back as you watch them retreat inside.Â
âGoodnight!â You exclaim loud enough for both of them to hear, and their giggles echo through the night before the window closes and the rest of the conversation is muffled.
You stand there, your arms still wrapped around Jean before you feel his eyes on you, warm and adoring.
âWhat?â You can feel your cheeks warming up under his gaze, his firm body feeling extra nice against yours.Â
âHusband, huh?â He tucks a hair strand behind your ear, taking in your flustered look. âI like that. Do you?â
The question comes out soft, careful â this was Jeanâs way of testing the waters, the relationship in itself. He wanted to make sure that you two were on the same page, that the past year and a half of you two being together has been just as amazing to you, as it has been fulfilling to him. He cradles your face with his hand, his thumb brushing against your warm cheek as you gaze at him lovingly.Â
âI love it.âÂ
Your words hang in the air for a few moments, surrounded by the silence of the night and your mixed breaths. Your chest feels tight, eyes brimming with tears because this was so incredibly overwhelming yet steadying. Because this was Jean, this wasnât the man who had stood you up or the one who made you pay despite being the one to invite you on a date, or the one who expected sex after one date.
This was Jean, and not your ex-boyfriend who had told you that he wasnât ready for commitment after being in a relationship for a year, nor was he the man who ghosted you after three dates.
You tilt your head, melting against his touch and allowing him to take the lead from here.Â
And soon enough, he leans down and captures your lips with his in what starts out as a gentle kiss. A couple of pecks turned into deeper kisses, and in no time you were burying your hands in his hair, fingers pulling at his mullet. The action elicits a soft sound from the taller man who pushes you up against the nearest wall, not before stumbling a bit and giggling against each otherâs lips.
âWouldâve been bad if you fell.â He whispers in between kisses, his hand resting on the back of your head whilst the other grips your hip. You can feel the self-restraint slipping with each kiss, and it makes your body feel warm as you smile against his lips.
âYou wouldâve fallen with me so I donât get embarrassed.â You tease him, your finger poking at his cheek and he chuckles, his hand falling from your head. He was now fully gripping your hips, caging you between the wall and his body.
âMmm, my girl knows me so well.â He nudges your nose with his, smiling at your euphoric giggles. His lips attach against your cheek, then your jaw and down to your neck as you gasp in between giggles.
âJean!âÂ
âMy girl, my wife,â he says the petname with so much pride, so much possessiveness that you couldâve sworn you felt your heart was about to explode.Â
âI have a feeling you like the sound of that,â you tease the man, brushing his hair away from his face before holding it in your hands. âYour face feels warm.â
âI love it,â he kisses the palm of your hand, before melting against your touch. âYou have no idea.â
âOh I think I do.â You whisper with a shy smile, your thumb brushing against his cheek. âMy husband.âÂ
Jeanâs eyes widen for a moment, a strong feeling washes over him before he squeezes his eyes shut. He takes the hand that is holding his face before kissing it â its palm, its knuckles, repeatedly and so lovesick that you could feel your heart in your throat.Â
And then he opens his eyes, and his stomach flips at the way youâre looking at him. All flushed, almost drunk off his love for you. You were breathing hard, chest heaving as you stared at him as if he held the key to all of your secrets. Like he was the answer to all of your problems, as if existing without him was the worst and most unforgivable sin.Â
He pauses. Because telling you what he was thinking would ruin it, saying out loud that he was thinking of a million ways to have a conversation with your family about proposing to you would ruin the surprise. Because revealing that he had been saving up for a ring for the past six months would make you worry about him, about whether or not he was using his own salary for himself.Â
Jean knows you like the back of his hand. And he knows that if he were to propose tomorrow, with a paper ring and a shoebox for a house, you would accept.
But he would never do that â you were his princess, his sweetheart, his love. He was going to make you live out the fairytale of your dreams.Â
â
It should be illegal to be this attracted to your partner.
Jeanâs eyes have been devouring your body ever since you got home, watching you walk around your shared bedroom then head for the bathroom. He leans against the doorframe as you remove your make-up, getting ready for the night as you grab a towel and your skincare products. Sensing his presence, you look at your boyfriend and smile.
âWhat?â you step closer to the shower before turning on the faucet. Jean quietly moves behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle.
âI can scrub your back?â He whispers against your cheek, groaning loudly when the smell of your perfume hits his nostrils. You giggle, a bit taken aback by his boldness.Â
âYou never just scrub my back.â You point out, and the taller man playfully bites down on your earlobe.
âDid I say just scrub your back?â His hands sneakily find their way on your bare thighs, traveling their way up and under the fabric of your dress. âScrub your back, wash your hairââÂ
Your hands rest on his toned forearms, smiling to yourself when you feel him squeeze your thighs.Â
âSoap my body too?âÂ
This elicits another groan from Jean, and he swiftly reaches for the zipper of your dress. âAlright, letâs take it off.â
You canât help but laugh at the urgency in his voice, but youâre also deeply flustered by how easy it is to make his self control crumble.Â
âDonât forget yourself,â you mutter as he finishes unzipping your dress, taking a step back so you can step out of it and stand in front of him wearing only panties. With deliberate slowness, you undo the clasp of his belt and let it slide free. You thread it carefully through your fingers before gently yanking Jean towards you.Â
You continue to lift the leather belt through its loops, your other hand undoing the buttons of his white blouse. You let the belt drop to the floor, the sound of metal clanking against the tiles echoing through the bathroom, then you move closer to the man until your boobs are pressed against his bare chest.Â
The air is charged as you wrap your arms around his neck, a bashful smile dancing on your lips. âI wanna see all of you as well.âÂ
Whatever self-restraint Jean had is long gone the moment he feels your skin against his. His lips crash against yours, messy and hurried as he swallows your sounds with his mouth. His big, warm hands grope your ass cheeks as you press your groin against his, gasping against his lips when you feel the growing bulge against your stomach.Â
You open your eyes, half-lidded and glossed over as you pull away from the kiss to catch your breath. But Jean captures your lips again, and you gasp when he pushes you up against the cold shower glass.Â
âI know baby,â your stomach twists at his tone â teasing yet mocking, and you pout at the man when you notice his playful smile. âLook at your nipples, theyâre hard.âÂ
He wastes no time in touching you, his thumb roughly grazing over the sensitive bud. Your back arches at the touch, your hand resting on his chest to make a small distance between the two of you.
âThe waterâs running.âÂ
With a soft push, you put a little distance between the two of you before easing the glass door aside, Jeanâs gaze following you. You step under the running water, making sure that your back was facing Jean as your fingers slide under the edge of your underwear. Looking over your shoulder, you send Jean a smile as you gradually work your underwear down and over your hips.Â
Once fully naked, you hear rustling coming from outside of the shower and smile to yourself as you see Jean yanking his blouse off his body then practically jumping out of his pants and boxers.Â
You gasp as you feel his hands on your boobs, shamelessly groping and fondling them as you reach for the body wash. You hum in response, pushing your ass back so that it grazes his now fully erect cock. Immediately, Jean folds against you as he rests his forehead against your shoulder.Â
âAre you okay baby?â you ask and Jean can tell youâre finding this way too amusing.Â
âMmmm,â is all he can say as he pushes his cock against your ass, his hand sliding down from your boob down to your stomach. It rests on your pubic bone, and the tall man can tell that youâre slowly losing patience as well just from the way your body was reacting to him.Â
You shudder at the feeling, hips bucking up. You wish he could just fuck you stupid, but a part of you was enjoying the build up a little too much.Â
âWas just thinking,â his chin is now propped on your shoulder, eyes staring down at your boobs and the rest of your body. âAbout how bad I want to fuck you.âÂ
You sigh, cheeks flaring up at his dirty confession. Your hand reaches behind you to cradle his face, and you turn your head to look at him. âHow bad do you want to fuck me, Jean?âÂ
Pressing his forehead against yours, Jean carefully nudges the tip of his cock against your wet folds. Itâs a euphoric feeling despite the lack of penetration, and he basks in the way your face contorts and twists when he swipes the tip of his cock over your clit.
âTil you feel it in your stomach, baby.âÂ
You bite down on your lip, sighing at his words. âPlease.â
The first thrust feels like you have been sent to heaven and back. It feels good, comforting, your warm walls hugging his cock so tight that Jean curses under his breath and bites down on your shoulder to suppress his own noises.
âFuuuck, youâre so tight. Donât I fuck you enough, huh? Howâs this pussy still so fucking tight?â
You can only moan in response as you start to fuck yourself back against him, a gutteral sound escaping Jean as he watches your ass recoil with each thrust. He only lets you do the work for a couple of moments before his hand hooks under your leg, lifting it up as he starts to fuck you hard.Â
You gasp, holding yourself up against the wall as your eyes roll back.Â
The obscene sound of his cock pumping in and out of you fills the bathroom, the large vein that wraps around his dick dragging against your folds with each thrust. And he reaches so deep inside you that it elicits an embarrassing moan out of you, one that has you covering your mouth.
âDonât hide from me,â Jean quickly removes your hand from over your mouth, his pace quickening. The tip of his cock reaches spots inside you that your own fingers canât, and you quickly figure out that holding up your leg allows him to reach even deeper if possible.Â
The light-brown-haired male can no longer hide his own sounds, as the lewd sound of his hips violently slamming against yours were the only thing to reach his ears. The feeling of your tight pussy is the one thing that he can feel in his entire body, and he makes it his mission to make you cum as hard as you can.
âFuck, youâre taking me so well.âÂ
He holds you up well, making sure that you were balancing yourself well as he continues to fuck you with your leg in the air. Your leg starts shaking when the tip of his cock grazes that spot, and so he frees your leg before wrapping his arms around your body. With embarrassing ease, Jean manhandles you so that you are pressed face first against the glass door of the shower.
âWhat Iâd take to see what you look like right now,â he mumbles against your ear, his cock buried deep inside your pussy. He starts to fuck you again, this time going so deep that you could almost feel him in your stomach.
It makes your eyes roll back, your cheeks stinging from the heat as your body gives out and lets him take full control. You rest your forehead against the glass when the pleasure becomes mind-numbing, your hands reaching behind you to grip his forearms as he continues to fuck you so good.
âOh my god Jean, oh my godââ
âDonât stop?â His voice was strained, he was close too.
âPlease!â
Saying the magic word always got you what you wanted. Jeanâs hips are relentless as he continues to slam the tip of his cock exactly how you liked. Coupled with his hands gripping your hips so possessively, your orgasm hits you like a train.Â
Your body shakes, goosebumps forming all over your skin as your pussy gushes on his cock. And you canât stop cumming, Jeanâs cock keeps fucking into you as he chases his own release and mutters filthy words of praise against your hair.
âMy perfect woman, my pretty wife taking my cock like a fucking champ.â His moan is long and drawn and you cry out even more when you feel his hand go around your body to rub at your poor and neglected clit. âYouâre so fucking good for me, youâre gonna cum for me again. Right?â His teeth sink into your earlobe and you sigh, your body temperature rising as you nod.
âYeah!âÂ
âGood girl.âÂ
Jean gives one final slam of his hips before heâs emptying himself inside your pussy, cock nestled between your tight and warm walls. You take a moment to catch your breath, your body still twitching and recovering from what just happened.
You tell your boyfriend that you two need to hurry and wash up before the warm water runs out, and he jumps in action as he scrubs both your body and his, rinsing with water before stepping out to grab towels for the two of you.
By the time he returns with a warm towel, youâre trembling from the cold.
âSorry I took too long.â You shake your head, letting him wrap the towel around your body.Â
âItâs okay,â you smile as you kiss his cheek. âCover yourself or youâll get sick.âÂ
Jean kisses your forehead before patting your butt. âGo get dressed, you look like a poodle.â
You feign being offended as you gasp. âTake it back!â
âThought you liked me for my honesty!â
You shout from the bedroom. âNo! I liked you because you were tall and handsome!âÂ
You hear Jean make the same noise you made earlier. âMy girlfriend is shallow?!â
âBetter break up with me.â you say playfully and Jean pops his head from the bathroom, his face all serious.Â
âNot even the devil could convince me to do it.â
