mean cult leader! Suguru x subby f! reader - MDNI - be warned Suguru is really fucking mean in this, like... degradation, calling us 'dumb puppy' - we are in a cage, with a tail (plug hehe) and wearing a collar lmao
You are in trouble with your cult leader…
Is he a boyfriend?
He calls himself your owner, especially right now when he’s tightening your cute little pink collar down on your neck - it even has little heart diamond studs.
Only the best for you.
He's tugging you by it with his dark brows lowered, his robes slightly parted when he shoves you down on the floor, pinning your head right down by pressing on the back of your neck.
“What did you say to me while I was giving my speech?” He asks, humming just a bit as his hands tangle in your hair and tug, your little ears he keeps on you slipping from their clips.
“N-nothing, Suguru - ah!”
Suguru tugs the slutty skirt he makes you wear up over your ass, hand landing with a sharp thwack on it, handprint blossoming. “Answer me now, or do you want the muzzle on all day?”
You bite down on your lower lip when he presses your face down harder against the floor, tugging your ass up by your hips, cunt dripping wet once the air hits it. He muzzles you when you misbehave, he puts you in your pretty cage with your favorite stuffies, making sure you have what you need even as he isolates you.
“I said nothing.”
“You know how this goes for you, tsk,” Suguru might love you – a pathetic little fucking pet and all – but you surely have to learn your place. “Soaking wet like a dumb puppy, think I’ll touch you?”
“Please I n-need it…” Suguru smirks, he might love the sight of your soaking wet cunt but he’s not giving you what you want right now, not after your mouth. “Sugu - ah!”
He smacks your cunt hard, dragging two long fingers up your sloppy little slit – just enough to make you think you’re getting what you want, but instead just spitting right on your ass and letting it drip down, swirling your slick and that saliva and shoving into your ass.
“Suguru!” You’re so full.
“Admit what you said, pathetic little pet,” you’re too stretched out, cunt empty and fluttering around nothing, slick dripping down as the stretch of your other hole makes you needier. “Want me to make you keep that tail in your little ass all fucking day?”
“N-no!” You actually wouldn’t mind but…
He’s so damn mad you could cum from a few pumps of his mean fingers inside.
“Say it.” You say nothing on purpose, earning a disappointed sigh now, a sound you know will lead to the sweetest punishment. “Spread wide then, little pet.”
You do as he asks, your head down with the little tag on your collar clicking the floor beneath you, the hard wood that is soaking up the remnants of his spit and your pretty tears. Suguru hums in pleasure at the perfect sight when he spits right on your ass again, cool metal of the plug slipping and pushing right in.
“Ngh!! Please…”
“Loosen up, you can take it, can’t you? You’re not that pathetic,” you love the pressure when he pushes that tail in deep, the fluffy tail slipping across your thighs, brushing softly on your skin and tickling. Suguru tugs you to your knees now, with a sharp tug at your collar, choking you out. “I should walk you around just like this, on your hands and knees in front of everyone.”
Before you can answer, he smacks your ass hard, the sting makes you cry out, your body jerking forward.
"Count them," he commands softly. "And with each one, I want you to tell me who you belong to."
"One…” He hums just a bit, his cock just leaking beneath his robes. “I belong to you, Suguru."
“Good pet.”
He smacks again.
"Two... I belong to you, Suguru."
He smacks you over and over, until your voice is hoarse from it, nails pressing into the soft rug beneath you. Three, four, five – so many you lose count, dizzy with need, your ass covered in red welts. Only then when you’re babbling and sniffling, when you’re drooling does he ease back, pulling you up by your collar until you're kneeling.
"Good pet," he murmurs softly, almost lovingly, finally pressing his body against yours, his shape hard and throbbing through his robes – right along your spine. "Who do you belong to?"
“You, you,” he chuckles, swiping the drool from the corner of your lips. “Mmm… Sugu please…”
“Good pet, I think you’ve earned just a little reward,” his hand slips between your thighs, fingers finally finding your needy, neglected little clit, circling it slowly as you moan and arch against him. “Desperate little puppy – so pathetic.”
"I need..."
"What do you need?" his teeth sharply bite the side of your neck, pain pricking as those fingers circle your clit faster. "Tell me exactly what you need, hmm? I want to be good for my pet when you listen."
You're so desperate now for more that you'd say anything he wants to hear, cunt dripping down his fingers, he laughs at just how wet you get. “Nghhh…”
“Words, pet, or I’ll walk you around, hands and knees.”
“N-need y-y-you…”
“N-need. Y-y-you - hah, pathetic, dumb puppy,” he yanks his fingers away, making you whimper pathetically in need. “Can’t talk already?”
“Need you to fuck me, Suguru – please, I need your cock ins-side me."
He chuckles, clearly pleased you could put a word together at all, pushing you back down to your knees and arching your ass up. "Since you asked so nicely, of course I will..."
Suguru turns on the little button that makes that tail vibrate inside you, a sweet, mean torture as the fat head of his cock glides up and down your slit. “Mngh…”
“Gonna finally listen, hmm? When I tell you what to do?” He whispers, teasing you more and more as he moves that cock up and down, dripping and just pulsing out messy white pre. “Answer me if you want it inside, could cum like this – should I cum all over you, every inch? Have them all see what’s mine?”
“I’l llisten…”
“You won’t,” he sighs, sliding his cock up and down again, feeling you wriggling and arching, pulling back. “There, my cock was on your little cunt. That’s good enough, yeah?”
“No! Please, bein’ s’mean…” You’re mumbling again, thighs shaking, watching him pull back and walk over to where he keeps all sorts of treats for you.
“Eat one of these and don’t touch yourself,” you obey when he puts a chocolate in your mouth, making you chew it and smirking. “I have to finish something, don’t move an inch and obey me, like a good pet, hmm?”
“Mhm,” you know his game, you know this chocolate is going to make you ache even more, when those vibrations keep going off in your ass, and that tail is shaking side to side. Suguru carefully and lovingly clips your ears back where they belong, kissing your lips coated in chocolate.
“Be back. Stay.”
*****
You’re about to touch yourself, you’re so close to it that it’s painful, the way you need Suguru inside you, how you need anything but to stay on your knees for him and wait the hour it takes. He carefully walks back in the room, smiling as he sees you in that position, sighing and taking off his robes.
“Like that chocolate, puppy?”
“Mhm,” you’re so fucking wet it’s slippery when Suguru kneels and fingers you, plunging two inside.
“That easy?” He laughs again, he’s a cruel man, Suguru Geto – punishing you for that bratty mouth by edging you, feeding you aphrodisiacs, making you ache in this position. “You listened, didn’t you?”
“Y-yes, I promise… ah!” He pulls back those fingers and sucks your juices off them, humming to himself, pressing your head down so your face is smushed against that rug.
“You did such a good job,” Suguru tugs your cute tail up and finally shoves his fat eight inches deep in your cunt, so deep you scream out, arching for more as he pounds inside your pussy. Mean, desperate strokes that leave no mercy as he tugs that tail, lifting it just so to get a view of the creamy ring at the base of his cock where you’re messing up the carpet.
You’re a drooling mess as you finally get what you’ve been aching for – fucked mean by the cult leader, the one who leans over as he presses his big hand between your shoulder blades, heavy, full balls smacking on your clit.
“You love that, hmm? Being so full, fucked like the stupid little pet you are,” Suguru loves you, by the way – he’d say that, but you’re a slutty little freak who enjoys this. So, he gives it to you – he’s not quite as sadistic as it seems. “Love being a useless little cocksleeve? Waiting all day for dick?”
“Yours,” he groans at your answer, grabbing your hips and pounding his cock with filthy squelches, that tail still stretching your other hole out, he lays prone over the floor, covering you in his heavy weight, his lips brushing your ear.
“My pet, belong to me, don’t you, pretty puppy?” He whispers, as close to sweet as the huge, psychotic man gets, possessive as he is done for as your walls are milking him, vibrations of the plug in your ass making you clamp down. “All mine.”
“Mmm – your pet,” you’re lost then, eyes rolling back as his tip drags right where you need, and you’re shattering for him.
It’s not long after that Suguru pulls out and cums all over your ass, your pussy, your thighs, laughing sadistically at the sight. Not long after he yanks that tail out and fucks you in that hole too, don’t you deserve it, being so good for him? To get all your pretty holes filled, and every inch of your body covered in his cum?
But don’t worry, you get fed even more of those yummy chocolates after – and he makes sure to clean you, with sweet little flicks of his tongue lavishing all that sweet, milky white that is pumped out. It's just right to take care of his pretty, perfect pet when she’s been so good for him.
When you snuggle up in your pretty pink cage later – well, Suguru even leaves the cage door open for you <3
*****
i'm marked mature anyway might as well share this from the drafts LMAO - I was writing this for my bb @indiewritesxoxo forever ago hehe
Synopsis. Gojo Satoru: he’s the best striker the Japanese national team has. The strongest, the sharpest, the fastest—and the hottest. With a 66% accuracy rate and a goal headed straight for your heart.
You: a reporter for the FIFA World Cup, and the greatest at goalkeeping Gojo’s flirtations. You just can’t stand him- or so you say…
You—1. Gojo—0.
Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader
Content. MDNI, fem!sports reporter!reader, football pIayer!Gojo, FIFA World Cup AU, Football AU, enemies-to-Iovers, sorta, he has a BIG crush on you, yearner!Gojo, fIirting, banter, bets, first date, paparazzi, fan cIubs, pússydrúnk!Gojo, MUNCH!Gojo, oraI (f + m), 69, bets in BED, fíngering, spítting, p taIking, sIight p sIapping, bj’s, cIit bíting, goals, races, bIack cards, tongue f, doggy, wearing his jersey, manhandIing, making it fit, stopping you from running, he’s FÉRAL, cervíx smooches, counting, he BREAKS, babbIing, sIight overstím, making him whímper, making him cry, getting together, happy ending aww, PDA, pet names, swéaring.
Word count. 13.9k
A/N. In honor of the FIFA World Cup heheheh I just had to-
“—Geto—a beautiful pass to Gojo. The one and only Gojo.” Booming. If there was one word that could describe the FIFA World Cup then it would be simply that: booming. Everything from the bacchanal cheers; the resounding noise of the football coming into contact with flesh; and excitement mixed with fear that was an amorphous neighbor next to where one sat.
Speaking of seats; everyone was on the edge of theirs.
They watched as Gojo Satoru stopped the football using his chest. Alternating it to a dribble—he’s quickly bypassing some of the opposing team’s defenders- and it doesn’t take long before Gojo’s coming face-to-face with the goal.
“—the famous Gojo technique, Limitless, because of the sheer unlimited speed and strength. It’s a play unable to be recreated by another, with a 100% scoring…” Gojo takes a deep breath. He points. He kicks.
And he misses.
And in-between the commentary and the chaos, Gojo’s eyes can’t help but meet yours pitchside. Amongst the cameras and the anchors-
—you were laughing.
At him.
“And it seems the world-famous Gojo Satoru has missed! He missed! Oh—what a blow for the Japanese team—hey Mech, can we get a close-up of who he was pointing at before missing the goal?”
As requested; the wedding replays the moments before Gojo’s missed goal: his look of determination, his deep breath, his arm raising for mere split-seconds to point…straight at you. And then it’s cutting to you outright laughing at the missed goal.
Fucking laughing.
Gojo himself pauses to watch the unfortunate sequences of events from below.
“Aaaaand that’s half-time, folks!”
He immediately feels a wave of adrenaline strike him - nearly knocking him over at the force. The molten lead sensation floods every corner and crevice of him, and it makes his fingers tremble, it makes an unexplainable heat rise to his cheeks. Where the hell was this energy when he needed to score that last goal?
Gojo’s eyes remain fixated on you like two frozen-over lakes- made only brighter, not warm, in the face of the Sun.
As you’re finding yourself at the edge of those lakes, you wind down that laugh of yours- that stupid, gorgeous laugh of yours. It makes his heart ripple. And then with a soft smile upon your lips, you’re mouthing an apology. Instead of backing from those stone-cold lakes, daring to dip a toe in. Mocking, surely.
Fuck.
Gojo feels his clenched fists unfurl.
And his irritation.
He doesn’t suppose that you’re feeling guilty in the slightest - but what sort of world-famous sports reporter would you be if you got caught laughing at the star player?
And Gojo Satoru is the star player—mind you. He’s just…having an off day? It’s exactly 45 minutes and 22 seconds into the quarter finals of perhaps the biggest football tournament in Gojo’s life: the FIFA World Cup. Japan has been facing off against an opponent they’d already been told would be a tough match to beat, with the odds stacked 79% against them- it just surprised Gojo that that 21% included him, too.
After all, he’s motherfuckin’ Gojo Satoru (don’t quote that).
With his signature white hair- and his ‘twinkling’ blue eyes- and that dimple at the corner of his smile. See that dimple? That dimple’s insured for ¥2,000,000.
But it wasn’t just fanfare and his dashing good looks. There’s no football without Gojo Satoru, and there’s no Gojo Satoru without football.
Ever since he was a young kid, the game just seemed to…call for him.
Just starting out as some stupid sports channel he’d put on in order to avoid having to do his chores; then he’d started watching. Then he started paying attention. Then he started remembering their names and collecting his pocket money to buy some markers and a red, red t-shirt. He still remembers sprawling the t-shirt out on the floors of his cramped living room, and scrawling on Akers 10. Gojo Satoru was raised by Michelle Akers, Alessandro Del Piero, Roberto Baggio, Homare Sawa, and Jay-Jay Okocha as much as he was by his parents.
And then he’d started playing.
He’d begged and begged his parents to get him a football for Christmas- even going to do extra chores around the house to butter them up.
And once they caved - making him promise not to play inside - Gojo had stumbled out to the playground faster than his legs could keep up. Although he remembers thinking that he’d make them- he’d make them keep up.
He admits he wasn’t instantly amazing - just slightly above average, if anything. But kids on the playground used to think he was the coolest thing.
Wanting to become a professional footballer? Every kid wanted to become a professional footballer at that age. So he’d gather the teams, he’d assign their roles, he’d play with them until the streetlights turned on and the crickets started chirping - except the only difference between Gojo and the rest…was that he wouldn’t go home. Refused to.
Not until his parents had to come down and physically drag him back home.
Until then, Gojo would kick and kick that damn ball as long as he had to to become good enough. Until his feet had to fuse with that damn ball, if it had to.
In middle school they adored him just as much.
The best football player and he’s got dimples to boot?
He won’t lie - Gojo understands why he was called out for a confession at least thrice a week throughout the entirety of middle school. His grade, lower grades, and even some in the grade above. Manga club captains and school presidents- and some friends of friends not even going to this school. Some of his friends. Most…who’ve never even talked to him.
And he doesn’t regret not letting any of that ‘sweet Spring love’ that his father always talked about blossom. He just wished his middle school-self had a bit more tact when rejecting girl after boy after girl.
Although he admits that the attention was nice- and those onigiri they brought him after practice was a sweet touch. But Gojo could never quite understand—what did they see in him?
He was hot, yes. He was talented. He was smart. He was funny- yes. But he just wasn’t…like the heroes that he looked up to. Not yet.
Gojo Satoru could never quite understand how he could love another as much as he loved football.
Sometimes when the confessions and the onigiri got a little too much, he’d go to the school rooftop and kick his ball around until the bell rang. Sometimes he’d simply sit and stare off into the distance—what was love? If we should love another as we love ourselves, then perhaps one doesn’t need it? Who said love had to be a person, not a dream?
Around this time, Gojo applied for the local junior football club.
He smoked them all- hah!
Then high school rolled around and here people started giving him looks - still dreaming of becoming a professional footballer? Wasn’t that child’s play?
Popularity was measured, at least for most guys, by how many girls you’d banged or whether or not you’d actually tasted beer. He himself wasn’t one to subscribe to such notions - but the status quo meant that people started…distancing themselves from him.
Reaching for him- if only to point at him like a party trick. Maybe throw a volleyball at him during gym classes, or puncture his football.
They actually did puncture his football.
He beat that boy until his knuckles bled - Gojo had gotten a temporary suspension, of course. He didn’t argue with the punishment. He thinks they went so lenient on him because it was his first offense.
But when he came back, it was even worse. There goes that freak still obsessed with football- isn’t he just going to get his dreams crushed? Isn’t he going to wake up? Grow up? He didn’t need them. He didn’t need a single fucking one of them.
Gojo threw himself into playing football more than ever around these years; until every bone in his body seemed to ache, and he always tasted metal from how hard he’d grit his teeth. He imagined their sneering, snickering faces at the end of the goal and kicked and kicked and kicked that fucking ball. And it was also around this time that he’d gotten the offer.
The offer.
He was glad to leave it all behind.
He was the youngest player in Japan to get a national team offer - oh, he remembers how nervous he’d been then, walking, wondering whether they’d look at him like they all do - and the second-youngest in the world to join an international club. He was an express - and damn expensive - pick for Real Madrid, and the only Japanese player to make a first-team appearance. He was the youngest player to win a major tournament at the UEFA European Championship. He was the youngest Japanese football captain leading them into the FIFA World Cup- and the only one to lead them into the quarterfinals. Not to mention his rabid fan club and his four-time title as the world’s prettiest striker!
But fuck, man.
All that…for this.
Today, Gojo Satoru was having an off time. And he’s blaming it on you—was that necessarily fair?
Hm…not likely. But nothing matters when he’s in the zone and he’s supposed to keep his eyes on the football- but they keep somehow drifting to you.
Fuck again.
This was on him, he knows. He knows. And yet-
And without a single word to any of his teammates or Coach Yaga…he’s marching straight over to you. Behind him, he hears Yaga’s choked-up call of his name and his teammates’ confusion.
The cameras follow him with every step he takes- of course they do, he’s Gojo fucking Satoru. In the distance he can practically hear the tension tighten, as the commentators mention something about him, as the big screen zooms in on his steadfast path, as you’re turning around to see him nearing and your eyes widen.
For a mere split-second - before your hand tightens ‘round your mic, and you’re immediately holding it towards him at the ready.
“And here we have the star player-” It amuses Gojo how your lip tightens around that little phrase you just have to say when referring to him. “-Gojo Satoru’s…best friend in the distance—can the camera capture Geto Suguru during his pre-match stretches?”
The. Fucking. Audacity.
Gojo’s mouth drops as the camera hastens to focus on that damned Geto next to Coach Yaga behind him. He isn’t even the one that came up with those stretches! He stole them from Gojo-
Pointedly—he coughs into his fist.
And then you’re turning towards him with a faux-shocked expression on your face. Lashes fluttering. Those glossed lips of yours dropped into the perfect ‘oh’.
Gojo gets the urge to mimic the exact same expression - and just his luck, the camera’s turning to him at that very moment. There’s a small smirk at the edge of your lips as you’re bringing the mic up to your lips.
This wasn’t his first match interview with you.
Not in the very least.
Gojo was the greatest in his field, and you were (admittedly) the greatest in yours. So it was inevitable that the two of you would meet- match after match, interview after interview, you’d fired your questions away at him.
And sure…there were the usual ones he already scripted for. But you’d quickly climbed up the ranks for asking on-the-spot questions specific to each player, to pick their brains - and in Gojo’s case, to make him squirm.
You asked him about his elementary school nickname as ‘The Strongest’ (which he later adopted as his actual field name so hah- jokes on you!), and his affinity for sneaking sweets into his strict athlete’s diet (Yaga lectured him after that one…jokes on him), and his utterly barren love life.
For someone so flirtatious, one must wonder why he’s never seen out and about with anyone. Maybe he’s simply football-sexual?
That particular interview had racked up quite a few (…million) views across various social medias as Gojo had turned red and stuttered - the first time someone had managed to get the chatterbox to pause - s-something about well, if you really want you can date him-
But he digresses. The point is that Gojo has had interviews with you before - so this should be a piece of cake. Really. Actually…Gojo’s first ever professional interview was almost with you- but that’s a story for another time.
“—and we’re live at the FIFA World Cup Quarterfinals with Gojo Satoru, Captain of the Japanese team.” You’re plastering that camera-ready smile of yours; though honestly he finds your priggish one more- “It’s your first time at the FIFA as a team captain. How are we feeling today, Gojo-san?”
His heart leaps a little at the honorific. “G-good. Good.” And then at the little raise of your brows - did Gojo Satoru just fucking stutter? Again? - he’s instantly shaking his head free of…whatever. Splashing on his own irresistible smile- dimple? Check. “Oh- y’know me, sweetheart. I’m always good~”
“Is that so?” You ask. “I’m glad to hear that. Because it seems like we’re going to need all the confidence we can get, Gojo-san. Tell me—what changes might the defense have to see in the next half if we’re going to beat the opponent’s two-point lead?”
“Well, I can’t share every secret here now, can I~?” Gojo chuckles. “But just know that we’re going to make good use of Geto in the next half- I know Coach Yaga has some good plans for him.”
You nod. “Speaking of- how is Geto Su-”
“We’re talking about me.” Gojo whines. And he’s sure that this part of the interview is going to get clipped to hell and back—but it doesn’t matter when you’re smiling…like that. When you’re throwing your head back and gesturing at that Japanese jersey of yours- number 4?
Geto Suguru.
“My apologies, I do tend to be favorable towards defenders.” You hum. “But I see you’re rather defensive yourself today, Gojo-san. What changes might the strikers have to see for this next half-”
“Nothing.”
That makes you pause. Your smile falters, though you manage to salvage it. “Erm- my apologies, I didn’t seem to hear you over the crowd. Did you say nothing?”
“I did.” And for how priggish you might act - you’d never amount to his sheer levels. His haughty hair flip that sends a few fan club members fainting in the front row, “Absolutely nothing. I’m perfect.”
“Oh-”
“I’m Gojo Satoru, don’t you know? Neeeeext question~”
“Yes I…I am aware.” You mutter under your breath. “Unfortunately.”
“What did you just-”
“But whilst we absolutely erm- adore your confidence, Gojo-san, one really does start to wonder with the two point lead…” You have a fire in your eyes - for how much you might be exasperated by him, it was undoubtable that you needed this win, too. “And I have only one more question for you: will we win?”
He pauses at that.
Just a split-second.
It’s a fleeting moment, yet it seems to hold the world. You’re not letting your gaze waver from his, and he’s not letting his gaze waver from yours. That fire in your eyes? It’s spreading across his own cheeks and then down his neck, across every inch of his body and coiling around his heart. And who’d have thought…that the great Gojo Satoru was flammable?
Gojo shoots a quick look down at himself to make sure that he’s not actually- before then wrapping his hand around the mic handle. He doesn’t exactly take it from you - just keeps his fingers resting on top of yours, and you’re not letting go either..“Nah, I’d win.”
Someone’s breath hitches- either yours or his.
He’s leaning in - down -so close that his lips are nearly grazing the grille.
Gojo keeps his summer lake-blue eyes directly on you as he speaks—“And if I do…how about I get to take you out on a date?”
“You what-” Around you, cheers are erupting. And you’re wondering just what might have been shown on the big screen, only to realize that it was…the two of you. Glamorously displayed for millions of people to see.
You wonder if he can hear your heart race.
You wonder why he wasn’t paying attention to the thousands of people nearby that were chanting ‘say yes, say yes, say yes-’
“So, Miss Reporter?” Gojo cocks his head, a smile upon his lips. “What’ll it be?”
You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek- and it’s only too late that you’re realizing it’s to keep yourself from mirroring that world-famous smile. “Yes.” Your heart leaps.
And you’re sure that Gojo heard you- you’re sure of it. But he’s taking the mic completely now, and turning it upon yourself—“I’m sorry, what was that?”
“I said…” Something akin to…adrenaline? Something akin to…excitement? You didn’t know what name to put on it, but it’s making it difficult to keep your voice exactly steady. “-yes.” Thank goodness it was just a one-word answer.
Gojo smiles wide.
And as the commentators recite the entire interaction in various languages, Gojo’s hearing a call of his name from the coaches’ bench. Realizing that he’d nearly spent the entire break with you- he’s throwing a dazzling smile your way - and several flying kisses at the fans - before making a break for it.
Reaching Coach Yaga, Gojo’s ducking his head and listening to every word the older goalkeeper has to say. There’s a fierce look of concentration on his face—
“You’re staring~” Shoko, from behind the camera, croons. “He really is even better-looking in person, huh?” She’d long since known about the little tension between you and Gojo Satoru- not any kind of good tension, that is. You’d just somehow gotten on his nerves as much as he got on yours.
And you shake your head free of any suggestions that Shoko might put in it. “I wasn’t staring-”
“Mhm.”
“I was just imagining the look on his face after he loses that bet.”
Shoko smirks. “That’s if he loses that bet.”
“Well…”
And then you’re glancing at him once more. Gojo was now jogging in place and doing a few warm-ups before the second half of the quarterfinals started.
Because for all that talk- Gojo Satoru wasn’t going to win that easily, was he?
Was he?
.
.
.
“It’s incredible—Japan has won! The Japanese team has really won!” The commentator’s voice booms across the stadium, making it shake with sheer excitement. It was contagious. The taste of victory was often sweet. “Gojo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals—!”
2-3 to Japan.
All the way from 0.
And you knew the scores - you watched the game unfurl before your very eyes. And yet - surrounded by it all - you stand stunned.
From your right, you’re feeling Shoko euphorically shake you. Her camera equipment nearly slips out of her hands before she’s back at it and recording close-ups of the players’ tearful reactions.
Most of them had surrounded Gojo and were crushing themselves together in an embrace. They’re pushed so far together that you could only make out a flash of white hair and an uproarious distinct laugh. The microphone damn-near slips out of your hands.
“I repeat, folks—Gojooooooooooooo Satoru has led the Japanese team to the semi-finals for the first time in history! It’s a momentous occasion for the underdogs- Gojo Satoru and his Unlimited hat-trick, everybody.”
They’re replaying those historic moments on the big screen: when Gojo dribbled past four players to strike his first goal of the match, just two minutes into the second half of the game; when Gojo upset the game by drawing the score 2-2 with a goal from the 18-yard box, a goal that went around the fucking goalkeeper; when Gojo finished with a flourish with a head-butted goal just over the goalkeeper’s shoulder, at the 89th minute.
At that last goal, he’d pointed right at you- a hatrick. A hatrick.
“Who’s gonna win?” He’d mouthed, as his teammates were drawn to him in embrace like magnets flying across the field.
You’d simply rolled your eyes.
It was a match for the books - and for generations of footballers just like him to watch and rewatch and watch. And maybe…just maybe they’d buy their own blue t-shirts and scribble down: Gojo 66. Around you, reporters were already chattering about Japan’s succession into the semi-finals—could these underdogs actually have a shot?
Japan had risen from an impending bitter defeat- and that very same Gojo 66 was breaking free from his teammates and flouncing across the field. And the MVP - surely - beamed as he lapped up the attention; running across the pitchside and blowing sappy kisses to his fainting fan club. He’s getting thrown a water bottle- and wastes no time before tearing it open and letting the cool water run on top of his head. Water making his jersey stick to him even more so.
Long legs slightly shaking from fatigue. Blue eyes brighter than ever. If there was one word to describe him, then it would be- dazzling. His skin glistened with sweat, and small droplets of water like diamonds - his jersey was practically glued to him—a part of him, in every single possible manner. Celebration seemed to cling to Gojo just as tight as that jersey did.
And Gojo then catches sight of you watching him- and runs. Runs.
To you.
And stops right before you.
“So…” He pants out, and makes sure to flash a quick smile at the rolling cameras. “-about that date…?”
You sigh.
But you can’t help yourself- you chuckle.
“Fine.”
“Fuck yeahhhh—!” And then Gojo’s darting back onto the field in celebration - his team engulfs him once more, and before you know it he’s being thrown into the air. Cameras shift between his ecstatic celebration, and your more muted watching, because honestly…you had no idea what to say. What to do.
You just bagged yourself a date with Gojo fucking Satoru - and you hadn’t even thought you’d be able to tolerate him just about an hour and a half ago.
But that earnestness in his eyes…
You wonder if-
Nope. And then you’re watching Gojo threaten to take his jersey off and throw it somewhere into the crowd - you’re sighing and wondering just how you’re going to get through this. When a mic happens to be shoved into your line of vision—and you’re just about to take it and get ready for your post-match interviews, when-
“Ah ah-” Shoko tuts, amusement lacing her tone. “The interviewer holds the mic. The interviewee answers the question on how it feels to be the future girlfriend of the MVP of the match? Japan’s pride and unofficial prettyboy?”
“Terrible.” You state, extremely seriously. “In fact, I’m considering breaking up with him this very second.” Well…partially seriously.
Shoko faux-gasps. “After a hatrick like that? Why?”
You’re waving breezily. “I’ve always been more of a Geto or Modrić fan myself. Strikers aren’t my thing.”
“Well they’re about to be your thing because you’ve got a date with one-” Shoko checks her watch. “-in just a few hours.”
It’s sinking in. And although you don’t regret saying yes- “Fuck, the fan clubs are gonna kill me.”
Shoko nods. “I won’t disagree with that. I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“Shoko- darling- sweetheart- you’re supposed to disagree to make me feel better.”
She shrugs. “You’re a reporter- give ‘em hell. Whack them with your mic or something.” She’s then finally handing you the mic—and you’re smoothing out your suit with a sigh. “But until then- try not to kill Gojo Satoru. We need him for the semi-finals.”
“No promises.”
And as Shoko and the rest of your team start counting down until you’re On Air again, you’re stealing a fleeting look behind at Gojo Satoru. It seems he hadn’t tired of the fan service yet- and now actually had taken off his jersey and thrown it at the fan clubs- was that a brawl up there in the stands?!
He catches your eye and sends you a flirtatious wink.
And a flying kiss.
You mean to swat it away- but then you’re rolling.
.
.
.
“Shoko- what does one wear to a date with a football star?”
“I don’t know, ask the Akinator.”
“Shoko, that’s…actually I should have done that.” It seems that all around you was defeat: having the team you were rooting for win the quarterfinals for the FIFA World Cup, scoring a date with the MVP of the match, getting a promotion and a bump in your paycheck all because of it? All in all, you were having a terrible day.
And not to mention- you hadn’t even begun to check your social media—according to the way that Shoko had painted it: the football side of the Internet had crashed into your little circle of the Internet, and then it’d been set on flames and trampled with cleats five times over. And that’s not even beginning to dive into Gojo’s stan Twitter…the horror…
The edits. The speculation. The articles. The fanfiction- out of curiosity, you’d searched a few up.
And you’d have to say…that they were very…descriptive. @tonycriesaboutfootball you were looking at her.
All in all- it’s safe to say that your little agreement had caused a little break in the Internet.
And here you were: cooped-up in your humble hotel room for the match. On the phone was Shoko <3 your biggest help since after the match and right now- gathering your thoughts…and your look…and yourself. After putting her on video call—the two of you worked together to sort through your suitcase and find something half-decent for some fancy schmancy date.
In the end, you’d decided on a chic outfit you’d actually planned to wear when reporting the FIFA World Cup Finals.
And nevermind how much you protested and lamented and complained about how expensive shopping for another dress is going to be, Shoko had simply replied- “Just get your millionaire athlete boyfriend to buy one. Take his black card, duh?”
Ah…
And right now you were simply putting in the final touches- slouched over your hotel vanity.
She disappears from the screen for a minute and comes back wielding her chunky laptop. “About 21% of people think this is a PR stunt…18% think you two won’t actually go on the date…and 44% think that this is true love and both of you can bear their children. They also may or may not be camped outside the restaurant.”
You take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Hell yeah…“And the other 2%?”
“Ah- well they’re out for blood.” Shoko casually closes her laptop. “Ready?”
You shudder. “As I’ll ever be. Do I look okay?”
“You look good enough to eat- now go.”
Someone from what you assume to be Gojo’s team had actually approached you after the match - something about exchanging numbers, and then letting you know the details about the date. And around 5PM that evening, you’d just been getting off of a final few interviews from another match- when they’d texted you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): hehehe you have three guesses. clue no. 1: i’m hot asf. clue no. 2: i’m even hotter wwwww.
You: I’m blocking you.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): waitヽ(O_O )ﾉ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): wait nooooooooooo
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): don’t block me ( ◣∀◢)ψ
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): i was jokinggggggggg
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX): it’s satoruuuuu ☀(▀U ▀-͠)
You: Ah, of course.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) added to your contacts.
(+81 03 XXXX XXXX) changed to (Foot)ballz.
You: Hello, Satoru-san.
(Foot)ballz: hehe
(Foot)ballz: no need to be so formal with me when we’re going on a date~ (͡o‿O͡)
(Foot)ballz: i’ll come pick you up at your hotel so just lmk where you’re staying!!
You: You just want to find out which hotel I’m at, you perv…
(Foot)ballz: I’VE BEEN CAUGHT (ʘ ͜ʖ ʘ)
Ultimately you ended up sending your location to the ridiculous man - however you’d expected Gojo Satoru to text like…it certainly wasn’t this. But you found yourself tolerating it, for the most part.
You suppose.
And once you’re done spritzing on some of your favorite perfume, your phone lights up with a new message.
(Foot)ballz: here ⸜(*ˊᗜˋ*)⸝
With a small huff of laughter, you’re grabbing your things and heading out.
The car parked outside was anything but inconspicuous.
And you don’t exactly know what led you to think that in the first place—because when has Gojo Satoru ever wished to fly under the radar?
What was sprawled across the hotel porte-cochère was a gleaming red feline of a vehicle; that type you’d see on the covers of car magazines, or parked outside stadiums with fans surrounding it. Many, many fans. It had all those sorts of curvatures and indents that made it built for speed just like the athletes that owned these types - spoiler wagging behind it, bumper pawing forward, iridescent tyre rims catching the light and showing off. Even stopped outside the hotel, it purred as though impatient to get back on the prowl once again.
From the driver’s seat, Gojo Satoru is opening the door and standing tall- and your breath catches in your throat.
Gojo had cleaned up nicely. He was dressed in a form-fitting suit—such a dark blue that it was nearly black. The velvety fabric draped around his trim waist, flaring ever-so-slightly where his broad shoulders were- it made him look so much more handsome than was fair. His long legs were covered in the same fabric, and at the ends peeked out shoes so polished they were almost painful to look at- you wonder how long he spent on that…
That usually-messy hair of his had pushed backwards, and on his face were semi-opaque round sunglasses. On his face was a smile.
Where a celebrity often wished to blend in, Gojo stood his six-and-a-something feet high above the rest.
In seconds, Gojo’s reaching inside the car and pulling out a massive bouquet of red roses. Thus he crosses the short distance between you both in two strides, and gently hands them to you- you take it with bated breath. “This is…”
“I know I know-” Gojo cocks his head with a smug smile. “I’ve outdone myself.”
And without further ado, he’s tipping the valet well - the elderly man catches your eye, and you’re shrugging at him helplessly - and helping you inside the car. “You look gorgeous, by the way- although, of course you always do and this isn’t just me saying-”
“Gojo.” You smile. “Shut up and get in.”
He wastes no more time.
“D’you like the car?” Gojo asks as he buckles up, “It’s a Ferrari F80. I was thinking of buying this here as a little congratulatory present for myself- you’re the first one in here besides myself.”
“Seriously?” You ask. And he holds your gaze earnestly. “This is amazing.”
His smile flashes as he sets his hand on the wheel. “Then buckle up, sweetheart. We’re gonna be the hottest couple in town.”
“Not a coup- oh.” He speeds away.
.
.
.
“GOJO- GOJO—LOOK HERE—! GOJO IS THAT YOUR PARTNER?”
“GOJO HOW DO WE FEEL ABOUT THE HISTORIC WIN TONIGHT—DID HAVING YOUR GIRLFRIEND THERE HELP?”
“GOJO HOW DO YOU MAINTAIN THE TITLE OF PRETTIEST STRIKER FOUR YEARS IN A ROW?”
That…last one Gojo actually stopped to give a thorough answer.
And as for the rest, he’d given those paparazzi a coy smile and a wink before diving into the restaurant with you. The maître d’ quickly helped you get escorted to your private table.
The restaurant was…fancy. Right. That was one way to put it.
Another way to put it would’ve been: it was the type of restaurant that you honestly would’ve talked shit about with Shoko, then spent the next hour scrolling through its pictures. Then you’d catch a glimpse of a menu…and have immediately turned your phone off. Because in no conceivable world would you attend a restaurant of that high a price, for portion sizes no bigger than the meat rations you’d given yourself during your impoverished intern days.
And yet, here you were.
Gojo Satoru seemed to fit right in amongst the decor- the abstract artwork on the walls that looked like phalluses, the lights on the walls that also looked like phalluses, and the bowl of oranges upon every table - like a piece of the furniture himself. You don’t doubt that such a place was as casual as walking into a fast-food restaurant for him—but for you…let’s just say that whilst sports reporting jobs may pay high - especially for someone of your ranking - it wasn’t phallus-restaurant level quite just yet.
“So uh…what did you say the name of this place was, again?” You ask Gojo after he’d ordered…whatever he was having. You’d gone with the same primarily because you didn’t want to butcher the pronunciations of the menu.
“Hm?” Gojo delicately folds his napkin. “Big D’s, why?”
You’re biting back a laugh, “No reason.”
He sends you a look. “And um…how was your day?”
“What are we, an old married couple?” Though there was something strangely…jarring about having the world-famous football player - the very same one you’ve rolled your eyes at or been forced to interview about a million times over - speak about something so…mundane with you. What else could you have expected? Maybe to talk stats, maybe updates on his fan club—maybe what ranking he’s surpassed now. You sigh. “But if you must know, the usual- oh, although I did get to interview Gakuganji for the first time in a while today—so that was fun.”
“Gakuganji Yoshinobu?” Gojo’s interest clearly piques. “Oh, he’s a legend. Did you know that since retirements he’s taken up-”
“Electric guitar.” You nod eagerly. “And he’s damn good at it, too.”
“I was thinking that after my retirement I should take up writing or something.”
“You seem like the type to never retire.”
And so the conversation…had strangely enough flowed- not something you would have expected from the haughty football player, but it was a pleasure nonetheless. And it had been about two hours into the conversation - currently on the topic of whether sharks were misunderstood - when the two of you looked down at your empty plates—and servers that seemed to be flitting about literally every table…but yours.
“Do you think they forgot about us?” You whisper to Gojo.
“Maybe they were so stunned by my devilish good looks that-”
“Okay.” And with a semi-fond smile upon your face, you’re standing up in your seat. Gojo’s mirthful expression drops—but before panic can start setting in, you’re gesturing for him to stand up as well. So you weren’t going to leave him in the phallus restaurant…you surprised even yourself with that. “C’mon- I know this great place downtown that sells the largest pizza you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, please.” Tipping the servers, you two darted out of Big D’s through the back entrance where no paparazzi roamed. And into a night that was wild and untamed, you snuck into the darkness between stars and created light of your own—you copped a few good slices of pizza, greasy and not half-bad for the price, before walking down shadowed alleys where no one could find you. Almost no one. A few pictures snapped here and there- surely it couldn’t do much harm?
Oh, who were you kidding.
You could see the headlines forming already - had this been anyone else, you’d have been the one writing it. But tonight…“Everyone’s going to think we’re dating after tonight.”
“I know.” Gojo had replied, half of his profile illuminated by the neon shop signs. The two of you were walking around the less-nicer parts of town, or so one would say…how strange it is that where things are discarded and dilapidated, the lights shine the brightest and the moon seems to sing softly tonight. “But strangely enough- I don’t mind.”
“Getting dating rumors?”
“Getting dating rumors with you, I mean.” Gojo’s saying- before he coughs into his fist and attempts to amend. “Although, of course, you’d be lucky to get dating rumors with the Gojo Satoru~”
“You mean the Gojo Satoru who’s never gotten a dating rumor in his life?” You scoff. “Y’know before tonight they were calling you No-game Gojo?”
Gojo’s gasp is so loud that it startles passerbys.
In order to soothe him, you’re forced to buy this grown athlete ice cream. He asks for three scoops with extra sprinkles, and the two of you walk together - close but not touching - down by a nearby waterfront—the river around the massive city and pulled it into a tight embrace. You yourself felt the strange coil of something at the pit of your stomach.
“Did you really mean it?”
Gojo, who’d been eying your own ice cream cone, startles. “Hngh?”
Sighing…you hand him your final bite. “Did you really mean the thing about not minding dating rumors with me?”
“I did. Why?”
“No…just thinking that if I had to get dating rumors with anyone- at least you’re not the worst option.”
“Awwww-”
You smirk. “Although, Geto would have been-”
“Let me have this moment—”
His pinky finger grazes yours as you two walk.
.
.
.
The door slams behind you.
And following right behind it, Gojo’s doing the same to you.
He has his hands clutched at your waist, and his mouth down your neck - leaving hot, slimy strings of spit wherever he’s pepperin’ the most filthiest kisses. You’re moaning as you let yourself get engulfed in Gojo Satoru’s wave of need—molten desperation shooting through your veins.
There’s something wet forming at the in-betweens of your pretty legs- and it seems as though Gojo almost has a sixth sense. Because he wastes no time before sliding a hand down your front and cupping your throbbing pussy through your dress. “Mmm-” He grunts off against the side of your ear. The hot breath sends goosebumps skittering down your exposed skin. “And who are you this wet for, sweetheart~?”
“Mmm, dunno.” You bat your lashes up at him. “Probably the best player on the team.”
A priggish smile toys at Gojo’s lips, and he’s leaning ever-closer to you. “And just who might that be?”
You’re pulling Gojo down as though this was a secret just between the two of you - and the man eagerly reciprocates closing the distance between you. You’re basked in his likely maddeningly expensive cologne as he leans in—“Geto Suguru, of course.”
And Gojo’s letting out just the softest surprised gasp—
He leans backwards with slightly-parted lips, and you’re getting the feeling that no one’s ever said anything like that to him before. Gojo’s eyes sweep down where your pretty body is pressed up against him- and before you know it, he’s crashing his lips onto yours. “Mmm—” He’s lappin’ at your moans- and the edge of your bottom lip. There’s a squeaky noise that’s being let out as Gojo tastes the lipgloss slathered on your maw. “Cherry.” He notes.
You’re stringing your fingers into his pure-white hair.
With the pad of his thumb, Gojo wipes off the remnants of glossy make-up on his mouth. “You taste sweeter than you are, y’know that?”
And with your fingers twisting into his hair so that he moans- you’re dragging him right back to you. “And you’re better when you shut up.”
Eventually, you’re backing him into your bed.
The hotel room wasn’t all that spacious, and it’s only a few hasty strides before you’re preparing to push him onto the mattress—
But Gojo’s reflexes are too quick. And he’s flipping the two of you around so that it’s your back that’s coming into contact with the springy bedcoils, falling onto the cloud-like bed with the MVP of the match. Mr. Hotshot Gojo Satoru himself.
Gojo smirks as he hovers above you. “Wanna hear a magic trick? I know exactly what you’re thinking about, pretty girl~” He husks.
And you’re letting out a gasp as his lips come kissing down your neck once more. You can’t help it - you’re arching into him already. “And what’s that?”
“Me.”
As he chuckles, you’re rolling your eyes. “You’ll have to be more specific than that.”
“Oh?” Gojo raises one of his white brows- like a challenge. If there was anything he was weak to—then it was a challenge. And maybe you, but…you didn’t need to know that just yet. “Then let me be clearer…you were thinking about me—” As he speaks, his dominant hands are exploring your body - starting at the right side of your tits, and massaging for a few moments before switching to the other one. “-running these trained hands everywhere on your body like this, weren’t you?”
Your heart leaps to your throat- and down there. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
He chuckles. “And then you must’ve thought about my fingers- I did have a little stint as a goalkeeper—” Through your fabric, he’s pinching your left nipple and you moan. “-did you know that?”
“I did.” You admit. Your reporting habits left you investigating every single nook and cranny of these footballers’ careers and lives.
“And then maybe these spectacular abs- I have them insured, did you know that?” The urge to roll your eyes is immense—but you’re more focused on the way that the world-class player was shuffling his body purposefully down yours, letting the button-up underneath his suit push against your core- you’re feeling his abs. As though he could read your mind, Gojo flashes you a devilish smile and keeps going down- “Or these arms.” Down. “Or these thick thighs. Heh.” Dooooown.
All the way until he’s between those tremblin’ legs of yours. At least his face was.
“But most of all…how about this glorious face?” Gojo shoots you his camera-ready smile inches away from your clothed cunt—pearly-white teeth and dimple to boot. “And I know m’fucking pretty- but I get the strange feeling that I’d look even prettier between your legs.”
And just as he’s about to lean in-
You’re sitting up and putting a hand on his shoulder. Stopping him.
Gojo looks up at you with a face full of concern.
But you’re merely shaking your head. “You’d be hard-pressed to think that I’d let you get all the bragging rights.” You scoff. “Get up. Let me sit on your face.”
His blue, blue eyes gleam in delight. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Shut up and get over here.”
And you’re sure that Gojo murmurs something about ‘making him shut up’ (you’d be more surprised if he didn’t) and yet within seconds you suddenly have his 6’4 toned frame stretched-out beneath you.
With your knees making the mattress upon either side of his head dip, straddling him, you’ve straddled the two of you into an oh-so-perfect 69 position - but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. Looking underneath you, you notice that the white-haired man has hunger consuming every inch of him, with his eyes half-lidded and his mouth slightly-ajar, licking his lips as he fucking chases your clothed cunt—
“But just ooooone thing.” You’re placing a hand on his chest and pushing him back down- Gojo lets out a cracked whimper. He stares up at your clothed cunt like the gates of heaven above.
“Yes, my demanding girl~? More demands? Isn’t having the great Gojo Satoru underneath you and begging for your pussy enough?”
“Hmm, nope.” You pop the ‘p’. Without wasting more time, you’re fumbling with Gojo’s outrageous dress pants until they’re managed off. What’s revealed to you first is his v-line that stands out—moving with every one of his impatient bucks; then his bulging boxers; then looooong smooth legs, toned from so many years of training. And then you’re almost done. “How about a bet that whoever makes the other cum first gets a reward?”
“A reward?” You’re not turning to look at him- but you don’t need to to know that Gojo’s eyes were probably shining by now. “What kind of reward?”
“Hmmmm, how about…” You suggest. “The winner gets to decide the position for se-”
“I’m in.”
And that’s all that’s being said before Gojo reaches up n’ pushes your dress up. He titters as he takes in the way your pussy was oh-so-wet being outlined against your underwear—that already-thin fabric hugging to your pretty lips n’ soaking wet for him already.
“What’s that about not being so wet?” Gojo hums. He makes the loudest noise as he leans in and presses a great big smooch right on top of your sopping lips. You’re keening out sweetly on top of him- he didn’t even know you could sound that sweet-
“You said that out loud.” You’re grumbling behind at him. “Don’t tell me you’re pussydrunk already, hotshot?”
“Awwww—” Gojo’s spankin’ that swollen exterior of your cunt. “You think I’m hot?”
And now about that damn evening dress obscuring his view- ah, he knows…
Soon enough, you’re hearing a rip-rip-riiiiip—! that makes your blood grow cold. The sensation of cool air biting into your skin is registering in your brain - and then only the realization that Gojo had just fucking ripped your best dress- “Now, I know that isn’t what I think it is.”
“Ah…” He grunts distractedly. Before reaching down to his dress pants and pulling out something dark, sleek, and cash-cold. “Buy yourself whatever you need usin’ this, sweetheart.”
Gojo reaches forwards and stuffs his black card between your pretty drivelling lips. And then he’s divin’ nose-deep between your legs and eating you out with the panties on—letting his looooong luscious tongue zigzag across your slit and accumulate every wad. Once he’s done stealing every drop of slick leaking out of you, Gojo wastes no time before slippin’ aside your panties using his tongue, then making your inner lining feel eeeeeevery coarse tastebud of his taking over you.
It’s just so much.
You’re arching your back and letting out a prolonged moan - or at least you’re attempting to. But what’s really coming out instead are a few muffled sounds as the black card holds firm between your lips.
Your eyes widen.
How could you let yourself be swayed by Gojo Satoru’s black card, of all things…?!
Spitting the black card out, you throw a glare at Gojo. “D-don’t think you’ve won the bet just because you’ve gotten a headstart.”
“Oh?” Gojo coos. “I think I’ve won the bet regardless by how much you’re stutterin’ and whining like a slut on my tongue.” He’s spitting every syllable out against your pussy- literally. He’s drizzling a splash of saliva that he’s using a hand to smack- to smear across every inch of your sodden lips.
You let out a sudden whine, and he laughs.
“Was I wrong~? Mmm- shell me. Who’s the bwest—?” Muffled by his burning-hot kisses.
And you won’t let yourself be bestest just like that, would you? Especially not when he sounds so silly already drunk on your pussy?
In sultry seconds, you’re spittin’ out his damn black card and dragging Gojo’s boxers down. By how much he’d been showing through his bulge…you’d already assumed that he’d be massive.
But Gojo was…really massive.
Mentally you’re counting about eight or nine inches- seriously. And each of those inches were fat and throbbing, the girth of a Coke can and the length of something you’re sure would leave you unable to walk. At least for a week.
As though somehow sensing what you were thinking; Gojo’s thickened tip pulses. Grows even pinker.
“Cock got yer tongue?” He giggles wetly. “Why’re you stupefied, huh? Looks like m’gonna win~”
From the top of his shaft, he’s ooooozing out a constant source of precum—and you’re leanin’ in to sweetly kiss away the syrup that clings to his tip. Just the softest kittenish kiss- but it’s enough to make the football player yelp from underneath you.
His toes curl. His hips buck up without him even seeming to realize - and Gojo lets out an echo of your name - like a prayer - as his fat tip sticks inside your mouth. “O-ohhhh, now you’re playing dirty, sweetheart.”
“M’just doing the same thing you’re- mmm, doing.” You answer- purposefully keeping your mouth on Gojo so that the vibrations shoot up his veins.
“Tch- yeah.” Gojo admits. “But s’only fun when you’re the one getting all drunk on my tongue-” And just because he’s babbling away doesn’t mean that he’s stopping his ministrations for a single second - he’s lavishing and lavishing the tight rim of your hole with his tongue. Licking. Lingering. Letting the top of it hook inside and stretchin’ you out just a little bit more. “Why can’t I be the one to have all the fun—?”
“Do you always have to win?”
“Yes.”
As ridiculous as that sentence sounded, it doesn’t surprise you that it came out of Gojo’s mouth.
The very same mouth that’s becoming more n’ more feverish on your cunt - as some form of revenge, you suppose. Gojo’s grabbing a handful of your left ass cheek and using it to drag you deeper into his mouth.
His jaw unhinges. His nose pushes against your skin.
He’s sucking onto every tender spot of your pussy- eventually resting his pinkish lips on your hole and shoving his tastebuds in so deep. “Tch- this is my fuckin’ win—and this should be my pussy, girl.” Deeper. “C’mon. C’mon. Forget sucking my cock- just fuck back in t’me, sweetheart.”
“F-forget? Sneaky…you just wanna win.”
You can feel him smile against your cunt. “Awww, you know me so well—”
“So selfish, Satoru.” You huff.
“Ohhhh.” And he’s shivering- wracking with something primal all the way head-to-toe. “Call me that again~”
“Satoru.” You’re plopping your mouth over his puckered, pretty head- he was just so cutely needy.
It wasn’t something that you’d expected over the hotshot player. Even though Gojo Satoru might not look like it upon first impression—his cock was so sensitive, so very honest with you that it almost gave you secondhand embarrassment to see. The moment you’re putting your mouth on him n’ starting to suck, he’s spurting out the sweetest honeyed wads of precum here n’ there. The moment you’re leaving him- Gojo throbs even angrily bigger and shuffles his hips to chase your warm mouth.
One of your hands reaches down to squeeze at his balls - so plump and perfectly-shaped. It was annoying that everything about him seemed to be handcrafted by the heavens themselves.
And you’re massaging his most sensitive spots using the mountain of your palm, grinding him against your hand every time your mouth sucks on him. You’re repeating this sequence a few more times.
But he’s not holding back either - Gojo’s now started using the side of your waist as a handlebar, almost.
And he’s grabbing you hard- dragging you onto his awaiting mouth even harder.
“Sweetheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart- sweetheart.” He repeats like a broken record player. All whilst his tongue was open and ready—he hones it at the tip, sharpening, so that it can probe even deeper. Slithering it inside again and agaaaaaain until you’re soaking all down his face. “Mmm- again, sweetheart.” Gojo whispers, feeling the mess start to trickle down his chin. “C’mon- Satoru needs to hear you say his name when you cum.”
“Satoruuuuu—oh.” You’re gasping. “But you’re not winning before I do-”
He’s immediately reaching for your throat with a vicious thrust of his hips.
You’re relaxing that muscle there so that he can delve deeper into your velvety cavern- the tresses of his veins scrapin’ against the roof of your mouth. Breathing through your nose as you have to win this. You fucking have to. It’s the competitiveness that’s getting to the both of you—and you’re moving in a fucking frenzy.
A stalemate.
Every zap of electricity, both of you reciprocate it twofold.
With your thighs wrapped around his head, with Gojo’s cock shoved down your throat. And the two of you move in synchronous tandem - you with the rapid bobs of your head, slobberin’ all down his plump inches—and him eatin’ away like a ravenous fucking wolf between your legs. The both of you were starved.
But you have to realize…that a draw just isn’t enough for Gojo Satoru.
Because Gojo Satoru was a competitive motherfucker.
And without warning; he swipes three slick-buttered fingers ‘round the orifice of your cunt. ‘Round and ‘round a few times. Before he’s then letting them sliiiiiiiip in—he replaces his tongue with those long fingers of his that just manage to stretch you out so right.
You’re removing yourself from Gojo’s cock with a lecherous pop! Just to gasp n’ moan away as Gojo opens you up using his fingers.
“How about it now?” Gojo coos. He elongates his words- and something about it just makes your limbs twitch—as he’s probin’ inside in loooooong yearning thrusts with his seemingly never-ending digits. Again and again. “How about you say- ngh- ‘Satoru you’re the best~’ and maybe I’ll go easy on you when I win?”
Gojo mocks your voice by pitching it about a zillion octaves higher and making himself sound ridiculously flirty.
You scoff, embarrassment sizzling across your skin. “You fuckin’ wish.”
“Now, that’s not very nice~”
And he wasn’t going to play easy. He reaches his fingers back- then slams! them down all the way till the knuckles. The curvaceous tops of his digits were slightly thicker than the rest of him—so he’s able to drive apart your sticky walls n’ stick himself into every hidden spot and crevice.
He was filling you up sooooooo good - “Oh p-please…” Tears drizzle down your cheeks. “That feels so good-”
“That’s not what I wanted you to say…” Gojo had amusement laced into his every syllable. “C’mon- tell your Satoru that he’s the best.”
“S-Satoru—” No—you can’t give up so easily. And lazily…you’re instead slobberin’ down his thick, vein-covered shaft instead. You can’t even take him in by now, because you were too afraid a sudden graze of Gojo’s fingers along your tender spots would leave you scramblin’ for air.
Speaking of tender spots…
“Y’know I’m real close to the goal.” Gojo trundles. Those long lashes of his flap, as though innocently. “Real close. I could just…”
“O-ohhhh, fuck-” All three of those fingers are slippin’ around your g-spot - you get the impression that he was missing it on purpose, and it made you nervous over just what he might have planned next. Fuck he was massaging the softest areas of your cunt’s channel. “You’re bluffing.”
“By how much wetter you’re getting…” He smirks. “-I think the fuck not. C’mooooon the world’s strongest striker is eatin’ your pussy out, and you can’t even be nice?”
“N-no-”
“I sure can be.” The area of Gojo’s knuckles were practically gluuuued like adhesive to your cunt’s folds. His other hand lifts off of your hips- starting to knead your swollen nub—you’re starting to see stars as Gojo toys with your clit. “But only if you admit m’the best. C’mon, tell me I’m the best- tell me…and I miiiiiight just go a little easier on you.”
“S-Satoru…” It’s inevitable - between the constant probing, the suckling ‘round wherever he could reach, the targeting of your clit - that you’re about to reach your high. It’s simmering right underneath your skin. “Oh no-”
“Oh yes.” Gojo’s eyes glimmer with delight. “Close, huh? And what do you have to say—?”
“Satoru—” You knew that you’d have to do this if you wanted a satisfactory orgasm- Gojo would’ve gladly left you high and dry just to prove a point. “Y-you’re the best…”
The words feel sickeningly sweet leaving your tongue.
But just as soon as they’re rollin’ off- Gojo probes deeply into your g-spot. Hitting that exact area of nerves dead-on. And your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave - it’s burning hot and feels more blissful than anything you’ve ever felt before. Anything.
You hate to admit it, but you’re seeing stars as you cum on Gojo’s tongue.
And he has the audacity to giggle- giggle, pussydrunkenly. “Mmm, you think I’m the best, sweetheart?”
“Yeah…” You breathe. “When you shut up.”
Immediately, you’re pushing back into Gojo’s mouth - shutting him up. His mouth drops open for you on instinct. His cock’s floooooding silver, satiny spurts of precum at the mere act of being used—your walls fluttering around his tongue. Sucking him up.
Gojo’s eyes roll to the back of his head. “G-goal…”
Your jaw drops.
His fingers are tunnelin’ straight to your g-spot during every peak of your high - those twinges of extra pleasure that he’s managing to prolong using his fingers, his mouth, his other set of digits kneading your pulsing clit. And what’s driving you even further past that tipping point is the way that Gojo whispers ‘goal, goal, goal, goal’ every time he strikes your g-spot.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
Goal.
There’s no use trying to make him cum soon afterwards—you’re too drunk on your pleasure, and Gojo’s attempting to squeeze his thighs together to keep himself from cumming. Once your clit’s properly massaged, he uses that hand to squeeze his thickened hilt and prevent anymore beads of pearly-white from leaking.
Fucking unfair.
By the time you’ve ridden through your high - you’re well and fully wrung out. Struggling to catch your breath. Struggling to stop your limbs from shaking- sensitively.
He’s left you oh-so-sensitive.
Gojo Satoru hadn’t even had to fucking try to overstimulate you—he’s just that good with his fingers. He’s just so flexible with his tongue. He’s just so-
“Is this some sort of subliminal? Why are you whispering those to my cunt?” You ask him. And it’s with a final squelch! - and Gojo whispering for a goal once his fingers detach from your g-spot - that you’re managing to untangle yourself from his ravenous mouth.
Though it wasn’t for a lack of trying from his part—Gojo chases after your drippin’ wet pussy like a bee chasing his beehive. Were you the Queen or were you the honey? He’s having a hard time deciding, as Gojo finally sits up on the bed- dazedly.
“Woah-” Now sitting opposite him, you steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay there, Satoru?”
His cock twitches. For both your dignities, you pretend you don’t see that.
“You’re fucking asking me if I’m okay—?”
Using that same helping hand you’d lent him- Gojo flips your positions around so that now your back’s facing the creaky hotel headboard. And then you’re both shuffling down the mattress, so that you’re being bent into-
“A mating press.” Gojo grins. His eyes twinkle with something so…dark. “Since I won our little bet, I choose the mating press- oh, and that’s not all.”
To your astoundment, Gojo suddenly stands up and flounces off the bed. He scans for something on the floor- “Give the great Gojo Satoru one second.” And then saunters up to your open suitcases of clothes as though they were his—it doesn’t take long for Gojo to find what he’d been looking for.
And you’re feeling embarrassment curdled with something akin to an unfamiliar shyness start to rise in your chest. Because in Gojo Satoru’s hands…was his own jersey.
“You had Geto’s jersey.” He smirks. “I knew you must’ve had mine in there somewhere, too.”
“Someone should teach you not to go through others’ things.” You huff, crossing your arms.
“Oh, my apologies.” Gojo says, sounding utterly unapologetic. “How about I make it up to you? Arms up, baby.”
And, well, a bet is a bet.
You’re raising your arms and letting Gojo take off the rest of your clothes. Before you know it, the Gojo 66 jersey on you—one you’d never even admitted to Shoko that you’d bought. In your defense, it was a buy-one-get-one-free deal that they’d been doing for the FIFA World Cup- but you doubt that Gojo would be open to hearing about your transaction history right now.
Not when he’s admiring the look of his name - his last name - emblazoned against your back. The look of his team’s colors rising and falling with every deep breath.
Your hardened nipples looked so pretty against the athletic fabric that he can’t help but reach out and pinch—
“Change of plans.” Gojo grunts- breathless, as if he hadn’t planned to say this. “We’re doing it doggy style so I can look at my name across your back while I hit it from behind.”
You grumble but you’re changing positions anyway. “Ever heard of the story of Narcissus, Satoru?”
“Are you the river because you’re so wet, or…?”
“No, don’t worry- that dried me up enough.”
He temporarily shoves a knee between your legs. “Lies.” Smirking.
You’re on all fours now. And Gojo shrugs off whatever else is left of his garments- and his rock-hard abs press into your back from behind, practically gluuuued skin-to-skin. A line of goosebumps shoot up your spine at the sudden feeling of him pressing into you—and Gojo takes the opportunity to lean down and kiss up your back.
All the way sloppily to your shoulders.
Your neck.
“Mmmm—and this is my win, isn’t it?” He rasps against your skin- there’s a…slightly crazed tone in Gojo’s voice that you’d never heard before. You shiver. You nod. “Mhm- then this is going to be how a winner fucks, sweetheart.”
In the time that you’d been distracted by Gojo’s incredible body, his ruby-reddened cock had slipped between your legs. There, Gojo had been keeping his length cushioned by your pretty, pretty legs.
Only now was he lettin’ his drivelling tip sliiiiiiide down your slit- giving you an experimental stretch along your first rim. “And yer wearing my name, aren’t you~?” It makes him fucking blush - out of everything…this is what breaks him - to see Gojo 66 and the blue jersey against your skin. You can’t help but nod again. “Then you’re doing to- fucking- take it- like a winner, sweetheart.”
Between each word, Gojo pauses to give a thorough slashing of his thickened cock.
He’s not even fitting in all the way at first- just the globular tip.
Just that decadent girth; where his shaft had flared out massively - all blushing red and plastered in precum - and then honing out into a perfect point to just dive right into you. Gojo’s length also had a slight curve reaching towards the top of your cunt—and he was built oh-so-perfectly to itch at your sweetest spots inside.
Not that you were going to admit it, of course.
“Cock got your-”
“You already used that line, Satoru.” You’re grumbling- though it’s a proper task to keep your voice steady in front of him. To pretend you’re not as affected as you really are.
And Gojo notices. Of course, Gojo Satoru notices. “Y’know…you might not be honest.” He titters in your ear. And then he’s shovellin’ in a few more thick inches—you’re feeling the near-spherical end of his shaft slip inside without too much resistance. You just wanted him so badly. “But this pretty cunt sure is. And what do you think she has to say about me?”
“I-I don’t need to—”
“She’s saying…”
Gojo trails off. Though not without reason.
Almost that very instant, he’s un-velcroing his chiselled abs from your back. A soft whimper leaves your lips as you’re startin’ to miss him already. Already.
But Gojo’s merely pattin’ at your utterly stuffed pussy. You only had a few inches of him pushed inside and throbbing inside you, but your cunt still struggles to take him. “Needy girl. Be patient for a fuckin’ minute- sheesh.”
And then he’s tugging at your jersey.
You’re looking up in confusion.
Then he’s pulling at your jersey—
And only too-late are you realizing that Gojo has that hem of your - his - football jersey bunched up. Using just a single one of his hands, he’s twistin’ his fingers around the velveteen fabric and trapping you right along with it—then he’s dragging you- just by the hold he has on your jersey. He falls back on his haunches.
And he’s taking you right along with him.
Now you’ve got your arms lifted off the bed- in a praying position…except Gojo’s fat cock was drilling into you from behind. With your ass cheeks against his pap-pap-papping hips, with his thick meaty thighs kneading into yours.
His hips are pushing and pushing and pushing—wielding his cock into yours so deeply, so furiously, that it’s as if the man’s entire body has been set alight.
Raw desire runs through his veins instead of blood- and Gojo’s letting out such an animalistic growl- “S’my fuckin’ name on you…”
His mouth waters- waters at the mere notion.
Shit, what an effect you had on him. Maybe all that adrenaline during interviews was…
Gojo’s never felt so utterly drunk than he was in this very moment—pussydrunk. Like the most intense of alcoholics chase their vise, he’s chasin’ the back of your gooey cunt. Every thrust manages to scrape his pumping veins against that snug channel of yours, every thrust manages to push him a little deeper than he already was. What a wonder he’s managed to fit in the first place.
You were just so fucking tight and heavenly that it’s as though you were sucking Gojo’s sanity - and soul - right out of him.
“My fucking name.” He repeats. Breathless. Gojo thwacks! his extremely tight balls against the front slit of your cunt. More beads of syrupy slick end up leaking out of you—n’ they’re pouring down Gojo’s vast shaft. “My fucking number on you.”
“Sh-shiiiiit—” You’re clawing for a lifeline: anything. Your only hope is to bend your arms behind your head- and start clawin’ at Gojo’s own sweaty scalp instead.
As he rams in again and again and again—your poor ass cheeks were stinging.
Gojo’s almost all the way bottomed-out now. It makes your back arch, and your throat bubble over with moans instead of answers. “Fuck-”
The audacity that he has…no one but Gojo Satoru could have. He’s mocking your moans- “Satoru, fuck~” Before rolling those azure eyes of his and emptyin’ every inch of himself into the back of your pussy. “Yeah, yeah- fucking you is exactly what I’m—oh.”
Oh, was right.
It was exactly right.
Because just then Gojo finally - finally - bottoms out. He’s gotten all of his inches happily trapped between your gorgeous legs.
And it’s not just that.
Just then Gojo’s breath hitches.
Just then Gojo thinks he can’t breathe- his entire upper half collapses on top of yours—and you’re being pushed back into a regular, sloppy doggy position. Gojo’s letting shivers run amok across his skin, Gojo’s letting his handsome features twist into something of pure euphoria as he bottoms out- how can it feel this good?
This fucking good?
And in the time it’d taken the self-proclaimed world’s best striker to shatter on your pussy- you’d gathered yourself up.
At least to the point where you can look at Gojo over your shoulder and smirk. “Pussy got your tongue, Satoru?”
He frowns. “Har har—very fun- fuck, don’t squeeze me like that.” Gojo’s eyes flutter shut- on the edges of his lashes, you think you’re seeing tears. “I th-think I might cum.”
“Just that from a winner?” You’re tutting. “I thought you were the strongest, Satoru.”
“I-I am-”
“Then wouldn’t the strongest also have incredible stamina?” You’re looking at him—Gojo’s peripherals are glazed-over with a thick layer of lust. His hair was a mess. His lips were kiss-bitten. There’s a sort of unleashed hunger within him that makes you wish for him to ravage you…You pout. “And here I was hoping we could go- all night.”
He shivers at the words - cock pulsating deep inside you.
But you’re not done just yet. “But ah…I suppose if you can’t, then maybe Get-”
You don’t get to finish your sentence - not even your thought - before Gojo’s hips are pinning yours down. His upper half is cushioned against you. His bodyweight fully keeps you delightfully trapped- as Gojo’s starting to fuck you like an animal.
He pushes you into the mattress.
He fucks you into the mattress.
His thrusts deeeeeep and loooooong—all the way from the slick-embellished top of his shaft, and then down, down, down until you’re feeling your cunt struggling around his incredibly thick base. The scruff of Gojo’s white pubic hair pushed n’ pulled against your pussylips-
Grinding.
And before you could even register the different sensation, Gojo already has one of his hands looped underneath you. The calloused tips of his fingers are instantly finding your clit, like magnets find one another, and he’s teasin’ that sweet nub. Again and again—tuggin’. “I c-can’t believe…” Gojo chokes out eventually.
“What was that?” You’re asking with a pointed clench of your sopping wet lips.
And the man above you instantly shudders. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, girl.” He somewhat snaps- but rather than irritation it’s simply pure need in his words. Gojo pinches your clit. “It doesn’t matter h-hoooooow many times you clench- or just hooooow pussydrunk you’re getting me…”
You’re keening as he swabs your g-spot several times.
“But I- won’t- forget- whose- jersey- is on- you—” Gojo says between thrusts.
Every one of his movements was getting more n’ more erratic by the second- sweat drenched every part of him, and a curtain of his white hair obscured those laser-blue eyes. Locked in on his target: you.
Gojo’s touch is searing as he’s pinching your clit once again—“But just in case this pussy does- heh, get too rowdy…how about you remind me?” Your eyes are jerking open at his words. What does he…“Because it feels fucking gooood wearing the winner’s jersey as he fucks you, huh? Huh?”
Your lips quiver. Pressure was building at the pit of your stomach. “Y-yes…”
“Oh yeah? What does it say, then?” The team captain whispers. He’s using his dexterous fingers to twist your too-sensitive nub, and you’re whimpering.
“Fuck-”
“I already told you before- oh. M’already fucking you.” Gojo’s mirthful grin spreads across his face. He had that pussydrunken look about him as his hips accelerated. Even more. “But that’s not the- hah, question. What number is it?”
“S-six six…” You’re letting out in a defeated gust of air.
“Mmmm, good girl.” Maybe because you’re being such a good girl - Gojo takes the time to lazily and lethargically draaaaaaag his vein-covered cock wherever he felt like you were the most delicate. His zig-zagging patterns were getting outlined deep, deep inside you—and you’re shivering as he inches close to your g-spot. “And what name?”
He can’t stop himself from nudgin’ himself just a little closer and puuuushing down hard and thoroughly on that nerve-covered spot. “O-ohhhhh, fuck, there-”
Gojo’s face contorts - his brows furrow, his jaw drops. “Tell me the fucking name, sweetheart~”
“Gojo Satoru.” Barely even audible.
He leans in with an exaggerated smirk. “What was thaaaat?”
“Gojo Satoru- fuck.”
“And how many goals did I score today, Miss Reporter?”
You’re clawing at the pillows by now. “Th-three—!”
“Oh yeah?” Gojo hums. “M’gonna double it tonight.”
You don’t need to wait too long to find out exactly what Gojo meant- because in mere split-seconds, he’s reeling his hips baaaaack and snappin’ them. Once from the very blushin’ tip-top and down to the hilt. “Goal.” He whispers as he grazes past your g-spot - activating the white-hot pleasure from your cunt to your brain - and striking his target of your cervix. “H-heh.”
“Yellow card for being such a dick.” You whisper.
“Oh, but you love a winner’s dick.” He counters. And it’s barely three seconds later that you’re feeling another forcefield of carnal vibrations that set your teeth on edge—“Oh- and goal.”
Saliva puddles on the pillow in front of you. The hotel headboard has your nail marks on it- dammit.
Gojo repeats- faster this time. “Goal- oh, look at that…a hatrick.” His voice is on the verge of shattering- “Can we make that double hatricks?”
“O-oh my god, Satoru-”
“It’s captain.”
And then he’s pumping out those final few thrusts—hands a blur upon your throbbin’ clit, hips a blur between your legs. That jersey bearing Gojo’s name was drenched in sweat and stuck to you like a second skin- “Goal.” It’s radiating the heat that your body was giving off. “Goal.”
It’s displaying that number and that name so proudly. So fucking proudly.
And for that last and final score of his—Gojo’s bending down until he’s able to press his mouth against the area between where your shoulderblades should be. He kisses that spot. He licks his name on your skin. “Goal.”
And it’s inevitable that you’re crashing into your high as one.
Gojo holds you closely as incredible bursts of pleasure make your cunt convulse- you’re practically keeping him glued to your walls. It just felt too good to let him go, even if it was just to fuck you through your high. And it’s by pushing past that little resistance that Gojo’s managing to probe his rounded tip into you- to press those invisible buttons of yours that prolong your high.
More and more and more. This was an orgasm even better than your last one- and you hadn’t even known that’d be possible (not to boost Gojo’s ego).
Counting underneath his breath, he times the exact moment of your euphoria peaking—and then he’s bangin’ his rock-hard tip right on time. Bruising the back of your pussy.
White-hot pleasure was sizzlin’ just beneath your skin every time he did—and you felt as though your heart was beating too fast for you to keep up with. It’s a pounding drum in your ears, your chest…and your pussy.
Wrapped so vehemently ‘round Gojo’s own twitching cock.
He was pumping out wad after wad of looooong white cum that sticks to the inner lining of your pussy. Groaning. Grinding. Pleasure was tingling at the tips of his fingers, and all around him- soon enough you’re feeling a few tears of bliss splatter down your back. “You’re…” You just barely manage to breathe.
Gojo humps your behind like an animal- just shaking at the sheer force of his high. Gojo hums as he collects the droplets on the tip of his cock, and starts fucking it into your deepest depths- inside. Inside and inside.
It was just so warm and gummy inside you. Spreading. Seeping.
Overspilling.
There wasn’t to be a single ounce wasted.
Gojo’s fingers alternate between rolling over your clit n’ helping push the excess amount of cum frothing around your entrance back inside. Some of it was currently forming a ring around his hilt, and he’s swiping it away using his thumb—popping it inside his mouth. “N-not bad for a guy you hate, huh~?”
Your eyes are shooting open. “Hate?” You frown. “I’ve never hated you, Satoru.”
And that makes the smile slip off his face. “Huh? But I always thought…you always asked me those probing questions and-”
“Satoru, that’s because I’m interested in you…as a player. Of course.” You’re admitting somewhat shyly. The two of you were past your orgasms by this point, and Gojo had taken to spooning you from behind whilst his cock was still inside. “I thought you hated me-”
“Me?” Gojo gapes. “When have I ever hated you? I flirt with you all the fucking time-”
“You flirt with everyone.” You huff. “But it’s just…that time after you’d gotten your offer for the national team. I don’t know if you remember, but it was my first interview then and-”
“Of course I remember.” He interjects.
Something warms in your chest. “But then- why didn’t you show up?”
“Pardon?”
“You promised you’d do your first interview with me- and I promised you’d be the first athlete I interviewed.” There’s a sadness in your tone - not overwhelming, just missing what might have been. “I waited and waited for you, but you never showed up.”
“You waited for me?” Gojo gasps.
“Yeah? I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the field-”
“I didn’t want to bother you too much, so I went to meet you at the media room.”
You stare at Gojo. Gojo stares right back.
You sort of want to laugh- no wait, you’re laughing.
And he’s following right after. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”
“Mhmmm, but first how about you pull out, Satoru?”
“Aw, man.”
“And then next I’ll let you put the black card in my mouth while you fuck me.”
“Fuck yeah.”
.
.
.
Eight years ago.
“Are you new here?”
Gojo startles.
The Japan Football Association (JFA) had a meeting room…as Gojo Satoru supposes that all football headquarters do.
He wouldn’t know.
But outside was the waiting room.
He also wouldn’t know whether other places had such purgatories- but then again, he digresses.
It was a hallway with two rows of chairs pushed against either side of it—gleaming plastic chairs that sat emptily - and strangely ominously - before photographs of some of the JFA’s most famous recruits. Gojo felt a strange sense of pride and fear soar up in him as the only chair occupied—perhaps mirror images of all the great players that had sat in them years prior.
Well, as the second chair occupied.
So focused on reciting his name, his age, and his position to himself - things that should come as naturally to him as breathing, now strangely so foreign in this stuffy waiting room - he hadn’t noticed you until you actually spoke to him. Which…you must forgive him.
Everything tends to slip Gojo Satoru’s mind when he thinks of football: people, places, eating and sleeping.
And yet…with your soft call- he turns to you. There’s an instantaneous and mad urge for Gojo to flash his best, most flirtatious smile that’d gotten him voted as Most Handsome Boy for every year of elementary school and middle school. And yet, the memories of high school come rushing to him unbidden—and Gojo’s suddenly tampering it down.
Expressionless. “Yes?”
“Don’t do that.” You huff. You looked about his age- and by the uniform you were wearing, it didn’t seem that you were another recruit. He wonders what you were doing in such a place. “That smile of yours is so pretty- did you know that you have a dimple?”
“I…” Gojo watches as you point at the edge of your left lip. He reaches a hand up to feel for that very spot, softly smiling—just for the experiment. “Oh- I suppose I do.”
You shrug. “Win ‘em over with that smile, I tell you. You’re Gojo Satoru—the youngest recruit for the team, aren’t you?”
He feels his heartbeat pick up. “I don’t know…I hope so.”
“Tch- don’t be silly.” And it shocked Gojo just how casually you’d waved away his uncertainties - as though they were mere annoyances, like easy-to-catch mosquitoes, and not blood-thirst buzzards. “The interview’s basically a formality. The entire building’s talking about you. Gojo Satoru: the youngest recruit in Japanese football history, the football prodigy from a small town in Hokkaido, the new generation of Japanese football.”
The more you spoke, the more Gojo’s eyes widened. The more he held his breath.
“You’re like the Luffy of football right now, man.” You smile. “Have some more confidence- you’re Gojo Satoru.”
At the time, he hadn’t known how to respond to that. So he’d simply asked—“And are you…”
“Not a player.” Turning to the chair on your other side, you pulled out a notebook and a pen, an audio recorder, and a camera. “I’m an intern for the sports reporting department- it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do when I was young.” And he watched in something he’d later come to recognize as awe as you stared at the photographs of players in much the same way he did. “All those photographs? All those articles? It’s because of reporters—and if I can’t play on the field, maybe I can write the field’s stories, y’know?”
You sigh.
And he simply keeps on staring like a buffoon.
“Everything that happens on that field is a tale to be told.” And as Gojo’s awkward silence stretches, your smile turns sheepish. “Or- something like that…I don’t know it’s just-”
“Don’t do that.” He interrupts. This time, there’s a faint smile on his lips—and you could see the dimples. “Be confident, erm…”
You share your name.
He repeats it like a winning scorecard, a legendary play, maybe a last-minute unexpected goal. Extremely unexpected.
And from inside the meeting room, there’s a call of his name. Gojo’s jerking up to his lanky feet and looking at you- you shoot him two thumbs up. He nods.
He turns.
And he’s just about to enter through those doors that could very well change his life—
But, Gojo Satoru turns back.
He looks at you and flashes you that too-handsome smile. The first sight of it seems to shock you. “How about if- when I get back you can be the reporter to get the first-ever exclusive interview with the Gojo Satoru~?”
You blink. “I’d like that.” Surprise melting from your expression and letting you smile. “I’d really, really like that—oh, shit, I should get my good camera for the photos- good luck—!”
And with your cheerful tone echoing down the hallway, Gojo huffs out a chuckle. He’s almost at the meeting room door when he realizes that he hadn’t exactly gotten a time and place for this interview - and who knows how long this meeting will last - but when he’s looking back you’re already disappeared.
Ah, that’s fine. He supposes.
He’ll find you anyway.
.
.
.
Gojo Satoru’s first-ever professional interview was alongside Coach Yaga with some veteran reporter he now can’t remember the name of.
Your first-ever professional interview as a sports reporter was with the long-retired striker, Gakuganji, who’d taken time out of his busy electric guitar shredding schedule.
The two of you shouldn’t have drifted apart.
But then again, the two of you shouldn’t have found each other either. We are all parallel lines of the same football field; untouching and unceasing—not unless there’s bound to be a—goal
Gojo Satoru was face-to-face with the goal.
He takes a deep breath.
He points.
He kicks.
He scores.
There’s a second of silence before anything happens - like the brief yet somehow deafening pause before a rocket takes off. And just as loudly—the cheers of fans, Japanese and non-Japanese supporters alike, erupt raucously until the very frame of the stadium seems to rattle itself. They were crying. They were jumping. They were cheering themselves hoarse, because—
“Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! For the first time in history, Japan has just won the FIFA World Cup! Gojo Satoru has done it again—!”
1-2 to Japan.
To say that the match had been close would be the understatement of the century; but you suppose you’ll write all about it in some exclusive article. Later.
Right now, your gaze was fixated on the flashes of white n’ blue barely discernible through the explosion of confetti. As what seemed like hundreds of members of the audience break through the bars and run to the embracing team, there’s only one that’s untangling himself free from the embrace and running straight—to you.
You’re in Gojo’s strong, sweaty arms before you even know what’s happening.
“And is that Gojo—?! Our MVP Gojo is breaking free from his team- running to the lovely lady, eh? All because of that bet. And here we have more celebrations from—”
His face pushed into the crook of your neck, and his chest hammering against yours- “We did it.” Gojo pants - and you’re vaguely aware of Shoko zooming in on the scene with a cackle. “We did it, sweetheart.”
You’re pulling back slightly from him and smiling. “I always knew you could.”
He kisses you and he’s never meant anything more.
A/N. WHERE’S MY GOJOOOOOOOO?? Anyways ugh I’d been SOBBING during Modrić’s final match.
synopsis: maybe you should've given it a second thought before accepting your best friend's offer to be your sperm donor - especially when it's obvious he'd rather be the baby daddy! is your relationship really platonic? or will years of gojo's pining finally get him the girl of his dreams?
pairing: best friend!gojo x f!reader
wc: 9.2k
content: mdni, FLUFF AND SMUT!!!, some light angst, mutual pining, but reader's lowk in denial, childhood friends to lovers, he fell first and harder lmfao, gojo is the best sperm donor and dad, very much planned pregnancy, gojo is so in love, lots of comfort, touchy/clingy-ness, lowk codependence, kissing, confessions, HEAVY LACTATION KINK, nipple play, gojo is THIRSTY ok, unprotected piv sex, creampie, happy ending
a/n: commission for the incredibly lovely @cantarcantar hehe :3 the art is by @1amglow !!
“You want a what?”
“A baby,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders and shoving another piece of cake in your mouth as if you told him you wanted a designer bag for your birthday. Innocently blinking, head tilting to the side as the fuzzy crown he bought for you started to slip from where it was hastily placed on your hair. The 3 and 0 candles still left on the corner of your plate, the burnt ends sitting there and reminding him that you were already moving onto another stage of life without looking back to see if he was chasing you.
But Satoru Gojo had spent so fucking long trying to fit into whatever space was left for him that he wasn’t sure what he’d be without you.
From the first moment he met you, back when your family had been hired at his clan’s estate and you became his built-in playmate, your face scrunched up with indignity at your circumstances before you begrudgingly shoved your hand out to shake his, all he had wanted to hold onto you and never let go.
“Like, um, a real one?” He stupidly asked, throat constricting as he watched you clean the fork with your tongue slowly. Considerately. Taking your time to think about what he was asking, what this conversation actually meant, while his brain was thinking filthy things about your glossy lips, what your eyes might look like glazed over, how good your hair probably would smell if he buried his face in it.
“Mhm,” you eventually hummed, pulling the fork out of your mouth and plopping it down on your plate. Glancing back over your shoulder for a quick second, looking at the birthday decorations he’d spent two hours setting up before you showed up at his penthouse, the banners and the balloons and the glittery streamers that were probably way over-the-top for takeout and cake for just the two of you. Smiling a little to yourself as your head turned to him, tilting a little as your eyes locked onto his. “Do you think I'd be a good mom?”
“The best,” he honestly answered, as if in his fantasies, he wasn't already imagining he was the father.
“I was thinking of getting a sperm donor,” you casually added, clearly something you'd been toying around with for a while.
Two words, and a terrible idea blossomed in the back of his brain – and exited his mouth before he could shut the hell up for once.
“Why not just use mine?”
Your mouth fell open. His did too.
Watching you slowly blink, eyes slowly narrowing into a squint as he panicked and pushed out some frantic explanation, holding his hands up as he tried to make it sound somehow less creepy, “Look, you just never know if the guy you pick already has like, fifty other kids, and what if your baby meets one of them and doesn’t know that they’re siblings and-”
“You don’t want me to use a sperm donor because you think my hypothetical kid might accidentally fuck their sibling?”
Okay, wow, that was worse.
“I’m just saying you wouldn’t have to worry about that sort of stuff with me,” he continued, choking on the lump in his throat before clearing his throat. “You already know I have great genes.”
And like he wasn’t already shooting himself in the foot just by speaking, he flexed his bicep with a stupid grin on his face, t-shirt straining against his muscles just for you to roll your eyes at him.
“You’re twenty-eight,” you bluntly said, as if he had ever given a shit about being younger than you before.
If he was the same age, would you see him differently?
He had asked himself that too many times to count. Enough that the hurt that it came with had seeped into his bones and started to live there. Weighing him down as he wondered how you would treat him if he met you later, when you were both older, somewhere neutral.
Would you want him the way he wanted you?
“And?” He whined, pouting as you resisted the urge to shut him down harder. “Doesn’t that mean I have, like, even better sperm?”
“Satoru, you’re gonna meet some gorgeous girl and get married, and then it’s just going to be weird if-” You started, shaking your head dismissively.
“I’m not,” Satoru cut you off before you could finish coming up with weak excuses, like he’d ever met anyone he thought was half as gorgeous as you.
You made that cute little face you always did when you wanted to argue with him but couldn’t come up with anything that would make him agree with you.
“You don’t know that,” you said after a few short moments, leaning in closer, oblivious that the next whiff of your perfume was enough to make him lose what little reason he had left.
“What if I pinky promise?”
“That you’ll never have kids with anyone else?” You gawked at him, face scrunching up in confusion. “That’s literally ridiculous. You know I’d never ask you to-”
“I was going to get a vasectomy in a couple years anyway,” he lied in a panic, shrugging his shoulders as if he didn’t really care when he had literally never cared more about the simple notion of some stranger’s sperm winning out over his.
“You never mentioned that,” you quietly pouted back, like you were a little upset at the idea he never brought it up. But at least you believed it.
“If I was even ever going to have one,” He paused, dragging his chair closer to the table to stretch over it and wipe some icing stuck to the corner of your mouth, dredging up something he knew without a doubt was the truth to make up for his bullshit. “I’d want it to be with you anyway.”
You stared at him, his fingers still grazing against your mouth before he dropped his hand and reclined back in his chair, as if there was even a scrap of his cool left to recover. Shrugging his shoulders as he scrambled for something to say before you could call him an idiot for even suggesting something like that.
“I could even pay for it,” he grinned like this was some grand gesture instead of him desperately clinging onto this chance. He didn't like to just throw money at problems – but he'd throw his entire dignity in the trash can if it meant when you were waddling around pregnant in six months, that it would be his baby you were carrying. “What else are best friends for?”
Personally, he’d prefer to add father of your child (and future husband) to his resume, but he was used to accepting whatever you offered.
“Satoru,” you said his name slowly, sounding out the syllables so he could hear the hint of scolding in them. But you didn't dismiss him.
He smiled at you, and it was just as easy as it had always been. Comfortable. Cozy.
“It's not a big deal,” Satoru shrugged. “I want what you want.”
Even if it meant pulling down his pants and jerking off in a cup a few weeks later after you admitted that maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible to have the hottest guy you knew contribute his sperm to create the cutest child ever – not that you worded it exactly like that. He guessed his promise of paying all the bills may have also helped sway your decision.
The whole thing was sorta scary, waiting and hoping for updates from there about egg retrieval and embryo viability, feeling like a loser checking his phone two hundred times a day when he wasn’t with you and showing up at your place with meals, trying to pick out foods that were good for someone doing IVF.
You always let him in, even if you hummed and huffed that he didn’t have to do it.
Satoru clung to claiming that he just wanted to be supportive.
Carrying you back to your bed after you crashed on the couch, tucking you under the blankets and cleaning up the dinner, stuffing the styrofoam boxes down in the trash can while he cursed himself for not just coming clean about his feelings fifteen fucking years ago.
Sometimes he wasn’t sure you even saw him as a man. Didn’t realize he wasn’t the awkward, lanky preteen or scrawny kid he used to be despite the fact he’d been taller than you for over half your lives now.
You didn’t even blink when you woke up to him sleeping with no shirt on your couch, the blanket deliberately draped at his hips to show off his sculpted abs, just yawning and walking past him, already showered and fully dressed, applying lip gloss as you scrolled on your phone.
“Just lock the door after you leave,” you hummed, dropping your phone back in your purse and picking up your shoes before returning back to the couch to sit on top of his calves so you could slip them on.
A few years ago, he might have pretended to groan, to tease you for being on him, but now he just felt utterly hopeless at how hard he was savoring the connection, the weight of you on him even when it was totally platonic. Blinking sleepily and staring at your side profile as you bent over to slide your shoes on, preemptively picturing where you both might be in nine months. Would he be helping you get them on then? Putting his hand on your stomach and feeling his baby kick underneath your skin?
“Where are you going?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes before he propped himself up on his elbows.
“Today’s the day,” you casually said, and after a painfully long pause, it clicked.
“Like, the day?” He gawked, adrenaline overwriting the exhaustion at the thought that you could be coming back home with his babies implanted inside you.
“We don’t know if it will take,” you muttered. The cocky half of him wanted to remind you that the doctors had said that his sperm was high quality, tempted to turn it into a joke and break the tension, make some childish offer. But he held it in, reached out to brush his fingers against your arm.
“How many are they implanting?” He asked, tracing a faint little heart over your skin you didn’t seem to notice.
“Just one,” you answered with a little sigh, biting your lip to hide the hint of a smile curling up and betraying the hint of excitement under the surface you were trying not to feel. “A girl.”
And then you were standing back up, readjusting your purse over your shoulder as you searched it for your keys, despite the fact they were sitting on your kitchen counter instead.
“Can I come?” He asked, wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks as you puckered your lips together, shuffling on your feet. Was it so fucking wrong to want to be in the room at least when he got you pregnant?
“It’s not like-”
“I could drive you,” Satoru offered, hyperaware of how hopelessly desperate his own voice sounded. “I have the day off anyway.”
He didn’t, but he’d call out sick if he had to, fake a coughing fit and convince Ijichi to push back all his meetings or come in at absurd hours to catch up on stuff if he had to.
Satoru didn’t want to miss a single appointment. Didn’t want to let you do it alone – no matter how strong he knew you were. You never needed him. But he needed you.
Craved being the guy you depended on. Trusted to help take care of you.
You glanced back at him, tilting your head to the side with that cute little sigh of yours you always made right before you caved in.
“Fine.”ᘏ⑅ᘏ
“Do you think she’ll like it?”
For a man who was only supposed to be a sperm donor, Satoru Gojo was acting far more like a father.
Your best friend standing outside your front door with shopping bags of baby stuff, stumbling through your threshold with that stupidly charming cheeky smile. And when he realized he was about to be scolded, he started dramatically sniffing the air as he peeked past you to see what you were cooking, eagerly changing the subject before you could comment on what he brought, “Whatcha making?”
“How many different outfits do you think she needs?” You rolled your eyes as you eyed him suspiciously, sighing as you shut the door behind him. Satoru just laughed, already piling up everything on your coffee table as you self-consciously tried to pull down your t-shirt from where it was sticking to the swell of your stomach, threatening to ride up and show off your growing baby bump. Only five months in and barely fitting into any of your old stuff anymore, despite how many prenatal yoga classes you attended or midnight cravings you ignored.
He looked as perfect as he always did. White hair tousled and the sleeves of his button-up rolled up on his forearms, veins sticking out as he glanced up at you with those irritatingly sparkly blue eyes. God, you couldn’t remember a single time you’d seen him look bad.
Even when you were younger, you couldn't escape the effect he seemed to have on everyone else. It didn't help that your family worked for his, that you got a front row seat to watch him get everything he ever wanted. Hyper aware of all the differences in his life than yours, what world he'd been born into that you just happened to occupy. Only able to stare from the sidelines, the bottom row of the bleachers, pointedly aware that he occupied a certain position above everyone else.
You’d grown up glaring as your other friends fawned over him, strangers approaching him in public to shove their numbers at him or shyly flirt while he smiled at the affection he was showered with. It wasn’t his fault. You didn’t even hold it against him, not when over time, you’d found yourself increasingly, um, fond of him.
But you couldn’t just ignore who he was when it trickled down to every aspect of your own life.
All the guys you started seeing never lasted long.
Either assholes who cheated on you or dickheads who dumped you, both always citing how little they could stand Satoru, just insecure, you supposed, unable to tolerate your best friend and his sometimes annoying antics. He had a bad habit of showing up right when you were about to go on dates, swinging by late at night or bringing presents just because.
You tried to explain that it was just how he was. Satoru had spent his entire life being spoiled and sheltered. Spoiling you in return was one of the few ways he knew how to show affection. And when he could drop a few bands a day without noticing so much as a tiny dent in his bank account, it wasn't like money or gifts meant anything to him.
And here you were now, feeling like you were taking advantage of it anyway, single and pregnant while your best friend bought your (his?) baby teething toys and the most expensive car seat stroller combos, helping turn your spare bedroom into a nursery on the weekends while you reminded him (and yourself) over and over again that you didn’t expect him to do any of it.
Satoru didn't just blur the lines.
He buried them.
Took a shovel and tossed so much sand over it that it was impossible to tell where they originally were. And after the first embryo was successfully implanted, once you went to the first scan and saw the tiny little blob that would be your baby, you seemed to be making meals for three instead of two most days when the man who helped make it insisted on coming over after he got off work nearly every evening.
Sometimes, he'd arrive with takeout or groceries, but he never showed up empty handed.
“How's our, um, this little princess doing?” Satoru grinned after he corrected himself, walking over to squat down in front of you, tapping your stomach like he was trying to wake her up.
“She keeps kicking,” you murmured, biting your lip as his palm abruptly pressed flat as if he was hoping to experience it for himself. His hand was warm through your thin shirt, his thumb subtly dragging a small semi-circle as you continued, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Lay down,” he muttered, just as a faint flutter stirred in your stomach, the sensation of your baby moving around still alien and strange as you watched the slow smile spread up on his face as he felt it too. “I’ll finish cooking.”
“You suck-”
Satoru pressed one long finger against your lips before you could argue with him, shaking his head as he scoffed, “I’ve been taking classes.”
“When?” You pouted, a hand on your hip as you racked your brain for when he’d even have the opportunity when you practically had to shoo him out of your place half the time.
“Every other Tuesday,” he retorted – and then he was gently trying to guide you over to your couch, not stopping until you were sitting down and he was putting the remote in your hand.
Begrudgingly flipping through boring movies, readjusting a pillow behind your back before you gave up and started sorting through the bags of stuff he brought with him.
Blue dresses. Pink bows. Extra diapers and wipes. Swaddles.
A two-pack of onesies featuring the words MOMMY’S ANGEL and DADDY’S PRINCESS embroidered across the chest.
A small voice in your head rationally suggested that you should set some better boundaries. Tell him you weren’t going to put her in that second one when he was supposed to be more like a…rich uncle? Family friend?
Well, something other than daddy.
But some awful part of you sort of liked it.
Liked how much his attention was devoted to you, how you couldn’t exactly ever feel lonely when he was always around, always willing to step into whatever box he thought you needed from him. He didn’t complain. Never groaned or gritted his teeth and acted like you were too much. Always able to make you laugh and smile, holding your hair back when you were nauseous and holding your bags for you in public.
Even if all of it was only platonic.
You weren’t stupid enough to think his interest in you was romantic.
He could pick anyone. Go out and come home with a girlfriend in two hours if he wanted to.
Satoru was simply excited to share this with you, at the idea of a little infant that might have his hair or his eyes, his ego probably ballooning and bigger than ever because you chose him to have it with.
The one thing you could never afford was letting yourself have a crush on him.
Especially when his care right now was temporary.
It would probably fade after your baby was born, once she was crying and crawling and required more than just trinkets and toys to thrive. You didn’t think he’d disappear. But he would move on, focus on his work or his other friends, return to his more spontaneous visits as he resumed his role as your best friend rather than baby daddy.
Which was fine.
Completely, totally, fine.
“Here you go, sweetheart,” Satoru hummed, handing you a warm bowl before clearing off a space on the coffee table for you to put it before rushing back to grab napkins and a drink for you to go with it. You stared at him. Struggling to ignore how sturdy his frame was, how handsome, how steady he’d turned out as he hurried around, casually rummaging through your cabinets to pick out a glass while he acted like he was perfectly at home here when his own place was probably three times bigger, your heart thumping a little too loud for your own comfort as you caught a glimpse of that cute crinkle by his eyes when he turned his head.
You loved him.
As a friend.
You were content to raise your daughter by yourself, made the decision to have her because you knew you could.
But maybe you could enjoy his attention while you had it.
Hold onto how things were before he got bored.
And whatever this fluttering in your stomach was, the one that you couldn’t blame on the baby in there, it would pass.
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru only realized the depth of his own stupidity when he was realized just how fucking hard it was to stay best friends watching you waddle around swollen and seven months pregnant with his baby. Barefoot with powdered sugar dusting your fingertips, one hand casually resting on your stomach and leaving a print on your loose pajama shirt while you baked your favorite dessert, babbling about how badly you were craving it in between complaining about how much your back was aching.
He’d known his pining was pathetic from an early age.
Forced to acknowledge it post-puberty when you started going on dates and he had to resist the temptation to punch a wall and tell you that no one was good enough for you. Discomfort and anger crawling under his skin at the idea of you giving anyone else who obviously didn’t deserve you any of the time that should be his.
And now, despite the (lack of) wisdom age had added, he was still just stuck staring at you with an open mouth like a moron as you glanced back at him, glowing no matter how much you complained about how awful you thought you looked.
His pants had never been fucking tighter around you.
Boner carefully concealed with one of your throw pillows, long legs stretched out on your couch as he pretended to scroll on his phone.
Every day only seemed to get harder too. More of a struggle to shove down his feelings when you started to rely on him more. Leaning against his shoulder, holding onto his forearm, your fingers skimming over his skin as you started to casually cling to him the same way he always hung onto you. Asking him for massages, laying your head on his lap, playing with his hair when you walked by him. Your stare had started to stick to him more, catching you watching him when you thought he wasn't looking.
Satoru had spent years dreaming of this easy domesticity with you.
Walking through your door to find you already making a meal big enough to share, baking or singing to yourself, peeking out and smiling at him without even being surprised. Expecting to see him there.
And still, he only ever got to sleep on the couch.
Didn't get to hug you or hold your hand or kiss you at the end of the night.
He wanted to invite you back to his place, see if you’d spend it with him if he changed up this new normal, but he was scared that you’d decline. That he’d fuck up this tightrope he was walking before he made it to the other side.
Um, and maybe because he’d turned one of his own extra rooms from storage to a pretty, pink nursery too. Just in case you asked him to babysit, or uh, wanted any extra help with her.
But there was a subtle edge to your behavior, your softness sometimes switching abruptly, going cold or sharp when least expected it, suddenly getting short with him when he got a little too close. Hormones, maybe?
It wasn’t like he could ask without receiving a lecture that he shouldn’t blame your feelings on your hormones just because they didn’t match whatever he thought they should.
“You’re quiet tonight,” you commented with a huff, turning on the timer on the microwave after you shut the stove.
“Jus’ thinking,” he hummed, trying to avoid the urge to spill out his dirty secret.
“About?” You tilted your head to the side, almost bumping into the baby swing he built last weekend as you walked back over to him, starting to bend over to try and lift one of his legs instead of just sitting on him like you used to.
He patted his thighs, as if you would actually take him up on it, just to earn a dramatic hand on your hip, pouting hard.
“You’re really making a pregnant lady stand?” You muttered dryly, jutting your bottom lip out further.
“There’s a perfectly good seat right here,” he teased, grinning as his hand reached out, leaning forward, about to gently graze against your waist when-
You started crying.
Big tears welling up in your eyes before he could so much as blink, your brows knitting together in frustration as your own fingers rushed to wipe them away.
His mouth fell open, words automatically spilling out, “Sorry, I’ll move, I-”
“You’re an asshole,” you hissed, breath hitching as you started to turn away from him, and he was shoving himself up off the couch, hurrying to spin you around by your wrist only for you to yank your arm away from him.
“What did I do?” He gawked, blinking hard and fast, panic seizing in his chest as he desperately tried to search your face for any sign.
“You keep acting like-” You stopped yourself, just vaguely gesturing up-and-down at his body before you scoffed and buried your face in your hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot for thinking that this was a good idea.”
“You’re not an idiot,” he argued, pulling your hand down so he could wipe away your tears himself. Dragging his thumb under your eyes and cupping your cheeks to force you to look at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“We need, like, boundaries, or-”
“Boundaries?”
Okay, sure, boundaries were normal, needed even, in most relationships. But he’d be lying if he said the idea of you putting up walls and pushing him away with new rules didn’t make him want to vomit.
“You keep treating me like I’m your girlfriend,” you said, eyes wide and wavering as you barely managed to meet his stare. “Like, this means something more-”
“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”
He knew he shouldn’t have said it the moment he heard how it sounded out loud. Heard the sharp inhale you sucked in, how shattered it came out. “Stop-”
“You mean everything to me,” he blurted out before you could break his heart, ready to beg, to barter, to do whatever he had to just so you would see it.
“Don't say that,” you whispered, shaking your head as you tried to take a step back. “Not when you don't mean it.”
“I do,” he huffed, holding onto you as he again attempted to stop you from pulling away, from severing this connection. And somewhere in his panic, his body purged all the words his mind had been shoving down for so long. “Fuck, sweetheart, I love you. I've loved you my entire life and I will for the rest of it. I'll be anything you want me to be, shit, just don't shut me out.”
“You love me,” you repeated, like it was ridiculous.
“I love you,” he said it again anyway, his voice dropping low.
“You-” You stopped yourself, starting to breathe fast through your nose, biting your bottom lip before you continued, “If you're just trying to make me feel better-”
“Do you seriously think I'd say it and risk ruining us just because you're crying?” He asked, wiping away another stray tear from your soft cheek, managing to sound appropriately serious for the first time in his life.
You swallowed hard, like you were suffocating on the truth now that it was out there. Fingers balled up by your side, fists shaking as you fought the reality Satoru had dropped on you.
“I don't expect you to tell me that you love me too, just, fuck, just don't walk away from me, okay-”
And before he could finish begging, you were grabbing the collar of his shirt to pull him down, his mouth still open when yours connected with it.
You kissed him, soft, unsure, like you weren't certain or confident that this was the right decision. But you didn't stop even if part of you thought you'd regret it later.
His own hands failed him, his brain freezing the second if processed the fact you were actually kissing him, stuck completely still as you soft lips lightly started to suck on his bottom one, his breath stolen and his heart straining to accept how fucking sweet this felt.
But then your fingers went loose, started to let go of his shirt, and he snapped out of it. Tethering his hands in your hair, deepening the kiss before you could pull away and he'd have to hear that you changed your mind. That he lost his only chance.
Satoru tried to show you with his lips.
Tongue dancing across your bottom lip for entry, dragging over the ridges of your teeth, exploring your mouth and memorizing how it felt. Saved it in case he'd never be able to savor the experience again.
And when a cute little moan slipped out as his chest pressed against yours, as your bodies connected, your baby bump pressed against his stomach and your free hand draped over his shoulder, he knew his boner was back.
“Mmph, Sato-” you murmured when you finally pulled away for air. He was desperately trying to suck in the quickest breath he could just to kiss you again.
The most he managed was a few quick pecks pressed to the corner of your mouth before your palm pressed flat against his chest.
“We should talk about it,” you reasonably said, despite how inclined he was to throw reason out the window and carry you back to your bed.
“Do you want me?” He asked, sucking in a short breath, leaning down so his nose was nuzzling against yours.
“I do,” you answered, your voice strained and tight as you reluctantly looked up at him, studying the shape of his lips. And maybe it was because he’d spent an entire life wrapped around your finger, building and molding himself to be the sort of man you wanted, that you needed, he knew what thoughts were swirling around in your head before you said any of them. “I’m just scared.”
Hearing it out loud still scared the shit out of him though.
Knowing how close he was to having you – and how easy it would be to fuck it all up.
“What can I do to show you just how serious I am?” He murmured, leaning in, lightly grazing his lips against your mouth again.
You closed your eyes, held onto his shirt and let yourself melt into his chest.
This kiss didn't last long though, not when the timer on the microwave suddenly blared out.
“I, um, should check on that,” you muttered, and it was incredibly hard to let you go. To watch you slip from his hold again and walk back into your kitchen, some intangible thread tugging him towards you, unable to stay more than a few steps away from you while you opened the oven and sighed before you added a few more minutes on the timer.
But you didn’t come back, didn’t speak up immediately.
You were staring at your distorted reflection in the microwave, like you were silently attempting to convince yourself of something.
Maybe to turn him down.
Say that you were both always going to be better off as friends.
“Tell me what to do,” Satoru begged.
“I don’t know,” you blanched.
“Anything,” he started. “I swear, I’ll-”
“Shouldn't we take this slow?” You hesitantly asked before he could offer to put up a billboard professing his love or get down on his knees to propose, clinging onto the counter tight enough he could see the clear outline of the bones and tendons in your knuckles.
“You're having my baby,” he pointed out, and you just pouted at him.
“I know,” you muttered, mulling over how you wanted to word your concern. “But what if you're only doing this because of that?”
“Sweetheart,” Satoru started, a fresh pang of panic shooting straight through his chest. “I would want you whether or not the baby was mine or someone else's. I've loved you for so fucking long-”
“It's hard for me to accept that,” you admitted, rubbing the back of your neck. “I don't understand why you would pick me. You could have-”
“You’re the only person I’ve ever wanted. You occupy all my thoughts,” he breathed, his throat constricting as he did his best to confess. “Your glare. Your laugh. The way you defend me even when I'm a dick. How you indulge me even when I don't deserve it. Every morning, every night, every stupid meeting I get stuck in and when I'm in the shower. I've spent my whole life waiting for you to see me standing here and hoping for you.”
Another big tear welled up in your pretty eyes, one you quickly blinked away as your stare shined up at him.
“Can you wait a little longer?” You asked, as if he wouldn't wait another ten, twenty, thirty fucking years holding onto this.
“Of course,” he whispered.
As long as you needed.
He’d just hope it was a sooner rather than later thing.
You wiped your cheeks, recollecting yourself before checking the oven again, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you put some mitts on and opened it to pull out the baking tray before reaching up to shut off the timer.
Satoru ended up where he always did.
Stretched out in the corner of your couch, arm thrown around the back and pretending to pay attention to what was on TV instead of watching you in the corner of his vision. But this time, you snuggled up a little closer after you sat a plate down in front of him.
Curled up enough that your thighs were firmly pressing against each other, and slowly, his hand drifted down to cup your stomach. Just under the skin, feeling the faint flutter of his daughter kicking, or readjusting in there. Growing to hopefully be more like you than him, even if she would get stuck with half his DNA.
“You’re warm,” you softly said, as if that was your excuse to melt into him more.
“Will you still let me spend the night?” He pouted, lips parting only for you to push a warm treat against them to shut him up.
“On the couch?” You asked, watching him chew, chocolate probably smeared across his mouth before you asked something he only ever dreamed about. “Or in bed?”
ᘏ⑅ᘏ
Satoru never stopped staying the night.
And despite the fact he’d technically gotten you pregnant, you still had yet to have sex with him. But instead of him walking in hungry for your cooking, he was starving for you. Thighs hooked over his shoulders while he dragged his tongue up across your pussy, greedily lapping you up like it was his new favorite meal.
You liked the way he kissed you when you woke up, his strong arms slung around your body, his soft mouth dotting your face like it was his favorite thing in the world. You loved the way he looked at you when he left for work, the warmth that seemed to radiate and wrap around you when he leaned down to caress your cheek and tell you that he’d call you at lunch.
Somewhere along the way though, or more precisely around week thirty-eight, you started spending the night at his place instead, getting stretched out on his long fingers in his silk sheets instead of your cotton ones.
You spent almost an hour chewing him out for the nursery he’d already set up there, dismissing his excuses because you both were well aware of the reasons why.
He didn’t want to just be the donor.
He wanted to be your baby’s dad.
And when it came time to actually have your daughter, when your water broke a couple days past your due date and he rushed you to the hospital, you were the one to tell the nurses that was exactly what he was instead of playing pretend and ignoring what was right in front of your face.
Letting him wipe the sweat from your brow and hold the cup of water to your lips, nearly breaking his hand by holding it so hard when it came time to push, hours of labor culminating in a little baby with your favorite set of blue eyes.
She had your hair though, and he tried to say your smile too, peeling off his shirt right there in the room and ready to do skin-to-skin with her the second you said he could.
If you hadn’t figured out you were completely and totally fucking in love with him, you knew the second you saw him cradling her to his chest, the gleam in his stare and the reverence in his trembling fingers brushing across her chubby cheeks.
He had looked up at you with that lopsided smile, pride and adoration present in every line etched in his face.
“I feel like the luckiest guy in the world,” he grinned.
And just a couple months of being with him had made you see how lucky you’d always been to have him.
To have her.
Even though you were pretty sure she inherited her dad’s personality.
Specifically the loud and clingy parts.
Always needing one of you to be carrying her, crying when you tried to leave her in the crib, refusing to be bottlefed half-the-time even when you were just feeding her what you pumped. Her crystalline stare welling up with fat tears if you dared to put her down on a soft mat for tummy time, lazily hitting her tiny feet against the ground instead of trying to roll or crawl.
All that baby proofing Satoru had spent hours on pretty much useless so far when she'd barely been outside of your arms or the baby carrier he proudly walked around with her in. He even started working from home once his paternity leave ran out, taking meetings with her still in the carrier, chatting with people on the phone or on video calls, something about the sound of his voice and the way he bounced her, always seeming to lull her to sleep.
You had unofficially moved in with him, although you let him handle all the packing and unloading, rooms conveniently already set up like he'd always been holding that space for you, closet half-vacant until all your clothes were hung up by his.
Boyfriend, best friend, husband, no title really needed to tag onto whatever it was the two of you shared.
It was bigger than that.
You were his now.
And you didn’t want to deny it anymore.
Besides, you'd done some laundry a couple days ago and found a ring box underneath his boxers in the sock drawer, so you supposed it would have a label soon anyway.
If you were going to spend the rest of your life loving someone, it was always going to be him.
You were an idiot for not seeing it sooner.
But he never made you feel like one.
He kissed you good night like it was the most natural thing in the world, half-draped across your body and skimming his fingers over your face before he curled up next to you in the dim bedroom, blankets tangled around your bodies.
Falling asleep came fast when it was in his arms, but you'd begun to have one, or, uh, two problems when you woke up at four in the morning with a massive ache in your chest.
In his quest to be the best father (and future husband), he'd taken over night feedings to make sure you slept, but despite his sweetness, your body wasn't on the same page. Or rather, schedule.
Missing her night feedings had left you engorged.
Tits swollen and milk stuck in the ducts, the usually soft flesh practically hard under the stretched skin, painful when you sat up and realized you had started to soak through your bra and shirt. You tried to peel both off of you, wincing at the wetness as your finger fumbled for the pump you left by the nightstand in the dark only to knock it off instead.
“Sweetheart?” Satoru groggily spoke up, a big hand reaching out, half-patting your stomach in his sleepy state.
But then he was already shutting his eyes again, yawning and humming as he drifted back to sleep, your lips pressing together in a frustrated line as you swung your legs off the bed and bent over to grab the pump.
Although, it wasn’t really much use when your ducts were too fucking clogged for anything other than a painfully slow drip to come out, the ache just getting worse as you begrudgingly switched on the lamp by your bed and bathed the room in warm yellow light as you put the pump back.
“Satoru,” you whined, rolling over in bed and lightly shaking the pretty man drooling on the pillow next to you. He almost immediately stirred for real this time, sitting up and blinking before wiping the spit from the corner of his mouth, grunting as he got up, the low sound only making your thighs tense and press together.
“Mm, baby?” He yawned as he stretched, running his fingers through his hair as his baby-food-stained sweatshirt rode up to show a sliver of his toned abs.
“When did you feed her?” You half-whispered as his tired eyes shifted to his phone on the other side of him, briefly turning it on with a sigh.
“Like, an hour ago?” He answered, blinking a couple times as his eyes returned to you – and then practically bulged out of his head at the realization your boobs were out.
Mouth falling open in a pretty ‘o’, drool probably pooling inside it as he stared at how heavy they were hanging, tongue uselessly trying to form a coherent follow-up and some strangled sound escaping instead.
“I need you,” you admitted just as another droplet of milk leaked out, starting to roll down your breast – but before it could make it more than an inch, Satoru was there, wrapping his lips around your areola and starting to suck before you could even get another sentence out.
He pulled you closer, an arm slipping around your lower back, pulling you in as his tongue dragged over your hardened nipple, his other hand already reaching up to squeeze your other tit, groaning at how it felt under his palm.
You gasped, a surprising surge of electricity racing down your spine as heat you hadn’t expected bubbled up to simmer in your core. Technically, you’d been cleared for sex, like, six weeks ago, but you’d been a little anxious about him seeing your postpartum body.
Not sure if his feelings would be swayed after you carried his baby, if the stretchmarks or soft plush of your stomach would put him off.
But the ravenous gleam in his eyes, the frenzied way his fingers kept fumbling to make sure you couldn’t slip away, you didn’t think anyone had ever wanted you as badly as he did right now.
And before you could fully process it, your back was hitting the bed, pinned between his heavy body and his firm mattress, the sheets crinkling underneath you as he greedily drank.
He looked delirious.
Okay, probably a little bit sleep deprived from being in night feeding duty half the time, but he was drunk on you, letting out a lewd moan as he sucked hard on the hardened bud, desperately kneading into the other one with those thick fingers of his while something hard and huge dug into your thigh.
Fuck.
Why the hell was he that big?
The size of him was on your mind as he switched breasts, eagerly slurping as he squeezed, trying to break up the clog with his thick fingers, pressing in and working into the skin, forcing more milk out as he tried to drain you.
“Shit, angel,” he moaned, barely pulling away to glance up at you, the blue in his eyes swallowed up by his pupils as milk dribbled down the corner of his mouth. “You’re so sweet.”
“S-Satoru,” you stammered, relief washing over you as he went back to drinking and managed to clear out at least one of the ducts, eyelashes fluttering as his tongue toyed with your still overly sensitive nipple. Your fingers were shaking as you tangled them in his hair, trying to guide him back to the other one, hyperaware of how sticky your skin was, some of the milk definitely leaking down onto the bed and getting on his shirt as he continued without a pause.
“S’not fair,” he whined, fingers digging in again as he practically rutted his cock against your thigh. Hips rolling down to grind against you, his muscled thighs flexing with every rock of them. “How come she gets to drink this all the time and I don’t?”
“You can’t be serious,” you gasped, tugging at his roots to pry him back just to find that fucked-out look on his face, everything relaxed as he jutted out his bottom lips like he was willing to beg for more if he had to.
“This is my new favorite drink,” he insisted, and before you could sputter out another protest, he was latched on again, relieving your other breast with that pretty mouth of his, massaging it until you were both moaning, your head falling back against the pillow as you gave in.
Gave it all up for him.
Finding yourself arching your own back up off the bed, squirming and shuddering as he went to work on it, teeth skimming and scraping until your nipples were sore, swallowing your milk until your breasts almost felt empty – but you knew they’d fill back up sooner or later. Sooner, if he kept sucking on them like that as if he could telepathically communicate to them to make more.
And even when they were nearly drained, he was running his tongue over your chest, cleaning you up like he was a goddamn cat. Taste buds dragging over your skin, running his fingered over your peaked nipples now, a surprised squeak pulled from you that made you both pause for a second, his blue eyes wide when they immediately locked onto your face.
Neither of you said anything.
But his cock twitched, and a funny pulse shot down to your clit, and your mouth was opening to ask him something you’d been craving more than you could confess.
“Do you want to fuck me?” You breathed, awkward, tense.
Terrified he’d say no, no matter how irrational it was.
But Satoru just smiled, climbing completely on top of you and caging you back in to caress your cheek, “God, you have no idea just how long I’ve been waiting for-”
Your mouth crashed against his before he could even finish his sentence, your own impatience catching you by surprise, lips fitting so nicely in between his, and you wondered why it had taken you so long to take what was always yours.
You could taste yourself on him, the faintly sweet milk on his breath, although it was a little weird mixed with the leftover mint from him brushing his teeth. He didn’t seem to mind though, eagerly shoving his tongue in your mouth, the now-damp fabric of his shirt pressed against your chest.
One of you would definitely need to throw a load into the washing machine after this, strip the sheets down and change them after the mess you were making.
But you couldn’t help but slip your hand down, sneaking underneath the band of his sweatpants and inside his boxers to feel his swollen tip, collecting the thick pre-cum already there and sliding it down his dick.
Veins pulsing against your palm, your fingers delicately wrapping around his girth and starting to stroke as he made some guttural groan that made your stomach feel funny. Pure want searing through you, desire you weren’t used to handling or holding back now dealt to you in spades.
Maybe it was because some small voice was trying to suggest that you were about to have sex with Satoru, a sliver of you thrilled at the idea of him needing you too.
“F-fuck,” he whimpered, and it was probably the prettiest sound you ever heard. “M’gonna cum if you keep doing that.”
“You’re not even in me,” you teased him. He growled at that, and before you could even giggle, he was pulling your hand back out of his pants, firm fingers gripping your wrist and pinning it above your head before you could make him snap.
And then his other hand was suddenly helping spread your thighs further apart, easily able to move the thin fabric of your cotton shorts and lacy panties aside so he could shove two fingers inside your pussy to see how soaked you were.
“Baby,” he immediately hummed the second his fingers swirled inside, one corner of his mouth curling up almost condescendingly while you huffed back at him. “I wasn’t even in you.”
Dick.
But it was hard to be hurt by him mocking you back when he was sliding his actual dick inside you barely thirty seconds later, the rest of your clothes and his quickly discarded so he could do what you'd both been dreaming about, his eyes scrunching shut as he slowly took it inch by inch. Savoring the stretch, the way his hands trembled as he touched you, his breathing heavy and uneven as he felt your walls squeeze around him. You might’ve complained at how long it was taking if you weren’t also having a hard time holding yourself together.
Studying all those details of his face you’d fallen for, the shape his soft lips made when his features were all twisted up in pleasure, how his long lashes fluttered as he whispered your name like a prayer.
Sure, you had sex before. Weren’t exactly a virgin by any means.
But nothing was like this.
No one was like him.
Satoru was treating you like some alter he was born to worship at. Every movement deliberate, sucking in a sharp breath as he pushed through, filling you up until his cock was nestled against your womb, the pressure mind-melting as he tried to focus on your own body reacting to him.
“I-is it too much?” He asked, like he wasn’t straining, his voice thin and airy. “Tell me if anything hurts.”
Still concerned for you, still worried he might wound you.
You nodded, heart thrumming wildly as his cock throbbed and all your sore muscles tensed around him. Hesitantly opening your mouth to reassure him, “I’m good. This is good.”
Fantastic, actually, but his ego didn’t need that much of a boost.
Satoru still lit up like you’d told him it was the best you ever had.
“Thank fucking god,” he murmured, his head falling down so he could nuzzle his nose against your neck. Peppering your throat with kisses as he started thrusting, almost delicate at first, but quickly picking up the pace once he was confident he wouldn’t completely break you with his cock.
Driving himself in faster, harder, both hands now holding up your hips, angle himself deep enough you could feel himself re-molding you to him. You were out-of-practice, and you could tell he was too, but his sloppiness was made up for with how eager he was, how earnestly his mouth and his fingers and his cock worked to make you feel good.
“I love you,” he babbled, breathing hard and heavy into your collarbone, your breasts still leaking a little bit of milk onto his chest that he didn’t seem to notice. “I, oh fuck, I love you so much.”
You were nodding, tracing your fingers over his broad back, his defined shoulder blades, holding onto him as your walls tried to squeeze and clamp down on him. The sex felt different, all your nerves suddenly more sensitive, everything burning and starving for more.
“I-I love you too,” you gasped, an invisible weight lifted off your chest hearing the words leave your mouth.
He made a noise that was probably loud enough to wake anyone else in the building, both of you freezing as your heads snapped back towards the door to see if it woke up your daughter down the hall.
But then his thumb darted to your clit, rushing to make rough circles, his chest heaving with fast breaths as he tried to make sure this wouldn’t end without him making you cum.
“My pretty girl, fuck,” he purred, sucking a spot he’d already nipped at above your tendon, the jolt it sent through you dragging you embarrassingly close to climax when it was combined with the patterns he was painting over your needy bud. The friction was intense, feeding something deep in your chest you hadn't realized was hollow before.
Comforted by him coaxing you, crumbling bit by bit into his hand as his cock continued pumping inside you.
“Always been your girl,” you half-whispered back, toes curling hard as your body tensed up again, lips staying parted as he pulled you right to the precipice.
“Forever,” you promised without really thinking, breath itching in your throat as his cock abruptly stalled, still buried deep.
You were pretty sure he came first, but before you could open your eyes or get another word out, his thumb twitched and pressed down mid-motion and you were seeing stars right as he groaned and snapped his hips down. Too occupied with the pleasure rolling through your almost limp limbs, your nails scratching down his back as warm spurts of cum started coating your walls, leaking down your legs.
“Shit, fuck, please tell me you came,” he hissed, his own eyes shut, sweaty strands of hair hanging down and sticking to his forehead as you stared at his glossy lips.
“Mhm,” you murmured, blinking as he finally peeked his eyes open and took in the full sight of you. Breasts still sticky and swollen, his cum dripping down your thighs, bite marks probably staining your throat.
“Will you marry me?” He bluntly asked, and you could only roll your eyes and laugh at him.
“Ask me again later,” you muttered, sighing at the state of yourself and wondering if a late night shower would wake a sleeping baby.
You guessed it didn't matter when her soft cry cut through the brief silence, both of you exhaling at the same time.
“I'll get dressed and go get her,” Satoru preemptively offered, climbing off of you with a small yawn. You watched him pad barefoot over to the dresser, biting your lips as he pulled fresh boxers back on and rummaged through the other drawers for pajamas.
“Um, Satoru?” You hesitantly spoke up as a thought nagged at you.
“Yeah, baby?”
“I'm not on birth control.”
reblogs + comments are always greatly appreciated <3
A VERY VERY HUGOMPTIOUS THANK YOU TO @/thornart for this freaking stunning and I mean STUNNING piece for Katsu and Mamba! Oh, I enjoyed the entire process so much and I couldn't be happier with the finished product. Such a joy to work with and so incredibly talented. Thank you again for bring this sultry scene to life! 💖
Hehe I’ve been going through some of your old works since you’ve been making those different master lists and ugh bunny Suguru and f1 kuna have me in a chokehold 🙂↕️💓
Do you have a fave one shot for each of the guys??
omg this is so hard to choose but i'll try my best!!
gojo: probs either magician!gojo or slime!gojo
geto: bunny geto or best friend/baby daddy!geto
sukuna: tough one but im gonna go with cupid!sukuna
i don’t have anything to add to this other than i’m screaminf, crying and throwing up and running laps around my house a big thank you to @/renjous on vgen for once again delivering so quickly and @uzmacchiato for the dividers 💋
Synopsis: On paper, you are the perfect sorority girl, but what none of your sisters know is that you have a dark secret — in your free time, you enjoy powerscaling fictional characters. However, when a single mistake threatens to ruin the balance you have so carefully maintained, you must take drastic measures, lest your obsession with anime is revealed to the world and your life is absolutely, definitely, 100% certainly ruined.
Pairing: Gojo x F!Reader
Word Count: 7.1k
Content Warnings: frat au (PLEASE THiS ISN’T ME I SWEAR), crack treated seriously, i don’t fw jjk anymore so no part two you’ve been warned, sexual innuendos/jokes, mentions of hooking up/sex/alcohol, everyone ooc as hell in keeping with the frat au tradition, reader is a blue lock fan so plenty of blue lock mentions (but you don’t have to have watched to understand it), i swear this is not an accurate representation of my writing skill
A/N: as a member of a sorority 99% of frat au fics give me hives I’M SO SORRY PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS IN A MEAN WAY but anyways so then i thought i should write one myself except lowkey i wish i UNthought that because i don’t like this fic at all but oh well who gaf….anyways .this is highly unserious but also fairly realistic actually LKSFJH I SWEAR ON MY GREEK LIFE HONOR I ONLY CHANGED SOME BITS FOR THE PLOT
Your scowl deepened the longer you stared at your phone, your lips pursing into a pout as the video continued to play. Shitty phonk music blasted from your headphones as you wove through the midday campus rush, reading and rereading the caption on a video made by some stupid, probably-fifteen-year-old boy, inexplicably claiming that your favorite manga character was narratively fucking washed.
r u slow lil bro obv nagi has way more potential than kaiser
yeah how many chapters since potential man last scored ???????? LMFAO
You were just about to type an entire paragraph defending Nagi when, abruptly, someone nudged you in the side, the sweet, faint scent of her perfume forcing you to turn off your phone and pray she hadn’t seen what it was open to, nearly dropping it in your haste to shove it in your pocket before she could ask you what you were doing.
“What’s got you so jumpy?” Hana said, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye as she fell into step beside you, her curly blonde ponytail bobbing behind her as she took a long sip from her water bottle, fanning herself for good measure, although such feeble attempts were nothing compared to the oppressive summer heat, which was thick and sticky, as if the air itself had become a pulsing, living thing.
“Nothing,” you said. “I was just, um — did you see that new message from our beloved social chair?”
She rolled her eyes, which, coming from Hana, was all but a damning statement, because she was so sweet and gentle that even now, she was still called — albeit a little teasingly — by her childhood nickname of Angel. But then again, neither of you were incredibly fond of said social chair, and you had discussed as much several times, tucked away in the safety of her apartment with blankets thrown over your laps and wine staining your lips.
“I can’t believe she got elected,” Hana muttered under her breath, glancing from side to side before she did, ducking her head shyly. “I’m pretty sure it’s only because she’s friends with Utahime, and everyone loves Utahime.”
“Of course, everyone knows she just picked all of her friends to be on the board,” you said sardonically. “Who could expect the president to serve with a bunch of strangers?”
“Don’t you mean sisters?” Hana said with a giggle, hiding her mouth behind her hand demurely. “Anyways, no, I didn’t see what Mei Mei sent. How bad is it?”
“We were picked to be sober monitors at the mixer this weekend,” you said.
“Are you serious?” she said. “I wasn’t even planning on going!”
“I would’ve made you come,” you said dismissively, grateful that she had forgotten all about whatever was making you so jumpy earlier. “But seriously, I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I can barely handle this kind of event when I’m drunk, so forget about being sober! I’d actually rather die, but anything to avoid getting in trouble with Utahime and Mei Mei...”
“Sober in a frat basement,” Hana said. You shuddered at the mere image, and she patted you on the shoulder sympathetically. “I can’t begin to imagine.”
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing to imagine,” you said grimly. “That’s going to be our reality in just a few short days.”
Your phone vibrated, and you dared to sneak a glance at it while she was whining about how she had planned an incredible pregame for the two of you and now it was all ruined, just because Mei Mei had definitely rigged the lottery, since according to Hana, the older girl held a grudge on the two of you for the time you forgot to pay her back for an Uber.
this ur goat ???
[Attachment: 1 Image]
Image Description: A photo of Seishiro Nagi from the manga series “Blue Lock”, depicting him crying and curled up on the ground with snot all over his face as he sobs.
“Are you serious?” you hissed.
“What?” Hana said, clearly startled by the sudden flash of vitriol. You schooled your features back into a controlled mask, beaming at her so widely that you were quite sure she didn’t believe it a bit.
“Nothing!”
It was difficult, living this kind of a double life. How would you explain it to your friends, your sorority sisters, the girls who had chosen you because you were bright and pretty and, above all else, just like them? How could you tell Hana or Utahime that, actually, your greatest hobby wasn’t shopping or baking or whatever else you had put in the ‘about me’ section of your application to rush? How could you confess to Mei Mei that you hadn’t watched the latest season of Love Island yet because you were too busy arguing with teenagers on the internet about which fictional soccer player could kick a ball the best?
In truth, this was your most shameful secret: ever since you were a little girl, you had loved powerscaling. Gathering statements, debating feats, insulting other users of the internet…you could go on for hours on as pointless of a subject as proving why a chair from Attack on Titan was narratively implied to be stronger than the entire Demon Slayer verse, if only you were called upon to do so. But, unfortunately, when you entered middle school, the heavens played a particularly cruel trick on you as well as everyone you knew, a trick that was colloquially known as puberty.
There was a longer story to it all, but the short of it was something along the lines of you grew breasts and boys grew stupid. Suddenly, whatever you said was deemed irrelevant because it came from your mouth, and the few girls your age who shared your interests summarily rejected you in a bid for attention from the only friends they had, friends who accepted them as surely as they turned their noses up at you. So you were left to talk with the ones you had once felt shy around, those girls who already wore lip gloss and mascara and blush, and you found they were not so much more grown than you at all, and that was that. You wore lip gloss and mascara and blush and became one of them so well that sometimes, you wondered if that was who you really had been all along.
“Things just went from bad to worse,” Hana informed you from where she was perched on the edge of your bed, a mirror in one hand and a lash curler held up to her left eye with the other. When you didn’t respond, she cleared her throat for emphasis, clearly indicating she wouldn’t continue until you asked her what she meant. Sighing and setting down your phone, you nodded at her.
“What happened?” you said, because things for you had also just gone from bad to worse — you were missing the latest episode of your favorite anime that was set to release tonight, and when you had texted Mei Mei to ask if you could leave early from your sober-monitor-duties, you had been told, in no uncertain terms, no.
“Megumi is actually attending tonight!” she said with a wail, dropping the curler in her lap and throwing her hands in the air. “Nobara just texted me and told me that Maki told her that Yuji told her that he was threatened with probation if he kept skipping all of their events, so he’s going tonight because he thinks our sorority is generally tolerable enough or something!”
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” you said, patting her lightly on the shoulder as you stood to start getting ready yourself, deciding you had procrastinated long enough, especially given you couldn’t be late like you usually were to such events. “He thinks we’re generally tolerable enough, so he probably thinks you’re generally tolerable enough, too.”
Her lower lip began to tremble, which meant her eyes were about to water, which meant it was a really good thing her makeup was waterproof. True to form, she burst into tears, blotting them with her hot pink beauty blender so that her foundation wasn’t too horribly smudged by the smear of tissues along her lashline.
“I’m going to be so awkward if I’m sober in front of him! I won’t even be able to look at him, let alone talk to him, let alone flirt with him! I’m going to die sad and alone and unmarried and it’s all going to be stupid Mei Mei’s fault for making me be a sober monitor on the one day Megumi Fushiguro actually decided to show up to an event. Just give up on your dreams of being a maid of honor at a wedding, okay? It’s not happening!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Hana,” you said. “Megumi’s pretty awkward, too—”
“No, he’s not!”
“—so you can totally have some kind of bonding moment with him,” you continued, ignoring her interjection, because there was quite literally a photo of Megumi included in the Wikipedia article on awkwardness in college-aged males, ostensibly added as part of some kind of hazing ritual devised by the clever Toge Inumaki, who had long ago forbidden anyone from changing it and in fact put it back whenever an actual editor tried correcting it. “Besides, I’m sure Miwa will make me her maid of honor, so I’m not too worried.”
Miwa was your little, a wide-eyed girl who had joined your sorority because her uncle, a handsome and infamous alumni of your least-favorite-frat, told her that Greek life was the best way to meet friends. She had made friends, but she had also almost found herself as Mei Mei’s best errand girl; you never told her, but you actually only took her as your little because you felt bad and you knew that, if anything, she would certainly be left alone were she associated with you. You weren’t necessarily as active as some of the members, mostly because you generally preferred to stay at home and doomscroll as opposed to going to meetings, but even the worst of your sisters held a cautious respect for your total lack of passion, and it lent you a sort of untouchable air that you clung to desperately.
“Oh, okay, I see how it is,” Hana said, wrinkling her nose.
“Hana, seriously, it’ll be okay,” you said, throwing her a bone. “Yuji will be there too, and the two of you are friends, right? I’m sure Megumi will be hanging around him like always, so just talk to him and it’ll all work out. Don’t worry so much, or else you really will look lame the entire night.”
“You’re right,” she said, flopping back on you bed, careful not to upset the rollers pinning her golden hair in place until she was done with getting ready for the night. “It’ll all be okay.”
You supposed, then, that made your life a lesson in dramatic irony, because things, as you soon came to find, were not, in fact, okay.
are you guys at the house yet or not
You liked a message.
“Mei Mei’s texting,” you said, showing Hana your phone. “We’re supposed to get there early and all.”
“Why’d you like the message?” Hana said, squinting at it. “We’re not there yet.”
“Who cares?” you said. “We’re only two minutes away, and iIt’s a mixer, not even an official event. Do you seriously want to sit around in an empty basement waiting for everyone else to show up for even more time than absolutely necessary?”
“I guess so,” she said, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, far too much of a rule follower to really be able to accept your half-truth, even if you hadn’t said anything to Mei Mei that actually confirmed your presence at the house.
“Hey, it’s you guys!”
As you approached the crumbling driveway of the house, you were all but bowled over by the exuberant Yuji Itadori, who was one of Hana’s best friends and your freshman year geology lab partner. He was that kind of a guy, who even now recognized you when he saw you on campus and walked over to say hello, although the two of you were not really friends and had never been close. Still, when he hugged you, the scent of him warm and enveloping, you thought that you did not mind him as much, that you were glad that at least he was here, too.
“Hey, Yuji,” you said. “They’ve got you on door duty? I thought that was a pledge thing.”
He flashed you a glossy-eyed, pink-cheeked grin, dopey from alcohol and the evening heat. It was sweet, charming in its own way, and not for the first time you wondered at Hana’s resolve, that she was so doggedly set on the gloomy and shy Megumi when Yuji was right there, sunshiney and bright and impossible not to love, her close friendship with him notwithstanding.
“I offered to wash Inumaki’s shirts for him, but I didn’t realize that Gojo’s sheets were already in the washer when I started it,” he said.
“So?” you said. “Gojo’s sheet’s got washed twice, what’s the big deal? From what I’ve heard of him, they probably needed it.”
“His sheets are navy,” he said, leaning his forehead against Hana’s shoulder as if to disguise his shame. “And Inumaki’s shirts are white.”
“And I’m sure that this idiot didn’t use a color catcher,” Hana said, though she did pat him on the head soothingly, which took the snag out of her words. “So they put you on door duty for that?”
“Yup,” he said. “Well, you guys are sober monitors, what’s the deal with that?”
“We volunteered!” you said, your voice so cheery that the sarcasm was implied. But you knew better than to speak ill of anyone in your sorority in public, especially not to the loose-lipped Yuji, whose mouth was still wet with alcohol. Hana muttered something under her breath that was likely derogatory, but she hummed in agreement, absolving her of any wrongdoing. “We have to make sure our sisters are alright, after all.”
“You guys are so sweet,” he said before he was forcibly yanked backwards, away from Hana’s neck and into the air, where he dangled like a limp, wet puppy.
“My brother!” Aoi Todo said, arriving as he always did with a great, booming quality of voice and presence. “Inumaki’s looking for you.”
“Oh, boy,” Yuji said with a comical frown. “See you around, guys.”
“Good luck,” Hana said.
“Tell Inumaki I said hi,” you said, because as far as frat brothers went, you found that Inumaki was amusing enough for you to not entirely despise him, and he was generally your solace in those parties that you could not convince Hana to come no matter what you did.
“Are you two the sober monitors for tonight?” Todo asked you as Yuji trudged away with his shoulders slumped, clearly not excited for whatever new punishment Inumaki had devised for him.
“That’s us,” you said. “Say, where’s Megumi? I heard he was actually coming for once.”
Hana stomped on your foot as you walked along, but you ignored it, because when it came to Todo, there was no sense in tact. He had all the sensitivity of a thick-hided bull, and even this was in fact likely too subtle of an inquiry for him to understand fully what you meant by it.
“No idea. He’ll probably be around later, if at all. His house is a long walk, which is just more of a motivation for him not to come,” Todo said.
“Not to come!” Hana said before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I mean, ah. Whatever. Sure, makes sense.”
“I’m sure he’s on the way,” you said. “It’s nice out, so he’d probably take advantage of the weather, and anyways if he said he’s coming then he’ll be here.”
Todo just generally did not have a good impression of Megumi — he and Inumaki had been the pledge masters for Yuji and Megumi’s class, but whereas Yuji, who he eventually took as his little, was the epitome of a fraternity brother, Megumi could not be further from the designation. He only even joined because Yuji made him and he supposedly could find no reason to say no, but Todo, according to Nobara Kugisaki, had never been quite impressed by the easygoing and lackadaisical approach. Whatever he had to say about Megumi was to be taken with a heavy handful of salt, and you prayed Hana would remember that before having one of her fits.
“I’d offer you guys something to drink, but I guess you probably can’t,” Todo said, holding the door to the basement open for you and allowing you to duck under his arm.
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” you said. “Thanks for the offer, though. You owe me for next time.”
“Got it,” he said, having to speak a little louder so you could hear him over the music, which was being curated to mediocrity by Yuta Okkotsu, who was not a member of the frat but was best friends with Inumaki and thus got to enter their parties regardless.
Although you and Hana should’ve been there early, you were far from the first people there. The party was in full swing, and in the corner you noticed Mei Mei’s silvery braid, which meant there was a solid chance she knew you were late. Still, you decided if she didn’t say anything, you weren’t about to confess, so beyond nudging Hana and pointing her way, you didn’t acknowledge her presence whatsoever.
The party went exactly as most parties of this sort tended to; as the night went on, more and more people arrived, the flush of the basement growing thicker, sweatier with every passing instant, the sharp scent of weed permeating the atmosphere. Weed and mud and the tangy juice being served by one of the little pledges, Junpei, who had a permanently wide-eyed expression, like he could not quite believe he was there and was just waiting for someone — probably Inumaki — to jump out and steal it all from him.
Maybe if you were drunk, it would’ve been tolerable, or if Hana had stayed at your side, it might’ve been okay, but as you were sober and she was across the room from you, all you could think to yourself was that you were missing the latest episode of your show, which would start airing in about ten minutes.
“Hey,” a soft voice murmured in your ear. “What’re you doing here all alone?”
You whipped around, shivers running down your back at the scent of mint, cool and sweet and entirely foreign in the mugginess of the basement. The voice was familiar in the way of a dream, like something you had heard once, long ago, and had almost forgotten but not quite. You did not know him but you should’ve, you did not know him but you wanted to, you did not know him but —
“Oh, it’s you,” you said dismissively, rolling your eyes when you realized it was Satoru Gojo leaning against the wall at your side, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses perched on the crown of his head, although it was already well past midnight. He raised a brow at your when he noticed your curious gaze, and you figured it was meant to be seductive, but to you, he just looked a little ridiculous, so you fought back a snort in order to give him a polite smile.
Gojo was Megumi’s big, as Todo was Yuji’s, but unlike the boisterous Todo, he preferred to maintain a cool, detached sort of reputation. He was the senior that everyone wanted but no one could have, at least not for more than a night or two, and he flitted around parties like a rare, elusive bird, exactly as delicate, exactly as ghostly. He was also Mei Mei’s most-despised third cousin, which meant that he was strictly off-limits for all of you if you valued your lives and limbs, but as someone who had never held much interest in the man, this had never mattered to you until now.
“Hey, I know you,” he said, peering at you owlishly.
“You do?” you said, making a face at the thought, your nose scrunching and your eyebrows knitting together.
“Megumi’s mentioned you once or twice,” he said. “You’re friends with that girl Yuji always brings to our formals, aren’t you? Speaking of which, where is she? I’m surprised she’s not sighing over Megumi or something.”
You decided you did not want to know what context you could’ve possibly been mentioned by Megumi in. It was probably better to remain ignorant, especially because you doubted Gojo of all people would tell you the truth in any way you understood.
“Is there a reason you came to talk to me?” you said. He pouted dramatically, the expression hilarious on his angular features, and then he threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.
“I just thought you were pretty,” he said. “Is that a crime?”
You were about to tell him it should be a crime to sound as stupid as he did, but then you paused, Yuji’s voice echoing in your mind, something about Gojo and his navy sheets. Narrowing your eyes and standing on your tiptoes, sighing in relief when Mei Mei was nowhere to be found, you turned to Gojo and batted your eyelashes at him.
“Well, how about you show me your room, then?” you said, internally cheering when his eyes widened before he nodded slowly, taking your hand and leading you through the crowd with authority. If you didn’t know better, you’d say there was a bit of disappointment to the hunch of his shoulders, the length of his stride, but since when had Satoru Gojo been the type to be disappointed by a girl coming to his room so willingly?
When you reached his room, you dove onto the mattress, pulling the covers up around your shoulders and taking out your phone, opening the website you pirated anime on. Gojo furrowed his brow before sliding in next to you, adjusting his collar, his eyelids heavy and his tongue darting out to dampen his rosy lips. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye before angling your screen away from him so that he didn’t see the hentai ad flashing in the corner and get the wrong idea.
“So, pretty girl, you’re in my room. What next?” he murmured, his index finger tracing along your cheekbone, sending shivers down your spine. You weren’t some kind of cold-blooded Komodo dragon, after all; he was attractive, objectively, if not exactly your type, and his sweet, gentle ministrations felt nice enough for you to lean into them, just for an instant before you remembered where you were, who he was, and the time that was rapidly approaching.
“Go get me a drink,” you said, flicking his hand away and drawing your knees to your chin. You had no intentions of actually drinking said drink, of course, but you needed an excuse to be alone in the room. Just twenty minutes so you could watch the episode, you just needed that…
“Oh, sure,” he said, not even questioning that you were the sober monitor, although he was definitely aware of it. “Any preference? There’s beer and jungle juice, but I can run to the store and get something nicer if you want.”
You brightened, because if he was going to walk to the liquor store around the corner, that would definitely give you enough time to watch the whole episode and see if there were any new edits on Tik Tok yet.
“Yes, can you get me some Fireball, please?” you said, naming the first drink you could think of, which was incidentally also Mei Mei’s favorite. Gojo gave your an odd look but shrugged and got up, shoving his feet back in his sneakers.
“Didn’t pin you as a whiskey girl, but sure. You’re okay staying here by yourself?” he said.
“Totally,” you said, because his sheets smelled like laundry detergent — thanks, Yuji — and the episode had just released on the website. Gojo gave you one last glance, a hint of that same earlier sadness in his gaze, and then he hummed and ducked out of the room, letting the door slam behind him as the opening of the show began to play.
It was a blissful ten minutes, watching in peace as the characters prepared for the World Cup, but as with all good things, it came to a sudden and sickening end, the door to Gojo’s room banging open and revealing a different tall, slender, pale-haired figure than the one you had been expecting.
“What are you doing here?” Mei Mei said, though she was clearly a little bewildered by the fact that you were fully clothed, alone, and had just yelped and thrown your phone across the bed. “Miwa has been sobbing and looking for you for the last five minutes.”
“I was just, um, taking a break,” you said, cringing when you realized that your show hadn’t actually paused. You tried inching towards it, but when Mei Mei leveled her glare upon you, you froze, your hand still extended towards your phone, where the main character was beginning to monologue under his breath. “Really, I wasn’t doing anything!”
“So you were just in my cousin’s room, in his bed, without him, for no reason?” she said.
“You said it yourself, he’s not even here, so it doesn’t mean anything that it’s his room! It was a total coincidence!” you said.
“Hey, good news!” Gojo said, walking in with an amber-colored bottle and a cheery grin. “I remembered Inumaki keeps Fireball in the laundry room, so I got some for you without having to go all of the way to — Mei Mei?”
There was an awkward silence, and then, from your phone, a resounding scream of goal! echoed, hanging between the three of you awkwardly as the imaginary crowd broke into cheers.
“Is that Japanese?” Mei Mei said.
“I’m, uh, doing an immersion program for class?” you said, your voice breaking into a whimper when she narrowed her eyes. Scrambling for your phone, you turned it off swiftly and then clasped your hands together. “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”
“Were you going to hook up with her?” Mei Mei asked Gojo, which would’ve irritated you to no end if it weren’t for the fact that you were too busy mustering up your most pleading expression, begging every god you could think of that he would read between the lines and understand that of course you would never do such a thing.
“Uh—”
“No!” you said in a rush, deciding you did not trust Gojo enough to let him answer her. “We were not going to do anything of the sort!”
“Then what are you doing in here?” Mei Mei said.
It was an impossible situation. You could tell Mei Mei you had snuck away to watch the latest episode of your anime, but that required confessing that you had lied during rush and were actually a powerscaler, not a baker. What would she do with that information? She couldn’t exactly kick you out, but she could make your life in the sorority miserable, and besides, you liked your friends, your life, even the random bullshit events you had to attend in the name of staying an active member. But if your sisters found out that you weren’t the way the rest of them were, you stood to lose them, and you couldn’t handle that. So, hanging your head, you did your best to look repentant, an attempt which you sensed was not fooling anyone.
“I’m sorry, Mei Mei,” you said. “You’re right. I…came up here…to fuck Gojo.”
The next morning, you woke up to no less than a hundred messages from Hana, most of which were shocked emojis, and a singular DM on Instagram from Gojo, who you had not had a chance to apologize to before Mei Mei dragged you from his room, kicked you out of the party, and then emailed you to tell you that you had to go to a meeting with the executive board the next day.
Sighing, you rolled out of your bed and trudged to the bathroom, deciding you would be better off just calling Hana instead of attempting to explain over text, not that you even knew what you were supposed to tell her. Still, you had to get on the video call with Mei Mei, Utahime, and the rest of the officers in about half an hour, so you figured that talking to Hana would at least allow you to formulate something like an actual story for you to pretend to beg for forgiveness with.
Hana, of course, picked up on the first ring, and she didn’t even allow you to get a word in edgewise before beginning her prattling, which was oddly soothing, a reminder that some things could never, would never change.
“I can’t believe it! You’re hooking up with Gojo? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m kind of offended! No wonder you always wanted to go to their parties, I was pretty sure you liked one of the brothers but my only guess before this was, like, Inumaki, and he’s not really your vibe. Well, honestly, I was hoping you’d go for Yuji, it’d be so cute and then you could help set me up with Megumi, plus I feel like he’s more your type than Gojo? But I mean Gojo’s good looking, he’s kind of everyone’s type, so I guess it makes sense. So? How was it?”
“How was what?” you said, rinsing off your toothbrush and squeezing out a dollop of face wash into your palm when you realized she had paused for you to respond with something.
“Sex with Gojo, duh!”
“I didn’t—” you broke off when I realized that your knee-jerk reaction of denial had to be nipped in the bud. Yes, you had fucked Gojo, and you needed to accept that or else tell Hana you were actually watching anime in his bed, which you had already decided you could not do. “—realize men can make women orgasm until him.”
She burst into a cackling fit of laughter. “Nice. So, he was better than your ex?”
You shuddered at the memory of the few times you had slept with your previous boyfriend, who had been so awkward and fumbling that the experience had been actively boring, for all his good intentions and probably larger-than-average cock. You assumed Gojo, if the two of you had actually done anything, would be better than that, so you didn’t even feel bad for answering with a resounding yes.
“I’m in big trouble, though,” you said when she finished her giggling. “I have to go to a conduct meeting over it.”
“You were the sober monitor, after all.”
“Whose side are you on, anyways?” you muttered, massaging sunscreen into your face, although all things told, she was handling it pretty well. She hadn’t yelled at you or called you an idiot yet, which meant she either was in full support of you and Gojo, or she had ulterior motives for being so friendly — which was the more likely scenario.
“Look, I’ll not lecture you if you promise to introduce me to Megumi properly. You’re fucking his big now, so it’s not impossible, right?”
“Sure,” you said, latching onto the first half of her statement before you realized what she was insinuating. “Wait, no—”
“Yay, thanks! It won’t be as great as if we were dating Yuji and Megumi together, but it’s not a bad option, you know. Oops, gotta go! I promised Nobara I’d go to brunch with her and she just texted me to let me know she’s on the way, so I need to get ready. Let me know how your meeting goes! We can go for feel-better coffee later if it’s bad, okay?”
She hung up before you could protest that you had absolutely zero way of setting her up with her crush. You sighed before shuffling into your room so you could change your shirt and open up your laptop to join the meeting on the link Mei Mei had ever-so-kindly attached to her email.
“We just want to start off by saying that you aren’t in trouble or anything. We just want to have a conversation about some things so that we can make sure that we are all aware of expectations moving forward!” Utahime, the president of your sorority, chirped, her smile clearly plastered on. You could tell she was reading off of a script based on the stiffness of her words, but as you had no interest in the meeting anyways, you didn’t mention it.
“Just so we’re all on the same page, we’re here because you were supposed to be the sober monitor at the mixer last night and snuck off midway through to meet with a boy, one who you know you’re meant to stay away from,” Mei Mei said.
“Yes,” you said.
“Do you have any reason for doing that?” Utahime said. “We want to help you, but you have to give us something to work with, you know…”
“I, um…” You floundered about before deciding you might as well commit to it. “I really have had a crush on him forever, so when he offered, I was so excited I couldn’t say no. I’m so sorry, Utahime, Mei Mei, all of you. I know I’ve let our sisters down, but I promise it won’t happen again.”
Utahime’s phone lit up, and she not-so-discreetly reached for it, her forehead scrunching as she read the text before nodding at you.
“Actually, that’s great to hear,” she said.
“Huh?” you said, having expected some kind of scolding and being entirely taken aback to find it was the opposite.
“Do you know a lot about dogs?” Mei Mei said.
“I guess?” you said, because the question was so random you had no idea how else to respond.
“Think of it like this,” she said. “All of us in the sorority are dogs, and Gojo is a particularly attractive tree.”
“A tree?” you said. “I guess he is built like one…”
“A tree,” Mei Mei affirmed. “One you just pissed on.”
“Ew, what the fuck?” you said. “We did not do anything like that!”
“Not literally,” Utahime said when Mei Mei only scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What she means is that Gojo is off limits now, since he’s yours. We won’t have to deal with him terrorizing our sisters anymore. It’s been a real headache for Mei Mei and I, so, thank you.”
“I wouldn’t say he’s mine, exactly, but sure, I get it,” you said, because it was either metaphorically continuing to piss on Gojo or doing community service or undergoing some other punishment of Mei Mei’s invention, and you weren’t lying, exactly, only allowing them to continue thinking what they wanted to.
“Just please, next time you’re a sober monitor, take it seriously,” Utahime said. “Thank you for everything, and have a great day!”
You left the call as soon as she allowed you to, not wanting to give her or the other officers any time to reconsider their decision. What an outcome! Sure, you might have to pretend to like Gojo a bit more than you wanted, but that was a small price to pay compared to what you might’ve actually been subjugated to, had it been anyone else.
Speaking of Gojo…he had messaged you earlier, and you still hadn’t read it, too preoccupied with calling Hana before your meeting with the executive officers. Given that he was somewhat instrumental to your plan, you figured you couldn’t put it off any more, resolving to tell him that he had to go along with your claims that you both had hooked up before you actually read what he had said and forgot about that facet entirely.
The chat was empty save for his singular, heart-stopping message and his cocky profile photo at the top, a shot snapped by Megumi, no doubt, featuring eyes sparkling from the flash and a grin blinding enough to change the migration patterns of no less than ten separate bird species.
ur into blue lock ???????
The cafe where you and Hana liked to meet was close to your apartment, so you were there within fifteen minutes, but somehow Gojo had already arrived, lounging at a table like he owned it and sipping on some sugary, whipped-cream monstrosity of a drink, his sunglasses still perched on his head and the top few buttons of his clearly expensive shirt unbuttoned. If you weren’t breaking out in a nervous sweat, you’d think to yourself that he looked handsome and then you’d be mad at yourself for having any positive thoughts about him, but as it was, you could only swallow and wave at him before taking a seat across from him.
“You don’t want a drink?” he said.
“No,” you said.
“I’ll pay for it,” he said.
“Okay, sure,” you said, because you were after all a college student on a limited budget, and nothing in the world could get in between you and a free drink. “Let’s go.”
The barista gave you a sympathetic look when she handed you your cup, Gojo and his credit card looming behind you ominously. You could almost hear her saying blink twice if you’re in trouble, so you did exactly that, but of course she was helpless in face of your plight, so you gave up rather quickly, following Gojo back to your table in the corner, where no one would see you.
“Since you know now, I just have to make it clear that I am not attracted to you, and I definitely did not want to hook up with you last night,” you said, jabbing your index finger at him. “And I never will!”
“Right,” he said.
“I won’t! And I only wanted to go to your room because a new episode of Blue Lock released last night and I wanted to watch it but I couldn’t leave the party in time otherwise,” you said. “That’s all it was, I promise.”
“So why’d you tell Mei Mei that we were sleeping together? She tore me a new one about it last night, you know,” he said.
“What was I supposed to do, tell her the truth?” you said. “She can’t know I’m into anime. No one can know. I’m not sure how you figured it out, but you have to keep it a secret, okay? If Mei Mei or Hana or Utahime or anyone else finds out, I’m done for. I would rather be known as the girl who fucked Satoru Gojo than a powerscaler!”
Gojo looked around before leaning close to you. You thought he was going to kiss you, so you leaned back, because you were absolutely not interested, but then you saw he was unlocking his phone, and your jaw dropped, because there was a Tik Tok account on the screen, one with a username you recognized. You didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, couldn’t come to terms with, but there it was, undeniable and real in front of you—
“You’re @/daddytoshi?” you said. “Holy shit, I love your edits, I save every one that I see! That Sae one was pure magic.”
“A secret for a secret,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re a powerscaler, and you won’t tell anyone that I’m an editor, because right now, my brothers think I spend so much time on my PC because I’m playing Call of Duty, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Deal,” you said. “Though there’s a bit of an issue.”
“Which is?” he said.
“Mei Mei and Utahime want me to piss on you,” you said. He coughed on the swig of his drink he had just taken, so you reached over and thumped him on the back. “Not literally, but, like, you’re a Christmas tree, and I’m a chihuahua, or something…uh, anyways, basically they want to make you off limits for the rest of the sisters by saying you’re mine, since apparently you get on their nerves and I’m their sacrifice.”
“So not only do you want me to lie to everyone that we had sex last night, you want to keep pretending until…?”
“Preferably until Mei Mei and Utahime graduate, but I’m generous, so we can break things off once they forget about all of this,” you said. “Just so you know, I have your edit account’s username, but you don’t have mine, so it’s in your best interest to go along with what I ask.”
“I tried to show you some goodwill and now you’re blackmailing me,” Gojo said, but beneath his whining he sounded impressed, a stark contrast to his disappointment from the night before. You shrugged.
“I guess so,” you said. “How about it? We don’t actually need to do anything, don’t worry. Actually, I have an idea! We make it seem like we’re going up to your room to fuck, but then we actually just watch the newest episode of whatever show is airing at the time!”
“The logic is sound,” he said, and it was obvious he didn’t want to, but he was clearly actually considering it, and as well he should — it was a foolproof idea that allowed you both to graduate with your dignities and reputations intact. “Sounds like a plan.”
He offered you his pinky, and just as you were interlocking yours with it to seal the promise, you heard a squeal. Jumping backwards, you felt the blood drain from your face when you saw Hana standing with Nobara, her cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled at the corners from the force of her smile.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe we’re seeing you here! Wow, Gojo, you know she’s not been interested in anyone for ages, I had really given up hope for her! It makes me so happy she’s finally found someone she likes, and especially someone like you, I’m so glad — wait, I shouldn’t bother you guys when you’re on a date, I’m so sorry. Text me later, okay? I want to know all about how it went!” she said, clapping before ushering Nobara away and winking over her shoulder at you.
“That’s not a bad start,” Gojo mused when you buried your face in your hands. “Even your own best friend believes it. This may be easier than I anticipated.”
“For you, maybe,” you said. “But for me? This might just be the worst thing I’ve had to endure since primary recruitment.”
Synopsis: On paper, you are the perfect sorority girl, but what none of your sisters know is that you have a dark secret — in your free time, you enjoy powerscaling fictional characters. However, when a single mistake threatens to ruin the balance you have so carefully maintained, you must take drastic measures, lest your obsession with anime is revealed to the world and your life is absolutely, definitely, 100% certainly ruined.
Pairing: Gojo x F!Reader
Word Count: 7.1k
Content Warnings: frat au (PLEASE THiS ISN’T ME I SWEAR), crack treated seriously, i don’t fw jjk anymore so no part two you’ve been warned, sexual innuendos/jokes, mentions of hooking up/sex/alcohol, everyone ooc as hell in keeping with the frat au tradition, reader is a blue lock fan so plenty of blue lock mentions (but you don’t have to have watched to understand it), i swear this is not an accurate representation of my writing skill
A/N: as a member of a sorority 99% of frat au fics give me hives I’M SO SORRY PLEASE DON’T TAKE THIS IN A MEAN WAY but anyways so then i thought i should write one myself except lowkey i wish i UNthought that because i don’t like this fic at all but oh well who gaf….anyways .this is highly unserious but also fairly realistic actually LKSFJH I SWEAR ON MY GREEK LIFE HONOR I ONLY CHANGED SOME BITS FOR THE PLOT
Your scowl deepened the longer you stared at your phone, your lips pursing into a pout as the video continued to play. Shitty phonk music blasted from your headphones as you wove through the midday campus rush, reading and rereading the caption on a video made by some stupid, probably-fifteen-year-old boy, inexplicably claiming that your favorite manga character was narratively fucking washed.
r u slow lil bro obv nagi has way more potential than kaiser
yeah how many chapters since potential man last scored ???????? LMFAO
You were just about to type an entire paragraph defending Nagi when, abruptly, someone nudged you in the side, the sweet, faint scent of her perfume forcing you to turn off your phone and pray she hadn’t seen what it was open to, nearly dropping it in your haste to shove it in your pocket before she could ask you what you were doing.
“What’s got you so jumpy?” Hana said, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye as she fell into step beside you, her curly blonde ponytail bobbing behind her as she took a long sip from her water bottle, fanning herself for good measure, although such feeble attempts were nothing compared to the oppressive summer heat, which was thick and sticky, as if the air itself had become a pulsing, living thing.
“Nothing,” you said. “I was just, um — did you see that new message from our beloved social chair?”
She rolled her eyes, which, coming from Hana, was all but a damning statement, because she was so sweet and gentle that even now, she was still called — albeit a little teasingly — by her childhood nickname of Angel. But then again, neither of you were incredibly fond of said social chair, and you had discussed as much several times, tucked away in the safety of her apartment with blankets thrown over your laps and wine staining your lips.
“I can’t believe she got elected,” Hana muttered under her breath, glancing from side to side before she did, ducking her head shyly. “I’m pretty sure it’s only because she’s friends with Utahime, and everyone loves Utahime.”
“Of course, everyone knows she just picked all of her friends to be on the board,” you said sardonically. “Who could expect the president to serve with a bunch of strangers?”
“Don’t you mean sisters?” Hana said with a giggle, hiding her mouth behind her hand demurely. “Anyways, no, I didn’t see what Mei Mei sent. How bad is it?”
“We were picked to be sober monitors at the mixer this weekend,” you said.
“Are you serious?” she said. “I wasn’t even planning on going!”
“I would’ve made you come,” you said dismissively, grateful that she had forgotten all about whatever was making you so jumpy earlier. “But seriously, I wouldn’t joke about something like this. I can barely handle this kind of event when I’m drunk, so forget about being sober! I’d actually rather die, but anything to avoid getting in trouble with Utahime and Mei Mei...”
“Sober in a frat basement,” Hana said. You shuddered at the mere image, and she patted you on the shoulder sympathetically. “I can’t begin to imagine.”
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing to imagine,” you said grimly. “That’s going to be our reality in just a few short days.”
Your phone vibrated, and you dared to sneak a glance at it while she was whining about how she had planned an incredible pregame for the two of you and now it was all ruined, just because Mei Mei had definitely rigged the lottery, since according to Hana, the older girl held a grudge on the two of you for the time you forgot to pay her back for an Uber.
this ur goat ???
[Attachment: 1 Image]
Image Description: A photo of Seishiro Nagi from the manga series “Blue Lock”, depicting him crying and curled up on the ground with snot all over his face as he sobs.
“Are you serious?” you hissed.
“What?” Hana said, clearly startled by the sudden flash of vitriol. You schooled your features back into a controlled mask, beaming at her so widely that you were quite sure she didn’t believe it a bit.
“Nothing!”
It was difficult, living this kind of a double life. How would you explain it to your friends, your sorority sisters, the girls who had chosen you because you were bright and pretty and, above all else, just like them? How could you tell Hana or Utahime that, actually, your greatest hobby wasn’t shopping or baking or whatever else you had put in the ‘about me’ section of your application to rush? How could you confess to Mei Mei that you hadn’t watched the latest season of Love Island yet because you were too busy arguing with teenagers on the internet about which fictional soccer player could kick a ball the best?
In truth, this was your most shameful secret: ever since you were a little girl, you had loved powerscaling. Gathering statements, debating feats, insulting other users of the internet…you could go on for hours on as pointless of a subject as proving why a chair from Attack on Titan was narratively implied to be stronger than the entire Demon Slayer verse, if only you were called upon to do so. But, unfortunately, when you entered middle school, the heavens played a particularly cruel trick on you as well as everyone you knew, a trick that was colloquially known as puberty.
There was a longer story to it all, but the short of it was something along the lines of you grew breasts and boys grew stupid. Suddenly, whatever you said was deemed irrelevant because it came from your mouth, and the few girls your age who shared your interests summarily rejected you in a bid for attention from the only friends they had, friends who accepted them as surely as they turned their noses up at you. So you were left to talk with the ones you had once felt shy around, those girls who already wore lip gloss and mascara and blush, and you found they were not so much more grown than you at all, and that was that. You wore lip gloss and mascara and blush and became one of them so well that sometimes, you wondered if that was who you really had been all along.
“Things just went from bad to worse,” Hana informed you from where she was perched on the edge of your bed, a mirror in one hand and a lash curler held up to her left eye with the other. When you didn’t respond, she cleared her throat for emphasis, clearly indicating she wouldn’t continue until you asked her what she meant. Sighing and setting down your phone, you nodded at her.
“What happened?” you said, because things for you had also just gone from bad to worse — you were missing the latest episode of your favorite anime that was set to release tonight, and when you had texted Mei Mei to ask if you could leave early from your sober-monitor-duties, you had been told, in no uncertain terms, no.
“Megumi is actually attending tonight!” she said with a wail, dropping the curler in her lap and throwing her hands in the air. “Nobara just texted me and told me that Maki told her that Yuji told her that he was threatened with probation if he kept skipping all of their events, so he’s going tonight because he thinks our sorority is generally tolerable enough or something!”
“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” you said, patting her lightly on the shoulder as you stood to start getting ready yourself, deciding you had procrastinated long enough, especially given you couldn’t be late like you usually were to such events. “He thinks we’re generally tolerable enough, so he probably thinks you’re generally tolerable enough, too.”
Her lower lip began to tremble, which meant her eyes were about to water, which meant it was a really good thing her makeup was waterproof. True to form, she burst into tears, blotting them with her hot pink beauty blender so that her foundation wasn’t too horribly smudged by the smear of tissues along her lashline.
“I’m going to be so awkward if I’m sober in front of him! I won’t even be able to look at him, let alone talk to him, let alone flirt with him! I’m going to die sad and alone and unmarried and it’s all going to be stupid Mei Mei’s fault for making me be a sober monitor on the one day Megumi Fushiguro actually decided to show up to an event. Just give up on your dreams of being a maid of honor at a wedding, okay? It’s not happening!”
“I wouldn’t go that far, Hana,” you said. “Megumi’s pretty awkward, too—”
“No, he’s not!”
“—so you can totally have some kind of bonding moment with him,” you continued, ignoring her interjection, because there was quite literally a photo of Megumi included in the Wikipedia article on awkwardness in college-aged males, ostensibly added as part of some kind of hazing ritual devised by the clever Toge Inumaki, who had long ago forbidden anyone from changing it and in fact put it back whenever an actual editor tried correcting it. “Besides, I’m sure Miwa will make me her maid of honor, so I’m not too worried.”
Miwa was your little, a wide-eyed girl who had joined your sorority because her uncle, a handsome and infamous alumni of your least-favorite-frat, told her that Greek life was the best way to meet friends. She had made friends, but she had also almost found herself as Mei Mei’s best errand girl; you never told her, but you actually only took her as your little because you felt bad and you knew that, if anything, she would certainly be left alone were she associated with you. You weren’t necessarily as active as some of the members, mostly because you generally preferred to stay at home and doomscroll as opposed to going to meetings, but even the worst of your sisters held a cautious respect for your total lack of passion, and it lent you a sort of untouchable air that you clung to desperately.
“Oh, okay, I see how it is,” Hana said, wrinkling her nose.
“Hana, seriously, it’ll be okay,” you said, throwing her a bone. “Yuji will be there too, and the two of you are friends, right? I’m sure Megumi will be hanging around him like always, so just talk to him and it’ll all work out. Don’t worry so much, or else you really will look lame the entire night.”
“You’re right,” she said, flopping back on you bed, careful not to upset the rollers pinning her golden hair in place until she was done with getting ready for the night. “It’ll all be okay.”
You supposed, then, that made your life a lesson in dramatic irony, because things, as you soon came to find, were not, in fact, okay.
are you guys at the house yet or not
You liked a message.
“Mei Mei’s texting,” you said, showing Hana your phone. “We’re supposed to get there early and all.”
“Why’d you like the message?” Hana said, squinting at it. “We’re not there yet.”
“Who cares?” you said. “We’re only two minutes away, and iIt’s a mixer, not even an official event. Do you seriously want to sit around in an empty basement waiting for everyone else to show up for even more time than absolutely necessary?”
“I guess so,” she said, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably, far too much of a rule follower to really be able to accept your half-truth, even if you hadn’t said anything to Mei Mei that actually confirmed your presence at the house.
“Hey, it’s you guys!”
As you approached the crumbling driveway of the house, you were all but bowled over by the exuberant Yuji Itadori, who was one of Hana’s best friends and your freshman year geology lab partner. He was that kind of a guy, who even now recognized you when he saw you on campus and walked over to say hello, although the two of you were not really friends and had never been close. Still, when he hugged you, the scent of him warm and enveloping, you thought that you did not mind him as much, that you were glad that at least he was here, too.
“Hey, Yuji,” you said. “They’ve got you on door duty? I thought that was a pledge thing.”
He flashed you a glossy-eyed, pink-cheeked grin, dopey from alcohol and the evening heat. It was sweet, charming in its own way, and not for the first time you wondered at Hana’s resolve, that she was so doggedly set on the gloomy and shy Megumi when Yuji was right there, sunshiney and bright and impossible not to love, her close friendship with him notwithstanding.
“I offered to wash Inumaki’s shirts for him, but I didn’t realize that Gojo’s sheets were already in the washer when I started it,” he said.
“So?” you said. “Gojo’s sheet’s got washed twice, what’s the big deal? From what I’ve heard of him, they probably needed it.”
“His sheets are navy,” he said, leaning his forehead against Hana’s shoulder as if to disguise his shame. “And Inumaki’s shirts are white.”
“And I’m sure that this idiot didn’t use a color catcher,” Hana said, though she did pat him on the head soothingly, which took the snag out of her words. “So they put you on door duty for that?”
“Yup,” he said. “Well, you guys are sober monitors, what’s the deal with that?”
“We volunteered!” you said, your voice so cheery that the sarcasm was implied. But you knew better than to speak ill of anyone in your sorority in public, especially not to the loose-lipped Yuji, whose mouth was still wet with alcohol. Hana muttered something under her breath that was likely derogatory, but she hummed in agreement, absolving her of any wrongdoing. “We have to make sure our sisters are alright, after all.”
“You guys are so sweet,” he said before he was forcibly yanked backwards, away from Hana’s neck and into the air, where he dangled like a limp, wet puppy.
“My brother!” Aoi Todo said, arriving as he always did with a great, booming quality of voice and presence. “Inumaki’s looking for you.”
“Oh, boy,” Yuji said with a comical frown. “See you around, guys.”
“Good luck,” Hana said.
“Tell Inumaki I said hi,” you said, because as far as frat brothers went, you found that Inumaki was amusing enough for you to not entirely despise him, and he was generally your solace in those parties that you could not convince Hana to come no matter what you did.
“Are you two the sober monitors for tonight?” Todo asked you as Yuji trudged away with his shoulders slumped, clearly not excited for whatever new punishment Inumaki had devised for him.
“That’s us,” you said. “Say, where’s Megumi? I heard he was actually coming for once.”
Hana stomped on your foot as you walked along, but you ignored it, because when it came to Todo, there was no sense in tact. He had all the sensitivity of a thick-hided bull, and even this was in fact likely too subtle of an inquiry for him to understand fully what you meant by it.
“No idea. He’ll probably be around later, if at all. His house is a long walk, which is just more of a motivation for him not to come,” Todo said.
“Not to come!” Hana said before clapping her hand over her mouth. “I mean, ah. Whatever. Sure, makes sense.”
“I’m sure he’s on the way,” you said. “It’s nice out, so he’d probably take advantage of the weather, and anyways if he said he’s coming then he’ll be here.”
Todo just generally did not have a good impression of Megumi — he and Inumaki had been the pledge masters for Yuji and Megumi’s class, but whereas Yuji, who he eventually took as his little, was the epitome of a fraternity brother, Megumi could not be further from the designation. He only even joined because Yuji made him and he supposedly could find no reason to say no, but Todo, according to Nobara Kugisaki, had never been quite impressed by the easygoing and lackadaisical approach. Whatever he had to say about Megumi was to be taken with a heavy handful of salt, and you prayed Hana would remember that before having one of her fits.
“I’d offer you guys something to drink, but I guess you probably can’t,” Todo said, holding the door to the basement open for you and allowing you to duck under his arm.
“Not tonight, I’m afraid,” you said. “Thanks for the offer, though. You owe me for next time.”
“Got it,” he said, having to speak a little louder so you could hear him over the music, which was being curated to mediocrity by Yuta Okkotsu, who was not a member of the frat but was best friends with Inumaki and thus got to enter their parties regardless.
Although you and Hana should’ve been there early, you were far from the first people there. The party was in full swing, and in the corner you noticed Mei Mei’s silvery braid, which meant there was a solid chance she knew you were late. Still, you decided if she didn’t say anything, you weren’t about to confess, so beyond nudging Hana and pointing her way, you didn’t acknowledge her presence whatsoever.
The party went exactly as most parties of this sort tended to; as the night went on, more and more people arrived, the flush of the basement growing thicker, sweatier with every passing instant, the sharp scent of weed permeating the atmosphere. Weed and mud and the tangy juice being served by one of the little pledges, Junpei, who had a permanently wide-eyed expression, like he could not quite believe he was there and was just waiting for someone — probably Inumaki — to jump out and steal it all from him.
Maybe if you were drunk, it would’ve been tolerable, or if Hana had stayed at your side, it might’ve been okay, but as you were sober and she was across the room from you, all you could think to yourself was that you were missing the latest episode of your show, which would start airing in about ten minutes.
“Hey,” a soft voice murmured in your ear. “What’re you doing here all alone?”
You whipped around, shivers running down your back at the scent of mint, cool and sweet and entirely foreign in the mugginess of the basement. The voice was familiar in the way of a dream, like something you had heard once, long ago, and had almost forgotten but not quite. You did not know him but you should’ve, you did not know him but you wanted to, you did not know him but —
“Oh, it’s you,” you said dismissively, rolling your eyes when you realized it was Satoru Gojo leaning against the wall at your side, arms folded across his chest, sunglasses perched on the crown of his head, although it was already well past midnight. He raised a brow at your when he noticed your curious gaze, and you figured it was meant to be seductive, but to you, he just looked a little ridiculous, so you fought back a snort in order to give him a polite smile.
Gojo was Megumi’s big, as Todo was Yuji’s, but unlike the boisterous Todo, he preferred to maintain a cool, detached sort of reputation. He was the senior that everyone wanted but no one could have, at least not for more than a night or two, and he flitted around parties like a rare, elusive bird, exactly as delicate, exactly as ghostly. He was also Mei Mei’s most-despised third cousin, which meant that he was strictly off-limits for all of you if you valued your lives and limbs, but as someone who had never held much interest in the man, this had never mattered to you until now.
“Hey, I know you,” he said, peering at you owlishly.
“You do?” you said, making a face at the thought, your nose scrunching and your eyebrows knitting together.
“Megumi’s mentioned you once or twice,” he said. “You’re friends with that girl Yuji always brings to our formals, aren’t you? Speaking of which, where is she? I’m surprised she’s not sighing over Megumi or something.”
You decided you did not want to know what context you could’ve possibly been mentioned by Megumi in. It was probably better to remain ignorant, especially because you doubted Gojo of all people would tell you the truth in any way you understood.
“Is there a reason you came to talk to me?” you said. He pouted dramatically, the expression hilarious on his angular features, and then he threw his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.
“I just thought you were pretty,” he said. “Is that a crime?”
You were about to tell him it should be a crime to sound as stupid as he did, but then you paused, Yuji’s voice echoing in your mind, something about Gojo and his navy sheets. Narrowing your eyes and standing on your tiptoes, sighing in relief when Mei Mei was nowhere to be found, you turned to Gojo and batted your eyelashes at him.
“Well, how about you show me your room, then?” you said, internally cheering when his eyes widened before he nodded slowly, taking your hand and leading you through the crowd with authority. If you didn’t know better, you’d say there was a bit of disappointment to the hunch of his shoulders, the length of his stride, but since when had Satoru Gojo been the type to be disappointed by a girl coming to his room so willingly?
When you reached his room, you dove onto the mattress, pulling the covers up around your shoulders and taking out your phone, opening the website you pirated anime on. Gojo furrowed his brow before sliding in next to you, adjusting his collar, his eyelids heavy and his tongue darting out to dampen his rosy lips. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye before angling your screen away from him so that he didn’t see the hentai ad flashing in the corner and get the wrong idea.
“So, pretty girl, you’re in my room. What next?” he murmured, his index finger tracing along your cheekbone, sending shivers down your spine. You weren’t some kind of cold-blooded Komodo dragon, after all; he was attractive, objectively, if not exactly your type, and his sweet, gentle ministrations felt nice enough for you to lean into them, just for an instant before you remembered where you were, who he was, and the time that was rapidly approaching.
“Go get me a drink,” you said, flicking his hand away and drawing your knees to your chin. You had no intentions of actually drinking said drink, of course, but you needed an excuse to be alone in the room. Just twenty minutes so you could watch the episode, you just needed that…
“Oh, sure,” he said, not even questioning that you were the sober monitor, although he was definitely aware of it. “Any preference? There’s beer and jungle juice, but I can run to the store and get something nicer if you want.”
You brightened, because if he was going to walk to the liquor store around the corner, that would definitely give you enough time to watch the whole episode and see if there were any new edits on Tik Tok yet.
“Yes, can you get me some Fireball, please?” you said, naming the first drink you could think of, which was incidentally also Mei Mei’s favorite. Gojo gave your an odd look but shrugged and got up, shoving his feet back in his sneakers.
“Didn’t pin you as a whiskey girl, but sure. You’re okay staying here by yourself?” he said.
“Totally,” you said, because his sheets smelled like laundry detergent — thanks, Yuji — and the episode had just released on the website. Gojo gave you one last glance, a hint of that same earlier sadness in his gaze, and then he hummed and ducked out of the room, letting the door slam behind him as the opening of the show began to play.
It was a blissful ten minutes, watching in peace as the characters prepared for the World Cup, but as with all good things, it came to a sudden and sickening end, the door to Gojo’s room banging open and revealing a different tall, slender, pale-haired figure than the one you had been expecting.
“What are you doing here?” Mei Mei said, though she was clearly a little bewildered by the fact that you were fully clothed, alone, and had just yelped and thrown your phone across the bed. “Miwa has been sobbing and looking for you for the last five minutes.”
“I was just, um, taking a break,” you said, cringing when you realized that your show hadn’t actually paused. You tried inching towards it, but when Mei Mei leveled her glare upon you, you froze, your hand still extended towards your phone, where the main character was beginning to monologue under his breath. “Really, I wasn’t doing anything!”
“So you were just in my cousin’s room, in his bed, without him, for no reason?” she said.
“You said it yourself, he’s not even here, so it doesn’t mean anything that it’s his room! It was a total coincidence!” you said.
“Hey, good news!” Gojo said, walking in with an amber-colored bottle and a cheery grin. “I remembered Inumaki keeps Fireball in the laundry room, so I got some for you without having to go all of the way to — Mei Mei?”
There was an awkward silence, and then, from your phone, a resounding scream of goal! echoed, hanging between the three of you awkwardly as the imaginary crowd broke into cheers.
“Is that Japanese?” Mei Mei said.
“I’m, uh, doing an immersion program for class?” you said, your voice breaking into a whimper when she narrowed her eyes. Scrambling for your phone, you turned it off swiftly and then clasped your hands together. “I swear it’s not what it looks like!”
“Were you going to hook up with her?” Mei Mei asked Gojo, which would’ve irritated you to no end if it weren’t for the fact that you were too busy mustering up your most pleading expression, begging every god you could think of that he would read between the lines and understand that of course you would never do such a thing.
“Uh—”
“No!” you said in a rush, deciding you did not trust Gojo enough to let him answer her. “We were not going to do anything of the sort!”
“Then what are you doing in here?” Mei Mei said.
It was an impossible situation. You could tell Mei Mei you had snuck away to watch the latest episode of your anime, but that required confessing that you had lied during rush and were actually a powerscaler, not a baker. What would she do with that information? She couldn’t exactly kick you out, but she could make your life in the sorority miserable, and besides, you liked your friends, your life, even the random bullshit events you had to attend in the name of staying an active member. But if your sisters found out that you weren’t the way the rest of them were, you stood to lose them, and you couldn’t handle that. So, hanging your head, you did your best to look repentant, an attempt which you sensed was not fooling anyone.
“I’m sorry, Mei Mei,” you said. “You’re right. I…came up here…to fuck Gojo.”
The next morning, you woke up to no less than a hundred messages from Hana, most of which were shocked emojis, and a singular DM on Instagram from Gojo, who you had not had a chance to apologize to before Mei Mei dragged you from his room, kicked you out of the party, and then emailed you to tell you that you had to go to a meeting with the executive board the next day.
Sighing, you rolled out of your bed and trudged to the bathroom, deciding you would be better off just calling Hana instead of attempting to explain over text, not that you even knew what you were supposed to tell her. Still, you had to get on the video call with Mei Mei, Utahime, and the rest of the officers in about half an hour, so you figured that talking to Hana would at least allow you to formulate something like an actual story for you to pretend to beg for forgiveness with.
Hana, of course, picked up on the first ring, and she didn’t even allow you to get a word in edgewise before beginning her prattling, which was oddly soothing, a reminder that some things could never, would never change.
“I can’t believe it! You’re hooking up with Gojo? Why didn’t you tell me? I’m kind of offended! No wonder you always wanted to go to their parties, I was pretty sure you liked one of the brothers but my only guess before this was, like, Inumaki, and he’s not really your vibe. Well, honestly, I was hoping you’d go for Yuji, it’d be so cute and then you could help set me up with Megumi, plus I feel like he’s more your type than Gojo? But I mean Gojo’s good looking, he’s kind of everyone’s type, so I guess it makes sense. So? How was it?”
“How was what?” you said, rinsing off your toothbrush and squeezing out a dollop of face wash into your palm when you realized she had paused for you to respond with something.
“Sex with Gojo, duh!”
“I didn’t—” you broke off when I realized that your knee-jerk reaction of denial had to be nipped in the bud. Yes, you had fucked Gojo, and you needed to accept that or else tell Hana you were actually watching anime in his bed, which you had already decided you could not do. “—realize men can make women orgasm until him.”
She burst into a cackling fit of laughter. “Nice. So, he was better than your ex?”
You shuddered at the memory of the few times you had slept with your previous boyfriend, who had been so awkward and fumbling that the experience had been actively boring, for all his good intentions and probably larger-than-average cock. You assumed Gojo, if the two of you had actually done anything, would be better than that, so you didn’t even feel bad for answering with a resounding yes.
“I’m in big trouble, though,” you said when she finished her giggling. “I have to go to a conduct meeting over it.”
“You were the sober monitor, after all.”
“Whose side are you on, anyways?” you muttered, massaging sunscreen into your face, although all things told, she was handling it pretty well. She hadn’t yelled at you or called you an idiot yet, which meant she either was in full support of you and Gojo, or she had ulterior motives for being so friendly — which was the more likely scenario.
“Look, I’ll not lecture you if you promise to introduce me to Megumi properly. You’re fucking his big now, so it’s not impossible, right?”
“Sure,” you said, latching onto the first half of her statement before you realized what she was insinuating. “Wait, no—”
“Yay, thanks! It won’t be as great as if we were dating Yuji and Megumi together, but it’s not a bad option, you know. Oops, gotta go! I promised Nobara I’d go to brunch with her and she just texted me to let me know she’s on the way, so I need to get ready. Let me know how your meeting goes! We can go for feel-better coffee later if it’s bad, okay?”
She hung up before you could protest that you had absolutely zero way of setting her up with her crush. You sighed before shuffling into your room so you could change your shirt and open up your laptop to join the meeting on the link Mei Mei had ever-so-kindly attached to her email.
“We just want to start off by saying that you aren’t in trouble or anything. We just want to have a conversation about some things so that we can make sure that we are all aware of expectations moving forward!” Utahime, the president of your sorority, chirped, her smile clearly plastered on. You could tell she was reading off of a script based on the stiffness of her words, but as you had no interest in the meeting anyways, you didn’t mention it.
“Just so we’re all on the same page, we’re here because you were supposed to be the sober monitor at the mixer last night and snuck off midway through to meet with a boy, one who you know you’re meant to stay away from,” Mei Mei said.
“Yes,” you said.
“Do you have any reason for doing that?” Utahime said. “We want to help you, but you have to give us something to work with, you know…”
“I, um…” You floundered about before deciding you might as well commit to it. “I really have had a crush on him forever, so when he offered, I was so excited I couldn’t say no. I’m so sorry, Utahime, Mei Mei, all of you. I know I’ve let our sisters down, but I promise it won’t happen again.”
Utahime’s phone lit up, and she not-so-discreetly reached for it, her forehead scrunching as she read the text before nodding at you.
“Actually, that’s great to hear,” she said.
“Huh?” you said, having expected some kind of scolding and being entirely taken aback to find it was the opposite.
“Do you know a lot about dogs?” Mei Mei said.
“I guess?” you said, because the question was so random you had no idea how else to respond.
“Think of it like this,” she said. “All of us in the sorority are dogs, and Gojo is a particularly attractive tree.”
“A tree?” you said. “I guess he is built like one…”
“A tree,” Mei Mei affirmed. “One you just pissed on.”
“Ew, what the fuck?” you said. “We did not do anything like that!”
“Not literally,” Utahime said when Mei Mei only scoffed and rolled her eyes. “What she means is that Gojo is off limits now, since he’s yours. We won’t have to deal with him terrorizing our sisters anymore. It’s been a real headache for Mei Mei and I, so, thank you.”
“I wouldn’t say he’s mine, exactly, but sure, I get it,” you said, because it was either metaphorically continuing to piss on Gojo or doing community service or undergoing some other punishment of Mei Mei’s invention, and you weren’t lying, exactly, only allowing them to continue thinking what they wanted to.
“Just please, next time you’re a sober monitor, take it seriously,” Utahime said. “Thank you for everything, and have a great day!”
You left the call as soon as she allowed you to, not wanting to give her or the other officers any time to reconsider their decision. What an outcome! Sure, you might have to pretend to like Gojo a bit more than you wanted, but that was a small price to pay compared to what you might’ve actually been subjugated to, had it been anyone else.
Speaking of Gojo…he had messaged you earlier, and you still hadn’t read it, too preoccupied with calling Hana before your meeting with the executive officers. Given that he was somewhat instrumental to your plan, you figured you couldn’t put it off any more, resolving to tell him that he had to go along with your claims that you both had hooked up before you actually read what he had said and forgot about that facet entirely.
The chat was empty save for his singular, heart-stopping message and his cocky profile photo at the top, a shot snapped by Megumi, no doubt, featuring eyes sparkling from the flash and a grin blinding enough to change the migration patterns of no less than ten separate bird species.
ur into blue lock ???????
The cafe where you and Hana liked to meet was close to your apartment, so you were there within fifteen minutes, but somehow Gojo had already arrived, lounging at a table like he owned it and sipping on some sugary, whipped-cream monstrosity of a drink, his sunglasses still perched on his head and the top few buttons of his clearly expensive shirt unbuttoned. If you weren’t breaking out in a nervous sweat, you’d think to yourself that he looked handsome and then you’d be mad at yourself for having any positive thoughts about him, but as it was, you could only swallow and wave at him before taking a seat across from him.
“You don’t want a drink?” he said.
“No,” you said.
“I’ll pay for it,” he said.
“Okay, sure,” you said, because you were after all a college student on a limited budget, and nothing in the world could get in between you and a free drink. “Let’s go.”
The barista gave you a sympathetic look when she handed you your cup, Gojo and his credit card looming behind you ominously. You could almost hear her saying blink twice if you’re in trouble, so you did exactly that, but of course she was helpless in face of your plight, so you gave up rather quickly, following Gojo back to your table in the corner, where no one would see you.
“Since you know now, I just have to make it clear that I am not attracted to you, and I definitely did not want to hook up with you last night,” you said, jabbing your index finger at him. “And I never will!”
“Right,” he said.
“I won’t! And I only wanted to go to your room because a new episode of Blue Lock released last night and I wanted to watch it but I couldn’t leave the party in time otherwise,” you said. “That’s all it was, I promise.”
“So why’d you tell Mei Mei that we were sleeping together? She tore me a new one about it last night, you know,” he said.
“What was I supposed to do, tell her the truth?” you said. “She can’t know I’m into anime. No one can know. I’m not sure how you figured it out, but you have to keep it a secret, okay? If Mei Mei or Hana or Utahime or anyone else finds out, I’m done for. I would rather be known as the girl who fucked Satoru Gojo than a powerscaler!”
Gojo looked around before leaning close to you. You thought he was going to kiss you, so you leaned back, because you were absolutely not interested, but then you saw he was unlocking his phone, and your jaw dropped, because there was a Tik Tok account on the screen, one with a username you recognized. You didn’t want to believe it, couldn’t believe it, couldn’t come to terms with, but there it was, undeniable and real in front of you—
“You’re @/daddytoshi?” you said. “Holy shit, I love your edits, I save every one that I see! That Sae one was pure magic.”
“A secret for a secret,” he said. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re a powerscaler, and you won’t tell anyone that I’m an editor, because right now, my brothers think I spend so much time on my PC because I’m playing Call of Duty, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Deal,” you said. “Though there’s a bit of an issue.”
“Which is?” he said.
“Mei Mei and Utahime want me to piss on you,” you said. He coughed on the swig of his drink he had just taken, so you reached over and thumped him on the back. “Not literally, but, like, you’re a Christmas tree, and I’m a chihuahua, or something…uh, anyways, basically they want to make you off limits for the rest of the sisters by saying you’re mine, since apparently you get on their nerves and I’m their sacrifice.”
“So not only do you want me to lie to everyone that we had sex last night, you want to keep pretending until…?”
“Preferably until Mei Mei and Utahime graduate, but I’m generous, so we can break things off once they forget about all of this,” you said. “Just so you know, I have your edit account’s username, but you don’t have mine, so it’s in your best interest to go along with what I ask.”
“I tried to show you some goodwill and now you’re blackmailing me,” Gojo said, but beneath his whining he sounded impressed, a stark contrast to his disappointment from the night before. You shrugged.
“I guess so,” you said. “How about it? We don’t actually need to do anything, don’t worry. Actually, I have an idea! We make it seem like we’re going up to your room to fuck, but then we actually just watch the newest episode of whatever show is airing at the time!”
“The logic is sound,” he said, and it was obvious he didn’t want to, but he was clearly actually considering it, and as well he should — it was a foolproof idea that allowed you both to graduate with your dignities and reputations intact. “Sounds like a plan.”
He offered you his pinky, and just as you were interlocking yours with it to seal the promise, you heard a squeal. Jumping backwards, you felt the blood drain from your face when you saw Hana standing with Nobara, her cheeks flushed and eyes crinkled at the corners from the force of her smile.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t believe we’re seeing you here! Wow, Gojo, you know she’s not been interested in anyone for ages, I had really given up hope for her! It makes me so happy she’s finally found someone she likes, and especially someone like you, I’m so glad — wait, I shouldn’t bother you guys when you’re on a date, I’m so sorry. Text me later, okay? I want to know all about how it went!” she said, clapping before ushering Nobara away and winking over her shoulder at you.
“That’s not a bad start,” Gojo mused when you buried your face in your hands. “Even your own best friend believes it. This may be easier than I anticipated.”
“For you, maybe,” you said. “But for me? This might just be the worst thing I’ve had to endure since primary recruitment.”
you’re staring. you know you’re staring, and you know it’s socially impolite and rude, but you can’t help it. social…rightness has never particularly been your strong suit, and you think that the man you’re staring at is going to crush your head in between hands that are more like tiger paws. before he can commence with the head crushing, you approach him, maybe just a bit too rapidly.
Sukuna stares down at you. this awkward, almost bug-eyed stranger, who’s been staring at him from across the produce aisle for one too many seconds now. you don’t even look at the pomegranates below you before you’re making your way over to him, phone up and opened, your mouth opening and closing once, twice.
“spit it out,” he tells you, nose in the air. you note that he doesn’t have a cart or a basket, and is holding too many things in his hands that shouldn’t be possible. again; tiger claws. his voice reverberates through the quiet aisles of the store, and you blink back into focus, staring again. he can count the moles on your skin from your proximity.
“your tattoos are really nice,” you start out, replaying back in your head your rehearsed lines, trying to keep your voice steady. “the black is so solid, and the line work is incredible.”
you pause, waiting for his acknowledgment, his grunt of thanks. he doesn’t say anything and neither do you until he, briskly, lifts and drops a shoulder in what you assume is his version of thanks. you continue, and he can’t help but narrow his eyes a bit in amusement at your little quirks.
“can I ask the artist who did them? I’d like to get my sleeve done by someone who’s as precise as whoever did yours.” smile. blink. slightly hold up your phone in indication that you’re ready to start typing when he speaks. Sukuna watches you for a long moment, maroon eyes raking you in ever so slowly, feels the familiar tingle behind his teeth when he wants to taste flesh.
“his name is Mahito,” he tells you, but holds a large hand (paw) up when you begin to type. “but he’s a fucking creep, so don’t go to him.”
oh. your mouth opens and closes once more. you’re about to tell him thanks and turn on your heel when he stops you, giving you the first glint of the lilting at the corner of his lips. is it a smile?
“got this other guy I frequent sometimes,” the man tells you, leaning against the produce, uncaring of how his thick hip squishes a bunch of bananas. you want to comment on it, but hold your tongue, wide eyes enraptured with the big man in front of you, who—who smiles? it feels more like a baring of teeth, but you accept it anyway. “I work on his car, he does my tattoos for free. I’ll take you by there sometime.”
the man snatches your phone from your hands without preamble, shifting the rest of his groceries into that singular paw. you can only watch wide eyed as he single-handedly types something into your phone, his teeth sharp as he downright leers at you when he hands it back.
you barely get out a thanks before the man disappears around a corner, more black thick ink peeking out from beneath the tank top that pulls at his broad shoulders. you look down at your phone, find a number, and wonder if it’s his, or the tattoo shop’s. you have a feeling you already know which one.
hi! you gave me your number at the grocery store yesterday. I was wondering if you could send me the information about the tattoo shop please? thanks so much! :)
you read the text and reread it and reread it once more before pressing send. goddamnit, you should’ve at least asked for the man’s name, you think to yourself as you read your message for the nth time in twenty seconds. you go to edit the text, or maybe send another, fuck, is it rude to double text a stranger? even if said stranger put his number in your phone despite not really asking for it? you guess you didn’t mind much, especially if he was going to connect you with a good tattoo artist and all, but—
sukuna.
the text comes in during your spiraling thoughts. you read it once, twice. blink a few times. that…does not answer a single thing you had asked. is that supposed to be his name? should you ask him that for confirmation? you pause for a bit, waiting for another text to come through that doesn’t, before making your own move.
hello sukuna! can you connect me with your tattoo artist please? :)
he’s an exclusive prick and doesn’t have any availability for the next two years.
you pause. blink. suck in a deep breath and wonder what the hell you’re supposed to do with this dead end when another text comes through.
but he’ll squeeze you in when I take you so send your address so I can pick you up.
oh what the fuck. this is a bad idea. right? sending what’s virtually a stranger your address? but he seemed…normal enough in the grocery store. didn’t try to outright attack you or crush your head between his tiger paws, as you’d feared before. you want to say no, you should say no, but—
but he’s showing up an hour later, dressed in another tank top, white this time, and low slung gray sweatpants that has a black oil stain on the hip of it. you’re sure he’s part tiger somehow, somewhere, deep in his lineage, with the way he stalks toward you when you open the door and step out. he’s been leaning against his car, something old, that sounds like it’s breathing with every passing second, and the man—sukuna—grins when he sees you. his legs are long, and you can make out the muscled thigh from beneath the fabric of his pants, and—oh fuck, you shouldn’t have looked down there.
you’re not a pervert. really, you’re not! especially to men that aren’t on the pages of your books. but it’s hard not to notice the thick bob between his legs when he steps up to you, and gently but sternly guides your glued form from the steps to the passenger side of his car. he opens the door for you, and you think it’s gentlemanly, until you realize that the thing is damn near bolted shut and you couldn’t have opened it yourself if you tried. still, you thank him, to which he leers at.
“don’t be thankin’ me just yet,” he tells you, and you think it might be a threat, or maybe a conversation starter, but you’re not too sure so you stay quiet in the end. “gotta swing past my shop first to pick up some cash.”
you should tell him no, should tell him you can pay for your own tattoo, and actually, you can wait two years for a tattoo, and that you really shouldn’t go to a second and third location with him. but sukuna kinda smiles at you—you’re still not sure if it’s a smile or him bearing his teeth in threat but you smile back, anyway—and let him drive you away from your home. you could be getting murdered, but you don’t wanna make any assumptions and offend him, so you sit quietly and hope for the best.
a tattoo by the end of this journey though, would be really great, and worth getting into the car with a possible former convict. you take your chances.
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