something about you | gojo satoru
pairing: Gojo Satoru / Fem Reader
chapters: 1/3
word count: 3.3k
summary: When you buy a haggard man a coffee at the airport, you didn't realize it would eventually lead you to the bed of Gojo Satoru, the most eligible celebrity of the decade. How six dollars, one overly sugary coffee, and a chance meeting lead you to be railed by one of the most devastatingly pretty individuals you have ever seen.
tags: female reader, social media, celebrity gojo, seriously gojo is so gorgeous and knows how to work it
Glaring at the line of passengers before you, you hold out your arms as a TSA agent swipes their gloved hands over your figure, unapologetically bored.
“Go ahead,” They bark, their focus already switching to the person behind you, a poor soul who had forgotten to take out their boarding pass from their back pocket, and was now facing the full frontal wrath of the agents.
You murmur a quick thanks as you grab your luggage out of the bins, stuffing your arms back through your jacket and slipping your shoes on.
Honestly, you sometimes wondered if this whole debacle was just a scheme to make pre-check sound like a good investment. But with your meager college savings, you were strapped for cash as it was for this trip. You could kiss any hopes of an easy airport experience goodbye, along with a zero or two on your next bank account statement.
The economy ticket folded in your back pocket could attest to that. Pulling your carry-on behind you, you grip the handle till your knuckles are harsh against your skin as you made your way to your gate.
Faces blur past, some none too subtly shoving you out of the way as they jog to catch their flights, their urgency unrelatable. Two hours early to your flight with plenty of time to spare made you glaze over with unconcern.
That’s why when you made a small detour to the first coffee shop you see, you didn’t question the long line. You succumb to your fate being cemented to the back, right behind a haggard man with a slim pair of glasses perched on his nose. The sharpness of his pressed suit conflicted with the heavy lines of exhaustion weighing down his face.
With nothing better to do, you watch him out of the corner of your eye with interest. You notice how he keeps looking down at the electronic watch strapped to his wrist, his face becoming more exhausted with each passing glance. Honestly, you were starting to feel bad for this stranger and wondered who was on the other side to make him look like that.
Two teenage girls slide into line behind you, chipper with excitement, nearly startling you out of your early-morning daze. It was impossible to not overhear their conversation, and just like that, your attention was forcibly grabbed away.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe we’re in the same freaking airport as him!” One girl squeaks, her bright pink phone shoved in her other friend's direction. “Maybe if we hurry up we can go down to his gate and see him in person!”
“What if he notices us?!” Her friend suddenly gasps. She grabs her friend’s phone and pulls it closer to her face as though she could reach through the screen and grab who was on the other side.
“Like Gojo could see your five-foot ass in that crowd,” The first girl jokes, smiling as she pulls her phone away to admire the photos herself.
Gojo? You pause as you try to rack your brain for the reason why that name sounds so familiar.
“He’s super tall, he could totally see me behind all the paparazzi. His “hot woman” senses would go off and he would find me right away.”
You try to suppress a snort.
Okay, that would explain why his name sounds so familiar. If this man can elicit a large crowd of fans, including these girls, he must be famous. Maybe he played in some obscure movies or was a headliner for a social media account.
But that doesn’t explain why Haggard Man seems to age five years every time Gojo’s name is mentioned. Honestly, it’s a small feat that he’s still standing at this point. But Gojo is an uncommon last name, so you doubt the other person Haggard Man was messaging shares it. But it seems too personal not to.
Shuffling forward, you watch as the man finally steps up to the counter, his eyes not looking up from his watch as the cashier greets him with a chipper smile.
And your jaw drops as the man lists off ingredients for a sugary, coma-inducing drink that should not be fit for human consumption. To top it all off, he says this all with a completely neutral face, as though he’s succumbed to his fate long ago. The cashier girl is similarly nonplussed as she jabs at the register, taking the order with all the composure of a service worker who's seen far too much in this lifetime.
But as the man goes to pay, something is obviously wrong as he pats the front panel of the suit, his face becoming slightly panicked as he hastily moves to his back pocket instead, as though his wallet would suddenly materialize.
When it doesn’t, you can’t help but feel a surge of sympathy at the defeated look on his face. He quickly clears his throat and dabs at his forehead with his sleeved wrist.
“I apologize, it seems as though-“
“I’ll pay!” You blurt, resisting the urge to cringe back as the man turns to face you, surprised. You steel yourself, nodding to the card payment machine. “I’ll pay if that’s okay with you.”
The man takes a moment before he nods and steps aside.
“Thank you, I greatly appreciate it.” He says stiffly and you can tell he means it by the way his tense posture slightly relaxes. That is enough to make you feel better as you fumble with your wallet, quickly adding on your drink, and ignoring the slight pain of your depleting bank account.
The cashier nods as you quickly give her your name before the two of you step aside and wait for your orders.
Awkwardly, you nod to the man’s watch as he reads another never-ending message on it, never once responding.
“Rough morning…?” You ask, trailing off as you wait for the man's name. He nods and stands up straighter while looking ahead.
“Ijichi,” He replies. He pauses for a moment. “And yes. Rough morning, but nothing unusual.”
You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer to him as the two girls behind you chatter animatedly again about Gojo.
Gojo, Gojo, Gojo.
When your name is finally called, you both go up to the counter to collect your separate drinks. Jabbing a straw through the lid, you quickly hand over another straw which Ijichi takes, the ice rattling.
“Thank you again for your generosity,” Ijichi nods while you hastily wave his thanks away.
“No problem, I just hope you enjoy your drink.” You reply, feeling flustered as the man’s expression suddenly tightens.
“It’s not for me,” He corrects before an intense look crosses his face. He glances back down at his watch with barely concealed exasperation. “It’s for someone who can afford to pay for this drink more times than this establishment could supply.”
Okay, that’s oddly dramatic, but you suddenly understand the haggard look if this guy has to work for some obscenely rich guy who likes drinks with enough sugar to incapacitate a horse.
“Well…if it’s any consolation, you won’t have to be dealing with them much longer if they keep drinking like that.” You joke, which quickly turns awkward. Why did you just joke about hoping his boss dies to this stranger? You hurriedly glance back to the flight directory in the middle of the area. “Uh, enjoy your flig-!“
But the rest of your goodbye is cut off by the utterly high-pitched squealing that erupts behind you, startling you into nearly dropping your drink. Your heart slams against your chest in panic as a sudden rush of people appears, the loud shuttering of cameras making your head spin.
The reason for the commotion, the epicenter of the pure insanity of crazed fans, is surrounded by a swarm of bodyguards. Even from where you were standing, you could tell he was undeniably, and incredibly good-looking, from his alluring posture and absolute aura of confidence.
And he was making his way towards you.
Panicked, you take a step backward, but oddly enough, Ijichi doesn’t even turn to look. He stands completely still while staring straight ahead, which would’ve been unnerving if you weren’t currently trying to find an escape route.
What you didn’t realize is that Ijichi’s face has morphed into something of a man who knows everything is already lost.
And suddenly you find yourself absorbed into this stranger’s inner circle, his entourage circling you to fend off the vultures of publicity.
“Ijichi!” The man hollers, voice so cheerful and bright as he throws his arm over Ijichi’s shoulder like old friends. “I was waiting forever, got super bored, and since you’re not answering my messages, I came to you! Surprise! By the way, remind me to update the model of your watch since the one you have is clearly not working.” The man teases, completely aware that Ijichi was ignoring him on purpose.
Ijichi, however, doesn’t take the bait.
Instead, you're completely horrified as Ijichi turns his focus back to you.
“Gojo,” Ijichi starts. “This is the woman who paid for your drink.”
As it turns out, having Gojo’s full attention on you is far more suffocating than the dense crowd packing around you.
Gojo’s eyebrow suddenly quirks as he appraises you shamelessly, his eyes gliding over your figure before he hums in approval. Your face burns a fiery red, which Gojo doesn’t miss.
“Is that so?” He hums.
Which would’ve been fine if his voice wasn’t sexy as hell too. It’s deep and velvety and you swear to god you’ve never heard a voice better in your life.
Except, what you can’t ignore is his first name cracking through the crowd like bolts of lightning as the realization of who you were talking to blindingly strikes you.
Satoru, over here! Satoru, is it true you and Utahime are secretly engaged?! Satoru-!
As in the Gojo Satoru, model and actor, a man who graced the front cover of Vogue more times than any other celebrity alive. His name is constantly trending on Twitter, with many of his social media accounts flooding with millions of followers.
Hundreds of millions.
All who are currently obsessing over his latest cover shoot in Italy, where photos of his extremely chiseled abs were revealed by strategically low swim bottoms. His white hair tousled from ocean water and the pure seduction in his lowered gaze sent the media into a feeding frenzy.
Photos that you were guilty of stalking.
That’s why when your eyes dip down his body, your face turns a brighter red as his black sweatshirt does nothing to conceal the well-defined stature beneath it, the expensive fabric highlighting every dip of corded muscle and hard-earned athleticism.
And you just bought him a fucking coffee.
“It’s Armani,” Gojo supplies unhelpfully, his white teeth flashing with a lopsided grin. As if that was what was on your mind, the brand of his clothes, not what was underneath.
Your heart painfully constricts at the sudden thought.
On what only you can blame on the pure adrenaline that flows through your fried brain, what you say next isn’t a compliment or even a fangirlish scream, it’s so, so much worse-
“How can you even drink that stuff?”
You snap your mouth shut and immediately cringe. Ijichi seems to turn into stone right then and there, the sugary drink still clutched accusingly in his hand, and Gojo’s smile quirks higher. You panic for a moment and wonder if this is it, the last time you walk as a free woman for insulting the most eligible man on the planet, and wonder how badly the rubber of his shoe is going to taste in retribution for ruining the moment most girls can only dream of.
Gojo tilts his face down, looking over a dark pair of round sunglasses, revealing the bluest eyes you have ever seen. Arctic in color, searing itself permanently into your memory.
“It’s simple really,” He begins, his tone a truly infuriating, somehow attractive mixture of playfulness that borders on condescending. It makes you want to snap back at him, bare your teeth at this man who towers over you, eyes so intense you fight the urge to look away. “You see, I just place my lips on the straw and-” Your eyes drop to his lips, which are ridiculously pink and shiny, and holy shit what lipgloss does this man use? What was he even saying-?
You fluster, knowing you’ve already lost. And he knows it.
Gojo’s smile turns into something teasing like you two weren’t in the middle of a very public space. Before you could stutter out another equally embarrassing reply, Ijichi saves you with a harsh clearing of his throat, his eyes sweeping across the crowd.
“It would seem as though you still have a flight to attend within the next thirty minutes, Gojo-Sama.”
“I still haven’t thanked her for my drink,” Gojo complains, but he shifts to move off Ichiji to give him a pointed look. “You can show her to the lounge, right?”
“Are you serious? Is this a prank?” You blurt, the sudden shift of events nearly as dizzying as the camera flashes. Why is he so okay with the tabloids witnessing this interaction? Being seen with you, some random stranger who just bought him a drink without even knowing who he was?
Gojo leans forward, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice deep and your heart fucking stutters.
“I’m completely serious.”
And he means it, the promise in his voice making it difficult to suppress the ache that pulses through your veins.
Wide-eyed and flustered, you can’t shake the nervousness that sours your mouth. Being in the presence of the crowd and the fact that this was displayed for everyone to see. But isn’t this who Gojo is? An entertainer through and through?
You could only hope the tabloids wouldn’t find anything interesting about you, a hopeless nobody, as naive as it is. But Gojo waves away your excuse and laughs.
“See you there,” He smiles lowly, straightening as he turns back towards the crowd, easily slipping back into another persona as he takes pens and posters and smiles so winningly at his fans, it makes you blink. Ijichi has to lightly guide you away himself, parting through the circle of bodyguards easily, everyone too focused on being the next contender for Gojo’s attention.
You don’t miss the nasty glares or curious glances thrown your way as the two of you slip away, narrowly avoiding elbows and phones to the face in the frenzy.
Thankfully, you two make it out without suffering any major injuries. Stumbling after Ijichi, your heart jumps in your throat as you try to match his brisk pace. With a quick glance behind you, you absently swipe over your pockets to make sure you didn’t lose anything in the frenzy. Confirming that your boarding pass and phone came out unharmed, you let your hands drop as you tug your luggage behind you.
“Um, this isn’t really necessary, it’s just a six-dollar drink.” You try again once you feel put together enough to form sentences, mainly to yourself. Ijichi gives a sideways glance but guides you nonetheless to whatever lounge Gojo was talking about. You’re somewhat relieved when Ichiji doesn’t dignify your word-vomit with a response.
Ijichi quickly takes out his phone and pops out a quick text, maybe a warning to whoever you were about to meet. You look ahead, determined to focus on just getting there.
As you approach a section of the airport that feels even too expensive to breathe in, you grip your carry on tighter in an attempt to staunch the nervous energy flooding your body.
Everything about this section of the airport screams of money.
The lounge is sleek and modern, the silver interior looking a decade ahead of its time. And all at once, you feel like a child again. Wandering off to the restricted sections of the store, where a person of authority would come over any minute to reprimand you for wandering off to places you shouldn’t be. And by all means, you shouldn’t be here.
The sudden instinct to run overcame you. What the hell were you doing, following Ijichi back here? Listening to Gojo’s commands like a child? You didn’t have to do anything he said, just because he was some stupid celebrity that people fell head-over-heels over and in his case, sometimes literally.
In what you could only call an act of self-preservation, you pointedly ignore the fact that you weren't any different. So, you go back to doing what you do best. Panicking.
“Is this as weird as it is for you, as it is for me?” You gasp, the words rushing past your lips because even though you’ve only known Ichiji for twenty minutes at most, there’s solidarity between two working-class people. “Because this is very, very weird and I shouldn’t really even be here-”
“Trust me,” Ijichi finally says, flashing his badge at two flight attendants positioned by a glass door, their uniforms as sharp as their bright ruby lipstick. They part ways and nod, ushering you two in. “You wouldn’t even be near the same vicinity as Gojo if he so requested it.”
You choke, taking the words of confirmation for what they were. As short-worded and serious as Ijichi was, he was certainly not a liar. You think back to the circle of bodyguards surrounding Gojo, looking as though they would certainly have no problem shoving you to the ground if Gojo asked.
As morbid as that thought is, it’s strangely reassuring. Taking a deep breath, you nod as Ijichi leads you to a group of what you assumed was the rest of Gojo’s crew waiting by a seating lounge, their well-tailored blazers and all-black outfits making you feel somewhat underdressed in your comfortable yet pretty athletic outfit.
A woman with an asymmetrical haircut and icy blue hair greets Ijichi first, bowing politely before turning to you. You briefly catch blue message bubbles on her screen before they disappear as she locks her phone, bowing to you.
You quickly dip your head, biting your lip.
“I’m Miwa,” The woman introduces herself once you raise your head, her pin-straight posture looking almost painful. She quirks her head to the side as she appraises you thoughtfully. “You must be the woman Gojo has taken an interest in.”
“I just bought him a coffee! That’s it!” You stammer, flailing your hand as you give an anxious laugh. “I don’t think it warrants this much of a reaction if I’m being honest, as grateful as I am.”
Miwa studies you for a moment, before her cheek hollows out a little, as though she’s fighting back a smile.
“Well, Gojo did request that you wait for him,” Miwa informs you, her expression shifting back into something more neutral. “As he would like to personally thank you.”
In all honesty, the moment you left that circle, you thought it would be the last time you interacted with Gojo. You hadn’t thought of the possibility of meeting him again, much less for a more personal request of his…thanks.
The thought of what that entails sends your heart rate spiking.
So when you hear his familiar voice over the rush in your ears, you freeze, wondering if the moment you look back the spell would break. You suddenly understood everything about Orpheus and his temptation to look for Eurydice, the feeling of everything going too well too soon.
But unlike the tragic myth, Satoru is there when you find the courage to look back, blindingly and heartbreakingly gorgeous, and so real all the same.
