[roroxnoa]

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[roroxnoa]

manchild - chp. 4

chp. 4 - you could be bad, but i wanna find out

summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he sees, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?

pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au

important info: strong language, sexual themes, alcohol use, all main characters related to reader and including reader are early-mid twenties (21+)

wc: 3633

masterlist

"A friend of yours?" Mei Mei speaks before you could manage to force a word out. From your momentary trance you regain your senses, and now you were painfully aware that Gojo's casual and over-friendly approach painted the wrong picture for Mei Mei and Iori. Suguru had lifted Ieiri over the barrier and carried her, bridal style, over to the celebrating team.

"We met at the party last week. I barely know him." You rush to explain, but they don't look all that convinced. It's plain as day what they really think; Gojo was not just an acquaintance.

"Don't be mean." Gojo then snatches back your attention, obsessed with the look on your face that was a mix of surprise and displeasure. "Not embarrassed of me, are you angel?"

"Don't you have... I don't know, football stuff to do, Gojo?" You said quick and sharp, glaring at him with fire in your eyes, but all that did was encourage him even more.

"Oh, plenty of football stuff." He answered with an irritating level of sarcasm. "You're joining me at the bar later though, right?"

"I'm going with my friends because Ieiri asked me." You speak slowly, as if he was an infant, and put extra emphasis on the fact he had nothing to do with your decision to go to there. The devilish smirk on his face only grew wider. He liked how you gave him a run for his money.

"Of course. Of course." Gojo said, condescendingly. "I mean, we can always skip. Head back to the mini bar-"

Before you could think, you sprung forward and clasped your hand over his mouth. His eyes widened, and then you felt him smile against your palm, eyes glistening wickedly. He didn't seem to care if people knew he was interested in you, but you on the other hand, would have rather kept a low profile until you knew for certain what his intentions were. Being marked as Gojo's newest part-timer was not an image you wanted for yourself.

"I'll see you there, alright? Go bother someone else." You said through gritted teeth, low enough for only the two of you to hear. He gently took your wrist and moved your hand from his face, only to press the most delicate of kisses against your knuckles.

"Save me a seat, pretty." He said quietly, before jumping off the barrier and flashing you a pearly white smile. He jogged over to the now retreating team, passing Ieiri who was walking back towards you, and joined Suguru at the back of the line. You turned to face Mei Mei and Iori, who were deep in a hushed conversation that abruptly stopped the moment you clasped eyes on them. Mei Mei went to speak, no doubt to give you the third degree, but you cut her off.

"Please don't ask."

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The four of you left the stadium ahead of your compatriots and headed for the student bar on campus. It wasn't the most exciting place, but the prices were low enough to keep you coming back and it avoided the chaos of the main city. Mei Mei ordered a round of shots for the table, and you all clinked your glasses together in a toast. You knocked it back, scrunching your face at the taste, needing something strong if you were to have another night with Gojo, and then Ieiri got a fresh pack of cigarettes out of her bag.

"Coming for one?" She asked you, even though you weren't much of a smoker. She looked as if she was trying to speak to you telepathically. You understood the assignment and agreed.

Once outside, the air cooling down and the sun beginning to set, the two of you stood against the wall in silence for a moment, just enjoying the peace. Ieiri soon broke it.

"So, Gojo is still annoying you then?" She said, blowing a puff of smoke into the air.

"He's not annoying me. He's just bloody persistent." You tell her, accepting a drag of her cigarette and then regretting it straight after. "I didn't tell you everything last week. We didn't hook up, but he took me into this mini bar and made me a cocktail. We talked a bit. Turns out he likes the same music as me, which surprised me. Even paid for my taxi home."

"You serious?" Ieiri said, the returned cigarette now burning between her fingers as she looks across at you with shock on her face. "That room is sacred. He rarely lets anyone other than Suguru in there. What's he up to, the little slime ball."

"We exchanged numbers, and we've had a couple short conversations." You admit to her, and she simply listens. "He wants to take me out for a drink. Alone, obviously."

"'Course he does." Ieiri said, stamping out the end of her cigarette on the floor. "I still stand by what I said. Only thing he's interested in is sex. Hooking up with him is not recommended by several people. However," she paused briefly before continuing, "I know you're not stupid. My only concern is your feelings; I'd hate for another pathetic excuse of a man to hurt you."

"I know. And I appreciate your concern." You said sincerely. "I'm not sure what to do. I'm cautious of him, but then intrigued by him. If anything did happen, it'll be on my terms. Not his."

"Damn right. Don't let him call the shots." Ieiri said. "Give him a taste of his own medicine."

The team arrived shortly after. Rowdy and ready to drink the night away. They toasted to their success and passed free drinks around to everyone. Ieiri was soon swept up by Suguru, who was one of the last to arrive, with Gojo closely following. Fresh faced and out of their uniforms, they all scrubbed up well, but it was Gojo who, after a few free rounds, looked more and more enticing. He wore something simple, just a black crew neck sweater and black jeans, but he radiated a confidence that he wore exceptionally. A silver chain decorated his neck, several silver rings on those delectably long fingers, and that absolutely delicious cologne he wore the weekend prior filled your senses whenever he was near enough to you.

For most of the night, you'd made sure not to engage in too much conversation with him, mostly because the free booze had gone straight to your head. He was so captivating, in more ways than just physical. As much as you wanted to deny that you were attracted to him it was getting rather impossible, because you were attracted to him, and if you had no reason for caution, or a brain in your skull, you were quite sure he would've succeeded in his endeavours.

It was hard to push those thoughts aside when he made it his personal mission to make sure you didn't forget he was there. He offered you a drink whenever you brushed shoulders with him, insisted he paid and then ensured it was him that secured the drink and handed it to you to make sure it was safe. He purposely caught your eye to send a wink your way and very obviously drag his eyes up and down the length of your body. Gojo had absolutely no intentions of dulling down his desire to secure your attention, even when it was blatantly obvious you were avoiding him.

And you had absolutely no intentions of letting him know his otherworldly beauty was causing you to consider an early mid life crisis.

Iori was your solace. She remained with you for the entire night and when she'd just about had enough of Yu Haibara's constant but very respectful advances, she was ready to call it a night. You saw her off in the taxi, and then returned to the bar alone, taking the seat furthest away from the going's on, hoping you wouldn't garner any attention. Gojo, whose eyes had been on you all night, saw this as a golden opportunity, and swooped in to take the empty stool beside you. The others had seized control of the jukebox and karaoke machine, along with Mei Mei, who had her hands all over Sukuna's tattooed body like she was giving him a physical examination. It wasn't long before they were practically moulding themselves together in an empty booth, which completely went against her previous advice which you were currently living by.

"All alone, pretty?" Gojo's smooth voice sounded from beside you. You looked up from your drink, absentmindedly stirring a straw around the glass, and locked eyes with him. That cologne was such a manly scent, it sent your mind into a frenzy every time it drifted tantalisingly under your nose. "Need some company now your friend has gone and left you?"

"Iori didn't leave me. She just hates this scene." You corrected him pointedly. "I'm perfectly capable of entertaining myself, thank you."

"Here I was thinking I'd be a good Samaritan and save you from loneliness." Gojo said dramatically, as if he was reciting a Shakespearean quotation, before a smirk replaced his little recital. "Really, baby. You're making me work for it."

"Work for what exactly?" You questioned him, resting your chin against your palm, elbow propped up on the counter. "I already gave you the time of day, didn't I? Even replied to you."

"Oof, you hurt my pride, angel." He said coyly, holding a hand to his chest. "You know I want to spoil you. It's not changed. I'm happy to ditch this dive and make you a real drink back at mine."

"Straight to the point, aren't you?" You said, wittily, and the impish little smile on his face reached his ears. "Why don't you tell me how you really feel?"

"Oh, baby. There's not enough words to describe what you're doing to me." His gaze fell to your glossed lips once more, his tongue darting out to wet his. There was a distinct flash of lust in his eyes. "At least let me get you a drink first."

"If I said yes, then what?" You said, taking a sip of your cocktail and eyeing him over the rim of the glass, trying to conceal the fact that he was ever so slightly chipping away at your walls. "Doubt you're intending to be a gentleman. Going to wine and dine me into submission?"

"What do you take me for?" Gojo said, chuckling as he spoke, amusement all over his handsome face. "I get it, I have a shitty reputation and every girl you've spoken to has told you how awful and how dreadful of a human being I am." He waved his hand dismissively, as if it was all rubbish. "And you don't care about how nice I really am. You don't care if I'm not as bad as the critics say, because you've already decided I'm not worth your time." Gojo's eyes never left yours as he spoke. He was waiting for you to tell him to get lost, to stop him mid sentence and banish him - but you didn't. "I know all of that." He continued, suddenly much quieter and, strangely enough, more sincere. "Give me a chance to change your mind. One chance. And if you decide after that you never want to see me again, I'll respect it. I'm not fucking about, baby."

He half believed that himself. Gojo was still trying to convince himself that nothing felt different about you, and by making that bet with Sukuna he was sure that he was just up to his old tricks. But there was something so fascinating about you; he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He had a feeling that if you gave him permission to sample a taste, you might ruin him for good.

But he pushed that thought to the very back of his mind. He was one step closer to winning another bet. Gojo doesn't loose bets. You took a long moment to answer him; the palms of his hands began to sweat for the first time in his life. Gojo, despite not showing an inch of anticipation on his face, felt a wave of nerves as you sized him up with those pretty eyes of yours, looking over him as if you were weighing up the pros and cons of his existence. When you finally spoke, he felt actual relief.

"Fine." You said, and a tsunami of excitement washed over him, drowning out the unwelcomed nerves and instead, filled his one track mind with all the possible ways this could go. Gojo was a competitive man; out on the field and in his personal life. He didn't know any other way. "I'll bite. Make me that same drink as before. But not tonight." You stop him as he gets up to leave, already thinking he'd hit the jackpot. The smugness was wiped from his face, as he slumped back down on the stool like a scolded child. "We'll make a date. I've had far too much to drink tonight. Wipe that stupid frown off your face, Gojo, or I'll change my mind."

"Yes ma'am." He sits up straight then, and salutes you with a very serious expression, which enticed a real laugh out of you. Another achievement for his personal milestones. That was twice he'd managed to pull genuine joy out of you. "Tell me when and what time and I'll have that drink waiting for you, your majesty."

The conversation that followed was, yet again, rather enjoyable. You complimented the game and congratulated his victory, to which he thanked you and then, very cockily, said it was an easy win before trash talking the away team which, secretly, you rather appreciated. He flashed his cash and got you two more drinks before they really started to hit you, and then kindly asked if you wanted him to call you a taxi again, because Ieiri had stumbled up to you, absolutely hammered, and said she was heading back to Suguru's place and then demanded Gojo got you home safe. And he did, like he did before, tipped the taxi driver and saw you off, sending an unexpectedly sweet text when he estimated you'd be home. Which was spot on, by the way.

gojo: lemme know when you're home safe. you: i'm back now, ty. i owe you for the drinks. and the taxi. and the taxi before. gojo: nah. your time is payment enough. g'night.

Just as you entered the foyer to your sorority, your phone pinged again. Thinking it was Gojo or Ieiri, you opened your messages, to be met with an unknown number and name that made your stomach lurch.

*number*: Hey, I hope you don't mind or find this disrespectful but I got your number off a mutual friend. I'm back for the away games this week and I just wondered, and completely understand if you say no, if you maybe wanted to grab a coffee sometime? Please don't feel the need to reply, perhaps it's wishful thinking. Hope to hear from you. Hiromi x

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

"Oh, you are alive. Good." Gojo spoke from the couch without looking up from his game, knowing Suguru had just walked into the room, clearly hungover. "Long night?"

"I need meds." Suguru groaned, muffled by his hands that were clasped over his face. "And coffee. Lots of coffee."

"Already made some. Help yourself." Gojo said, concentrating on his game, thumbs furiously working the controller in his hands. Suguru ruffled Gojo's hair in thanks, and then sluggishly made his way to the kitchen. When he returned, two coffee cups in hand, Gojo paused the game and threw down the controller, gratefully accepting the warm mug. Suguru flopped on the couch, letting out a pained moan before gripping his forehead.

"Fuck. Had way too much last night." Suguru said, his voice groggy and strained. "Did you see Ieiri leave this morning?"

"Yeah. She said a bunch of stuff to tell you but I can't remember. I think she said to call her so just do that." Gojo answered, going back to his game. Suguru remained quiet for a long moment, sipping his coffee and feeling very sorry for himself. There was a comfortable silence between them, the kind of comfort that only comes when two people understand each other.

Suguru meant more to Satoru than anyone else in his life. He loved him like a brother, and the feeling was very mutual. Since their high school years, they'd been inseparable. Suguru's family cared for Satoru in a way his blood family never did. Every Christmas, every New Year, he spent it at the Geto household. Without Suguru, Satoru truly had no one. His biggest fear in life was loosing him; and it haunted him more than he could ever admit.

"You looked cosy with Y/N at the bar last night." Suguru then spoke up, feeling the meds kick in and making him feel more human again. "What's the deal with you two? Ieiri keeps asking me questions about you."

"She does?" Gojo chuckled. "Like what?"

"Like if you're serious and if you've mentioned her to me." Suguru explained. "I keep telling her you haven't said anything. So, what's the deal? You like her or what?"

Gojo paused the game again. No one else was home. They'd all spent the night in someone else's bed. Suguru rarely spent the night at the sorority, though, because he was certainly not welcome there for his connection to the frats. Gojo slept alone, as he usually did. Contrary to popular belief, Gojo did not share his bed with just anyone. There hadn't been many girls who had the pleasure of getting to see the inside of his room, let alone sleep in his bed. His usual suggestion was to go back to the girls place, or find some other alternative that would fit the bill if going there was a problem, such as a car, a cubicle, an unused storage cupboard. Not his most dignified moments. The last girl to warm his own bed was his ex, and he never, ever spoke about her. 

But you - no dingy cupboard or cramped backseat would do. 

"I want to fuck her if that's what you're asking." Gojo answered, quite plainly, and Suguru laughed at his best friend's nonchalant attitude.

"Is that all? Just the usual routine?" Suguru quizzed him, a knowing sort of tone to his voice. "Ieiri told me you'd taken her into that precious man den of yours. Why do that if you just want to fuck her? Also, I know you haven't fucked her, and despite her turning you down the first time, you're still chasing her. I know you, Satoru. You don't do that shit."

"I don't usually, no." Gojo said, matter of fact, before drinking the last of his coffee. "But she's not easy, man. She knows herself, respects herself. It's hot as fuck. I've never met a girl so aware of her own worth. I like it. Plus, I made a bet with Sukuna, so I have to see this through or he'll never let me live peacefully again."

"Please tell me you're fucking around." Suguru then mustered the tiniest bit of energy to sit up and face Gojo fully. "You're fucked if she finds that out. I'm fucked if she finds that out, because Ieiri will somehow think I'm involved. They're as close as we are, man. They're like sisters. If you mess with her we're all done."

"It's not that deep, man. 'Kuna won't say anything. Bro code, y'know? The only way for anyone to find out is if I don't win the bet. Then he'll make my life-" Gojo stops, rolls his eyes at Suguru's expression, then continues, "our lives, miserable. If that happens, which it won't, I'll make sure you don't get any backlash. I wouldn't do that to you, dude.“

"I know you wouldn't mean too, but you've already started something, you big idiot." Suguru pushed Gojo's arm, to which Gojo pushed him back. He doesn't take offence; Gojo is fully aware that Suguru reads him like a damn book. "I don't want to loose her, man. I think I love her."

"You what now?" Gojo's big blue eyes grew in size at those words, and his dramatic tendencies took over. "You're doomed. You're actually doomed, Suguru. You have feelings for the girl? Oh my God."

"Love isn't a prison, Satoru-"

Gojo, childishly, stuck his fingers in his ears and, very loudly, began to shout; "Nope. Can't hear you, Sugu. The lines breaking up."

"Stop doing that you moron." Suguru said, irritated, and pulled Gojo's fingers out of his ears. "I don't like what you're up to, but I'm trusting you not to fuck it up too badly. For both our sakes, if you're not serious about her, let her down gently and don't fuck with her feelings."

"Dude, please. I'm not gonna let anything mess up your fairy-tale. I like the girl enough to not be too much of a dick. Trust me. This isn't gonna affect you." Gojo, in a roundabout way, reassures Suguru and places his hand on his shoulder. "I know what I'm doing, alright?"

That did not make Suguru feel any better. He knew Gojo better than anyone; he was out of his depth, he just hadn't realised it yet. He was already breaking his own rules and acting out of character. All Suguru could see was imminent disaster, and the possibility Gojo had gotten himself into something that could ricochet and end up hurting the best friend of the girl he was very quickly falling for. He sighed.

"I love you, man, but you're a pain in my ass." Suguru said as he got up to leave, gathering the two empty coffee mugs as he went. Gojo sent an over exaggerated grin his way, attempting to look innocent and failing miserably. "I'm going to the gym. Don't be any trouble while I'm gone."

disclaimer: i do not own any of the characters in this fic or the images used. dividers by: @cursed-carmine

[c1nnam0roll-08]

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who follows you around like a lost puppy—trailing behind you every time you stop for a chat with your popular friends. He’ll just stand there, large hand enclosed around your pinky and chin resting on your shoulder. He’ll wait patiently, blue eyes darting around the room to entertain himself until you’re done catching up.

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who'll buy you coffee and lunch in exchange for coming to spend time with him in the library—finals are right around the corner and he needs to be the highest scorer! He’ll help you with your work too, of course. 

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who’ll get distracted by your beauty when he’s supposed to be studying for his exams. The way your hair falls over your face, the smile you flash at him when he says something witty, and the way you play with the bracelets on his wrists make him go insane. 

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who can’t help but eye your cleavage every time you lean over the table—you do this on purpose just to see his cheeks turn pink and stumble over his words. Sometimes you’ll wear a miniskirt and bend over in front of him, yearning for his shy and respectful demeanor to shatter.

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who folds so easily—your modest attempt at seduction has his dick straining against his jeans uncomfortably. You know that he’s done for. He’s gnawing on his lip with his eyes trained on you, textbook long forgotten. 

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who will pack up his stuff with unsettling urgency, grabbing your wrist and dragging you back to his dorm. Meanwhile you celebrate, slick gathering in your panties the rougher his grip on your wrist becomes. 

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who slams the door behind him, eyes pleading as he pushes you to your knees. You’ll unbuckle his belt with no hesitation, already knowing what he needs—you free his pretty pink dick from the confines of his digimon boxers before taking him into your mouth with a pleased hum. 

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who can be pretty rough if you teased him enough. He’ll bury his pale hand in your scalp, forcing himself in and out of your mouth as whiny moans escape from his lips. He likes it when you choke on him, gasping for air with tears in your eyes.

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who’ll pull your nose flush to his pelvis, releasing his milky cum down your throat with a hushed whimper. You’ll swallow, then you’ll rise to your feet—grabbing him by the collar and shoving your tongue into his mouth, making him taste himself.

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who will drop to his knees in kind, burying his head underneath your miniskirt to devour you. He’ll eat you out with the same diligence he puts into his assignments—he won’t stop until you're struggling to stand, legs shaking and hips jerking.

⋆˙⟡Boyfriend!Nerdjo who kisses you sweetly, brushing stray strands of hair from your face once you push him away from your overworked pussy. Then he’ll hold you flush to his chest in bed, letting you watch him play his gameboy until you doze off. He wonders how the hell he got so lucky.

(c1nnam0roll-08 / 2026)

[roroxnoa]

manchild - chp. 3

chp. 3 - my boys a winner, he loves the game

summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he sees, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?

pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au

important info: strong language, sexual themes, mentions of drug and alcohol use, gojo and sukunas conversation has themes of objectification and a severe lack of respect, mei mei's a menace, all main characters related to reader and including reader are early-mid twenties (21+)

wc: 3339

masterlist

You left him on read for four days. Four days. Gojo hasn't been left on read for more than four minutes. He likes to convince himself he's not all that bothered if you don't ever text him, but whenever that little tune rings out from his phone, he's checking it. Just in case it's you. Pathetic, it was. You did eventually text him, on the fifth day, but it wasn't anything to write home about, to his utter disappointment.

you: i just got paid so i want to pay you back for the taxi ride. what's your bank details? gojo: i don't want your money baby you: just take it. what's your details? gojo: no can do pretty gojo: i'm not gonna let you pay me. i don't do shit like that. if i pay it's because i want to

To his astonishment, you left it on read again. He didn't seem to run into you around campus either. Usually, the last thing he'd want was to run into a girl he was messing around with because idle conversation was gross. Why does he need to know about their day? It's not his day, is it? He couldn't give two flying fucks about that. If Gojo was sleeping with a girl, that was about as far as he needed communication to go.

Almost a week had passed, and not a single word from you. Gojo didn't do the whole chase thing, it was embarrassing. He wasn't particularly interested enough to chase someone. They either wanted the same thing as him or the point was mute. But he was actually quite pissed off, to be honest. Why were you so disinterested in him? You had eyes right? He was going to have to bite the bullet and text first. How awful. Did he want you so bad that he would stoop to that level?

Yes. Yes he did.

Gojo undertook his rather gruelling work out routine in the university gym, normally accompanied by Sukuna who followed a routine just as meticulous. He pulled off the white t-shirt that was now sticking to his skin, messing up his sweat ridden hair and leaving it standing on end. He slumped down onto the weight bench, Sukuna stretching out his arms after a strenuous weight lifting session. Gojo stared at your contact; he was a man that never had to lift his finger to get his fix, and yet here he was, trying to prove to himself that he could sway you. He opened your sickly looking text thread and began typing something out, and then deleted it. Sukuna, watching from the corner of his eye, caught sight of your name at the top of the screen.

"So you are on that, huh?" Sukuna's low, cold voice cut through Gojo's deep thoughts.

"What?" Gojo's head snaps up to meet Sukuna's gaze, as he swipes a towel across his forehead and chuckles, throaty and gruff.

"You were gone ages, dude. The rest of the guys were convinced you were hookin' up ." Sukuna said. "But I told 'em there was no way you'd convince that chick to get with you. If looks could kill you'd be six feet under, my man."

"Woah. Woah." Gojo said, looking positively insulted. "I'll have you know, I'm working on it as we speak, bro. When have I ever not succeeded in my endeavors?"

"You spoilt little shit." Sukuna spoke through a rough, almost malicious sounding laugh. "You've had it easy for too long. I take it you weren't fucking her, then?"

"Not yet." Gojo grinned, optimistic and full of confidence. Sukuna scoffed, before downing a bottle of water. "Give it some time. I'll get there."

"You ain't gonna get her. Seems to me like she's got more sense than the usual drivel you fuck, so you'll have to work for her. Not sure it's your style." Sukuna pulled his football jersey over his head, pink hair unruly, sticking to his forehead and temples.

"I can put in work. I'm not afraid of a challenge, ‘Kuna." A devilish smirk curls at Gojo's lips as he stuffs his t-shirt into his duffle bag and pulls a hoodie on to cover up. "I bet I can get her to come over by the end of the month."

"Nah." Sukuna sounded.

"Bet." Gojo responded.

Sukuna throws his duffle over his shoulder, and gives Gojo a look that could only mean he was thinking of something he probably shouldn't be.

"For real?" Sukuna challenged, and Gojo had a look on his face that said try me. He was down to make an actual bet, because he was so utterly convinced he would win. "Alright. I bet you twenty she'll turn you down."

"I bet thirty she won't." Gojo raised the bet, and Sukuna's sinful little smirk widened. He held out his hand to Gojo, offering to shake on it. Gojo took his hand, the the two made the bet.

A bet that Gojo could get his claws into you by the end of the month. He had three weeks.

It was immoral, really. To make such lewd bets; it was dehumanising, and if you ever found out he was a dead man. You wouldn't stand for such childish and disrespectful behaviour - but that was the nature of Gojo and his friends. They were all childish and disrespectful. They all saw girls as a part time muse. They all saw sex, not as an intimate, personal thing, but a way to popularise themselves. To look better than others, because they can get who they want when they want them. As if it made them better men.

It just made them even less undesirable than they already were.

Gojo settled on a quick message before leaving the gym. He was done overthinking it. Why he spent so long wondering how to phrase it was beyond him. He doesn't do that - Satoru Gojo doesn't care about how nice his texts come across. Just get to the point. So, he did.

gojo: how about that drink baby?

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A day later, and you still hadn't opened it. If you read it he'd surely text you again. The Sunday morning after the frat party, Ieiri showed up at the sorority in the same clothes from the night before and looking like she hadn't slept a wink. Despite that, she was far more concerned with the fact that Nanami had informed her of Gojo following you into in the crowd and never reappearing. She made you swear up and down you hadn't fell for his wicked charm.

"You didn't hook up with him did you?" She asked, quite frantically for someone who's usually rather chill. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Of course I didn't." You scoffed, furrowing your eyebrows as you watched her sigh in relief. "Why? What's that little shit said?"

"Nothing, he's said nothing." She waves her hands dismissively. "I was just worried because Kento said you didn't come back, neither of you. What were you doing?"

"We shared some tequila and talked. That was it." You explained, not mentioning the mini bar, his mouth watering cocktail and your fleeting moment of bonding over a vinyl record. "How can you be warning me about Gojo when you just spent the night with one of his minions."

"Suguru's different." Ieiri said, and you flashed her a look that said you didn't believe that for one second. She rolled her eyes playfully. "Don't look at me like that. He is. He's not a whore like the rest, and Gojo is the worst of them all. Even Suguru says that and he's his best friend. I don't want you getting hurt."

"Please don't worry about me falling for that prick." You laughed. "If Suguru really is a decent guy then you got the only good apple among them. I'm sticking with Mei Mei's advice."

The text came through whilst you were in class on the Tuesday. As soon as you saw his name you knew you should've blocked him already. The reason you hadn't yet was because your stupid, naive heart keeps telling you there were some truths about that night you couldn't quite shake; things that made your overthinking brain believe he might not be as bad as the reviews say.

He made that drink right in front of your eyes so you saw everything he put in it. And it was delicious. He likes the same extremely niche band. He made sure you got a decent taxi home and won't let you pay him back for it, just so you wouldn't run in to any creeps. It made you kind of angry, in a way. You'd spent so long thinking that the frats were all a waste of space, and then the king himself turned out to be semi decent company who seemed to genuinely care if you got home safe. Had the world gone mad? Had you gone mad? Oh well. You weren't going to get to know him any further, so if you enjoyed his company or not, it didn't really matter. He was still the same idiot who's slept with half the campus. It was best to try and forget about him.

As the weekend came around, you still hadn't opened the text. By Friday night, you started to feel a bit guilty, even though you were more than sure he wasn't a bit bothered (he was), you opened it, and decided to reply.

you: are you the one making it? gojo: typing...

He read it within a few seconds. The shock of that lightning quick response almost gave you a headache; did he normally reply this quick?

gojo: if that's what you want angel. you: hm. tempting, purely based on the skills you sampled last weekend. gojo: wanna try out my other specialties? you: i'll think about it. gojo: you break my heart baby gojo: offer still stands. i don't mind waiting.

You decide to leave it there. It really vexed you how much you liked the way he served it right back to you. The angel on your shoulder was practically hitting her tiny fists against your face and pulling on your ear, whilst the devil was whispering right in your other: how bad would it be if you said yes?

Moronic. Possibly worse.

In another strike of bad luck, it didn't look like you could avoid him this weekend either, because Ieiri announced that Saturday morning you were all, including Iori Utahime, the most civilised one in the group who very rarely left the sorority, were all attending the football game that afternoon, no exceptions. One thing everyone said about Ieiri Shoko was how laid back she was. Nothing phased her, really. She kept herself to herself and didn't get involved in other's drama. But recently, as she began a situationship with Suguru, she'd become a lot less laid back and a lot more get your shoes, we're going out, right now.

"Iori, that turtle neck sweater is social suicide." Mei Mei said, covering her lips with a deep red lipstick as Iori walked into her bedroom, where Ieiri was lining her eyes with a dark purple eyeliner and you were sitting crossed legged on the bed. "Look in my wardrobe for something."

"I think you look nice." You compliment her, honestly, as she sits down beside you on the bed. Iori quite often envied you over the others. Not that they weren't pretty, because they were, but you were pretty both on the inside and the outside. You always dressed so nicely; outfits that complimented your body, colours that looked good against your skin. Still just as alluring, but with more self-respect and class. She admired you.

"Thanks." She smiled across at you, thinly. You knew she appreciated it. "I don't really see why I need to go Ieiri. I hate football."

"We all do." Mei Mei muttered under her breath.

"Because Suguru asked me to go and I want my girls with me. Next question." Ieiri stated, matter of fact, as she clicked the lid back onto her eyeliner. "Besides, I want you and Mei Mei to meet him afterwards. Regardless of the result, everyone's heading to the bar."

"Ugh." Iori sounded as she fell back onto the bed. "This sounds like my worst nightmare."

"Just be thankful your ex isn't on the opposing team." Mei Mei said, flashing you a knowing look. You look up from your phone to see her sniggering to herself. "Right, Y/N?"

"Thanks, Mei Mei. I can always count on you to make me feel good." You flash her a sarcastic smile and go back to your doom scrolling. "Hiromi and I broke up ages ago. It's old news now."

"Can't believe he moved universities and dumped you in the process. I hope the boys absolutely thrash him." Ieiri said, furious because you couldn't get over him for months after he left. He was a little older than you, studying law and doing sport on the side. Hiromi was so incredibly handsome; tall, dark and with a good heart. But the universe came between you, and after a year of dating, he said he was leaving. Just like that, you were no longer his priority.

It took Ieiri, Mei Mei and Iori to get you through it. Trust was hard to come by after that.

"He was hot, though." Mei Mei said, and Ieiri elbowed her so hard in the side that her hand slipped and mascara ended up all over her forehead. "Fine. He was hot and a scumbag."

"Girl code, Mei Mei. Keep your inside thoughts inside." Ieiri gave her a sharp glare, but Mei Mei didn't seem bothered. You knew she loved you - she just loved men a little more.

"Looks do nothing for the personality, Mei Mei." Iori said, looking up at the ceiling.

It was true. Looks served no purpose if they didn't shine through to your inner self. You didn't believe for one second that Gojo's beauty lived within him, too. Someone that gorgeous, with a reputation so awful that you'd heard several spins of it, couldn't possibly have that side to them. A deeper, gentler, more human side. He was a figurehead: some people admired him, others never wanted to see him again. A person like that, someone who's life is everyone else's business, constantly on display, couldn't possibly know what it meant to be anything else. But it got you thinking about who he was underneath all of that chaos. What was he hiding beneath the slick comments and outrageous attitude. Who was the unfiltered, raw version of him?

Who was the real Satoru Gojo?

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You were most certainly lying when you said seeing Hiromi again wasn't bothering you. Football was never something you were interested in, and the last time you went to a game was when you were dating. You hadn't seen him in a year, and though you were certain that part of your life was past you, the idea of reliving it all once you saw him again wasn't a pleasant thought. It was so easy for him to walk away back then, sometimes you wondered if you meant as much to him as he did to you. You remember telling Iori one night you thought you might've loved him. Dating just hasn't felt the same after that, and now Gojo was on your case, you most definitely could not take the risk with him. He'd ruin you more than Hiromi ever could, you were sure of it.

Maybe you shouldn't have given in and replied. Give that man an inch and he'll take a mile, and you were on that dangerous line between banter and flirting - not somewhere you wanted to be.

The stadium was packed; full to the brim with students, a clear divide between the home and away supporters. Games had certainly gotten more lively since the last one you came to. Ieiri said Suguru had requested for the event organisers to reserve four seats for special guests of the home team, and you were lead to your seats by a very important looking man.

"That's the coach, by the way. Coach Yaga.” Ieiri said closely to your ear as you followed the suited man to your seats, which were just in front of the barrier, overlooking the centre of the field. "He likes Suguru a lot. Hence why he agreed to reserve the seats for us before the tickets went on sale."

"Just how privileged are the football team? They're treated like some sort of royalty." You said lowly back to her, and not impressed in the slightest. Ieiri simply shrugs.

"Who cares. We're getting special treatment. Enjoy it, Y/L/N." She winks across at you before taking a seat. You sat between her and Iori, with Mei Mei on the end.

The buzz was immense. The noise tenfold. It was like actual, professional football players were about to walk out onto that pitch. As far as you were aware, university football teams were not on par with professionals, and yet you could've been sitting in a stadium hosting a match between legit teams.

"Is it usually so... big?" You ask Ieiri, who's fixing her lip-gloss in a little hand mirror. "It's only a university home and away. Hardly something spectacular."

"You clearly underestimate our home team, Y/N." Mei Mei joins the conversation across a very uncomfortable looking Iori. "They might as well already be professionals. They'll wipe the floor with the away team, and I don't usually compliment. What they lack in human decency, they make up for in talent."

"It's true. This team is nothing on the one's we've had in previous years. Undefeated in every match since the summer last year." Ieiri said, a light, triumphant smile on her face, most likely because she's bagged one of them for herself. "You'll see soon enough."

An announcement then fills the stadium, echoing across the mass, open space. The crowd, rising from their seats, waving flags and banners, wearing the teams shirts, paint across their faces, yell and scream as the announcer calls for the opposing team to enter the stadium. It was ear shattering. You felt your pulse quicken as your eyes fall on Hiromi; still tall, still handsome, but now he was bulkier and more refined than you remembered him. The feeling that washed over you wasn't quite sadness, it was more like melancholy nostalgia. Ieiri looked across at you in that moment, and you reassured her with a smile that you were fine. As the team lined up, the announcer then read off a load of spiel about the universities 'beloved' and 'immensely talented' home team, and the noise that came after was nothing short of colossal, a thousand times the volume of that for the away team. It swallowed up anything else the announcer had to say. Iori covered her ears. Ieiri's voice alone was enough to make your right ear bleed; a noise you didn't know could come out of her. Then on they walked, and the chanting only increased.

The frats didn't look half bad in their uniforms. A vivid royal blue with white accents. For a split second, you imagined how the colour would've complemented Gojo's eyes, but immediately shut down that thought the second your brain cells started working again. But it was hard to keep your mind from wandering, when the muscles of his legs and the broadness of his shoulders had your stomach in a knot. He commanded that space, walked with such confidence, an air of superiority because he knew how good he was. You shouldn't, you really, really shouldn't think about it, but if you were a dim-witted bimbo with no decency, you might have already devoured him, because Jesus Christ he was possibly the most stupidly hot guy you'd ever laid eyes on.

Get your head out of the gutter. You inwardly slap yourself. He looks good, but he's not good.

And for the remainder of the match, that's what you had to keep telling yourself, because Ieiri and Mei Mei were right. They smashed the away team as if it was their first day on the job; you barely had time to look at Hiromi because Gojo was mesmerising. Who knew he had it in him to bring such a team together. They worked in sync, as if reading one another's minds, and the sheer force of their physical strength was more than astonishing. How they heck do they kick a ball across an entire pitch? You were far more impressed than you ever expected to be.

As the clock was down to a mere few minutes, with the home team leading by a country mile, they managed one more goal before time was called. And lo and behold, they won.

You didn't think it could possibly get louder, but it did. The boys ran to one another, jumped on another, hugged one another. You'd never seen them this way before; so brotherly, so appreciative of each other. It was eye opening. And then, as if you were in some shitty romance musical, Gojo's eyes follow Suguru as he bolts towards the stands and leaps up onto the barrier to pull Ieiri in for an extremely public kiss. His eyes then catch sight of you, and you swore his face lit up. For a moment it was nice, but then he started jogging over, and your heart fell right to the very bottom of your stomach.

If he speaks to me people are gonna get the wrong idea. Your mind starts reeling as he gets closer. Shit. Shit. Okay, just talk normally. Don't flirt whatever you do. Just be casual and no one will think any different. He won't say anything, surely? He won't come up here and-

"I didn't think you'd actually come." Gojo's breathless voice cuts off your manic thoughts, and suddenly he's leaning on the barrier and speaking directly to you, his eyes looking at you with a certain hunger in them that was unmistakeable. Your body went rigid, from the shock of his clear intent to show his interest publicly, and how fucking good he looked with his hair all strewn about and sweat dripping down his face. He grins, a toothy, almost tipsy grin, and runs a hand through his pure white hair.

“You look good, baby."

disclaimer: i do not own any of the characters in this fic or the images used. dividers by: @cursed-carmine

[roroxnoa]

manchild - chp. 2

chp. 2 - so fun and so deceiving

summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he sees, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?

pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au

important info: strong language, sexual themes, mentions of drug and alcohol use, gojo only caring about himself n being an insufferable flirt, reader is witty and sarcastic (in the best way)

wc: 3306

masterlist

You sigh; deeply, outwardly. When you turn to face the inevitable, you're met with Gojo's chest. As you take a step back to create comfortable distance, he raises an eyebrow at you in amusement. A moment of silence between you, before a low, soft chuckle parted his lips.

"Take that as a no, then?" He said, closing the gap you had just created to reach for a bottle of tequila just behind you. He made sure, of course, to lean in just enough to graze your body as he did, close enough for you to smell his incredibly expensive cologne. The smell was exquisite, you couldn't deny that. It filled your nose with such a pleasant scent. And he wore it well. He knew you got flustered back there; he wanted it to happen again. You were caught off guard, but now it was up, and positively solid. "So, friend of Suguru's squeeze. Why haven't I seen you around before?"

"Probably because we don't move in the same circles." You said, leaning back against the counter as he filled two shot glasses. Gojo then offered you one. Your first instinct was to decline, but to withstand his company you figured you needed it, so you took it. He raised his, inviting you to clink yours against it. The small glasses met with a bell-like ring. It was fruity, a subtle hint of pineapple and lemon, but with an almighty kick. It was a major improvement, however, to the white spirit you'd consumed earlier.

"Probably." He repeated, an ever so slight smirk peaking through, but not fully breaking. Just sort of resting, ghosting. He filled his glass again, and wordlessly offered you a refill. You accepted it. "You said you don't need to ask, but I'm a gentleman. Name's Satoru. Pleasure."

"Pleasures all mine, surely." You said, holding your hand to your chest in some dramatic gesture, your words absolutely dripping with sarcasm. Gojo wasn't phased by your very clear disdain for his presence. In fact, you believed he liked it somewhat. A possible sadist, to absolutely no one's surprise. "The Satoru Gojo is talking to me? I'm honoured."

You both swung back the liquid, followed by a soured expression. Gojo leant against the counter opposite you, shoving a hand in his jean pocket. His eyes were carefully on you - not too invasive, but giving you his full attention. For a moment, you allowed yourself to look at him properly. He might be the object of everything you avoid in a man, but there was no denying how utterly beautiful he was. Satoru Gojo was a naturally divine specimen - his hair, a perfect, pristine white. His eyes looked almost crystalised; such a bright, vivid blue, with pure white eyelashes, long and delicate. His skin was immaculate and smooth, his height must've been nearly seven foot, and even fully clothed it was obvious his body was dreamlike.

Such a shame he was a complete arse, really.

"Alright. I get it." He said, still looking very entertained by your demeanor towards him. Gojo narrowed his eyes, and for a long moment, studied you. You matched his hard stare - not a single sign that he had any effect on you, which wasn't normal for him. By this point, once he'd shown a slither of interest, the girl in question would be looking up at him like some lovesick puppy. Hook, line and sinkered - but not you. "You don't like me, do you? I can take a guess as to why."

"Oh, you can, can you?" You raise your eyebrows at him, your tone condescending yet again. Your sardonic wit was quite frankly scolding. "Please. Enlighten me, almighty Gojo."

He was amazed at how riled up he already was. For a start, you'd managed to gain his full attention by just standing a few steps away from him, which was, in itself, a remarkable feat. To add insult to injury, your outer appearance was something to be admired. That outfit of yours looked far too good on you - classy, respectful, pleasing on the eye. A thousand times more attractive than leaving little to the imagination. Usually, he didn't even think about trivial things like what a girl was wearing before she wasn't. It didn't exactly interest him.

But tonight, he was more curious than usual, and he took time to really look at you. He liked how you'd done your hair. He liked your makeup. He liked everything he saw, and he knew those bastards back in the other room saw it too.

"You're part of the sorority. I know what kind of shit they say about us." Gojo reached for the tequila again, filling up his glass, and then crossing the space to top up yours. He was closer now, and that delicious smell of his cologne filled your senses again. It was criminal how good this man smelt, and from chancing a glance at him this close, it was clear he took care of himself too. It was a pity someone so breathtaking was such a prick. "You've heard it all, I presume."

"Let me guess. You're going to tell me now that it's all false?" You took your shot glass and knocked it right back. He followed suit, and then a laugh vibrated in his chest. You were so quick. He hadn't had this much banter with a girl in a long time, if ever, actually.

"Nah. I won't lie to you. I'm a dick." He admitted, and all you could do was laugh. Gojo wasn't completely unaware of his undesirable qualities. He was also painfully aware he couldn't pull the wool over your eyes. "Most of what they say is true, even if its a little... exaggerated."

"Is that so?" You said, not convinced. Gojo wasn't stupid - you weren't going to give him the time of day, not with your opinion as it stands. Unlike most of his track record, you weren't going to look past his previous scandals and rendezvous just to get a taste of him. And, unbelievably, he respected it. You had respect for yourself, valued your time. Something about that made him want to wear you down enough to let him into your orbit. He only wanted the satisfaction of getting what he worked for; what happened after that was none of his business, quite frankly. He was due a good challenge; everyone else was too easy, too eager to show what was underneath. Maybe Gojo was sick of the same old shit.

He also had absolutely no intention of letting the others get ahead of him. He understood perfectly what they were like, because he was the exact same. On top of your blazing hot tongue, you were naturally gorgeous. Like hell he was letting them get even a glance from you.

"It's true. Don't believe me?" Gojo, still standing just beside you and occasionally topping up your glass, already knew the answer - no, no you didn't. You weren't sure how deep you were in tequila now, but it felt good, and the conversation was actually quite enjoyable. You didn't think he'd be partial to a back and forth. "How about you find out."

"Excuse me?" You chuckle, disbelief all over that pretty, pretty face of yours. He was into you, embarrassingly so, and he’d known you for all of a few minutes. "What are you implying, Gojo."

"I'm implying, Y/N," he said your name with extra depth, his voice deepening to a gravelly, rough sort of tone, and whether it was the tequila or your brain malfunctioning, the sheer sound of it made your stomach flip. Curse him and his infuriatingly gorgeous attributes, "that we go for a drink. A real drink, no this cheap shit. I know some good places."

"What makes you think I'd say yes?" You question playfully, knowing full well you wouldn't let him take you anywhere, for the sheer principle of it. "I might already have other options."

"Can't lie. I'd be gutted if you did, baby." His sincerity in that comment was hard to find, especially when he's smiling like a cheshire cat. Of course, he'd never admit that he would be extremely disappointed if someone other than himself managed to obtain such a beauty like yourself, but he's cool and collected. He's Satoru Gojo for fucks sake - any girl in that frat house would jump to share a bed with him for the night. "So. Do you have other options, or can I take you out?"

"No thanks." It was so quick, without a second thought or a shadow of a doubt. He blinked twice at you, as if he was checking he heard you right. He's never been turned down in his life, and he wasn't planning on being any time soon, thank you very much. But even though you seemed absolutely sure of your answer, it stirred something in him terrible.

He simply had to have you. He had to break that wall. Gojo got what he wanted. Always.

"Alright then." He said smoothly, appearing unmoved and intact. "Can I at least get your number? Never know. Might change your mind."

"I won't, but will it shut you up if I gave it to you?" You moved from the counter and walked over to the large patio doors, using the reflection to fix your hair and add some more lip gloss. He watches you, as you glide the little tube of shimmery pink across your lips. He wonders what it tastes like; cherry? He did like the cherry ones. He was so fixated on you that he'd forgot to answer, and when you turn back to face him, glossy lips and hair tucked behind your ears, he swears his brain short circuited. Gojo regained his natural state quickly, rolling his shoulders back and plastering a smirk across his face.

"Maybe. Can't guarantee." He says. Gojo was such a little menace. He looked at you with a glint of pure mischief in his eyes. He wasn't going to leave you alone - that much was clear.

"Fine." You agreed, reaching in your back pocket to grab your phone. You figured it would get him off your case about a date, and you can always block him later. "Drop call me."

He did, and before you knew it, Satoru Gojo's number was in your phone, and yours was in his. A little triumphant smile danced on his lips for a second. Then he looks back up at you, and gestures with his head to the door on the far side of the room.

"We've got another room back there. It's like a mini bar. Wanna see?" He asks you.

"Is there other people in there?" You quiry, and from the look on his face, the answer was no.

"I don't let just anyone in there, can you imagine the carnage? My best shit is in there. The good Japanese whiskey and the flavoured vodka that doesn't taste like piss." He was so serious it was rather amusing. "But, I wanna show you. So, you coming?"

You'd already drank nearly a bottle of tequila with him, so your rather dizzy brain apparently saw no harm in following him in there. So, you did - a move sober you will surely uppercut yourself for later. The only other person you knew in that grubby little boy den was Shoko, and you could guarantee she was occupied with other matters. "Fine." You shrug. "Lead the way."

Gojo, who, despite being filled to the brim with alcohol, acted surprisingly put together for someone that had drunk a brewery. This man had locked the door to his precious mini bar to avoid anyone getting their fingers on the good stuff, which was as petty as it was endearing. As you walked in, he switched on the lights; ambient strip lights encircled the entire room, changing into different shades of warm and welcoming colours. The bar was very well stocked, with aesthetic lighting that lit up the bottles along the shelves. It was like a very small night club, and it was evident not many people got the privilege to see it, because it was cleaner than the rest of the house. On the far wall was a huge television that took up a majority of the wall, and underneath it was a sound system that would've put an actual night club to shame. You wandered over to the bar and slid onto one of the black leather bar stools. Gojo outstretched his arms and leant against the bar, putting on his best customer service voice.

"What can I get you this evening?" He said in a very over exaggerated and slimy, smooth voice. It enticed a genuine laugh out of you, to which he took as a personal achievement. "A cocktail, perhaps?"

"You can make cocktails?" You said, slightly impressed. "Colour me surprised. Why don't you choose for me, seeing as you're now a bartender as well."

"Hm. Let's see." He mumbled, mostly to himself, as he turns around to peruse the shelves. Gojo began lining up drinks along the bar. From what he'd picked out, he was going for something light and citrusy. Like a professional, he began measuring out the drinks and pouring them into a mixer. It was quite interesting to see him work - not something you would have imagined him being so good at. Once he was done, he garnished it with a slice of orange and a tiny umbrella. "Perfect." He muttered to himself, and then pushed the glass towards you. "Would the lady care to sample?"

You press the rim to your lips and take a sip. The taste was simply delicious; citrusy and refreshing but with a subtle bitterness which complemented the sweetness. It was lethal; the alcohol was so well disguised, a few more of them and you'd have hit the wall. He waited patiently for your final conclusion. He knew you liked it though, from the satisfied little hum you made when the liquid hit your tongue. To lie to him and say it was dreadful was not an option. You have to compliment it, it would be an insult to such a delectable drink to not.

"It's... amazing." You say in astonishment, and the most egoistic grin broke out on his face. If possible, you'd just made his head even bigger. "Where did you learn to make that?"

"Just mess around, really. I like doing it." Gojo, now extremely pleased with himself, watches as you polish off the drink with a few sips. "Want another?"

"Oh God no," you said, shaking your head, "that is pure dangerous. You can barely taste the liquor. If I drink anymore I won't know where I live."

He took that as a compliment, and whisked your empty glass away. Gojo then pulled out a rather swanky looking bottle of whiskey from one of the cupboards. He then moved to the freezer and placed a few scoops of ice into a glass, before pouring the amber liquid over the top. As he was preparing his drink, you decided to give yourself a tour of the place. You wandered over to the sitting area and noticed he had a very expensive looking vinyl player, and a huge stack of vinyls in a cabinet underneath. You kneel on the ground to get a look at what his music taste was like, and after spotting the record sitting on the very top, you almost choke on thin air.

"No way." You mutter to yourself, as Gojo stealthy approaches you from behind. You grab the record and look over it in utter disbelief; a band that you'd been listening to since your early teens, one of your most favourite and most personal loves. "These are yours, right?"

You turn around to see him lounging on the armchair just behind you, sipping his drink.

"Yeah, all of 'em." He tells you, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "That record in particular is very important to me, though. Had it since I was like, fourteen."

"This is my favourite album of all time." You tell him, carefully opening it up to see he'd kept it in pristine condition. "I don't know anyone else who knows of them."

"Me neither." Gojo's voice caught you off guard - it was softer, and full of awe. When your eyes met his, he was looking at you differently, as if he'd just discovered something other wordly. Snapping out of his trance, he nods towards the vinyl player. "Do you wanna play it?"

"Seriously?" You couldn't hide your excitement in that moment, and rushed to your feet to carefully place it on the turnstile. The music begins to play, at a low, comfortable volume, and on pure instinct you began singing the words to yourself. "God, I can't believe you know these."

Lost in your little world, flicking through the other records in his collection, Gojo tries to understand what that feeling was that just washed over him when you announced you knew that band, a band that had seen him through so much in his life. A band he'd been listening to since he was young, who's music had a profound effect on him, as a kid and as an adult. You knew the words, every single one, and without noticing, an involuntary smile of admiration crept onto his face. In those few minutes, as he watched you sway and sing, it was like he'd met you ten years ago. Like you weren't a stranger a few hours ago. If he was honest, the feeling absolutely terrified him. Then he remembered why he'd brought you in here, why he was giving you special treatment. It was for the end goal, wasn't it? For his desire to break you down. 

Then your phone buzzed.

ieiri♡: things are going a little too well n i think i'm gonna stay here... if you get me

ieiri♡: are you cool to get a cab back? i'll send u some money. share ur location though  

you: ahaha of course!! have fun and be careful. i'll get a cab dw just get your man!

ieiri♡: ugh ur the best i love u

ieiri♡: n share ur location w mei mei or iori

you: *you loved the last message*

"Looks like Ieiri is staying. I'll call a cab and get going, probably." You said, getting up and putting the record back in its sleeve. "Thanks for your hospitality."

Gojo couldn't lie, he was disappointed. Normally he can't wait to get someone out of his hair but he'd just learnt something very interesting about you. Of course, he wasn't going to tell you he didn't want you leave, was he. How humiliating. 

"I'll get you a cab." He then offers, standing up and downing the last of his whiskey. "Some weird creeps about. I know a few guys that are good ones."

"Oh. That's weirdly nice of you." You laugh lightly in surprise. "Uh, thanks."

"Don't sweat it." He said casually, as he called someone and within a few minutes, the cab was waiting outside. Gojo offered to walk you to it, and you accepted. He even insisted on opening the door for you to get in. You let him, because he was going to do it anyway no matter what you said. Once you were in and belted securely, he leant down to the driver and passed a nice looking wod of cash. "Get her home safe. You got that?"

He offered a small wave as the car pulled away, and you were left to think far too much about what on earth had just transpired. You share your location with Iori for good measure. Just before the cab pulled up to your dormitory, your phone buzzed again in your pocket. The number had no contact name.

*number*: i've already paid and tipped btw so its all good

*number*: you were fun company. reconsider that drink sometime

*number*: g'night angel 

 You change the name to Gojo.

disclaimer: i do not own any of the characters in this fic or the images used. dividers by: @cursed-carmine

[moonpaw]

"one piece only starts getting good around-" shut up!!! monkey d. luffy is right there in episode one!!

[roroxnoa]

manchild - masterlist

summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he sees, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?

pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au

important info: strong language, sexual themes throughout, all characters are around 21+ including reader and are in their third year of university, drug and alcohol themes, satoru is completely self-centered, i also know absolutely nothing about football lol, not suitable for minors

chapters:

chp. 1 - intro

chp. 2 - so fun and so deceiving

chp. 3 - my boys a winner, he loves the game

chp. 4 - you could be bad, but i wanna find out

chp. 5 - there’s no such thing as bad thoughts

[roroxnoa]

manchild - chp. 1

chp. 1 - intro

summary: notorious frat boy, satoru gojo, finally meets his match, and they look positively delicious. he likes what he see's, so he wants it. plain and simple. and things are always more fun with a little bet on the side, right?

pairing & universe: fratboy!gojo x fem!reader / university au

important info: strong language, sexual themes throughout, all characters are around 21+ including reader, drug and alcohol themes, satoru is completely self-centered and rude, also disrespectful (sorry), i also know absolutely nothing about football lol, not suitable for minors

a/n: hey! its been some time since i've dedicated myself to writing a lengthier fic, with several chapters, but thats what i'm doing here. having major fratjo brain rot. hopefully post the follow up to this soon. hope you like! ♡

wc: 2171

masterlist

Satoru Gojo had it all. Talent, success, popularity, nicely lined pockets and an ego that could rival even the most self-absorbed individuals.

Satoru was born into a sickeningly rich family and possessed possibly the most beautiful features of any man this side of the stratosphere. His unmatched talent at getting what he wanted had catapulted him into a world of never-ending opportunities and blessed him with success in every endeavour. By the time he’d entered his early twenties, he’d pretty much nailed life.

Satoru was a name your ears could not escape; every girl on every corner of your university seemed to have so much to say about him. He was like campus royalty, being the captain of the football team and a huge narcissist. His escapades were everyone’s business, and from the girls in your sorority who had first hand experience with any of the frat boys, the lesson was if you bite the forbidden fruit, you pay for it. There’s a reason most of them chose to remain single - can’t sleep around and keep a good conscience if you’re tied down.

Despite that, there was more than a handful of girls wanting to sink their teeth into them, and the one every doe-eyed girl fawned over was Gojo, like some cringe inducing teen rom-com. You can guarantee the worst stories you’d heard from the sorority girls included his name. But those that were worthy enough to fraternise with the frats worshipped the ground their privileged asses walked on, and it was those people who made up the vast majority of the stoned, drunk students in the cramped, crowded frat house that your good friend Ieiri Shoko had practically dragged you to.

The smell hit you before anything else. Hot air laced with weed, cigarettes and cheap liquor. The music was practically ear shattering; you liked a good party, but frat parties were on another level. Especially one that had the entire football team, the whole frat house, and their little admirers running around. The kind of parties your girls usually attended was the ones thrown by stupidly rich guys that splashed and flashed their parents money. Always quality drink, none of this cheap, nasty crap. More sophisticated.

But the frats? There was nothing sophisticated about them. No matter how much money they had or didn’t have, they were all the same - absolute assholes. Even Mei-Mei, who was a literal magnet for any male attention anywhere you went, had only dipped her toes in the chaotic waters of the fraternity.

“They’re all little boys,” she said, verging on disgust, “there’s a few good fucks among them, but that’s all they’re good for. Not a single one of them is boyfriend material. If they ask you out, decline.”

Her warning was enough to put you off for life, but not for Shoko it would seem, because she was quite frankly desperate to bag vice captain and Gojo's right hand man, Suguru Geto. He was hot, that much was obvious. Long, black hair, stretchers, lip ring and a body that was surely sculpted by gods. A dinner and a show, but not worth the hassle he came with.

“Let’s grab a drink,” she yells over the headache inducing volume, “he told me to text when we’re here. I actually think we might hook up tonight.”

“Lucky you.” You smile, with a very clear air of sarcasm. Shoko simply laughs at your displeasure of standing in fraternity territory. “Sex in such a… luxurious place.”

Shoko managed to obtain Geto’s number a few weeks ago at the university pool. She’d been trying to garner his attention for a while, making sure to go when she knew he was there doing laps as part of his workout routine. Her obsessive nature paid off though, because it was him who approached her in the end, and since then she’s basically lived on her phone and messaged him nonstop.

And it was also his fault for inviting her here and then having the gall to tell her to bring anyone she wanted, because it was always going to be you, her oldest, closest comrade.

“Want a shot of this?” Shoko held up a bottle of clear liquid, possibly vodka, but the label was long gone. You nodded, because, why not. If you’re here to support Shoko in her romantic endeavours, you might as well enjoy it somewhat. She poured far more than necessary, and passed a shot glass to you. With a clink, you both threw them back. The strong liquor hit the back of your throat like you’d swallowed a firework. It was hot, burning its way down your throat and sitting like a smouldering fire at the pit of your stomach. 

“What the hell is that,” you choke on the aftertaste, grabbing the nearest glass and washing it down with water from the kitchen sink. “It’s like paint thinner.”

“Jesus,” Shoko coughed and spluttered, opting to wash her shot down with a can of beer. “I think we might have just drunk cleaning agent. Here.”

She tossed you a can of beer, and with a crisp snap and hiss, you take a good, long drink.

“Better?” Shoko shouted over the noise. You nod enthusiastically at the yeasty, smooth drink. “Let’s go and find Suguru. I’ll introduce you.”

“Oh goody!” You chirp, sarcasm lacing your words, and Shoko found it utterly amusing.

“Oh, come on,” she laughed, “you might end up liking him. Then what will you do? Eat your words?”

“I’d rather eat dirt.” You say, completely serious and very much truthful. “But for you, I’ll endure.”

Shoko, with a very pleased look on her face, took your wrist and began meandering through the hoards of people. It was hot and sweaty; you could feel the heat coming off the bodies you passed. As you move through the living area, the three worn down leather couches are all occupied by couples not caring about their public displays of affection and practically getting it on right then and there. You pass a rowdy group of guys playing beer pong, a group of girls sharing a joint, and eventually, Shoko spots Geto in the crowd.

And, of course, all the big names were with him.

Suguru Geto; the tall, dark and handsome vice captain that had Shoko in a choke hold. Yu Haibara that, from looking at him, was more of a golden retriever than a boisterous jock. Naoya Zen’in, a misogynistic prick that doesn’t deserve such a lethal face card. Ryomen Sukuna, covered head to toe in tattoos and piercings and built like an impenetrable fortress. Choso Kamo, who was possibly the only emo kid to ever qualify as a fully fledged frat. Ino Takuma, who was far too busy showing some girls his bicep, and finally, perhaps the most decent and well mannered of them all, Kento Nanami, who had the body of a pro athlete but the demeanour of your English teacher.

And then there was the man himself, with his arm outstretched over the back of the couch, lazily gripping a can between the tips of his fingers. Gojo was, for the most part, listening to Nanami, rambling as he sipped straight whiskey, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. So unbothered, so effortlessly present he didn't even need to try to be. The girl beside him had her legs thrown over his whilst she scrolled through her phone and occasionally, tried to get him to give her attention. He ignored her every time. Your eyes fell on him, watching him curiously, and how anyone who passed by either spoke to him or exchanged a fist bump. As if they weren't there, he carried on drinking and every so often, contributed to Nanami's conversation. Geto sauntered over with a widening grin, and planted a kiss on Shoko's cheek. 

“Hey doll,” he addressed Shoko, and you swear her face lit up like the end of a cigarette. Then his eyes slid over to you. A gentle, polite smile then graced his handsome face. “This a friend of yours?”

“This is Y/N.” Shoko leant in closer to tell him, and he bent down slightly to hear her better. “She’s my best friend, actually. Be nice to her.”

“I intend to, doll.” He reassured her, rather nicely, you might add, and then turned his attention back to you. “Suguru. Nice to meet you. Any friend of my Ieiri is welcome around here.”

Shoko was radiating pure ecstasy from that statement; you were sure her heart just combusted then and there, masked by the sheer volume of the music. If she wasn’t still holding your hand for leverage, you think her knees might’ve given up.

“Thanks. Good to meet you.” You replied, a thin smile at your lips. Suguru had a rather pleasant warmth about him, not what you were expecting at all. Perhaps that’s why Shoko liked him so much - he wasn’t as much of a dick as the rest of them.

“Lemme introduce you both.” Suguru then said, putting an arm around Shoko and gesturing for you to follow. You did so, and he approached the boys, chugging back beer and passing around a joint. “Oi," Geto shouted over the noise, and their attention soon shifted. Geto gestured to Shoko, and then towards you. "This is Ieiri. This is her friend. Play nice, fellas."

"So this is the little lady, Geto?" Sukuna, a cigarette sitting snug between his lips, gave you both a once over, then lingered on Shoko. "Good catch."

"Don't be fucking gross, man." Geto threw his empty beer can at Sukuna, who chortled almost sinisterly. "Have some respect."

"And you?" Your head snapped in the direction of the couch, where Gojo, with a slight smirk, took a swig of beer whilst keeping his eyes trained on you over the top of the can. "Didn't catch your name, sweet."

"Y/N. No need to ask yours." You retorted, titling your head slightly to emphasise the condescending tone. Unfortunately, he seemed to enjoy your quick wit, as did the others who hollered like high schoolers. Gojo's eyes didn't leave yours - there was a glint of challenge in them, but before he could offer a response, Geto shut it down immediately.

"Just be normal, for fucks sake." He groaned to them all, before taking Shoko off to the side for some privacy, if there was any to be found.

Within a few seconds, you’d lost Shoko, whose mouth was far too occupied to say two words to you. Everyone else fell back into their conversations. Ino started showing off his other bicep, as you cross the space between yourself and the ever growing pile of cans and bottles on the coffee table. You add your empty can to the pile and reach for an unopened one. As you do, another hand clasped the can you were aiming for, and naturally, you looked up to see who the culprit was. His unwavering stare met yours again, for longer this time, a half smile curled at the corner of Gojo's mouth and a look in his eyes that only filled you with unease. Your heart began thumping against your ribs; he was leaning towards you, his hand almost touching yours. You were beginning to wonder if the rumours about him being all-consuming were actually true. You pulled yourself back into the room, and ultimately decided that the beer wasn't worth it, so you gave up your desired beverage and headed towards the kitchen.

Gojo was a simple man, really. If he liked something, he wanted it. If he wanted something, he got it. It wasn't difficult; he was just a man that knew what sated his desires. When Geto introduced you to the group, his fleeting attention was suddenly tunnel vision, because he could tell, just from the way you looked at him with both a hint of curiosity and animosity, that you weren't like the others. Oh, no. There was some fire in the way you spoke. You'd heard about him - of course you had. You were judging him with those pretty eyes of yours. As soon as you moved to grab that drink, he swung that girls legs off him and reached for it. There it was again, that cold, already-made-my-mind-up stare that really did something for him. Despite popular belief, Gojo wasn't all about the easy ones. They were always down to scratch an itch, but he liked them a little spicier. With a bit of edge. Things always taste better when you've worked for them, right?

So as you hurried towards the kitchen, clearly trying to steer clear of him, he followed you. Bold of you to assume he wouldn't, really. As you reached the less hectic space of the kitchen, you felt, for a moment, like you could breathe. 

Oh, how wrong you were.

"No need to dip, darl." A voice, dipped in honey and laced with devilment, froze your pursuit. It was the kind of voice that travelled through your entire body; the kind that strikes the most inner parts of you. The kind of voice that well suited its owner. “We can always share, you know.”

disclaimer: i do not own any of the characters in this fic or the images used. dividers by: @cursed-carmine

[pillsatoru]

A FEVER YOU CANT SWEAT OUT 𑣲 series masterlist

TAGLIST IS CLOSED ITS CLOSED ITS CLOSED ITS CLOSED .

synopsis ꩜ the cute emo boy from your college is completely enamored with you and your pretty outfits, so when he hears you and your shitty boyfriend finally broke up, he wastes no time in planning how to make you his.

pairing ˎˊ˗ emo! choso x girly! reader

warning / tags ⟢ fem! reader, MDNI 18+, this will be a bit angsty, yuki is ooc here, cheating, miscommunication, friends to lovers, inappropriate use of drum sticks, blowjobs, pussy eating, hair pulling, subby choso, he has a prince albert, yes he will whimper, fluff, tba…

INTRODUCTION

TIME TO DANCE

LYING IS THE MOST FUN A GIRL CAN HAVE

I CONSTANTLY THANK GOD

TONIGHT, TONIGHT

taglist is closed. sowwy ! © pillsatoru 26'. I do not condone the use of ai. do not make c.ai bots from my fics, translate, repost, or copy any of my works. including theme.

[pillsatoru]

A FEVER YOU CANT SWEAT OUT - INTRODUCTION

synopsis ꩜ the cute emo boy from your college is completely enamored with you and your pretty outfits, so when he hears you and your shitty boyfriend finally broke up, he wastes no time in planning how to make you his.

pairing ˎˊ˗ emo! choso x girly! reader

warning / tags ⟢ fem! reader, MDNI 18+, this will be a bit angsty, yuki is ooc here, cheating, miscommunication, friends to lovers, inappropriate use of drum sticks, blowjobs, pussy eating, hair pulling, subby choso, yes he will whimper, fluff, tba… header art by @/arina_vah

series masterlist 〢 no the taglist isn’t open pls don’t ask

Club rush could count as Choso's favorite holiday. If it was a holiday.

What better way to kick off the school year other than joining the one and only music club that he's been leading for the past 2 years, right? Incoming freshmen or returning students could bond over instruments and emo culture.

"Yo, pass me that vinyl." Suguru pointed to the protected record. The table had been set up with music ranging from "Brand New Eyes" to "Pretty. Odd."

Choso handed it over to his friend carefully, watching as he sat it carefully up. Other students were putting up their booths as well. Some were under canopy tents to protect them from the summer sun.

"I'm fucking sweating like a pig." Choso rasped out, pinning his neck length hair up in two buns. "Told ya we should've bought a canopy."

"With what money, dude." Suguru took a step back, admiring their set up. "Where's Sukuna? He was supposed to print out the flyers an hour ago."

Just on cue, the pink haired boy reached the other two, papers in hand. "Got 'em." He held the papers up.

"How many did you print out?" Choso grabbed them from Sukuna's hand, seeing how the design came out.

"Couple dozen. When does this shit start? I got to pick up my brother from school today."

"Ain't he in high school? He can go on the bus." Suguru snatched a flyer from Choso's hand. "You didn't get them in color?!"

Sukuna frowned, slipping his box of cigarettes in his back pocket. "Hell nah. It was like a dollar extra."

"It's whatever," Choso interrupted. The last he needed was his two bandmates getting into an argument. "People are starting to come." Soon enough, a crowd began to form around the quad, students visiting the booths of interest.

You walked around with you low heels clicking on the ground. Definitely not the best choice of attire but it was you. A vintage Von Dutch purse was sat right on your shoulder, swinging with every step.

"Whatever happened to the fashion club?" You asked between chewing your bubble gum. Shoko lifted her head from her phone, confused at your question. "Girl, you made them disband. Remember?"

You let out an 'ohhh' as if you found out mind blowing news.

"Not my fault they were so poorly uneducated on Vivienne Westwood. Did they seriously have the audacity to ignore the fact that she was punk? What the hell were they on about saying that the brand was for clean girlies? Ummm hellooooo?" You raised a brow that was recently threaded.

"Right.. anyways." Shoko looked around, eyes setting on the medical club. "I'll be right back, I have to go sign up."

You nodded, blowing a goodbye kiss.

There weren't any new organizations this year that you know of other than the one your ex boyfriend was apart of. The sight of him just made you want to role your eyes.

The asshole had broken up with you over text and is going around saying you were the one who broke up with him.

Like, who the hell even does that?

You pushed yourself deeper into the crowd, making your way towards the heart of the quad.

"Music club is over here guys!" Choso yelled out as he handed people flyers. "We will be meeting on the second Monday of every month. Feel free to recommend us to your friends!"

Usually, you'd ignore anything that has to do with music. Not your forte.

But the washed out print on his shirt caught your eye.

A Fever You Can't Sweat Out.

That's the album you listened to non stop in your high school years. Your iPod was full with every version of it. The original, the demos, and even Live in Denver.

You listened to it so ofter that it burned onto the screen.

"Cool shirt." The words slipped from your mouth, surprising both you and Choso.

Because no way was a girl like you complimenting a boy like him. And over his shirt out of all things. "Uh, thanks." He stuttered, a crooked smile creeping on his lips.

He darted down to the papers in his hands, offering one to you.

You hesitated before accepting it. "Music club?"

Choso nodded. "Yeah, we mostly focus on emo music to be honest but we're always open to do other genres." God was he sweating? It felt like he was. Have you noticed? "You a Panic fan?"

You hummed, skimming through the small summary of the club. "Not really, just of that album. Well not anymore but high school me."

"No way. I mean, um, you have a favorite song?"

"I guess I liked Camisado."

"Oh shit, I love that one." Choso's eyes brightened. "You know the story behind it?"

You snorted. "Duh."

The way you spoke was soft and pretty to him, it made his heart beat like a teenagers.

"I'm Choso.." He mumbled.

"Hi Choso." You smiled up at him, exchanging your name as well. "I'll try and come."

He nodded, gulping. "We'll see you then.." His eyes stayed on your frame as you disappeared almost in a trance at the sway of your hips. "Suguru." He hit his friends' chest. "Fuck did you see that?"

"See what?"

"The goddess that just came up to me."

"Is the heat getting to you man?" Suguru pressed his hand on Choso's forehead, feeling the thin layer of sweat before hurling away in disgust.

"Surprised you didn't scare her away."

Choso smacked his shoulder playfully, returning back to distributing the flyers like the local newspaper. That dorky smile still evident on his face.

That was yesterday though.

And Choso hasn't shut up about you since.

"Do you think she'll actually show up to the meetings?" He ran the brush through his hair, undoing any knots made while sleeping. His broad chest was bare, showcasing all his tattoos. And not to mention the nipple piercings.

Sukuna groaned along with Suguru. "Bro, let it go already. Just cause she spoke to you for less than a minute-"

"It was over a minute, actually." Choso corrected.

"It doesn't matter. No offense man, but you're not her type. She dated Toji and they recently broke up. Doubt that she's already trying to get into another relationship."

Suguru yawned, standing up to grab another beef from the mini fridge.

"But ay, maybe you can change her."

A sigh fell from Choso's lips, feeling all of a sudden unmotivated. "She's so pretty."

"What would you even do if she did end up showing up? Woo her with your guitar skills?"

Choso paused.

"I mean.. yeah?"

Another collective groan escaped from the other two.

a/n - short chapter to start things off ! the rest of the chapters are gonna be longer lolz

[prisonrot-deactivated20260602]

let me embarrass myself online in peace

[brainsanalysis-deactivated20210]

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

[yenayaps]

hi so i decided that there will be a part 2 (?) to fratjo and older reader, but it probably won’t be until april lol. its not gonna be a series tho like i usually do, it’ll just be a collection of long oneshots that i’ll add to whenever i get the chance.

anyways, here’s a peek bc i couldn’t help myself from writing some stuff down:

Satoru was not your boyfriend.

He’s tried to call himself that once, casually— an attempt to surpass asking you a question that you will absolutely say no to, and you’ve never shut a comment down so fast in your entire life.

“What did you just say?”

“….to let your… boyfriend.. take care of it.”

You look all around your apartment, while he awkward stood there, thinking about how he knew he shouldn’t have said that. “Where’s the boyfriend?”

He too looks around the space before answering, “nowhere.”

“Exactly.”

But after he crashed your date and nearly threw a fit over you trying to “replace” him, you’ve come to admit to yourself that he is more than just your fuck buddy.

He’s a pain in your fucking ass, and to be frank, you’ve given up on trying to look elsewhere. You weren’t getting rid of this guy any time soon. He’s like a damn cat that domesticated itself, and guess who was the owner that never wanted a cat to begin with?

You.

All rights reserved © 2026 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform. Do not feed my works into ai and do not turn them into chat bots.

[yenayaps]

if u think i’m pretty

pairing: frat boy!gojo x mean!reader

content: the notorious fuckboy suddenly stopped sleeping around and nobody knows why. its totally not because he’s been secretly running around with someone that’s almost a decade older and is embarrassed to be seen with him in public || MDNI, fem!reader, age gap (gojo’s 20-21 readers late 20s), smut, porn w/ plot, fuck buddies, secret relationship(?), gojo plays rugby 🫦, readers lw so embarrassed to be seen with him LMAO, date crashing, he also calls her drunk to tell her he misses her, he's an unhinged little shit

notes: hiiii im so sorry to the ones that asked to be tagged, ive been swamped with schoolwork and im exhausted 😭 11.9k words today, enjoy the read 🙂‍↕️❤️

Satoru has lived his life quite simply these past few months— just school, training, and games. 

Everyone’s gotten on his case about it— mainly just questioning him, but there are moments like yesterday, when he got accused of going through a crisis of some sort over his sexuality. Or last month, when the entire frathouse got together in the living room and tried to have some intervention, thinking he had depression or some other shit. 

He doesn't. He’s also not very worried about his sexuality. 

It’s crazy because he really hasn’t changed that much. He just hasn’t brought anyone over. Or gone out on dates. Or made out with anyone at parties. Anything related to girls, he hasn’t taken much part in. 

But that’s it! That’s all!

He still goes to parties, still has good grades, still goes to practice, and still wins games. He’s just as present— he’s just not fucking anybody, and now everyone thinks he’s dying because of it. 

Assholes. 

He’s fucked half the school, for all they knew, he could’ve just been giving his dick a break! He wasn’t— but he could be, and that wouldn’t be anybody else's business but his own. He’s a grown man, despite many individuals begging to differ.

Whatever, fuck them.

Funny thing about it all is nobody seems to have noticed that he’s out of the house at certain hours throughout the week. Consistently. So really, it’s on them for not trying hard enough to find answers to their invasive little questions. 

Hm. Actually, no. On the off chance that they do ask what he’s up to on a night like tonight, he’ll just lie, say he’s at the gym or something. He’s not exactly allowed to tell, which is fine; he’s more than willing to keep a little secret. 

That little secret was tucked away in a nice apartment that had a view of the entire city. A tranquil little place when he’s not around, he’s pretty sure— just not when he’s around.

The bed’s steadily rocking underneath the uneven weight Satoru creates. Relentless smacking— skin to skin, hips to ass, the dirty little squelch that comes with it. 

There’s a view, but it’s not the city. 

“Arch that back some more— yeaahhh, just like that.”

He pounds into you, balls hitting heavy against your clit as he pulls you back to meet each thrust. Moans spill from your lips, taking every single inch he drills into you. The stretch is insane as he works his heavy cock in and out of you like it’s nothing. 

If there’s one thing about him, it’s that he can fuck. He can go on for hours, put you in any position, have you begging and crying, dwindle you down to nothing but a babbling mess from how many orgasms he can work out of you. 

He wears you out. 

Yet still, at the end of every night—

“Kay’. We’re done here, you can leave now.” 

You are so fucking mean.

The first time Satoru heard those words come out of your mouth, he was distraught. How dare you throw him out after the backshots he had given you?! He made you cum so hard you cried! Then you just throw him out of your apartment like some useless whore– like he was nothing but a fucking slut! He had more to offer than just his dick, he’ll have you know. 

Now he’s a little less emotional and more… 

“You sure? I could stay longer and help you with chores… or something.”

You look around your room, which is spotless aside from his t-shirt and jeans scattered on the floor. “Sure. Why don’t you start by picking up your clothes, putting them on, and then getting out?”

“Oh, come on. Seriously?” he throws his head back and groans rather childishly. “That’s a little rude, no?” 

“So was the way you were talking to your little girlfriend on the phone earlier,” you hop off the bed and throw on a big t-shirt that said Modelo on it. 

Satoru gets one final look at your ass as you do so and finds himself getting oddly jealous, wondering if the shirt was actually yours or if it belonged to an ex. He ends up telling himself it’s yours, ignoring that you’ve told him how much you hated beer in the past. Delusional? Perhaps, but he’d rather not hurt his own feelings right now.

“Carmen’s not my girlfriend,” he huffs out a laugh as he tries to explain, “I don’t even know why she called me. We haven’t fucked in months.” 

He also tried to tell you that he hasn’t slept with anyone since he started sleeping with you, but you didn’t seem to care much about either. The entire time, you were just throwing his clothes at him while he absentmindedly got dressed. He continues to yap away once he’s up and fully dressed, so you grab him by the wrist and start walking towards the door. 

“And you wouldn’t believe all the shit the guys have given me for turning girls down. One of them started calling me Celibate Satoru, can you believe that?”

“I sure can.” You open the door, walk around him, and start pushing him out. 

“They don’t even know— assholes, they’d take it all back so fast if they saw you,” he huffs out a laugh, trying to cope with the fact that he’s not allowed to tell anybody about you two. 

You laugh with him. “You better hope they don’t, ‘cause if they do–”

“You’ll bite my dick off– yeah, yeah. I know.” You never said you’d bite his dick off. Satoru turns around when he’s fully out of the door to reveal the dopey grin on his face. “So, same time next week?”

“Yup! Bye Gojo.”

He scoffs. “I thought I told you to call me Sa–”

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. You shut the door in his face. 

Gojo was a nice guy… at least to you, he was. You’re sure a lot of others would say the complete opposite, judging by the way he snapped at the girl earlier for calling him and telling her to lose his number. You felt sorry for her and also felt thankful that you didn’t have to deal with a guy like him when you were 21. 

You tried not to reflect too much, it’d just end with you being disappointed in yourself for even letting him into your apartment in the first place. It’s all for fun, but still, you should know better. 

Satoru’s a piece of work. Comes from a family swimming in money and has never been told no in his life. He’s impulsive. Very hedonistic, very immature— some people grow out of it, but you have a feeling he’ll never change since he’s never had to work hard for anything in his life. 

He is the last person you’d ever want to date, and for someone who usually dated older men— preferably men like his rich father— fucking a frat boy was just embarrassing on your part.

It’s too bad he’s genuinely one of the best fucks of your life— add in the dick piercing, the stamina that came with being a rugby player, and the fact that he spends every moment with you wanting to please you, and he was hard to get rid of. 

You met Satoru at the gym. You’d think he’d go to the one at his university, but no, he just had to get a membership at the luxury gym that’s on the other side of town. The only reason why you chose to get a membership there, rather than the more affordable gym down the street, was so that you could avoid annoying ass kids. 

Spoiler: It didn’t work. 

He didn’t approach you right away. It started with a couple of stares here and there, all of which you pretended not to see since his attention was the last thing you wanted. You can admit that if he were a little older, you would’ve indulged, but it was clear he was a college student, given how he’s worn t-shirts and hoodies with his university’s name on them. Most professional settings wouldn’t allow piercings either— he’s covered in them. One on his nose, one on his eyebrow, multiple on his ears, and a tongue ring. Not to mention the one he surprised you with when he first came over.

Of course, pretending not to notice an attention whore like Satoru Gojo didn’t work, and you soon found out just how annoyingly persistent he can be.

He started going to the gym at the same time as you. It felt like the machines he used just got closer and closer to you with each visit, up until he boldly used the treadmill right next to you one day— you weren’t having that, by the way, and got off less than a minute later. You could be talking to a trainer or one of the staff members, and he’d shimmy his way into the conversation just to get you to look at him and say something, but his attempts were met with you excusing yourself. 

It got to a point where he didn’t even care about what was said, he just wanted your attention, good or bad. When he finally did get it, it was neither. You were tired of him before he even opened his mouth. 

Imagine this: the annoying little shit coincidentally goes into the sauna at the same time as you, even though you could’ve sworn you saw him walking out the door with his duffle bag thrown over his shoulder. How he managed to strip down into nothing but his slutty little rugby shorts in so little time? You have no clue. His knee was all scraped up though, so it was safe to assume that he fell during the process. 

You gave him a curt smile and closed your eyes.

He still opened his mouth.

“Great sauna, isn’t it?”

Did he just deepen his voice? Christ.

The awkward and pathetic attempt at small talk never made you want to murder yourself more in that moment. You tried not to sound as annoyed as you were when you let out a sigh. 

“It is,” you murmured back, closing your eyes again in hopes that would be the end of it. 

It wasn’t. 

“I love coming here— nice little escape from everything,” he blissfully said.

You couldn’t imagine what the hell that brat needed to escape from. If only you could say the same, you’ve spent more time dodging him than you have working out the past three weeks. 

“Name's Satoru, by the way,” he flashed you a smile. 

You’re not a heartless wretch, so you threw him a bone and told him your name, too. Which was a mistake, the one thing you’ve learned is to never feel sorry for Satoru, give him an inch and he’ll shamelessly take a mile. Minutes later, you’re internally groaning. You hated how smooth he was when asking if you wanted to grab drinks later that night. All the charm and charisma that oozed out of him would put any narcissist to shame. 

“Did you seriously follow me into the sauna just to ask me out?”

He had to pause because that’s not what you were supposed to say, but he was too emotionally invested at that point to give up. 

“Maybe,” he chirps, averting his gaze for a moment. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be weird, though.”

You smile as your eyes scan him from top to bottom, more so out of judgment than interest. “Stripping down into nothing but the male version of booty shorts isn’t weird?”

“Ugh— ok, yeah, fine— maybe it is a little weird,” he sighs, throwing a towel over his shoulders as an attempt to cover up. “Let's just.. Forget about that. Yeah?” You continue to just stare at him, and he clears his throat. “I’d still love to take you out sometime and get to know you a little better. Whatcha think? My treat.”

Age doesn’t matter, you’ll fold too once you see what he’s hiding under his “booty shorts”. Everyone does. 

You cross your arms and lean back on the wooden bench. “I’m sorry– how old are you again?”

“I’m graduating this year,” he proudly says, making your face drop in disbelief— he’s well aware that he’s too young for you, and he’s still trying?

“Right.” The judgment in your tone was loud and clear, continuing to look at him as if he were a harmless spider— there’s no fear or concern, just peeved at how it managed to find its way into your vicinity. “So you’re 21…” You tried pulling more information out of him, “since that’s the age you need to be to order a drink.” 

“Soon,” he continues to tiptoe around the truth. “Everyone knows me, though. Nobody's gonna check my I.D.” 

Besides, he has a fake. He’s had one since he was 16. 

“Oh wow.” 

You still didn’t sound very impressed, not that it stopped him. He somehow was able to go home with your number in his phone that day, mainly because he was starting to annoy you, and giving him your number was the easiest way to get him to stop— harmless spider, remember? He was probably more of a gnat at that point, though, but harmless nonetheless. 

From that point going forward, you ignored him at the gym and his text messages. You could go on your phone and scroll for a minute before seeing a text sent from your end. Now that you think about it, you only texted him back once. 

Unknown Number: i feel like im being edged rn 😔 what’s a man gotta do to get a text back??

You: typing…

You: 

You: typing…

You: turn 21

Unknown Number: bet

You read that response and immediately regretted it. 

He came back a month later, the day after his birthday, and you unfortunately gave in. 

And by giving in, you met him halfway and asked if he wanted to come over. He was hot, but there was no way in hell you wanted to be seen in public with him. Being a man as easy as Satoru, he said yes and spent the entire night putting you in every single position he’s ever imagined having you in. You swear he hit every room on purpose— just bending you over every surface and folding you up in every position. 

You’ve never had someone throw you around that much before. He fucked you like it was some god-given right. You were so far gone that you would’ve done anything he told you to; you’re just glad his only goal that night was to impress you. 

And he did, hence why you are still letting him come over a couple of times a week. Maybe more, maybe less. 

He’s tried to get you to come over to his place before, to which you refused for obvious reasons, and berated him enough to make him never ask you a question as insulting as that ever again. 

He’s also tried to coordinate your gym visits in the past. 

It was a month into whatever little arrangement you had— you say that because you’ve never made an agreement, aside from telling him to never talk to you, talk about you, or approach you in public. 

It would come as a surprise to no one if he spent the whole day there just waiting for you to show up. 

He didn’t even give you a chance to go into the locker and put your things away before attempting to walk up to you. You had just walked past the front desk— head down, phone up— and felt like there was something off, and what do you know? He was walking in a straight line towards you as if you hadn’t banned him from speaking to you in public. 

Luckily, the women's locker room was directly to your left, so you turned and walked there as fast as your legs could take you. You were pissed, slamming your duffel bag down onto one of the benches to spend a minute or two pacing back and forth. There was no way in hell you were going home, so you pulled up with messages with him and sent him a text.

You: Do not fucking embarrass me.

You: Don’t even come near me.  

S. Gojo: fine .

It wasn’t another 20 minutes until you finally stepped out of the locker room, mostly ready to spend the next 30 minutes working out. Usually, it’s 45 minutes to an hour, but you gave yourself some grace, even though you really should’ve been getting the most out of your membership with how pricey it was.

The first 20 minutes were fine— peaceful. You ended up letting your guard down as you fell under the assumption that Satoru left, given how he was nowhere to be found. Then, 2 minutes into using the stairmaster, someone got on the one right next to you, despite the entire row being empty. 

He was met with a scowl. The only response he had for it was throwing his palms out and grimacing right back at you, as if to say, I’m not doing anything wrong.

Minutes later, he’s reaching over and grabbing your water bottle to take a sip from. Mind you, he already had one with him. It had more water in it than yours. 

That was the moment you knew Satoru really wasn’t shit. 

He casually gave it back with a smile, trying to act all cute and be funny, so you sent your water bottle flying at his big head. 

“Ow!” he frowns, rubbing the side of his head, having absolutely no right to look as shocked as he did. “That hurt!”

“Suck it up,” you snapped at him in a hushed tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t lodge it down your throat and drown you.”

“Why would you do either?!” he threw his arms out.

“I don’t know— why would you reach over and drink from my water bottle when you have your own?!”

“Because I wanted water that had some of your backwash in it??” he says, as if it should’ve been obvious. 

To this day, you still don’t know if he was trying to throw you off or if he was being serious.

“If I hear one more word come out of your mouth while I’m here, even if you’re 10 feet away and talking to someone else, I’m fucking blocking you.”

“. . .” You could see the panic in his eyes as his face dropped. “Okay— 10 feet away is fucking crazy—”

“Stop. Talking.”

He opens his mouth, quickly decides he’d rather not find out if you were bluffing or not, and closes it.

You hated being strict with people— you had no other choice but to be strict with Satoru. You could draw a line, explicitly tell him not to cross it and why, and he’d walk right up to it and tap his toe on the other side, just to see if you’d say anything.

With the way you talk about him and talk to him, it’d be easy to assume that you hated him— you complain about the shit he does, you yell at him often, you look at him at times and start to wonder if he was just a sign sent by god to finally get therapy. But you don’t dislike him, let alone hate him.  

On the occasion that you don’t kick him out right after you two fuck, he’s really not that bad to be around. If circumstances were different, you wouldn’t mind being friends with him. He’s easy to talk to, easy to get along with when he’s not actively and purposely fucking around and finding out. You honestly enjoy talking to him here and there. 

Truly.

Except for when he’s talking about anything frat-related. More often than not, it’s dumb and genuinely a waste of your time to listen to. Not to mention the fact that you don’t need any more reminders of who you’ve been welcoming into your home. 

You were pushing thirty for Christ's sake. It'd be one thing if he were just a one-night stand, but he’s not. He raids your pantry when you’re not looking and, on multiple occasions, has purposely left his boxers behind as some sort of parting gift.

It’s gotten easier with time— the embarrassment that washes over you when he says something stupid, that is. Like whatever went down at some party he threw or some joke one of his “brothers” told him. It’s still a waste of your time, but you’ve grown to just let him talk about it rather than shut him down to avoid that pang of guilt you sometimes get when you’re around him. 

There’s the disappointment and the embarrassment, and lately, there’s the odd form of pity you have for him. You’ve always known you were going to have to let Gojo down one day and cut things off completely, you’re not quite sure how he’d take it, though. 

There was some hope that he’d get bored with you and move on to someone new, but that’s slowly diminishing. He’s volunteered to get tested for STDs weekly and sends you the results. He hasn’t slept with anyone else, either, which is shocking. You’ve gotten a glimpse of his phone and his messages, all of which were unopened texts from the girls he’s probably led on in the past— ignoring them all for a woman who does the same to him more than half the time.

Sometimes you wonder if he notices that, too. He has to. You say he’s stupid all the time, but he’s smarter than he lets on. 

—

S. Gojo: how’s my pretty girl doing?? ((:

You: what do u want

S. Gojo: 😭damn not even a question mark?? I didn’t even ask u for anything 😔

You: i can tell when u want something. now what is it

S. Gojo: can i come over after practice today? pretty please

S. Gojo: it ends at 3 today

You: im not even home

S. Gojo: ik i have a key

You: you took my spare key?

You: give it back

S. Gojo: today? (:

You: im not even home by then. I don’t want u there, you’re gonna make a mess

S. Gojo: wtf? I never make a mess

You: what do you even wanna come over for

S. Gojo: i don’t wanna be home later

You: why

S. Gojo: there’s a few sorority girls coming over and they don’t like me

You: why

S. Gojo: it’s just bc of some bet during freshman years

S. Gojo: they’re not over it

You: pig

S. Gojo: i didn’t even tell you what it was!

You: please don’t

You: but ya, no. go to the library or something

S. Gojo: PLEEEEEAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSEEEEEEEEEEE

S. Gojo: FUCK i’ll have takeout ready for you when you get off work ffs

S. Gojo: have some compassion these bitches are gonna try to CHOP my DICK off PLEASE

You: maybe you never deserved one to begin with

S. Gojo: BRO???

You: kiddinggg

You: have some pad thai ready for me. I also expect the place to be vacuumed 

S. Gojo: i got u

S. Gojo: i can do your laundry too if you want

You: stop trying to sniff my panties you fucking freak

S. Gojo: ):

You’re home at 5:15 on the dot, and you’re met with the lovely smell of all-purpose cleaner despite only telling Satoru to vacuum. So naturally, you’re in a good mood when you walk into the living room and hang your purse up in the hallway. 

Satoru’s on the couch, turning to look at you and doing that stupid nod he does when he doesn’t feel like verbally greeting someone. 

You slip out of your heels and walk up. “Did you clean the kitchen?”

“A little,” he hums, taking the opportunity to pretty much eye fuck you since you don’t pay much attention to him as you look into the kitchen. 

“What do you want?” you ask suspiciously, turning to look at him lounging back on your couch, half-naked. He’s got nothing but a pair of socks and rugby shorts on, and you can’t help but take a look at his thighs. You don’t ask why his titties are out on display, though, knowing he’d make a comment about how hard he worked cleaning the place. 

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, feigning innocence. The slight twitch of his lip right after gives him away, not that you give it much attention. “How was work?”

“Long,” you yawn. “Slow, too— felt like I was on my phone the entire time.”

He tilts his head, getting ready to fuck with you despite it not even being 5 minutes since you walked through the door. “Are you complaining about doing nothing at work today?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mimic his tone. “I hate looking at the clock all day.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I’m gonna remember this the next time you complain about work being too busy.”

You smile and hum. “Do that, and I’m shoving my socks down your throat.”

“Kinky.” You start to walk away, and Satoru takes the opportunity to reach over the couch, biting his lip as he strikes a palm over your ass. “What else are you tryna do to me?” 

“Choke you,” you boredly say as you walk into your room, but end up smiling when you hear him laugh. You come out a couple of minutes later in a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Where’s the food?”

“The fridge,” he responds, seemingly distracted. 

Only for him to grab your wrist right before you walk past behind him. 

You whip your head around and click your tongue. “What?” you whine, eyes narrowing as you shoot him an irritated look. 

“How hungry are you right now?” he asks, tongue in cheek as he keeps a firm grip on your wrists. 

“Hungry enough.”

“Starving?” There’s an obnoxious glint in his eyes as he asks. 

You scoff. “Does it fucking matter?” 

“Mmmmmm, a little.” He blatantly checks you out as he hums, not struggling to hold on to your wrist at all. He leans over the couch to get a better look at your shorts, his other hand reaching forward to snap your shorts against your skin. “I like these.”

“Let me guess, you’d like them better on the floor.” 

“Something like that— come here,” He stifles a laugh, pulling you closer until you're up against the couch. He snakes an arm around your waist to keep you from leaving, pressing kisses all over your chest. “Been waiting for you forever– give me a minute or two.” 

“You expect me to believe it’ll just be a minute or two?” You smile, trying to keep your breath from hitching as he gets closer to your neck. 

“Mhm. It’s a lie, though.” He places one last kiss against your collarbone, then pulls a hum out of you as he licks a slow, fat stripe up your neck. He tops it off with a couple of kisses along your jaw before nipping at your ear. “How about I work up that appetite a little, hm?”

Your lids grow heavy, each word growing breathier than the last with each kiss and touch. “My stomach’s gonna start hurting.” 

“It’s fine,” he murmurs, running his big hand down your back to your ass, giving it a squeeze before his palm lands on it. “You won’t be thinking about it.” 

He steps over the couch and starts nudging you towards your room, dick print against the fabric of his shorts on full display. 

“No?”

“Nope,” the grin on his face grows, “I’ll keep you distracted.”

And distracted you were. 

Whining as you trembled and clenched around his cock while he worked it into you. You’re at the edge of the bed— bent over for him, back in the craziest arch as he gives you the deepest strokes. The round metal studs under his tip add the right amount of pressure as it drags over your gummy spot.  

He leans back, suppressing a laugh at the sight of your fucked out face and the creamy ring already starting to grow around his base. He’s barely done anything, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he saw drool stains right where your face is pressed up against. It’s always like this, your attitude just magically disappearing the moment he gets near your pussy. Doesn’t matter if it’s his dick, his fingers, his tongue— they’ve all made the miracle of getting you to say please happen. 

“Shit,” he curses under his breath, just mesmerized at the sight of his cock disappearing inside of you. His attention only gets pulled away once he hears a soft, drawn-out moan leave your lips, his hands unconsciously moving up to your hips for him to knead. “You alright?”

“Mhm— go faster.” The demand sounds so sweet falling from your lips, how could he say no?

He rests a knee against the bed and leans over your body. Chest pressed up against your back, caging you in. You rest your head on his forearm, unknowingly letting him get a full view of the tears he’s about to give you. He picks up the pace, angling himself just right with each thrust, watching your eyebrows slightly pinch as your breathing picks up. 

“Can’t believe you wanted to wait for this,” he starts to poke fun at you, and it somehow goes straight to your core. “The hell were you thinkin’, huh?”

“I don’t know,” you murmur. 

“Were you thinking at all?”

“Shut up.” You get whinier with the change of pace. “Can you just– mmh yeah.”

“Yeah?” He grins as you lose your train of thought, rolling his hips nice and slow, working his tip right over that spot that has you curling your toes. “Like that?”

“Mhm,” you hum, fingers starting to dig into his bicep as the praises slowly fall from your mouth. “Feels so good.”

“I knoww– you’re droolin’ on my arm already,” he stifles a laugh as he mocks you, brushing some hair out of your face to grab your chin, turning your head toward him. 

He leans down to kiss you, and it’s nothing short of messy. It's all tongue and wet smacks once he held you down and crashed his lips into yours, just rough and hungry. Greed is what comes to mind once you pull away— lips all swollen and covered in spit, out of breath, heat creeping up your neck. 

It’s just selfish— who grabs people like that?

The hand on your jaw wraps around your neck, and you soon find yourself taking in a sharp breath as Satoru crashes his lips into yours again. His hips continue to rock into you, grinding every inch of himself up against your gummy walls, trying to knock the air out of you as he tries to take it for himself. 

He bites your bottom lip, and you’re giggling as he slowly pulls back, dying out at your throat once he gets back to work. His shallow thrusts grow deep, making your eyes start to glaze over as the fat head of his cock hits and rubs against a spot you’re sure only he can reach. 

“Ready?” he murmurs in your ear. 

“What are you–” 

He bites your bottom lip, then starts fucking you like you owed him your soul or something. He drills every single inch of his cock into you, the sharp sounds of his hips striking against your ass cutting through the air, nearly bringing you to tears from how overwhelming it all is.

“F-Fuck!” you choke out a whine, shoving your face down on the bed, unable to keep up with how fast he’s going. Your cunt stretches around his cock, walls fluttering and squeezing around his length as he pounds you into the bed. Low groans slip through his lips as he sees a mess of slick and cream starting to coat his shaft.

He goes faster. The obscene wet slaps of him pounding your pussy and his heavy balls slapping against your clit grow louder, messier. You’re clawing at your sheets and holding back choked moans each time he slams his tip against your cervix. Your legs start to tremble, struggling to keep them open when each thrust pushes you forward with all the force behind them. 

You start to feel something in your core begin to wrap up and coil, and you are not ready for it. You find yourself crawling forward, trying to close your thighs, all without even realizing it. Satoru lets out a laugh that fades into a low groan as your walls squeeze and tremble around him. 

He teases you as he drags you back by your hips, his ragged voice dripping in amusement.

“You running from me, baby? Where’s this pussy goin’, huh?” He nudges your thighs back apart with his knee, pulling you back on his cock and holding you in place, hips flush against your ass as he lazily grinds into you. 

“Yeah, c'mere— m’not done with you yet.” he rasps, picking up the pace back up again until a messy wet squelch can be heard between you as he pounds you out. He presses your back further down into an arch, fucking into you at a deeper angle. “Mmmm— there we go— just stay right there for me.” 

“Sa— fuck— t-toru!” Your breath shatters as you gasp, pressure starting to build all over again. 

You don’t see the way he smirks when you cry his name like that.

“I know— M’sorry, baby.”

He’s not. A hand slides up your spine to get a fistful of your hair, pulling you up against his chest in one swift go. His pace doesn’t falter as a strong arm wraps around your waist, holding you against him while his lips graze the shell of your ear. 

“Look how good I’m fuckin’ you, though— looks like you’re about to start crying.” He smiles, feeling you squeeze around him as the messy squelch in between your legs becomes more pronounced. 

“T-too much,” you sputter out.

“You should probably cum them,” he offers as if it were a simple solution. “If you want, I can work it out of ya.”

“F-fuck,” you inhale sharply. “Please.”

He lets out a low, pleased hum before he just starts slamming into you, making the bed shake as he starts to knock the absolute wind out of you. His free hand snakes down, slipping down in between your legs until the pads of his fingers find your clit. You tense as he presses on it firmly, breath faltering once he starts rubbing little circles. 

His grip around your waist tightens as he keeps going, not minding your nails as they start scratching and digging into his arm. Soon you’re let out a sharp cry, trembling as you start gushing all over his cock. 

And the way you pussy clamps down and just starts milking him has his thrust growing sloppy, fucking you both through it. 

“Fuck— fuuck,” he lets out a breathy groan, doubling over and nearly squeezing you to death when he starts pumping you full of hot cum, flooding your sensitive walls. He breathes heavy, grinding against you, giving you every last drop. “Shit— that was so fuckin’ good— are you alright?” 

You’re lying limp in his arms, nodding weakly, trying to catch your breath. “Uh-huh”

“You’re so shaky right now,” he heaves, gently letting you down on the bed. “I fucked you good this time.”

“Shut up,” you barely snap at him, “Go get me my food, I can’t fucking walk right now.”

“Fuck— I’m sorry. Don’t kick me out.”

“Get me my fucking food.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods, putting his boxers on and walking out of your room with a little smile on his face. 

. . .

He’s leaning against the fridge as he lets his mind run off for a bit, aside from the microwave whirring in the background, it’s quiet— a rare occurrence for Satoru. He doesn’t snap back to reality until he hears footsteps coming up behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to see you back in the clothes he nearly ripped trying to get off you. And that you’re walking perfectly fine. 

“Thought you couldn’t walk,” he points at you, gesturing his finger up and down.

“So did I,” you shrug, wrapping your fingers around the fridge handle and pulling it open to retrieve a white claw. You can physically feel Satoru staring at you, while something in your spirit is telling you that he’s waiting for you to offer him one. 

You crack it open as you turn to look at him. 

“Can I help you?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Initially, his eyes drift to the drink in your hand and look at it quite longingly. “That looks good.”

“It is good,” you say, then obnoxiously take a sip. “Pairs really well with noodles.”

“I’m sure.” His tones flat as he looks back at the drink. 

You have no idea why he’s so set on waiting for you to offer him one, but you eventually do because you’d rather not get into some weird silent war with him. “Would you like one?”

“Yes, I would,” he says with a blissful sigh, reaching into the fridge to get one for himself. 

The microwave beeps, you open it, and take the plate out yourself. “You know you can just grab one, right?”

The can cracks and he takes a sip, then nods. “I know, I just wanted you to offer me one.”

“Yeah, you made that pretty obvious,” you laugh and walk to the living room, and Satoru naturally follows. “Do you want some of my food, too?”

“No— appreciate you asking, though.”

“Sure,” you say, before muttering, “weirdo.”

He’s the first one to grab the remote and put something on, taking advantage of the fact that you haven’t pushed him out yet, like you do 60% percent of the time. The 40% is too random for him to be able to tell when it’ll happen next. 

You weren’t planning on kicking him out too soon today, though, since he’s currently hiding from an entire group of women.

“Wait, so what did you do to get those girls to hate you?”

“Got dared to homie hop.” He casually shrugs, taking a sip from the can. “Over the course of one weekend.”

“What is wrong with you?” you ask with the utmost disappointment. 

He points to himself. “In my defense, I was 18.”

“I guess.” You stifle a laugh before feeding yourself another fork full of food. “I’m surprised they still hate you that much.”

“Yeah, I got dared to do it again last year,” he finally mentions, just as casual as the last time. 

You pause for a moment as you try to think of an answer. You never do. “Yeah, I think I’d hate you, too.” 

He delusionally brushes you off. “You would’ve loved me. I’m a great friend.”

There's a contemplative look on your face as you tilt your head, thinking of all he’s revealed to you about himself, which is probably just a 3rd of all he’s done. “I’m sure you are.”

“I am,” he scoffs. 

“Yeah— that’s what I said.” You laugh, wiping the side of your mouth off with a napkin before throwing it on the empty plate, getting up to put it away.

You're in the kitchen when Satoru raises his voice to say something to you. 

“I am your friend, right?” he asks. 

You close the dishwasher and walk back out into the living room, there’s a slight pout on his face as he walks for an answer. 

“Yeah,” you let out an amused sigh. “You’re my special friend.”

“Yeah?” He sinks further back into the sofa, looking more pleased. “Special enough to talk to outside of here?” 

“Fuck no,” you say with zero hesitation, wiping the smile off his face again. “You wouldn’t be special anymore. Is that what you want? You wanna be an average normie?”

There are two things in this world that Satoru would never want to be— average and poor.

He crosses his arms and scoffs. “You really know how to turn a situation around on other people, don’t you? That’s pretty evil, y’know that?”

You feign innocence, looking at him all concerned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

“Whatever,” he rises from his seat, accepting your evil nature and his role as your special little slut. “Can we shower together?”

You give a bored look, knowing he’s gonna try to get you to scrub his back. “Fine.”

. . .

Tonight’s just like every other Friday night. The bass of the music bouncing off the walls, loud conversations happening in every direction. Most people are having a good time, while some are crying their eyes out over something that’ll seem minuscule a couple years from now. The only thing that’s changed is Satoru hasn’t, and most likely won't, bring a girl up to his room tonight. 

For once, all of his attention is on playing his fifth round of beer pong. 

The guys will still give him shit for the sudden change, but it was never a bad thing, just odd. They’ve given up on theories as to why after realizing Satoru really wasn’t going to cave and tell them this time around. Not even Suguru. He doesn’t need to ask, though, he knows Satoru is fucking someone. With how secretive he’s been though, he’s most likely sneaking around with someone that’ll get him in trouble if word gets out. Like the wife of one of his father's very affluent and important friends, perhaps? It was on brand for him.

It wasn’t that serious. Suguru will find out, eventually. He just hopes it doesn’t end badly for his friend that’s brought enough scandals for his family, being the problem child he’s always been. Hell, he’s being problematic right now, pulling Suguru out of his thoughts as some poor girl tugs on Satoru’s shirt.

Suguru has no idea what she said to him, but he steps in a little closer, pretending to focus on the game as he listens to whatever his friend has to say. Satoru barely looks at her and responds, not only rudely, but with quite possibly the most ridiculous words Suguru has ever heard come out of his mouth. 

“Sorry, sweetheart– I like my women a little more grown.” 

Mind you, they were in the same year. 

She laughs, there’s still stars in her eyes as she looks at him. “Wait, what?”

He shortens it. “M’not interested.”

“Why?” she asks, eyes growing dull. 

And Satoru, having already lost his patience, takes a step back and looks at her from head to toe, looking for another reason. It’s quite embarrassing— standing there and waiting for someone to figure out what they don’t like about you. 

“Yeaah, no.” He takes another look at her. “You just don’t do it for me— sorry.”

You’d think it’d be fine since he didn’t point out any of her features, but being told you ‘don’t do it’ for someone that you’ve already fucked doesn’t feel very good, nor does realizing that he completely forgot that they have, multiple times. He’s gotten drunk and fucked a lot of people. Keyword: Drunk. He doesn’t remember most of the time, hence his initial confusion when she threw a drink in his face. 

Unfazed, he wipes the remnants of her drink off his face, throwing her off in the process as he treats it like it’s a common occurrence and that he’s used to it (he’s very used to it).

“You just proved my fuckin’ point,” Satoru says, still unimpressed as he takes his shirt off and continues to casually wipe himself off. “Grow up.”

The comment makes her realize he was being dead serious with his original reason for rejecting her, even though he had zero problem with fucking her at the beginning of the year. “Oh fuck you, Gojo,” she ends up cursing at him as she storms off, furious and embarrassed.

“Yeah– not happening!” he laughs and yells back loud enough for her to hear.

Suguru just laughs because fucking called it. He totally was seeing someone older, and Satoru's response gave it away. Suguru doesn’t mention it, though. “You coulda been a little nicer, y’know?”

“Whatever,” he waves him off, knowing he could’ve been ruder, but chose not to. “I’ll probably never see her again after graduation, anyway.”

Suguru shrugs. “You never know.”

Satoru ruffles his hair with the semi-damp t-shirt in his hand, wondering why his friend decided to embrace his inner Gandhi when he’s just as bad as him. Satoru literally watched him tell a girl to stop crying after he cut things off with her, then added salt to the wound by giving her some speech about how she wouldn’t run after a snake and explain how being bitten made her feel. Suguru wasn’t technically wrong, but he did not have to say all that. With that being said, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Suguru lecture him any more though, and lets the comment go. 

“I’m gonna go wash the rest of this shit off,” he says, referring to the sheer pink stain on his hair. 

Suguru pats his back a couple of times as he continues to laugh. “Have fun with that. Try not to run into her or friends.”

Satoru hoped not, that mini-meltdown was enough for him. He wasn’t stumbling or anything, but having to walk through crowds to get to his room made him realize he was drunker than he realized, not that it made him feel any remorse for the words he said. They did not warrant getting a drink thrown in his face. 

The first thing he does when he gets to his room is kick out a couple making out on his bed, throwing a couple of insults and threats their way as they scurry out of his room. Then he walks into his bathroom to wash his hair off in the sink, which leads to him completely stripping down in frustration and hopping in the shower, in hopes that it’d sober him up a bit. 

It doesn’t— it just makes him want to call it a night. 

He dries himself off and throws on a pair of boxers and sweats before sitting down on his bed with his phone in hand. His thumb hovers over the call button as he stares at your contact. The room continues to spin as he wonders if you were even awake. It was pushing midnight. 

After spending way too much time wondering if you’d answer, his thumb hits the screen. The phone rings once. Twice. Then a third time.

“What do you think you’re doing calling me this late?” you immediately grill him, your smooth and unhurried tone making you sound more amused than anything. 

He smiles as he stifles a laugh. “I can’t call you and say what’s up now?”

“People don’t usually call someone at midnight to say what's up.”

“M’not like other people,” he chuckles, though you know deep down inside, he wouldn’t dare put himself in the same category as a regular person. There isn’t one mirror he’s walked by and hasn’t looked at— the way Satoru looks at his own reflection could send anyone into a crisis, wondering if their spouses really did love them as much as they claimed.

“Yeah, you’re real different,” you respond blandly, coming off as trying to knock him down a peg, when really you’re just trying to move on. “Anyways, what do you want?”

“You should let me come over,” he doesn’t hesitate to say, slurring his words slightly. 

“No.”

He pulls his phone away from his ear and looks at it with his brows pinched together, all hurt from how you didn’t even bother thinking about it before giving him an answer. 

“Why not?” he grumbles, finding himself more offended than usual. “I miss you.”

He’s reminded that you don’t actually hate him when you begin to laugh at how endearing he can be, even when he’s just complaining. “I saw you two days ago.”

“What can I say, baby?” he murmurs, the stupid grin on his face widening when he hears you click your tongue. “You make it hard not to with that tight little p—”

Are you drunk right now?” You cut him off, wiping the smile right off that little pervert's face. 

“Maybe.” 

He hears you let out a disgusted scoff on the other side of the phone. “Ew, no. I don’t wanna fuck you when you’re all drunk and sloppy.”

At first, he lets out this noise that can only be described as what a pout would sound like if you could hear it. “First of all, I’m not sloppy. Second, I wasn’t asking to fuck, just let me spend the night. It’s loud here— buncha’ hooligans running around.” 

“So you can fuck with my sleep?”

“Baby, I would never fuck with your beauty sleep,” he swears. “I’m a beast— not a fuckin’ monster.”

“You are such a fucking loser.” You pinch your nosebridge as you sigh and mutter under your breath. “You’ll be fine. Just take another shot and put some earplugs in.”

“I don’t have any!” 

“Headphones then,” you curtly say. “Anyways, I’m going to bed now—”

“No, wait—”

“Good night~”

Click.

Satoru’s left staring at the wall in disbelief, jaw all the way to the floor. Surely you could’ve offered him a couch— but you didn’t bother, and the thought adds to the betrayal that’s already exacerbated from all the shots he’s taken earlier. It doesn’t go away, it just simmers once he’s processed the fact that you basically told him that he could suffer and fucking die, for all you cared, before hanging up. 

The music’s so loud that the walls are fucking shaking, there’s no point in noise cancelling headphones when he can feelhow loud it is. His eyes dart between his phone, his dresser, and the door before finally getting up with an irritated sigh. 

“Fuck this.”

. . .

Instead of sleeping, like you said you would when hanging up on Satoru, you continued to watch what you put on the tv prior to answering your phone. Though with how late it was, your eyes inevitably grew heavier with each blink, and you found yourself beginning to doze off. 

Until a knock on the door and the muffled sound of your name being called snaps you right back to reality. 

“I swear to god if that’s—” you begin murmuring to yourself as you walk up to the door, cutting yourself off because no shit it’s Satoru. You can’t think of anybody else who would still come over despite being told no.  

You swing the door open, annoyed that it doesn’t swing outwards, it would’ve been nice to hit him with it. He’s leaning against the entryway to stop himself from swaying in place, as carefree as ever. 

“What are you doing here?!”

Immediately, he begins to beg. “You have got to let me sleep here— some nasty couple fucked on my bed and there’s a group of psychos hunting me down with pitchforks.”

He was not going back there, and if a little truth-twisting is what it takes to get you to let him, then so be it.

Your face twists in annoyance. “Hunt you down for what?!”

“For turning one of them down.” He throws his arms out, pretending to be outraged. “Threw a drink in my face and everything just because I wouldn’t fuck her! And now my bed smells like rotten fish—”

“Just get inside,” you snap at him, feeling an incoming headache starting to form from his theatrics.

“Thank you.”

Despite showering and brushing his teeth, you can still smell some of the alcohol radiating off of him as he walks past you. Irritated, you shut the door a little too harshly, missing the way the man flinched as he stood there and waited for you. You completely ignore him, walking to the coffee table and picking up the remote to turn the T.V off. You walk off to your room after, with Satoru following right behind you like a lost puppy. 

The decorative pillows get plucked off the bed one by one. The only reason why he doesn’t ask if you need help with anything is that he is a little too scared to ask. You pull the duvet back and whip your head around to look at him. 

“Get in,” you order, and he quickly walks around to the other side, pulling his shirt over his head and leaving his sweats on. “And do not wake me up tonight.”

“Kay’,” he says quietly, slipping the covers. 

You follow, after killing the lights, sighing as you lay your head back and close your eyes. He awkwardly lies there at first, arms pulling the blanket up to his chest, staring at the ceiling. It’s not how he sleeps, and frankly, he is really fucking uncomfortable. He’s also scared to move right now.

But Satoru is Satoru, and at the very last minute, turns and snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. He slides a leg in between yours, and you open your mouth to protest, only to get cut off by his slightly nervous voice. 

“Good night.” 

. . .

Satoru wakes up twice. 

Once at 6:00 am to a pounding headache. He got up to look for an over the counter painkiller. Luckily, he found some in the first cabinet he opened in your kitchen and downed more than he should’ve before getting back in bed, throwing an arm and a leg over you, and falling back asleep. 

Then again, at 11:00 am, when he hears some shuffling around the room and realizes you are no longer next to him. 

He opens one eye and mumbles, “Where are you going?” 

You’re in a hurry as you put a pair of socks on. “To a pilates class.” 

“Can I come?” he pops his head up and asks, struggling to open both eyes.

There’s an incredulous look on your face when you pause and look at him. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, you look like a fucking mess right now.” He didn’t really need to hear that, he already figured it out since he feels like one right now. “Two, I don’t need you sitting alone in the corner, watching me for an hour straight.”

“That’s mean as fuck.”

“Not one lie was told,” you argue back, getting the last sock on and rising to your feet. “I’m not kicking you out just yet, so you can stay if you want.” 

“Oh, I fuckin’ will.” It comes out as if kicking him out was never an option to begin with, earning himself a little side eye that he was too busy stretching his arms out to notice. You quickly let it go, figuring the hangover was doing a number on him. “Do you have food?”

“Yeah, just look around in the fridge.” You look at your watch, then throw your bag over your shoulder after realizing you’re just barely running on time. “I’ll be back in like an hour.”

“Kay’,” he yawns, lying back against the pillow and closing his eyes once you're out of view. 

As much as his head hurts, he’s glad he’s suffering here and not at the house. It’s quiet, your bed’s comfy, time actually feels like it’s running slow for once. There are another 15 minutes of peace before it is ruined by the ring of his phone. 

Before he reaches for it on the nightstand, he takes a few seconds to shove his face into the  pillow and let out a slew of curses. He picks up the phone and answers, as if his head wasn’t pounding more than ever. 

It’s Suguru, who’s not as concerned as he is confused. “Hey, so— you’re not home.”

“M’not,” Satoru mumbles. 

Suguru gives him room to explain, but speaks again when he realizes Satoru’s not going to take any of it. “Where are you then?” Again, not concerned, just confused.

“At a friend’s,” Satoru vaguely says. Even in his current fucked up state, he still remembers that you don’t want him talking about you at all. 

“...and this is the friend that you’re not fucking and avoiding everyone for, right?”

He lets out a laugh. “Exactly.”

At least Suguru’s smart and is able to read between the lines, meaning that was enough information for him. “Alright.” He laughs with him. “I’ll let you go then. Have fun with your friend.”

“I will.”

Right after he hangs up, he hears another notification go off that’s not from his phone. He hears the ping a couple more times and quickly realizes it’s your phone hiding under the sheets. You were in too much of a rush to realize you forgot to bring it with you. 

Satoru’s not one to look through someone else’s phone. He never has, never cared to, never felt the need to. So fighting the urge not to was not only something new, but incredibly fucking difficult. It’s literally right in his hand. He even knows your passcode from the one time he watched you unlock it because his memory’s perfect. 

One minute. He’ll just give himself one minute to take a peek. 

. . . 

It’s been several. 

Putting it down, while he’s in the middle of scrolling through a particular conversation, feels impossible. Even when he knows he’s just ruining his own morning by looking at it, he continues to read and make mental notes. 

His names Shiu. 37 years old. Moderately successful. 

Boring as fuck. 

He can tell when someone’s forcing themselves to keep a conversation alive, and can’t wrap his head around why you’d even bother when it’s over shit you have zero interest in. Shiu hasn’t even complimented you once. Nothing about you physically, not even the bare minimum of making a comment about how he enjoys talking to you, since it’s you carrying all of these dry, meaningless conversations. 

It's like he just expects you to talk to him. 

He continues to scroll, getting closer to the more recent messages, and Satoru finally sees something interesting. Not for you or Shiu, but for him. Reservations for your date next weekend. The first date. 

And also your last.

. . . 

Before you met him, Shiu wasn’t someone you’d ever imagined yourself being with. He’s calm, quiet, and more of a listener than he was a talker. Not much of a joker or a gossiper. 

He was just stable. Rooted. Shiu is a man who couldn’t be moved. 

He was a safe choice. A smart one. A mellow man with a successful career. Given your track record of failed relationships with men that you chose based on how exciting you found them, maybe it was time to be smarter.

Some may say it was settling, but you say it’s being practical and choosing what’s best for you. 

After a few weeks of casual texting, you were finally having dinner with him tonight. You weren’t exactly excited, but you weren’t nervous either— maybe this is him rubbing off of you. 

You’re not sure, honestly. 

It feels like there’s something missing, and in its place is the weight of something that refuses to show itself to you, as if its sole purpose was to burden you with confusion. 

You take one last look at yourself before you leave, smoothing your hand over the long, tight black dress you chose to wear. Flattering, not too revealing. The same for your shoes, just simple black kitten heels. 

At the last minute, Satoru manages to squeeze his way into your mind as you randomly recall the last time you saw him, which was exactly a week ago. The only thing that was off was his supernatural ability to bounce back from a hangover in under an hour. He was fine by the time you got home— at least fine enough to follow you into the bathroom for some shower sex. 

You haven’t heard from him since he went home that day. You should be relieved, you wanted him to get bored with you and pull away, yet here you are, wondering why you haven’t heard from him. 

. . .

Shiu wasn’t a man who couldn’t be moved— that would require being passionate about something, and so far, he’s about as dry as a matchstick.

And maybe there is something that he’s passionate about, but you doubt it. It’s not necessarily a complaint, just a change in the way you saw him. Shame on you for building up a false idea of him in your head. 

At least he’s still calm and quiet— you’re just hoping that all there is to him. 

As for now, Shiu was like a constant stream of water that never changed in temperature. He was a place on earth where the weather never changed. A solid 70 degrees, every single day. Acceptable. Easy to digest. Nothing out of the ordinary is ever likely to happen with him. 

He’s still a safe choice.

You’re not exactly sure how it’d be what’s best for you, though. You liked surprises— they turned an ordinary day into a day worth remembering— a life without them was just a forgotten past and pointless future. 

You could be acting a little dramatic over it right now, but you are honestly sick and fucking tired of getting absolutely nowhere with all the guys you’ve dated and spoken to.

Which is why you push yourself to consider that Shiu could just be a little shy, it's only 15 minutes into your date after all. You remind yourself that opening up takes time, for reasons that make only you feel better. 

You haven’t had a quarter life crisis yet, but learning that you’ve spent all this time swinging sledge hammers and wrecking balls at a safe that’s been empty from the start might finally take you there. 

You take a sip of your wine and set it back down. “Do you know what you’re gonna order?” 

He slowly shakes his head, humming  indecisively. “Not yet.” 

You wait for him to say something else, but to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t. “You mentioned it’s your 9th time coming here. Do you have any favorites that you reorder?” 

He hums again. “Nah. The food here’s decent, but I haven’t had anything that’s stood out to me just yet.” 

It’s not often people leave you speechless, especially on first dates, but here you are. Tight lipped, eye threatening to twitch. 

“Wow— you’re 9th time here, and you still haven’t found a dish that left you satisfied at the end of the meal?” 

You’re really hoping he backtracks and corrects you. Coming to a restaurant you don’t like that many times was one of the most ridiculous things you’ve ever heard. 

“Not yet,” he smiles and shakes his head, as if wasting his time and money on a restaurant he didn’t like was just a silly little quirk of his. “Maybe today will be the day.” 

Why the fuck would he take you here?

“Fingers crossed,” you force out a light laugh, feeling your patience start to fade.  “So you’re just gonna keep coming here until you’ve gone through the entire menu?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” he chuckles, not catching the slight irritation in your tone. “What can you do, you know?” 

“I mean… you can always try new restaurants,” you suggest. 

“Nah.” He waves a hand as if that's doing too much. “Easy to stay here. I already know what to expect.” 

It took the amount of discipline a sergeant had to hold back on saying that this wasn’t the doctor's office or the fucking barber shop. 

You can absolutely check other places out.

Does this guy not understand free will exists? 

“Makes sense,” you lie, pushing out all the enthusiasm you’re able to put forward. “No point in fixing something if it’s not broken, you know?” 

“Exactly,” he proudly nods. 

“There you two are!” 

…You were going to kill yourself if it’s who you think it is. 

At first, you ignored the familiar voice and instead took an extra big sip of wine. 

He hates being ignored though, so instead of pulling up a seat between you and your date as he had originally planned, he sits right next to Shiu and smiles at the way you instantly freeze. 

You hate to admit how good he looked tonight. His hair’s styled for once, loosely brushed back with some expensive styling cream. You can’t help but notice how much sharper his eyes look with his hair out of his face. More rough and intimidating. He was in a white button up, tailored to perfection, rolled up at his elbows, leaving the top buttons of the shirt unbuttoned to show off the chain he always wore. Grey tweed trousers, also tailored to perfection. 

“My bad— ran into some traffic on the way here.” 

Satoru turns to Shiu, who’s even more confused than you, and holds his hand out for a handshake, giving him a veryformal introduction. 

Afterwards, Satoru proceeds to pluck the menu out of your date's hand. 

“Alright, Shiu, what are we getting tonight?” 

Shiu is visibly appalled when he looks at you, but doesn’t say anything because he’s never had a stranger do that before. Especially when the stranger’s as eccentric as Satoru. 

“I— I don’t know.” Your date stumbles on his words at first from the surprise of Satoru’s sudden appearance. “I didn’t get to finish looking through the menu.” 

“Wait— really?” 

Satoru looks at his watch and sees how you two have been here for nearly 20 minutes, and he still hasn’t picked something. He doesn’t wait for a response and hands the menu back since he already found what he liked, which sucks for you because now he can direct his attention elsewhere. 

He leans back and nods at you, because you haven’t spoken at all yet. 

“What’re you getting?” You catch the split second his entire expression darkens. He is fucking pissed.

“The cod and asparagus,” you murmur. 

“That’s fucking disgusting,” he says through a smile, playing it off as a joke even though you both know it’s not. “Your palate sucks though, so I’m not surprised.” 

“Yeah, no— it’s fucking awful,” you let out a laugh. “I need to start eating better— feels like I’ve been eating nothing but junk the past few months.” 

His face drops, and just before he’s about to say something 10x ruder, Shiu cuts in. 

“I’m sorry, I’m still confused,” he takes several steps back to about 5 minutes ago, “was there some sort of mix up here? I thought this was a date-date, not a dinner with… friends.” Shiu looks back at you, and you’re no help, you’re just glaring. 

“A date?” Satoru huffs out a laugh, making the man look like an idiot for even thinking this was a date. “It’s been dinner this whole time. You’re the one who booked a reservation for four, our other friend couldn’t make it.” 

Shiu's face twists in confusion. “What? No, no, no— I booked the reservation under two.”

“No, you didn’t. It was booked under four,” he sadly breaks it to him. “You can go ask the receptionist if you want, but I swear it’s four.” 

Shiu gets up from his seat to go talk to the receptionist, because he knows he booked it for two— he’s not fucking crazy. 

And it’s true, he’s not. Satoru’s the crazy one here.

He’s still gonna go home believing he is though, since the receptionist got paid to change the booking information and lie to him. 

Satoru laughs just thinking about it, then downs the rest of Shiu’s wine, ready to gaslight him over that, too. 

Finally, he looks back at you and feels a sick sense of satisfaction. You’re angry… baffled, in complete and utter disbelief— you’re looking at him like you’re two seconds away from jumping over the table and strangling him. 

Though in the end, you gather yourself together as you finally ask: “What are you doing here, Satoru?” 

“Why the fuck are you on a date with someone right now?” His tone clipped, it sounds like he’s about to throw a fit.

“I—“ you stop for a moment, reminding yourself not to yell. “Satoru, we’re not in a relationship.” 

“Fine, then,” he decides to rephrase it, “why are you trying to replace me? And with him? Seriously?!” 

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“He looks like a sleazy pornstar from the 80s!”

“Not everything is about looks—“

He laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Ok, what is it then? Is his dick bigger than mine?”

Your brows pinch together. Of course, he’s worried about that. “No— I haven’t even seen it yet.” 

“Yet?!” his voice broke. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

You try to use a more stern tone to get him to relax, but you don’t think it’ll work. Satoru looks fucking devastated.

“What’s next, you're gonna have babies with him?”

Your jaw drops at his conclusion. “What? No! Do you not realize how dramatic you sound right now?” 

“I’m being replaced by a man with fucking pornstache!” he points to himself and says. 

“Excuse me?” You’re both interrupted by a timid waitress. “Um– the man that was here earlier just left.”

“I’m not surprised,” you mutter until your breath. 

“Yeah…” she sighs, almost apologizing for it. “Were you guys ready to order?”

You glance back at Satoru, and he’s looking away with his arms crossed. “Could I just get the bill for the drinks?”

“Oh, no worries about that! It’s all been covered already by Mr. Gojo. You can just head out when you’re ready.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

“Of course! Have a good n–” she cuts herself off, knowing damn well you weren’t. “Take care.”

You would’ve laughed at how timid she was if you weren’t so irritated, and instead just nod and smile. You look back at the date crasher, contemplating whether you should thank him or not for trying to cover the bill, but hold off, knowing he probably only did it to assert even more dominance over your date than he already has. 

“We’re leaving.” You rise up and grab your purse. Satoru doesn't even look at you, let alone move an inch, because he’s throwing a fucking tantrum, so you slam your hand on the table. “Get up.”

He gets up.

There’s a slight pout on Satoru’s face as he follows you out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. His hands are shoved in his pockets, dragging his feet. 

“Where’s your car?” you ask. 

“There,” he mumbled and nodded in its direction, then suddenly, you’re pinching his ear and yanking on it. 

“Ow—”

“Walk,” you say through gritted teeth, pinching harder. 

“Ow– fuck– I am,” he chokes out. “Ow, ow, ow.”

You continued to drag him through the parking lot, ignoring his pleas for you to let go. 

“Suck it up,” you coldly respond. “You were asking for it when you crashed my date.”

“I’m sorry, I… ugh— I’m really not, he was lame as fuck, but still— your nails, ow.”

“Exactly, so get over it,” you continue to scold him. “Can’t believe you fucking did that.”

“Because you—”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” you cut him off, giving his ear one last tug, leaving him next to the driver's side door of his car. “Take me home. Now.”

gojo when reader said she hasn’t seen it “yet”:

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[mimuju-deactivated20260521]

── .✦ fratjo hates going down, but you're the exception !

the first rule of being satoru gojo was simple: you never, ever went down on a girl.

“it’s undignified,” he declared, leaning back in the worn-out frat house armchair, one leg slung over the arm. a bottle of cheap beer dangled from his fingers. “like, biologically, it makes no sense. you’re putting your face in a swamp. a swamp.i have standards.”

his friends—a chorus of nodding, beer-addled bros—laughed and clinked bottles in agreement. “preach, man!”

“seriously,” gojo continued, warming to his theme, his white hair glowing under the shitty fluorescent light. “what’s in it for me? the view is mid. the taste is questionable. naaah. my talents are better utilized elsewhere.” he gestured vaguely with the bottle. “let them worship me. that’s the natural order. i’m a giver, sure, but that’s just… not in my repertoire. ever.”

he said it with such absolute, unshakeable conviction that it became gospel in the frat house. gojo doesn’t eat pussy. it was a known fact, like the sky being blue or his ego being planetary in size.

cut to three hours later.

the same satoru gojo is currently buried so deep between your thighs he might need a rescue team. the arrogant smirk is gone, replaced by a look of single-minded, desperate devotion. his glasses are discarded somewhere on your bedroom floor.

“fuuuhhck,” he slurs, the word muffled against your skin as his tongue—that clever, wicked tongue he claimed was too good for this—lashes your clit in tight, frantic circles. “fuck, fuck, fuck… mmmh, so good…”

he’s not just doing it. he’s feasting. one large hand pins your hip to the mattress, the other is tangled in the sheets like he’s holding on for dear life. the wet, obscene sounds filling the room are coming from him as much as from you— slurps, groans, hungry hums that vibrate straight to your core. each flick of his tongue draws a new, breathy moan from him, a symphony of whines and low, possessive growls.

you card your fingers through his sweaty white hair, tugging gently. “t-thought you didn’t do this,” you gasp, arching into his mouth.

he pulls off just enough to growl, his lips and chin glistening. “shut up,” he breathes, pupils blown wide, looking utterly pussydrunk. a string of saliva connects his lower lip to your folds. “you taste like fucking heaven. ‘s different.” he nuzzles back in, inhaling deeply with a shuddering sigh. “god, you smell so good… mmph…” then he dives back in with a needy whimper, his nose pressing against you as he laps at your entrance, drinking you down like a man dying of thirst. every swallow is punctuated by a soft, satisfied groan from the back of his throat.

he’s lost all composure, all his cool, frat-boy posturing dissolved into a primal, whimpering mess. he moans into you, a continuous, low-pitched moans synced with the thrust of his tongue, his hips grinding uselessly against the mattress. when your legs start to shake around his head, he lets out a muffled, encouraging “yesssss, c’mon, baby, g-give it to me— n-need it s'bad—”

when you finally come, crying out his name, he doesn’t pull away. he rides out every pulse with his tongue, swallowing every drop, a deep, resonant sigh of pleasure vibrating against your oversensitive flesh until you’re pushing his head away, trembling and spent.

he collapses beside you, breathing raggedly, a dazed, blissed-out smile on his slick lips. he looks ruined, triumphant, and utterly, completely yours. he lets out a long, shaky exhale that’s almost a laugh.

“…okay,” he pants after a minute, turning to nuzzle your shoulder. he presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “maybe i do go down. but only for you.” he licks his lips, still tasting you, and lets out another soft, involuntary sigh. “and you better not tell anyone.”

"we'll see about that," you just smile, running a thumb over his swollen lower lip. your secret.

perm - @whorishminds @besidesjustmyamour @throatgoatgeto @go-go-gadget-autism @thecrazyfangirlthings @grignardsreagent @strawberryshortcakkitty @naammiii @liasacountgothacked @annicishana @my-starlights @error-racoon-404 @afreakforyautja @cupidstrace @iam-souless @sindulgent666 @chewiebee @tojisballhair @ex1acy @palanggaaa @yourlocalcatscammer @ehcilhc @gravecyte @restingoasis @satorupi @heliumshorns @laburantesdoll @sxpernova @thethyri @lostgeto @lilytrn @sweethearticism @mikaari0 @chososballhair @nanamissilkytie @iwasabs @tojis-juicymantitys @laitifly @farylfordaryl @bl1ndv3lvet @booboobear-12 @6arcxm @sleeplessdancer

[roroxnoa]

navigation / red is not suitable for minors

one piece

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manchild / frat!gojo x fem!reader / university au / ongoing

attack on titan

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change of heart / eren x fem!reader

mha

it’s nice to have a friend / au / shigaraki x fem!reader

[tojipie]

toji loves clingy girls <3

you don't have to look outside to know which car's music is shaking the thin foundation of your tiny apartment like a leaf. you slip outside in record time, ignoring the judgmental looks your roommates give you as you haul your weekend bag out the door.

something about this little routine sparks butterflies in your stomach every time. you just can't find it in you to shake the excitement you feel every friday, knowing he'll be out front by the time the sun sets. parked sideways with his hazards on and the roof down, music cranked so high you can feel the bass in your chest.

toji's car is probably the flashiest thing about him. polished, modded, and complete with a sound system that'd put an auditorium to shame. he leans over the door to give you a once over, mouth curled up in that lazy grin that makes your teeth clench.

"get your sweet ass over here." he urges, crooking two fingers towards himself before turning the music down. he pops the driver's side to stand and greet you properly, arms wrapping around your waist as soon as your body meets his.

“i missed you.” you sigh suddenly feeling emotional now that you're wrapped in his arms you can still smell your perfume lingering between the fibers of his hoodie. even through the different layers of soap, and smoke, and his own cologne. you're so relieved to see him that you almost feel like crying.

“fuck, baby.” he laughs softly, petting the crown of your head. you do this every single time, and he absolutely loves it. “you saw me last week, yeah? don't cry.”

you stand there for a while, rocking side to side in the parking lot until your chest loosens and the moisture beading at your eyes is gone. your knuckles ache right in the marrow from how hard you're clinging to him. toji doesn't mind, threading his fingers into the space between yours with a fond laugh and a kiss to your hairline.