gojo x latina ! reader | au
si tu novio no te mama el culo
pa eso que no mame!
summary ; your boyfriend gojo shows up grinning like the menace he is, waving around two bad bunny tickets like they’re golden keys to another universe.
a/n ; this is my writing on crack enjoy the cringy laughs!
you finish plating the last of the arroz con gandules, the smell of sofrito and sazón still hanging heavy in the kitchen. you wipe your hands on a dish towel, glancing up just as the front door swings open.
there he is, your boyfriend, gojo, sunglasses pushed up into his white hair even though the sun’s already down. he’s got that boyish, ridiculous grin tugging at his mouth, the kind of smile that always means he’s about to cause trouble.
“guess what?” he asks, voice lilting with mischief, already bouncing on the balls of his feet like he can barely keep the secret inside him. you raise a brow, setting the pot back on the stove. “what did you do now?”
gojo saunters over, stealing a spoonful of rice before you can stop him, humming in approval as he chews. then he pulls two glossy tickets from his pocket, fanning them dramatically in front of your face.
“bad bunny. live. this weekend. us.”
the tickets are still waving in front of your face when it really sinks in, and suddenly you’re bouncing on your toes like a little kid, smacking his chest with both hands as you squeal.
“no way, gojo! bad bunny?! estás loco—i need to figure out outfits, flights, hotel—”
you’re already half-planning in your head, rattling off names of boutiques you’ve been meaning to hit and colors that would look fire under stage lights, when he just chuckles. his long arms catch you mid-jump, pulling you flush against him like he’s got all the time in the world.
“already covered, babe,” he says, smug as hell. “flights, hotel, outfits—yup, i picked out three options. one’s scandalous, one’s classy, and one’s both. don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”
you blink, tilting your head, arching a brow at him. “so you really want some.. tonight, huh?”
gojo bursts out laughing, head tipping back, the sound echoing through the apartment. he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispers, “baby, i don’t need bad bunny tickets to earn that. but…” his grin turns wolfish, “i figured front row seats might sweeten the deal.”
he spins you again, the room dizzy with laughter, rice forgotten on the counter, your heart pounding with excitement that feels bigger than both of you.
the clock on your nightstand glared 3:02 a.m. in angry red numbers, and there was no way you were going back to sleep. not with your heart still drumming from the thought of what was ahead.
you slid out of bed as quietly as possible, careful not to wake gojo—though, honestly, the man could sleep through an earthquake. his long body was sprawled across the mattress, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes, mouth slightly open. you couldn’t help but smile at how ridiculous he looked, even in his dreams.
but there was no time to admire him. you flicked on the light, squinting as you tugged the suitcase from under the bed. your mind was running a mile a minute—outfits, makeup, chargers, tickets (you double-checked three times, even though you knew he had them).
you started tossing clothes into neat little piles, debating whether to go for the sparkly dress or the tight jeans that made your ass look lethal. somewhere between rolling up a pair of heels into a shoe bag and grabbing your travel-sized perfume, you heard a groggy voice behind you.
“baby” his words were slurred with sleep, “why does it sound like a hurricane hit our room?”
you froze, turning to see him squinting at you through messy bangs, hair sticking up like he fought a battle in his sleep.
“it’s 3 a.m.,” you whispered, waving a pair of earrings in your hand, “the flight’s at five. i have to make sure we’re ready.”
he groaned, dragging himself upright and rubbing his face. “baby…i told you, i packed everything already. outfits, toiletries, all of it. handled.” he cracked one eye open, a grin tugging lazily at his lips. “unless you just wanna give me a show at three in the morning in those little shorts.”
you threw a sweater at him, trying to hide your laugh. “shut up, gojo.”
“nah,” he smirked, pulling the sweater over his head, “i’m wide awake now. let’s get to the airport early and grab mcdonald’s breakfast. hotcakes on me, maybe some.. yk on you tho.”
you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly hurt, but your stomach fluttered anyway.
the uber barely slowed down before gojo was hopping out, dragging both suitcases with one hand like they weighed nothing. you were clutching the tickets, passport, phone, and an iced coffee like your life depended on it, already muttering under your breath about how there was no way you’d make it through tsa on time.
“relax, babe,” gojo yawned, stretching his arms over his head as if it wasn’t 4:17 a.m. and your flight wasn’t boarding in forty minutes. “tsa loves me.”
you snorted. “tsa loves no one.”
five minutes later you realized you were wrong—because tsa might not love him, but they definitely remembered him.
“sir,” the agent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as gojo stepped through the scanner with his sunglasses still on. at four in the morning. “again?”
“what? these are prescription,” gojo said innocently, pushing them up his nose. “without them, i can’t see how handsome i am.”
you buried your face in your boarding pass.
it only got worse. when asked to remove his shoes, gojo whipped them off dramatically, tossing them onto the conveyor like it was a basketball free throw. “three points!” he shouted, grinning when a few bleary-eyed passengers clapped weakly.
then came his belt, which he whipped in a circle above his head like he was about to put on a cowboy show. “don’t worry, folks,” he called out, “i keep it rated pg-13 in public.”
“gojo,” you hissed, tugging his arm before tsa really did throw you both out, “can you please act normal for once?”
he leaned down, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “normal’s boring. besides, you love me like this.”
and the worst part? you did.
the agent just waved him through with the deepest sigh of his career. “next.”
gojo turned to wink at you, already sliding his sunglasses back on. “told you. tsa loves me.”
the two of you finally made it onto the plane, sliding into your seats while the flight attendants gave their rehearsed safety spiel. gojo was already sprawled out, his legs stretched so far into the aisle that people had to step over them.
“bro, you’re like seven feet tall,” you hissed, smacking his thigh. “move your patas before someone trips.”
he just grinned, pulling the flimsy airline blanket over himself like a king with a cape. “don’t worry, babe. i’ll protect them. no one dares step on these legs.”
“i will,” you shot back, raising your sandal threateningly.
he gasped, clutching his chest. “not the chancla! por favor, have mercy.”
you narrowed your eyes. “behave, or you’ll find out how accurate my aim is at 30,000 feet.”
the old lady across the aisle actually chuckled at that, whispering something about “reminds me of my husband” under her breath.
things escalated when the snack cart came. gojo leaned over with that mischievous grin, trying to charm the flight attendant into giving him extra cookies. “come on, for the kids at home,” he said, winking, “i got six.”
you smacked him with the chancla—light, but enough to make a smack sound that drew a few stifled laughs from nearby passengers. “stop lying. you ain’t got kids, you got me.”
he held up both hands in surrender, still laughing. “and isn’t that enough work already?”
“keep talking, gojo, see if i don’t make you sit in coach next time.”
the two of you bickered in hushed tones, tossing jabs back and forth until he finally quieted down—only because he stretched his long arm over your shoulders, pulling you against him like a smug blanket.
“fine,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, “you win. but i’m still keeping the extra cookies.”
the hotel bathroom smelled faintly of your perfume and coconut body oil, steam still clinging to the mirror. you stepped out in your short red dress, the fabric hugging you just right, swaying dangerously at your thighs when you moved. your legs glowed—smooth, soft, freshly shaved. gold hoops caught the light with every turn of your head, and a single red flower tucked into your hair made you look like you had walked straight out of a dream.
gojo, sprawled across the edge of the bed as he laced up his sneakers, nearly choked on his own breath when he saw you. his shades slid down the bridge of his nose, blue eyes widening before narrowing with a mock pout.
“shaving…for a moment like this?” he asked dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. “babe, i thought you did that for me.”
you rolled your eyes, adjusting the straps of your heels in the mirror. “don’t start. it’s a concert, i wanna look good.”
“you do look good,” he muttered, standing now, towering behind you. his hands found your waist, his chin dropping to your shoulder. “too good. every fucker in that arena’s gonna lose their mind, and i’m gonna have to fight for my life.”
you smirked at his reflection. “what, jealous? you bought the tickets.”
“yeah, but i didn’t buy them for them.” his voice dropped low, husky. “i bought them for us. and now you’re out here in this little red dress, making me consider throwing hands with bad bunny himself.”
you burst out laughing, swatting his chest with the back of your hand. “you’re ridiculous.”
“no,” he corrected, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, “i’m in love. big difference.”
his fingers trailed down to your thigh, feeling the freshly smooth skin, and he groaned softly, like he was actually in pain. “shaved…glowing…wearing my favorite color…baby, you really do want some dick tonight, huh?”
you shook your head, grabbing your clutch and stepping out of his hold before he got too carried away. “not if you make us late.”
“late?” he scoffed, already grabbing his ridiculous sequined jacket from the chair. “nah, princesa—we’re gonna be fashionably unforgettable.”
the arena lights were already pulsing through the walls when you and gojo made your way through security. you handed over your bag politely, smiling at the guard. gojo, on the other hand, raised his arms dramatically like he was being arrested.
“hands where i can see ’em!” he yelled at himself, earning side-eyes from half the line.
“satoru, shut up,” you hissed, grabbing his wrist and yanking him forward before he made the guards actually search him for real.
“what? i’m just giving them a show. free entertainment!” he grinned, adjusting his shades.
“the only show you’re giving is clown college,” you muttered, tugging him past the metal detector.
once you finally made it inside, you made a beeline for the bar stand, ordering yourself a drink. gojo leaned on the counter, tapping it with both palms like a restless kid.
“two shots for my girlfriend, one juice box for me,” he told the bartender.
the bartender blinked. “…sir?”
you smacked him with your clutch. “ignore him. just two drinks, gracias.”
when you finally had your cup in hand, you turned to see gojo already bobbing his head to the distant bass of bad bunny warming up backstage. he took a sip of your drink without asking, smacked his lips, and announced loudly, “mmm, tastes like irresponsibility!”
you yanked the cup back. “tastes like you’re sleeping on the floor tonight if you don’t behave.”
he pressed a hand to his chest, fake-gasping. “mi amor, cruel. cruel!” but then the bass dropped louder, and suddenly he was two-stepping through the crowd, pretending the drink in his hand was a microphone.
“yo perreo sola!” he yelled, spinning in the middle of the walkway, nearly knocking into someone carrying nachos.
you dragged him toward your seats, cheeks hot from secondhand embarrassment. “satoru, sit down.”
he plopped into his chair with a dramatic sigh, spreading his long legs wide like a king on his throne. “fine, fine. but just know…” he leaned close, lips brushing your ear, “…when they play ‘safaera,’ i’m coming behind you.."
you groaned, taking another sip. “god give me strength."
the night blurred in neon lights and bass. five drinks in, and suddenly you were the problem.
you were on your feet, hips swaying hard to the rhythm, red dress riding dangerously up your thighs as you sang along with the crowd. “¡perreo, baby, sobeteo, baby!” your voice was hoarse, but you didn’t care—you were lit, glowing, unstoppable.
gojo, on the other hand, was half babysitter, half bodyguard, both arms wrapped around your waist as you leaned forward like you were about to launch yourself straight past security.
“mi amor, sit down,” he muttered, trying not to laugh as you stomped your heels like you were ready for battle.
“no! i need to be up there!” you slurred, pointing dramatically at the stage. “bad bunny needs to see this perreo in 4k.”
gojo tightened his hold. “what he needs is to stay alive. because if you get on that stage and start shaking ass, i’m committing a federal offense.”
you whined, pushing at his chest, trying to wiggle free. “lemme gooo. i got this. i was born for this!”
“you were born for me,” he countered, pressing a kiss to your temple just as the opening notes of safaera dropped.
and that was it. the entire arena lost its collective mind. people screamed, jumped, bodies pressed against each other like a tidal wave of chaos.
you screamed too, thrashing in his arms, “THIS IS MY SONG, GOJO! LET ME GO! LET ME GO!”
he was laughing so hard he nearly cried, holding you back with one arm while recording you with his phone in the other. “look, i'm not trying to start a riot and .. you’re not getting arrested tonight!”
“worth it!” you shouted, throwing your flower from your hair like it was a gauntlet into the crowd.
gojo just shook his head, tucking you against his chest while you fought him like a possessed demon. “shhh, relax, bebé. perreo for me. stage for later.”
but when the beat switched and the crowd bent down low, he finally gave in a little—standing on the chair with you still in his arms, both of you vibing, drunk and ridiculous, screaming every word.
“¡baja pa casa que yo te lambo toa! mami, yo te lambo toa!”
the arena was shaking. the bass from safaera rattled through your chest, and somewhere between the beat switch and the lights strobing, you stopped fighting gojo off—and started throwing it back on him.
he froze for half a second, eyes wide behind his shades, before a slow, cocky grin spread across his face. “ohhh, so this is what five drinks does to you, huh?”
you didn’t even hear him. you were too busy bending low, hands braced on your knees, dress threatening to ride up as the crowd around you screamed. gojo’s big hands immediately landed on your hips, holding you steady as you moved against him, his laugh loud and scandalous. his hand gripped the bottom of your dress pulling it down.
“OHHH SHITTTT,” he groaned dramatically, tilting his head back. “bad bunny, forgive me. i’m about to sin in section 104!”
and then—of course—the jumbotron cameras found you.
suddenly, your faces were plastered twenty feet tall across the screens, the whole stadium roaring as the spotlight zoomed in. you whipping it in a little red dress, gojo standing behind you hyping you up like a fool.
“¡OHHHHH!” the crowd exploded, people chanting, screaming, phones flying up to record.
gojo leaned into your ear, voice smug. “congrats, baby. we just went viral.”
you gasped when you realized you were on screen, slapping his chest. “GOJO!”
but he only grabbed your hand, twirling you like you were on stage for real, throwing his arms up to hype the crowd even more. “give it up for my girl!”
the entire section around you started chanting with him, clapping, laughing, whistling. the energy was insane—you couldn’t stop smiling, cheeks burning, but you kept dancing anyway, because at that point? why not.
bad bunny himself glanced toward your section, gave a grin, and let the beat ride out even harder. the arena went feral.
gojo kissed your cheek, smug as ever. “we just stole the whole damn show.”
"YESS WE DID! NOW, LET'S DO IT AGAIN!"
the concert ended in a blur of lights, sweat, and your voice gone from screaming lyrics at the top of your lungs. by the time you and gojo stumbled out with the rest of the crowd, your heels were threatening mutiny and his hair looked like he’d lost a fight with a wind tunnel.
and of course—people recognized you.
“yo, that’s the couple from the jumbotron!” someone shouted, pointing. a group of girls ran up, phones out, asking for selfies.
you hid your face in your hands, laughing. “ay no, don’t put me on tiktok, i was drunk!”
gojo, on the other hand, immediately struck a pose like he was at a vogue photoshoot. “make sure you get my good side—wait, they’re all my good side.”
“satoru, stop embarrassing me,” you hissed, trying to tug him away.
“too late,” he winked at one of the cameras, “we’re famous now, baby.”
you groaned, dragging him down the street while fans giggled behind you. your stomach rumbled, reminding you how long it had been since you ate. as if on cue, gojo gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “i need…grease. mcdonald’s. burger. fries. ten nuggets minimum.”
“at three in the morning?” you asked, glaring.
“exactly,” he said, dead serious. “that’s when the nuggets hit harder.”
fifteen minutes later you were both in a 24-hour diner, you still in your little red dress, him still in his ridiculous sequined jacket. he was scarfing down fries like a starving man, ketchup smeared on his thumb, while you balanced your plate of tostones and a milkshake.
the waitress eyed the two of you suspiciously. “long night?” gojo grinned, mouth full. “best night ever. i saw god tonight—and his name was bad bunny.”
you kicked him under the table, laughing so hard you nearly cried. he just pointed a fry at you, smug. “and tomorrow, when the internet explodes with clips of your ass on the jumbotron, don’t say i didn’t warn you.” you threw a napkin at his face, cheeks aching from smiling.
by the time you finally made it back to the hotel, your heels were dangling from your fingers, your makeup smudged from dancing and laughing all night. you barely had the energy to peel off your dress before collapsing face-first into the bed with a groan.
gojo, of course, was still wired—shirt halfway unbuttoned, chain crooked, sequined jacket tossed somewhere on the floor. he flopped down beside you, rolling onto his side to stare shamelessly at your bare legs.
“mmm,” he hummed, reaching out to squeeze your thigh. “shaving for bad bunny was crazy… but i guess i get to cash out the rewards tonight.”
you cracked an eye open and smacked his hand weakly with your sandal from the nightstand. “satoru, i’m exhausted.”
he clutched his chest dramatically. “exhausted, but not too tired to be mean. dios, mujer, have mercy.”
you rolled onto your side to face him, stifling a laugh at his pout. “go to sleep, baby.”
instead, he slid closer, pressing his forehead against yours. “can’t. i’m still drunk on you. and beer. but mostly you.”
“cornball,” you muttered, though your lips twitched.
he grinned, slipping a hand around your waist, tugging you against him. “nah, i’m your cornball.” his lips brushed your ear, voice dropping lower. “and i fully plan on making you regret that little jumbotron performance.”
you shivered, smacking his chest playfully. “you’re impossible.”
“and irresistible,” he countered, already kissing down your neck in sloppy, teasing pecks. “now scoot over before i file a complaint. bed’s too small for all this love i’m carrying.”
you groaned, laughing, shoving at him half-heartedly as he dramatically threw a leg over you, effectively pinning you.
“shhh,” he cut you off, lips ghosting your collarbone. “we need our own little afterparty.”
and just like that, exhaustion melted into giggles, warmth, and the kind of trouble only gojo could ever drag you into.
a/n ; cute thing in my drafts i decided to finish up
