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whocaresstillthelouvre · 2 months ago

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The Return

Batter Up Chapter 7

Pairing: Baseball player Joel Miller x Female Reader Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: After a month of being away from the game and the girl he loves, Joel Miller is back and ready to play. Warnings: smut, making a sex tape, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (reader has an IUD), cream pie, also regular pie, joel miller's dirty mouth, wine. Words: 5,000

A/N: Thank you to my dearest @devineconjuring and her beautiful brain for beta'ing and being my grammar goddess.

Masterlist Playlist

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The crowd chants Joel’s name, lights flicker through the stadium, the ground feels like it’s shaking beneath his feet. He loves this feeling—the rush of adrenaline coursing through him, the loud crowd drowning out every doubt he’s ever felt. After three weeks on the injured list and another week rehabbing in the minors–a month away from the big leagues–Joel Miller is back.

He walks to the plate, digging his heels into the dirt and tapping his bat against the plate as he soaks in the moment.

“Miller, good to see you back,” the catcher says.

Joel nods, and grunts an acknowledgment back.

His eyes settle on the pitcher, some young phenom throwing 99-mph with almost every pitch. Don’t worry kid, you’ll get old like me.

The first pitch whooshes past him—ball one.

Ball two.

Strike one.

The pitcher’s keeping it a little outside, Joel inches closer to the plate, squaring up. The pitcher winds up again, Joel takes a deep breath, feeling the vibration of the bat as it connects with the ball. The crack of the bat reverberates through the stadium as the ball soars past the infield, over the outfield, and disappears beyond the right-field fence.

Home run.

The crowd erupts, the celebratory bell tolls as he rounds the bases. His eyes scan the club box above third base, finding you amidst the cheering fans, your arms raised high, that smile of yours lighting up his heart.

Joel Miller is back, doing what he loves, and now in front of the woman he loves.

You’re so proud of him. You wipe the tears from your eyes as Joel’s feet touch home base. His recovery wasn’t easy. Every week away from the game for someone as old as him means double the work versus a young kid just in the game. Forty year olds aren’t known for being pro athletes.

With the long Labor Day weekend, you were able to take time off from work and travel by train to Philadelphia to witness Joel's celebrated comeback, which had turned into a legend after his grand slam. Suddenly, all of your worries are lifted away. The stress of telling your families that you're a couple, your demanding job as a column writer at Sporting Digest that revolves around the ebb and flow of games, trades, and record breaking moments–none of it matters now.

Your responsibilities at work have been stacking up over the past few weeks. Churning out articles on everything from college football predictions to analyses of NBA draft picks. When you were hired you agreed to not cover baseball, what with the conflict of interest and all. Now, you dream of the headlines you could write about your boyfriend’s triumphant return.

You’ve barely been able to leave your laptop. Last week, you spent three days shadowing a tennis star at the US Open, scribbling notes on her training and the pressure of being labeled the “next big thing.” You’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone do laundry, go grocery shopping, and, most importantly, be there for Joel. You put in countless hours of work to make this long weekend possible, just so you could witness his big comeback firsthand.

“Heck of a player that Miller is,” you hear the TV in the corner say. “He sure knows how to show everyone he’s still got it, doesn’t he?”

You clutch his number dangling from your neck, you’re so proud of him, always proving everybody wrong. Well worth every sacrifice.

The Liberties win, 4-0, all thanks to Joel’s grand slam in the first inning. Sports radio is going to have a field day with this.

You make your way down to the stadium’s corridors, where staff rush around with more important tasks than yours.

The Liberties clubhouse sits just ahead of you, the two large blue doors stay closed to onlookers. You rest your back against the cold cinder block wall and send Joel a text, telling him to take his time.

A year ago, you never could’ve imagined this. Joel Miller—rugged, no-nonsense baseball star, the man who occupied your teenage dreams—now your boyfriend. The man who keeps your favorite pasta sauce in his pantry. The man who goes mattress shopping with you. It feels surreal, yet so real at the same time.

Every time that damn blue door opens your heart skips a beat, hoping you’ll find Joel walking out. False alarm after false alarm.

Until…

Joel emerges, hair slicked back, wearing a gray Liberties shirt, khaki pants, and those cheesy white New Balance sneakers you tease him relentlessly about. Joel, you’re way too rich to be wearing these damn ragged shoes.

“Hi baby,” he smiles as he wraps his arms around you, pushing you further against the wall.

“Hi,” you breathlessly respond, smelling the body wash on his skin. Damn, he showered. “Good game.”

“It was, wasn’t it?”

You can’t help but smile at how happy he is, back where he belongs, doing what he loves.

“Come on,” he says, pulling you close. “Let’s go celebrate.” His arm stays around your waist as he leads you through the corridors to his car.

It’s so freeing now, being able to cheer for—and love—Joel out in the open, for all eyes to see.

“You know you made me cry today, right?” you say, reaching for his hand resting on your thigh.

“I did, huh?” he replies with a smirk on his face.

He always looks so confident as he drives. Philly’s narrow streets, filled with potholes and pedestrians, are nothing like Austin’s, but he navigates them as effortlessly as he does everything else—injuries, tough teammates, media storms. He handles it all like he handles a fastball: with ease.

“Yeah, I’m really proud of you,” you tell him softly, grabbing his hand harder. “I know I’ve said it a hundred times, but I’m just so happy to be here for you.”

He smiles that quiet Joel smile. “That’s how I feel watching you handle everything too.”

"So, where are we headed?" you ask, noticing you're not on the route to his apartment. “I hope I’m dressed okay,” you say, looking down at your simple red gingham dress.

"It’s a surprise. You’ll be fine, you look beautiful baby," he says.

The car winds through the city. You glance over, watching the city lights flicker across his face as the car turns off the main road, slipping into a quieter neighborhood.

The car pulls up to a small, unassuming brick building tucked away on a quiet side street. No flashy sign, no valet—just a discreet, vintage lantern hangs above the door. It’s definitely a place Joel prefers.

He turns off the car and turns to you, his hand still resting on your thigh. “Thought we’d keep it low-key,” his deep voice rumbles in the quiet of the car.

You nod, your smile widening. “Perfect.”

He steps out of the car and, ever the gentleman, comes around to open your door before guiding you toward the entrance. You wrap your arm around his, leaning into his warmth as he leads you inside.

—

“Mr. Miller, welcome to Vetri Cucina. We’re happy to have you here. Let me show you to your table.”

“Silvio," Joel says with a firm handshake. "Good to see you. Thanks."

Your eyes scan the cozy space. Shiny worn floorboards, warm amber walls, a glistening chandelier that hangs from the low ceiling–you’ve never seen a place like this before. Little did you know that behind the unassuming brick row home exterior there would be a whole functional restaurant. It feels like the perfect mix of a place for the two of you, rustic and intimate.

Silvio leads you both up a narrow staircase to a private room on the second floor. A table for two sits in the center of the room. A red glass chandelier hangs above it, candlelights flickering shadows across the golden walls..

“So, we’re still hiding our dinners with each other away from prying eyes?” you tease as Joel pulls the chair out for you and you take a seat.

“Not exactly,” he says, taking your hand in his. “I just wanted to show off that I can get us a private table at one of the best restaurants in Philly.”

You laugh. “I’m sure there’s a Golden Corral around here.”

Joel chuckles. “Very funny. But trust me—you’ll love it here. They’ve got all the fancy dishes with those French words you like.”

“You know me too well.”

“Better than you think,” he says, his eyes gleaming under the golden light.

—

A waiter approaches, a polished smile on his face. “Good evening, and welcome. My name is Royal, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. We have a special tasting menu prepared just for you, personally selected by our chef. It’ll start with an appetizer, followed by a pasta course, a main, and dessert.”

Your mouth waters as Royal pours you a glass of wine.

”Each course will be paired with a wine from our grand collection. Your first course will be out shortly. In the meantime, is there anything else I can bring you?”

Joel shakes his head. “We’re all set, thanks.”

“Wow,” you say once the waiter leaves, glancing around the elegantly set table. “I feel a little underdressed for a tasting menu.”

Joel shrugs. “I have a feeling they won’t care what we’re wearing once I pay the bill. Besides,” he says with a smile, “I like you in that red dress.”

“Atta boy, Texas,” you say, smiling as you sip your wine.

—

After a couple courses of delicious appetizers that you happily eat, but Joel barely touches, the water returns, presenting the main course with a flourish.

"For your entrée, we have our signature dish: salt-crusted tilapia with a bread salad of parsley and tomatoes, alongside grilled artichokes on a bed of smoked squash puree."

You glance at Joel as the waiter expertly cracks the salt crust, revealing the perfectly cooked fish underneath. You know Joel hates fish and artichokes. The waiter sets down two glasses of white wine and disappears, leaving you both alone with the dish.

"Baby, what are you going to do?" you ask, eyes wide as Joel picks up his fork.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m here to impress you,” he says with determination before spearing a piece of the fish. He takes a bite, his nose crinkling ever so slightly as he chews.

“How is it?” you ask, biting back a smile.

Joel grimaces. “I’ve had better.”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Please don’t eat it. I know the only fish you like is fried.”

“Always been more of a Filet O Fish man myself.”

“I don’t think they’ve got tartar sauce here, so please, for me, don’t force yourself.”

He sets down his fork with a relieved sigh, his hand finding yours again. “Anything for you.”

When the waiter returns, he doesn’t comment on Joel’s barely touched plate, but you notice a subtle, appreciative smile as he clears away your empty dish.

“Well,” you say, leaning back, happy and full from dinner. “At least there’s dessert.”

“Never said no to dessert,” he chuckles, before looking you in the eyes with adoration.

"You know," he begins, his voice low and serious, "I couldn't have done this without you. Coming back after my injury—”

Joel's voice trails off as he searches for the right words. His eyes stare into yours. You squeeze his hand encouragingly, needing to hear more.

“It wasn’t just physical,” he continues. “It was mental. Wondering if I still had it within me, if I was too old, if it was time for me to hang up my cleats. But you—you never doubted me for a second.”

Tears pool in your eyes as his thumb brushes back and forth against your knuckles.

"I’ve always been your fan, Joel. I’ll always believe in you.”

He nods, a small smile lighting his face. “I know, and that’s what got me through. I love you.”

“I love you too,” you smile through tears.

The waiter approaches with dessert, you silently thank the interruption so you’re not left sobbing in the middle of this beautiful restaurant over how much you love your boyfriend.

A familiar slice of pie is placed in front of you and Joel.

“Uppercrust?” you excitedly ask, your eyes widening at the large, glazed pecans laying atop the golden crust.

Joel gives a shy, satisfied nod, his lips curving into that familiar, gentle smile. "Thought we’d end the night with our favorite. Had Sarah overnight it to the restaurant."

“Jooooel,” you breathe out, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. You stare at the pie, stunned by how deeply he cares for you.

“All for you baby,” he says softly as he lifts his fork and cheers with a playful smile. “Cheers to Austin and that hotel bar.”

You laugh, grabbing your own fork and tapping it against his. “Cheers,” you whisper, trying to steady your voice.

“Oh my god,” you moan around the fork at the first taste of sweet pie. “I can’t believe you got this. You’re too good to me.”

He barks a laugh. “Baby, this is nothing, I owe you so much.”

The pie is sweet, but your boyfriend is sweeter.

The sweet wine served with the pie warms your body, Joel’s smile from across the table warms you even more. You sneakily slip your foot out of its sandal, and run it up his leg, making your way up to his crotch. He jumps in surprise, his eyes leer at you as he takes a sip of wine. Your foot finds its target, against the soft fabric of his pants, thankful for the white tablecloth that hangs from the table. He places a hand on your foot, pushing it closer to his crotch. You giggle as your toes wiggle back and forth, teasing him.

“So, what’s next?” you ask, with a mischievous grin.

"Well, after we finish dinner, I'll pay the bill, grab some leftover pie for later...and then take you home and fuck you," he responds confidently.

A small hmph escapes your lips at the promise. “Is that so?”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replies, a sly grin spreading across his face. He leans in close, his voice lowering to a secretive whisper. “Just think about it—my place, those fancy sheets of mine you love so much…”

His hand wraps around your foot, pressing it harder against him.

“Now you’re just making me impatient,” you tease.

—-

The plates are cleared, the leftover pie is boxed up, Joel settles the bill and rises from his seat, extending his hand to help you up.

Your fingers lace together as you step out into the warm summer night. Joel leads you to his car, unlocking it and opening the door for you. You lean over and seal your mouth over his, relishing in being able to kiss him out in the open. You pull away and give him a smirk before getting in and sliding across the passenger seat, your heart racing with anticipation for the next stop—Joel’s apartment.

Your time together has been precious and few. Your career keeps you north in New York, Joel’s training and rehabilitation game have kept him busy and all over the states. But now, you finally have three nights together—the most time you've had since his injury a month ago.

He glances over at you and winks before he adjusts the rearview mirror. You miss his truck back in Austin, the front bench seat allowing you to slide over and cuddle him close. You curse the existence of the center console.

“Buckle up, baby,” he says with a grin. Your heart races at the double entendre.

—-

Taking the elevator up to Joel's penthouse brings back memories of that first night together, when you couldn't believe how handsome he looked in that golden elevator at the hotel, not believing you were about to sleep with Joel Miller. Now, his body presses against yours as you lean on him, his head nestled in the crook of your neck as he leaves sweet kisses down your skin to the matching pendant of his number you wear, leaving a kiss against it before his eyes meet yours.

“I can’t tell you how much I love seeing this on you, baby,” he says before licking his way up to your mouth, sealing his over yours. He grabs your ass, lifting you into his hold, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, your arms wrap around his wide shoulders.

The elevator doors open and he carries you into his penthouse, crowding you against the entryway wall. His mouth moves against yours with fervor, deepening the kiss as your fingers tangle in his hair. You gasp against his mouth, the cool wall chilling your overheated skin.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his breath warm and sweet against your lips. “I’ve missed this—missed you.”

He turns and carries you to the living room. The ambient city lights shining in from the floor-to-ceiling windows light Joel’s way. He gently sets you down on the couch and slides his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer for another kiss.

“Let me show you how much I’ve missed you, baby,” he whispers against your lips, pausing to look into your eyes.

You nod, breathless and eyes wide. “Please,” you whisper.

He grins, standing back slightly, taking in the sight of you sprawled on his couch, dress askew. “You look so damn good.”

His hands rest on the hem of your dress and, with a cocky grin, he slowly lifts it up, exposing the soft skin of your thighs.

“God, this is all I’ve been thinking about. Drove to the ballpark thinking about you, stepped up to the plate thinking about you, and, baby,when I saw you in the stands… all I could think about was you naked in my arms.”

“Joel…” you struggle to find the words, already lust-drunk on his words.

“I need to taste you.”

He drops down to his knees in front of you, his large fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear and sliding them off.

You bite your lip as he grips your thighs and spreads them apart.

He breathes out a deep sigh at the sight of you. A low whistle leaves his lips. “There she is, she’s so fuckin’ pretty.”

He leans closer and places soft kisses along your inner thighs, teasingly slow, making your heart race even faster.

“Joel…” you plead.

He spreads you wider, warm breath teasing against your core. He licks a long, slow line from bottom to top, humming appreciatively at the first taste of you.

Your back arches, a gasp escaping your lips. "Oh my God," you breathe.

His rough palms grip your thighs, thick fingers digging into the flesh as he holds you steady. His hot breath tickles your skin as he licks you. "God, you taste so good," he murmurs against you, his voice vibrating against your cunt. “Missed this taste.”

His tongue explores you as your fingers tangle in his hair, gripping the soft waves of his dark strands.

Two thick fingers slide inside you, stretching you perfectly. Plush lips close around your clit, sucking and lapping at your sensitive nub.

It's been almost a month since he last touched you like this, and now with his skilled mouth and fingers all over you, your body is ready to let go.

“Joel,” you moan. “C-close.”

He enthusiastically hums against you, deep brown eyes staring into yours from under furrowed brows. His fingers pumping in and out of you as his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit. Your pussy pulses against his thick fingers, squeezing them as you bloom under the pleasure of finally feeling his touch. Goosebumps rise all over your skin, cheeks heating, legs trembling, and your eyes tightly shut… and when he curls his fingers upwards inside you, your orgasm crashes into you, your pussy soaking his hand and your voice screaming his name. He doesn't stop, continuing to lick and tease you through your orgasm until it's all too much and you're pulling at his hair.

He pulls back with a satisfied smile and kisses your inner thigh before standing and placing a kiss on your lips. You taste yourself as he licks into your mouth. His plush lips sucking against yours.

Before you can catch your breath, Joel scoops you up in his strong arms, throwing you over his shoulder and carrying you into his bedroom. You giggle as he smacks your ass and growls.

He sets you on the edge of his bed, the crisp white sheets cool against your overheated skin. He steps back, his eyes roaming over your body.

“Stay right there,” he says as he moves to the closet, rummaging around for a moment before returning with a black camera and tripod in hand.

Your breath catches at the sight as he sets them up, carefully adjusting the angle.

The tiny red recording light blinks on and the little screen lights up. There you are, all disheveled—dress hiked up, your lips full and swollen from Joel’s mouth.

His eyes meet yours. “Is this okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, excitement running through your body. “Yes,” you breathe.

He grins as he removes his shirt, tossing it to the side before he steps out of his pants. He stays behind the camera, standing in the shadows like a director. “Go ahead baby, take it all off.”

You stand slowly, your heart racing at Joel and the camera’s attention. Dark brown eyes watch you intently from behind the camera, his eyes never leaving your every movement. You reach back and unzip your dress, pulling it down, as you slowly slip the straps off, letting the dress fall to the floor, the red gingham fabric pooling at your feet.

"God, you're gorgeous,” he whispers.

You reach behind to unclasp your bra, staring at Joel as you let it fall away. Your breasts are exposed to his eyes and the camera, your nipples hardening in the cool air. You’re completely bare now except for the necklace with his number.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," he instructs softly.

You smile, running your hands slowly up your sides, cupping your breasts. Your fingers glide over your nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks before you back up against the bed and lay across it, spreading your legs wide for the camera and Joel. Your hand snakes down your body, across your stomach, down to the apex of your thighs.

You lock eyes with Joel as you slowly circle your clit, your breath hitching. His gaze is dark from behind the camera, his chest rising and falling rapidly. You can see the outline of his cock straining against his boxer briefs as he watches you pleasure yourself. Your fingers dip lower, sliding into your wet heat.

"That's it, baby," he groans. "Show me how you like to be touched."

Your other hand kneads your breast, pinching and rolling your nipple.

Joel steps out from behind the camera, moving to the edge of the bed. He strips off his boxers, his thick cock springing free. He strokes himself slowly as he watches you.

"You're so fucking sexy," he growls.

You whimper at his words, your fingers moving faster. "Please, baby,” you whine, “I need you."

He grabs your foot and turns you on the cool, slick sheets. Glancing over at the camera’s small display screen to check the angle of your body.

He climbs on the bed and you instantly welcome the warmth of his presence and his broad body. He positions himself between your legs, gripping his cock and running the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. Your breath catches as he slowly pushes inside, a smile lighting your face at finally feeling him inside you.

"Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering closed as he bottoms out. "You feel so good, baby. So tight and wet for me."

You moan as he starts to move, his hips rolling against yours in a steady rhythm. Your hands glide over the expanse of his shoulders and down his muscular back, relishing in feeling the flex of his strong muscles with each thrust.

He leans down, capturing your lips. His tongue tangles with yours as he picks up the pace, fucking you harder.

"Look at the camera, baby," Joel murmurs against your neck. "Let's show it how good I make you feel."

You tilt your head, looking directly at the camera lens with heavy-lidded eyes. The knowledge that you are being recorded, that Joel will watch this later, that the two of you will get off while watching yourselves… it’s a new thrill for you. You moan louder, arching your back higher as Joel fucks you.

"Touch yourself for me," he commands.

Your hand snakes between your bodies, fingers finding your clit.

"Oh god, baby," you moan, your fingers working furiously at your clit as he pounds into you. "I'm so close."

Joel's rhythm falters slightly as he watches you touch yourself, sweat glistening on his brow. "That's it. Cum for me. Let me feel you."

Your voice echoes through the room as you cry out Joel’s name, your body trembling as your walls clench tightly around him.

“Fuck,” he grunts, his hips snapping against yours. “So fucking good, you cum so fucking good for me. So fucking tight.”

He pulls your body towards him, sitting up on the bed, his cock still buried deep inside of you. You take control and ride him, your legs wrapping around his waist as you grind down on him. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you.

“That’s it baby. Take what you need from me,” he growls.

Your hands tangle in the short waves of his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. Your tongues exploring each other’s mouths, bodies glistening with sweat.

He breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his nose bumping against yours. “I love you. God damn baby, I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you moan as he thrusts up into you.

He captures your lips again. “I’m close,” he groans against your mouth. “Cum with me baby. Give me one more.”

His hand snakes down between your bodies, his thumb finds your clit, rubbing firm circles against it as you bounce on his cock.

You cry out his name as you orgasm, Joel’s fingers and cock working in tandem to push you over the ledge. You turn your head to the camera, staring into it as you chant Joel’s name while your walls clench around his cock.

“Oh fuck baby,” Joel groans, his hips stuttering. “I’m gonna cum for you.”

In one swift motion, he flips you onto your back, your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as he buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot breath fanning across your skin as he chases his own release. Your hands run down his back, feeling the flex of his muscles with each thrust.

"Cum for me, Joel, I want to feel you cum inside me."

With a final and deep thrust, Joel stills above you. He groans your name as he empties himself inside you, his cock pulsing with each spurt. He fills you with his release, still gently fucking you with soft thrusts, pushing his seed deeper inside you.

He leans over and grabs the camera, his cock still plunged deep inside you. With a sly smile, he films your face, capturing the bliss across it.

“Look at you,” he admires, “smiling all sweetly, all drunk on my cock and cum, aren’t you baby?”

You moan a response and nod eagerly.

He chuckles as he pulls out, shuffling his body down to settle in between your legs. Joel positions the camera between your thighs, spreading them apart and running a finger through your cunt, swollen and slick with his spend pulsating out of you.

“Look at you, leakin’ everywhere,” he groans, collecting himself across his fingers and sticking it inside you. “Can’t have that, now can we?”

His eyes stay focused on the little screen, watching his fingers pump in and out of your overworked cunt.

“Fuckin’ filthy baby,” he angles his fingers, your slick squelches loudly across the room.

Writhing and whining under his touch, your skin is overheated, your pussy radiating heat across your body.

He pulls his soaked finger out, wiping it across your folds. “Show me how you drip baby, let me see.”

A gush of his cum leaks out of you, the warm liquid runs down your ass, pooling on the bed.

“Fucccccccccck,” he growls. “Can’t stop looking at this.”

He zooms out, capturing your whole body in the frame.

“Tell me whose pussy this is,” he instructs.

“Yours,” you breathlessly respond.

“That’s it baby,” he growls, before his eyes lift from the camera and into yours. “I love you,” he softly says, his eyes rounding in reverence.

“I love you too.”

He grins, standing up from the bed and switching off the camera before placing it down on the bedside table.

“That was incredible,” you sigh. “I can’t believe we just did that.”

A smile spreads across his face as he leans down to give you a tender kiss on the lips. "We'll have to watch it later," he says before heading to the bathroom. He returns with a damp towel and gently wipes between your legs, before planting a kiss on your forehead and turning to leave the room.

“Where are you going?” you slur, too blissed out of your mind.

“To get pie. I’m starving.”

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Series Masterlist

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel the last of us #baseball au #baseball joel #joel miller tlou

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silentscrying · 2 months ago

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🏀 buzzer beater | chapter TEN.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, implied sexual content, maybe breaking the law just a liiittle, fluff! cheese!, prius slander, too many italics || sfw. 6.1k words.

“WHAT THE FUCK did you do?” Ieiri demands, standing beside you on the sidelines. She doesn’t look at you when she says it, both of you unable to tear your eyes away from what’s happening on the court.

Going into the fourth game of the series, the Samurai had two wins to the Sorcerers’ one. There is not a bone in your body that isn’t confident your team will make a comeback now.

The disjointed team from the last game is nowhere to be found. These guys play like they came out of the womb with basketballs in hand. It’s fucking insane, and you can tell the rest of them are also wondering what changed, because they seem as shocked as Ieiri.

Except for Megumi, who looks at you only once and gives you a firm, approving nod.

“Later,” you tell Ieiri, because too much happened last night to explain right now. Now she does turn to face you, gaze calculating.

“Rephrase,” she says slowly. “Who the fuck did you do?” But the teasing lilt to her tone means she is very much aware already.

“Ieiri!” Your face flushes red and you stare resolutely at the court, avoiding her gaze. It doesn’t help, because instead you find yourself watching Satoru, grinning as he dunks and hangs on the hoop for a second just to show off. He turns to find you on the sideline and gives you a goofy smirk, and you can’t help smiling back.

God, you can never tell Ieiri what happened in your office last night.

You both wound up at your apartment eventually, and he asked you first why your walls weren’t decorated with posters of him and second if this was more than a one-night stand.

“What do you think?” you asked, and he looked more hesitant than you’d ever seen him before.

“I think I want to be able to kiss you every day for the rest of my life,” he said.

The words have been on a loop in your mind ever since.

Honestly, you thought finally doing something about the tension between you and Satoru would snap it, eliminate the amount of irrational headspace he was taking up, but it hasn’t. It’s just made you spend every waking moment thinking about the feeling of his lips on your skin, your name in his mouth.

And now that you’ve aired out the unspoken feelings, it’s like you don’t want to spend a second away from him—not just in the physical sense, but talking to him, teasing him, having actual, genuine conversations. How did he worm his way into your life so fast?

It wasn’t that fast, you realize belatedly. It maybe took five years.

You may owe Kasumi an apology. Or not, because she’s going to have a god complex when she finds out.

Finds out what, though? That you slept with him? That you don’t hate him? What is he, your boyfriend? You don’t really know where to go from here.

The Sorcerers beat the Samurai by a solid twenty-two, and as the players shake hands and do that weird bro-hug-back-slap thing in the aftermath, Nobara appears in front of you.

“Was I right?” she asks. “Or was I right?” Her self-satisfied smirk would annoy you if there wasn’t so much warmth in her eyes, like she’s happy you finally figured this out, or at least happy that the team is back on track. You roll your eyes and wave her off, and she and Ieiri start stage whispering about you as if you’re not standing right there.

“Miss Managerrrr,” Satoru calls as he bounds over to you. “Hey.”

You feel like you’re supposed to compliment him or something, but his ego also doesn’t need to be any bigger than it already is, so you smirk at him and say, “Can’t believe you just stood and there and watched Yuji make the last dunk.”

His jaw drops, and he bends over himself like you’ve punched him in the gut. “I can never make you proud,” he gripes, and you snort and ruffle his hair while his head is within your reach.

“Dumbass,” you say fondly. He looks up and smiles like he’s finally won your praise.

“Hey,” he says after a minute, glancing around to make sure Ieiri and Nobara aren’t prying anymore. “Let me take you out tonight.”

Just like that, your heart’s stuttering and stumbling over itself like it was last night. “On a date?”

“No, on a guided walking tour,” Satoru says. “Yes, a date.”

You raise a brow as if considering. “We have a flight in the morning.”

“I do not see the problem.”

The thing is, you really don’t know what to expect out of an actual date with Satoru. The heated, physical release of the tension between you was one thing. Romance is another.

But you can’t deny that you want to see him tonight. The alternative is going home to your lonely apartment and crashing early before your morning flight.

“Fine,” you say, and then Kento calls for Satoru to get a move on, and he’s sprinting down the hall, leaving you flustered in his wake.

“Office. Now,” Ieiri says, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling you with a glare that says you can’t argue. Nobara stands knowingly beside her, and you sigh, resigning to yourself to an explanation.

But being in your office again makes you think of what you spent last night doing, and you find yourself unable to meet Ieiri’s gaze as you tell her and Nobara what Yaga told you, that Satoru got you the job, and that you’d found him in the gym and shot hoops with him and eventually wound up making out with him against a wall and yes, fine, you got laid.

“Your place or his?” Nobara asks, and you hesitate two seconds too long. Her face goes white and she makes an ungodly screeching noise and squeals, “Here? Did you do it in here? Oh my god! You desecrated this place of work—”

You tune out her rambling, planting your forehead on your desk as the heat floods your cheeks, and then you realize Ieiri is actually just straight-up cackling.

“You live,” she gasps between fits of laughter, “not ten minutes away. You couldn’t just—” And she’s gone again, bent over herself and clutching her stomach as she wheezes. “Oh my god.”

“We did,” you mumble, avoiding eye contact. “After.”

This sets Ieiri off again, and Nobara looks one more sentence away from passing out.

“So are you… friends with benefits? Or what is this?” she finally asks. “Are you dating?”

You shrug. “He’s… taking me out tonight,” you admit. Just like that, Nobara seems to forget all about her crisis about the office and starts barraging you with questions about when and where is he taking you and what are you wearing and do you think he’s a romantic and you’re repeatedly telling her you don’t know the answer to any of her questions, because you don’t.

It feels like hours that they keep you there, grilling you about the finer details of how you and Satoru ended up together last night, and then your phone finally buzzes and rescues you from the conversation.

six: imma come get you at 7

You show Nobara so she at least has one��answer and then type out a response.

you: where are we going?

six: who do you take me for? a fool?

six: i’m not telling you shit

six: women love surprises

“Women love surprises,” Nobara mocks, lowering her voice in a horrible impression of Satoru. “Who’s women? The entire female population? The whole of the dating pool? I hate surprises.”

“I’ll let him know,” you say, and before she can stop you, you’ve sent:

you: nobara would like you to know this is not true of all women

six: WHAT

six: are these messages being screened by the council

six: hello kugisaki. hello shoko. my intentions are pure

“Tell him I’ll shovel talk him later,” Ieiri says, looking over your shoulder. “With an actual shovel. I’m coming prepared.”

You haven’t felt like this in a long time, talking about boys with your friends, showing them your messages, hypothesizing about a date. Spilling the details about a kiss. And then a lot more than a kiss.

“Go,” Ieiri shoos you off a while later, when it becomes clear you’re itching to get home and ready for wherever the hell Satoru’s taking you tonight.

You grab your bag and head toward the door, Ieiri and Nobara making no move to follow. “Are you gonna stay in here and talk shit?”

“Yes,” Nobara says sweetly. “Yes, we are.”

—

You've never been in Satoru’s car before. You knew he drove some expensive ass sports car, but right now you’re particularly glad it’s not a Prius, because you could never kiss him again if it was.

It’s a sleek, white Audi. “R8,” he says proudly, like you give a shit. He doesn’t tell you where he’s taking you. He wears a light blue button-down that makes his eyes look criminally good.

“You look nice,” he tells you, and you can’t fight the smile. You’re not wearing anything fancy, just jeans and a cute black shirt, but the way Satoru did a double-take when he showed up at your door tells you he means it.

“Eyes on the road, Six,” you tease. As he navigates the familiar intersections and streets of the city, you try to guess where you’re going, but keep coming up short. Eventually, he pulls into a dark parking lot and makes a questioning humming sound, and you turn in your seat to look at him.

He’s looking at the gates of the place he’s taken you, and the fact that they’re very obviously closed. You squint in the darkness to make out the sign illuminated by a single floodlight.

The botanical gardens close at four. Every day.

It appears Satoru was not aware.

“So, how good are you at hopping fences?” he asks innocently, and your laugh bubbles unbidden past your lips, short and surprised.

“You brought me on a date to commit crime,” you say.

“In my defense,” Satoru says, holding up a finger, “I did not know they were closed. Because I did not look it up.”

“Very thorough,” you say, looking up at the fence. “Are you for real, though?”

He shrugs. “It’s just a fence. They should know it wouldn’t keep me out. It’s their fault, really.”

“Yes, because the landscape engineers of a botanical garden were primarily thinking of what an NBA player would do after hours.”

“Exactly.”

You get out of the car and follow Satoru to the front gate. It’s taller than he is, but the fence a few yards down becomes shorter.

He scales the fence like it’s nothing, landing on the other side and giving you a grin that looks like a challenge.

“Showoff,” you mutter, taking a step back. You give yourself a running start and grab the top of the fence with both hands, using the momentum to swing your legs over and land beside Satoru. The landing has you stumbling back a bit, and suddenly his hands are on your waist, steadying you.

“Thanks,” you mutter sheepishly.

“We’d make great spies.”

“That will never be true.” You grin at his dramatic frown and take his hand in yours. “Lead the way, since you’re such a great date planner.”

He obliges, heading off between two tall hedges to the right, saying, “I feel like that was sarcasm.”

The moon is high and near-full, casting the hedges and flowers in a silvery halo. Neither of you have any idea where you’re going, so you breathe in the beauty as you wander. His hand is warm in yours and eventually he drops it to wrap his arm around your shoulders, sending a shiver down your spine.

“So, Miss Alley-oop, D1 baller and manager supreme.” You snort at the titles. “Tell me about you.”

“What?”

“Tell me about you,” he says again. “I know you played in college. I know about your career. I know you would probably choose Megumi’s dogs over me. But what else?”

Something warm takes root inside of you, like it did when he said he wanted to see you in one of his shirts. It’s something trilling and bright, that knowledge that he wants to understand you, that he actually cares to listen.

So you tell him. You tell him about growing up, about college, about your friends, the move from San Diego, your family, your favorite color and your music taste and how grateful you are to have Ieiri and Nobara here. And he tells you about himself, too, about his stupid-rich family and his basketball scouting and high school with Geto and Utahime.

You don’t know how long the two of you walk around, just talking. You make your way around the dark gardens, weaving around groves of small trees and colorful flower beds and small koi ponds.

“I think I am a great date planner,” Satoru says eventually. “This is way more romantic when it’s illegal.”

You snort. “Is that gonna be a trend?”

“In our innumerable future dates, is that what you’re saying?”

Your laugh is soft, floating through the night-tinged air. “I suppose,” you say. “What’s that mean, then? What is this?”

The two of you come to a stop in a circular clearing with a fountain in the center, softly gurgling while the coins on the bottom make murky, circular patterns. You perch on the edge of it and preemptively decide to warn Satoru, “If you push me in I’ll actually steal your car and leave you here.”

He grins, which means the thought definitely crossed his mind.

When he sits down beside you something in the air shifts, and he turns to you with uncharacteristically solemn eyes. “What is this,” he echoes. “I guess… whatever you want it to be?”

But you think about what he told you, about how he pushes people away. About how he makes it easy to hate him. You want to know if he’ll back out. “I want to know what you want it to be.”

“I think,” he says after a while, not breaking eye contact, “I would really like to be your boyfriend, if that’s something that won’t destroy your resume.”

You snort. “I’m not putting you on my resume.”

“I am now reconsidering.”

You grin and lean into his shoulder, breathing in the scent of whatever purple flowers are dotted around the edges of this clearing. “I would like that,” you say.

“Oh, thank god,” Satoru breathes, and you laugh again. He makes you laugh more than you usually do. “Because when you didn’t immediately say yes I almost threw myself into the fountain.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Do you want out?”

“Satoru.” You swat at him and sit back, putting your hands on his shoulders and forcing him to look at you. “If I wanted out, I wouldn’t be here. And I’m not gonna keep telling you that, so get it through that thick skull of yours now. I want you.”

He grins, slow and wide. “You can’t just say shit like that. It makes me wanna make out with you.”

“What’s stopping you?” You trail your fingers down his arm, lacing your fingers together. You lean in and whisper in the shell of his ear, “Do I make you nervous?”

“For real?” Satoru asks, huffing out a laugh. He squeezes your hand. “You are… so wildly out of my league that I didn’t even think you would—”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“What?”

You blink. “You’re serious!”

“Wh—yes, I’m serious! What, I try to be romantic and you—”

You grab the collar of his shirt and pull him toward you, shutting him up by pressing your lips to his.

“Oh,” he says, stupidly, when you let him go.

“Yeah, oh.”

You wait a beat. “I’m not out of your league. We quite literally work for the same league, actually.”

“Oh. My god.”

“Now. Why did you take me to a forbidden garden if you weren’t gonna kiss me senseless?”

“I fucking love the way you think,” he mutters, and he pulls you to your feet and leads you toward the bench on the opposite side of the small clearing. Before you can really register what’s happening, you’re leaning back on the bench and he’s straddling you with his knees, pulling you into a deep kiss that has your breath stuttering in the back of your throat.

Shit. You feel like you could do this forever.

You slide your hands up his back until you reach his neck and pull him in closer, teeth clashing, and when you pull back to breathe all you can focus on is the way the moon outlines Satoru’s hair and face in silvery-white and god, he’s attractive.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.

“You—”

“Hey!” The both of you stand up ramrod straight like scolded schoolchildren as a flashlight beam pins you in place, and you clap a hand over your mouth. There’s a night security guard standing between the hedges and the fountain, looking mildly irritated but mostly just exhausted.

“Oh, shit,”you mutter.

“Hey there,” Satoru calls, striding over to the security guy like they’re old friends. “So sorry to bother you. How’s your evening been?”

The guy looks up at him for a long moment, somewhere between I don’t get paid enough for this shit and I’m going to call the cops just because you’re being a dick about this. And then his jaw slackens as recognition flashes across his face.

“Holy shit,” the guy says. “You’re Satoru Gojo.”

“Ah, a fan!” Satoru grins, and waves you over. It feels like a walk of shame. You can’t believe he’s being so chill about this.

Actually, yes you can.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say honestly. “We really weren’t doing anything cra—”

“This is my girlfriend,” Satoru interrupts, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, and the word dissolves the rest of the sentence before it can leave your mouth. You kind of love when he says it. This is my girlfriend. “She’s also the top-notch manager of the Sorcerers.” He glances down at you, and you immediately realize where he’s going with this.

“I’m sure between the two of us, we can fix you up with some home game tickets for your trouble,” you offer, and the guard’s face lights up. He looks relatively young, probably taking the night shift for some easy cash, but all of his exhaustion vanishes the moment you say tickets.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course!” Satoru says, clapping the guy on the back. “I don’t lie.”

“That’s not true,” you say, but fondly. “Yeah, just give me your name and email and I’ll hook you up.” You hand over your phone, open to the notes app, and the guy excitedly types in his information and hands it back to you.

“Well, that wound up being a lot less trouble than I’d hoped,” he says, sighing. “Thanks. Uh—I do need to escort you guys out, though.”

Satoru grins. “No problem.”

For the silent walk to the front gates, you’re torn between keeling over dead from embarrassment or bursting out laughing. This is insane. This is unreal.

At the gate, the security guard smiles hesitantly at the two of you as he undoes the lock and swings it open, gesturing as if to say after you.

“Thanks, pal,” Satoru says, and you sigh, long-suffering. You fix the guard with what you hope is a warm smile and thank him, promising again that you’ll send the tickets his way.

As soon as he’s closed the gates and turned his back, you and Satoru run back to his car, giggling like kids. You feel like a teenager sneaking out at night, high on the adrenaline of getting caught and not punished, and you collapse into Satoru’s passenger seat in a heap of disbelief and laughter.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, when you can finally breathe. “Jesus.”

Satoru starts the car and takes a moment to press his forehead to the steering wheel, still losing it. “I’m such a good date planner. We should always commit crime on dates.”

“No,” you say loudly, shoving at his shoulders, and he lifts his head and grins at you before pulling you into another deep kiss.

“Come over,” he whispers when he pulls back, lips inches from yours.

You have a flight in the morning.

You find you don’t particularly care.

“Okay.”

—

You wake up late.

Granted, late today means 5:30 in the morning, but you have to be at the airport soon. Luckily, you had the foresight to grab your packed bag from your place last night before crashing at Satoru’s.

Well, other things came before the crashing part.

“Satoru!” You shake him by the shoulders, interrupting his snoring. “Get the fuck up. We have to go.”

He groans, flipping over and burying his face in the pillow. “Don’t wanna.” You have no idea how he manages to get himself out the door on time on his own.

“Well, guess I’m driving the Audi.”

That has him shooting out of bed, scrambling for a change of clothes and his keys. “I’m awake,” he says, but it sounds more like m’wake, and he looks like he might fall asleep standing up.

“Get a move on,” you say, and swat him on the shoulder before making your way to the kitchen.

Satoru’s apartment is nice, and surprisingly homey—you’d expect a disorganized guy who travels so much to have a pretty minimalistic setup, maybe with dirty clothes all over the place, but it’s actually pretty cozy. On the coffee table there’s a framed picture of Megumi and Tsumiki with the dogs, and he even has a cactus on the windowsill.

“From Tsumiki,” he explains as he finally makes it out to the kitchen and follows your line of sight. “She said even I can’t kill it.”

You hum, pulling him in for a kiss, and then say, “I think she’s underestimating you.”

His sleep-addled brain takes a moment for him to realize it was an insult, and when he does he groans dramatically and says, “You hate me.”

“Yeah.”

But he picks up your bag where you left it by the door and carries it as the two of you bolt out to the car.

You arrive at the private hangar with two minutes to spare, and the rest of the team is already there.

“I was just about to call you,” Ieiri says when you get out of Satoru’s car. And then she processes the fact that you just got out of Satoru’s car. She snickers, and you give her a glare that says shut up and she gives you a look that says I will not.

The team is gathered in front of the jet making idle morning conversation (except for Ino and Toge, who both look two seconds away from sleep), but they still when you and Satoru approach with Ieiri.

Oh. You really didn’t consider this.

“Hard launch, I guess,” you mutter, and Ieiri smirks.

Kento’s eyes widen ever so slightly, which is probably the most surprised you’ve ever seen him. He’s a fairly stoic person—that subtle change of expression might as well equate to the absolute squawk that comes out of Nobara’s mouth.

“Oh my god,” she says, practically jumping up and down. “Oh my god. I knew it!” And then Yuji is joining her, bouncing off the nonexistent walls, but his response is less of an I knew it and more of a holy shit I did not see this coming in a million years. You wonder how he and Megumi ever became a thing. Yuji might be the single most oblivious person you’ve ever met.

Megumi grabs him by his bright red hood until he stops jumping. You make eye contact with him across the haphazard circle the team has formed, and he gives you the smallest smile. His gaze locks onto your shirt, and you look down and realize it's Satoru's. You threw it on with leggings and a loose zip-up in the chaos of this morning.

Megumi catches Satoru’s eye, and they have some convoluted conversation with their expressions that you can’t decipher, but they both seem satisfied by the end of it.

“Hey, okay,” Hakari says, narrowing his eyes and pointing between the two of you. “What the fuck is that? Are you a thing?” He looks at Satoru. “Did you pull?” In response, Satoru wraps his arm around you, and when you don’t protest, Hakari’s lips part soundlessly in disbelief. “Okay, damn.” He turns to you. “You’re not under duress?”

“Excuse you,” Satoru says, and you laugh and shake your head. On your left, Yuta and Toge exchange a loaded glance that you’re pretty sure means they’ve placed bets on this before.

Hakari shrugs. “Well. Okay, then. Whatever.”

Junpei’s mouth has formed a small O. At Kento’s shoulder, Ino is now wide awake, tapping him frantically on the arm like he isn’t seeing the exact same thing. Yaga is utterly unfazed. And Kusakabe, for his part, just gives you a once-over and then asks Yaga, “Is that an HR issue or are we fine?”

“Okay,” you say loudly, checking your watch. “On the jet. Let’s go. Places to be.” The team obediently files up the stairs and Ieiri ruffles your hair teasingly before following suit. As Ino ascends the steps, he turns and flashes both of you two thumbs up with the biggest goofy smile.

“That went well,” Satoru says. But the team’s reactions have you thinking about the utter rage that you know Utahime will be in when she sees, and that makes you think of something else.

“I don’t think we should be obvious about this in Savannah,” you say slyly. “Like—okay. Think about this. They know us well enough to figure it out, and it’ll be fine, and they’re not gonna go blabbing about it. But publicly, we wait until San Diego, and then we have some horrible public display of affection right in front of Geto, just to shove it in his face that his shit didn’t work.”

“Oh my god,” Satoru says slowly, as the two of you enter the cabin of the jet. “You are a fucking menace.” He grins. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

It’s a short flight, and before you know it the game is in full swing on the Samurai’s home court. Ten minutes in, things are going well for the Sorcerers. The game is evenly matched, but you’ve managed to pull ahead by a few.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to read a text from a number you don’t recognize.

unknown number: hi!! this is tsumiki! megumi gave me your number, i hope you don’t mind

unknown number: i just wanted to let you know i heard about you and satoru and i’m THRILLED and if he ever hurts you i promise i’ll sick the dogs on him

You chuckle and add her to your contacts, then shoot a quick text back saying you appreciate it and she can text you anytime she wants, especially if she has embarrassing stories about Satoru and Megumi.

Nobara sidles up to you as the first quarter reaches its final minute. “I can’t fucking believe you,” she says. “Pulling up together with no warning.” She swats you on the shoulder playfully. “I have half a mind to start making edits of you and posting them on the official account.”

“I’ll actually enter the witness protection program.”

“You will not,” Nobara says as the both of you watch Todo almost knock Ino over. “Oh, god. Are his dramatics already rubbing off on you?” The buzzer goes off and the Sorcerers are in the lead. As Satoru makes his way off the court, he catches your eye over Kento’s shoulder and winks. You feel the heat rising unbidden to your cheeks and Nobara cackles.

Then Nitta texts you. From right across the court.

nitta: WHAT WAS THAT

nitta: WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ALLEY

nitta: !#)$##&#$#!

Nobara grabs your phone before you can respond, and despite your protests she starts texting Nitta. You watch your friend react live across the court, her jaw dropping, and then she turns to Utahime and whispers in her ear. Oh, here we go, you think.

Her entire face goes bright red in two seconds flat, and she gapes at you, and then at Satoru, and then she yanks Nitta’s phone out of her hands and starts texting you—or Nobara, really. You look at Nitta and shrug helplessly. God knows what they’re saying to each other right now.

“Tell her to keep it quiet for now,” you murmur to Nobara, and then relay your plan to her. She grins.

“That’s evil,” she says proudly. “I love it.”

In the second quarter, Megumi manages to dunk right over Haibara, sending the fans reeling. A few minutes later, Satoru makes a free throw and solidifies the lead.

After that, the game goes on without any particularly unusual events, the score mostly staying within ten points the entire time. But the Sorcerers win by seven, and now they’re 3-2.

One more win at home and the conference title is yours.

—

The two days leading up to the home game are go, go, go, but the business side of things is checkered with periodic updates from Akari about the Samurai’s response to your new relationship.

nitta: haibara said he feels like he missed 4 seasons of a tv show

nitta: he can’t believe gojo has a gf he was like ‘i need to sit down’

nitta: i think ijichi has just given up on practice being productive. they’re too gossipy

nitta: gakuganji doesn’t remember you are but tbh i don’t think he remembers who i am so

You honestly forgot Gakuganji’s name, so that’s fair. You’ve formed a bad habit of referring to him in your head as the old fart, and you’re scared one day you might say it out loud in front of his team.

Utahime found you after the game and practically fell to her knees asking why in god’s name you’d ever get with Gojo, and you told her you’re just fulfilling your duties as an Anti-Gojo Club member by taking him down from the inside. She knew you were lying, but when she watched the way he bounded up to you in the hall and ruffled your hair, she must’ve seen something in him that put her slightly more at ease.

Not that she’s happy about this turn of events. But she doesn’t hate you by proxy, at least.

nitta: DOES KASUMI KNOW

you: NO. DO NOT TELL HER

nitta: PLEASE LET ME TELL HER

you: AKARI. NO

“We’re hot news,” Satoru says over your shoulder, and you flick him on the forehead.

“Don’t hover,” you say.

He frowns. “But I’m so good at it.”

You swipe out of your thread with Akari and sigh. Geto hasn’t reached out since that initial text—most of you is thankful, but part of you is worried this means he’ll approach you in person again.

“No Suguru,” Gojo notes, and you nod, turning around and facing him, tucking your phone in your back pocket.

“Nope.”

“Can’t wait to make out with you in front of him.” You swat at him. “It was your plan!”

“Yeah, but it sounds obnoxious when you say it like that. And we don’t need to make out.”

“Ew,” he says in his lilting, teasing voice. “You want to have sex on the court? That’s kind of perverted—”

“I hate you,” you groan.

“Gojo!” Megumi shouts from down the hall, and you shove him away.

“Go do your job, dipshit.”

“I love when you call me pet names.” He plants a kiss on your temple and books it to the locker room, and you’re left standing in the center of your office, flushed and a little lightheaded from the affection.

You hear Nobara and Ieiri talking as they approach your office, so you clear your throat, flick off the lights, and meet them on their way to the gym.

“What do you think?” Nobara loops you into the conversation immediately. “We winning the series today?”

“With Gojo on his girlfriend high, yeah we are,” Ieiri says, and you snort.

Nobara’s still looking at you expectantly as the three of you enter the gym, and you catch sight of Satoru across the gym and admit, “Probably.”

Nitta sticks her tongue out at you from across the court and you wave happily. You tug the headset on and tune into Zenin’s updates.

“With the Sorcerers on an absolutely powerful win streak, these conference finals are looking close to an end,” she says in your ear. “On the other end of the bracket, we’ve got the Curses leading the Foxes series three to two. If they win tomorrow, they’ll face the winner of this series in the championships.”

“If not, we’ve got a lengthy rest of the series for the Foxes to make a comeback. Either way, we’re looking at an intense matchup for our final round,” Panda chimes in.

You grin. It’s not that you want to come face to face with your old team again, but you want to watch the Sorcerers destroy them. You want to see the look on Geto’s face when he realizes his plan backfired. You want your team to take the championship title. And you know they can.

The game launches into play and Satoru wins the tip-off against Noritoshi. A quick pass to Ino has the Sorcerers leading by two, and then Kento makes a fantastic block against Choso.

“Lookin’ good,” Ieiri comments, and you can’t take your eyes off the court. On the other side of the gym, Ijichi is talking frantically to Gakuganji, who looks like he’s about to fall asleep.

“A great three-pointer from number zero, Megumi Fushiguro,” Zenin remarks, and Yuji whoops as he runs over to high-five Megumi for his shot. “Seven minutes into the quarter with the Sorcerers leading by five.”

Yaga and Kusakabe are murmuring urgently under their breaths to each other, still watching play on the court, and then Kusakabe smirks, the two of them seemingly having come to a decision.

When the first quarter ends, Yaga whispers something to Junpei and claps him on the back. The kid’s eyes are wide, and you realize he’s subbing him on for Ino without a substantial lead.

“You got it,” Kento tells Junpei firmly. “Don’t sweat it.”

Nobara raises a brow your way, like you understand the inner workings of Yaga’s mind, which you don’t. But with the rest of the starters on the court, Junpei doesn’t have to pick up anybody’s slack—and he plays really well, getting a good seven points in himself. By halftime, he’s stumbling off the court with a huge grin and thanking the coaches profusely while they wave him off, stifling their smiles.

Yuta, Toge, and Hakari all go on after the half and kick ass. Satoru subs out halfway through the third and sprays water directly in his face, panting. The water drips down the curve of his jawline and onto his shirt, and you watch his shoulders heave before you realize you’re staring and abruptly look away.

But looking away means you look right at Ieiri, and she thinks this is hilarious.

“Shut up,” you mutter, willing the red away from your cheeks.

“I didn’t say anything!” she protests.

The lead never exceeds ten points, but the Sorcerers take the win, and for a moment after the buzzer the gym is oddly still, like nobody has really processed what this means. And then Zenin shouts right in your ear, “The Sorcerers take their spot in the finals!” and all hell breaks loose.

“Yes!” Nobara screeches, and whips out her phone to film the team colliding in the center of the court, ecstatic.

And the thing is, it’s not just them. The Samurai swarm the team huddle, exhausted and sweaty and smiling, and Choso claps Yuji on the back, and Haibara’s laughing, and Todo’s grinning proudly, and you can’t fight your own smile at the sheer joy rippling across the gym.

The championship series.

You tear the headset off and Nobara drags you by the elbow out to the center court and into the huddle of hyped-up, sweaty players, and you’re laughing as you practically fall into the center of it, half-deaf on the exhilaration of the guys and the fans.

Satoru grabs you by the shoulders, and in the mass of people you aren’t worried about the cameras catching it, but honestly—you don’t even care if they do.

“We did it!” he shouts, and you grin, laughing out loud.

They did it. Your team did it.

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daisynik7 · 1 year ago

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“Into you” by Fabolous for Connie Springer- smut + fluff

(S4 connie ofc)

Into You

I think you’re truly something special, just what my dreams are really made of

Pairing: Connie Springer x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~2.4k

cw: super fluffy, kinda cheesy, college au, modern day au, lots of basketball terms (applies specifically to NCAA and NBA), explicit language, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), implied creampie

Summary: You and Connie Springer have been close since childhood, growing up as next-door neighbors and best friends. The bond the two of you share is undeniable, but you’ve never been able to admit how deep your feelings are, either to yourself or to him. You continue to support him as his friend while he pursues his career as a basketball player, trying to get drafted into the NBA. Though the journey has its ups and downs, one thing is for certain: The two of you will always have each other, forever and ever.

Author’s Notes: Hi anon! Thanks so much for requesting this song for the y2k karaoke party because it’s one of my FAVORITES! It really gives me Love & Basketball vibes, another favorite of mine that also happens to be a classic in the y2k era. This little fic is very loosely based off of that, so I hope you enjoy! Also, all the basketball/NBA tidbits are mostly from being with my boyfriend, who is a huge NBA fan, so yeah, sorry if any details are inaccurate lol. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy! MDNI banner credit to @/cafekitsune. Header image from Pinterest (Slam Dunk manga).

“You have to pinky promise, okay?” Connie sticks his tiny finger out, wiggling it in front of your face, sucking on his cherry-flavored lollipop, lips and tongue-stained red. You’re both five years old, sitting cross-legged in the front of his yard, taking a break from playing hide-and-seek.

“What am I pinky promising?” you ask, voice squeaky and curious.

“That we’ll be best friends forever and ever! No matter what!” he exclaims, beaming at you with his eyes wide, twinkling earnestly.

You only need to think for a few seconds before you’re hooking your pinky with his, committing to this promise for the rest of your lives.

~~~

Ten years later, Connie makes it on the varsity basketball team in your high school. It’s rare for a freshman to make it to varsity at Ragako; the coaches must have seen that spark in him that you and his family have witnessed since he started playing at ten-years-old. You used to shoot around with him out in his driveway, where his father set up a little hoop. Eventually, the little one got upgraded to a real one, where the height was adjusted appropriately as Connie grew. You became his practice partner, no longer able to compete with him. Instead, you passed him the ball, watching in awe as he made shot after shot, sometimes deep from the street. He’d pick you up and spin you around, the two of you cheering together, impressed by his skills.

Year after year, he only improved. The way he handled the ball, expertly dribbling it between his legs, behind his back, one-handed, without looking. Or the way his feet gracefully shuffled along the court, the distinct squeak from his shoes echoing off the walls as you watch him on the bleachers, playing three-on-three against some of his buddies at the gym. One time, his friend Jean teases you. “You know, you should stop hanging around here or else people might think you’re his groupie.”

Before you can think of a smart comeback, Connie interjects, shoving Jean hard in the arm. “Hey! Leave her alone. I want her here. I only play like this when she’s around. And she’s not a groupie. She’s my best friend.” He wraps his arm around your shoulders, leading you towards the exit while Jean sputters apologies that go ignored. “Sorry about that,” he whispers to you. “Jean is an asshole. I want you around, got it? Forever and ever.”

You smile, leaning into him. “Forever and ever.”

~~~

It’s at the championship game during senior year that you realize that you’re in love with Connie.

Scouts have already contacted him about full-ride scholarships to university, recruiting him for their team. He’s the most celebrated point-guard in your school’s history, his average points and assists per game breaking records. Ever since he joined, your school has made it in the final round each year, last year resulting in a win, this year leading to a second.

With seconds left on the shot clock, tie game, Ragako with possession, Connie makes his move. He inbounds the ball to his teammate, quickly taking position at the right wing, his sweet spot. As quickly as it leaves his hands, the ball is passed back to him. He shoots it, and as it flies out from his fingers into the air, the buzzer rings, and he makes it. The crowd goes wild; one side of the bleachers erupting into a frenzy, jumping up and down with excitement. Connie’s parents hug each other first, then surround you in their arms, elated. You don’t expect him to celebrate the win with you, not with his entire team huddling around him, splashing water on his head, cheering his name. Not with all the cheerleaders and fans gravitating toward him, eager to be in the presence of a sure-to-be star in the making. So, it surprises you when you see him maneuver his way through the crowd, heading straight towards you. He pounces on you, giving you the biggest, sweatiest hug with tears streaming down his face. It’s a split second where the surrounding noise goes blank and it’s just the two of you there, basking in each other’s warmth. Soon, his parents join you, also crying happily, and it’s in this moment that you realize this is where you want to be: with him. Forever and ever.

~~~

It's no surprise that the two of you attend the same college together. Most people will see it as you following him, but in actuality, Connie agrees to go wherever you go. Lucky for you both, your top choice is a D1 university where he’s offered a scholarship to play for their basketball team. It works out perfectly, as if it were meant to be.

He’s busy from the get-go, practicing every day until the season starts in November. You become preoccupied with classes, and naturally, the two of you travel your different paths, meeting in the middle whenever you can. When the season official starts, you attend all his home games, cheering for him from the sidelines surrounded by the other students also chanting his name. Weeknights, he’s often too tired to hang out, retreating to his dorm room to fall asleep, only to repeat his busy schedule again the next day. He grows close with his teammates, spending most of his time with them instead of you, which is to be expected. After all, you and Connie are just friends. Sure, you’re completely and madly in love with him, but he’ll never know that. So, you watch from afar as he pursues his career without you in the way. It’s the way it has to be.

By the time spring semester rolls around, you and Connie barely see each other. You’ll still text, sometimes video chat or talk on the phone. He mostly vents to you about teammates or coaches that have gotten on his nerves that day. He’ll catch you up on the other schools they’ve defeated or the ones that they’ve lost to. Your school’s record is quite good thanks to Connie, who’s only gotten better since high school. If they continue at this rate, they will win the conference tournament, meaning a trip to March Madness, the most prestigious competition in college basketball. Most importantly, it’s one step closer to the NBA.

As expected, the team does win the conference tournament. That night, the entire campus is lively with students buzzing in school spirit, ready to party the rest of the weekend. All you think about is calling Connie to congratulate him, hear his voice and tell him that you’re so proud of him. You debate with yourself for nearly fifteen minutes, staring at his name on your screen, fingers so close to dialing his number. You decide not to go through with it, certain that he’s too busy with his team, too busy with his fans. He’s not thinking about you, not when his whole world is about to change. And you can’t blame him; you’re just friends, and this is the way it has to be.

The following night, your school organizes an impromptu homecoming for the basketball team, welcoming them as they arrive on the bus, fresh from their championship win. They have a couple days of rest before they leave for the NCAA tournament, but you’re sure they’ll be busy with press and practice until then. You’re not there to greet them when they step off the bus; instead, you’re sulking in your room, buried under the covers, feeling sorry for yourself for ever falling in love with Connie Springer. It’s a sad, pathetic sight, but at least you’re alone for the weekend to do it while your roommate is out visiting her boyfriend out of town.

You’re surprised to see Connie’s name flash on your phone a few hours later. You let it ring twice before answering. “Hello?”

“Where are you?” he asks. There’s shuffling in the background, as if he’s walking outside.

“I’m in my room.”

“I’m coming over now.” He hangs up, not giving you any time to respond. You sigh, mentally preparing yourself for what’s to come.

When you open the door to let him in, he wraps his arms around you in a snug embrace. “I missed you.” He pulls off to hold you by the arms, glaring. “Why didn’t you greet me off the bus?”

“I…” you start, unsure how to respond.

“I was looking for you and you weren’t there. Where were you?”

“I was studying in the library.” This might be the first time you’ve ever lied to him. You feel guilty and gross.

“Oh,” he says sadly, still staring at you.

“Congratulations, by the way. It was an amazing win.” You give him a weak smile, blinking away the tears welling in your eyes. You don’t even know why you’re crying; Connie did nothing wrong. You’re letting your emotions get the best of you, and you can’t help but crumble in front of the only person who knows you better than you know yourself.

“I don’t care about that right now. I care about you. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing, Connie, I promise.”

“Don’t promise me shit like that. I know you’re upset. Tell me. Please.” His eyes search yours, desperate for an answer.

You look at his feet, fixating on his shoes, scuffed on the sides from playing. Tears start to drop from your face and on the carpet. “I just…I missed you too. I miss you, Connie. I…I love you.” The confession slips from your mouth in a sniffle, and you’re so upset with yourself for letting it slide in this crucial moment. Neither of you needs the drama of your unrequited love right now. Not you, knowing he’ll be leaving again soon, and especially not him, who has bigger and better things to focus on.

He gapes at you, stuttering, “You love me?”

You nod, biting your lip.

“Like, love love? Or love like a friend?”

You’re tempted to lie, just to make it easier. But you owe it to Connie to be honest with him. “Love love.”

His mouth is open, eyes bugging out, completely shocked by your admission. Before he can respond, you add, “I’m sorry, Connie. I shouldn’t have told you this right before the tournament, but…I don’t know. It just came out. I’m sorry.”

He stammers, “You’re sorry? This is the best fucking thing I’ve heard in my entire life.” He breaks into a smile, laughing hysterically, an even more bizarre reaction.

You cross your arms, getting impatient with his ridiculous behavior, eventually grabbing his shoulders to shake him out of his fit. “Connie, what the hell?!”

He wipes his eyes, crying from giggling, beaming at you. “I’ve been in love with since we were kids. Been dreaming of hearing you say that since we were five-years-old.” He hugs you tightly, nuzzling his nose to the top of your head. “I love you and I want to be with you. Forever and ever, right?”

You nestle into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent you missed since he’s been gone. “Forever and ever.”

~~~

The two of you spend the night together, making love for the first time. His lips are soft against yours, and you smile into his kiss, remembering the day you pinky promised that you’ll be best friends forever and ever, no matter what. His lips were stained red with cherry-flavored candy, looking sickly sweet as he smiled at you. And as you kiss him now, he tastes just as sweet as you imagined he’d be after all these years.

You kiss him sloppy as you ride his lap, his cock buried deep in your pussy, filling you up to the brim. He moans your name into your mouth as he laps at the saliva collecting on your tongue, slurping your spit, swallowing it thickly. “Fuck,” he groans, hands gripped to your hips, rocking you back and forth on his thighs. “I’ve dreamed about this for so long, baby. So long.”

“Me too,” you whisper, starting to bounce on him, close to your climax.

“What would you think about? Tell me,” he demands, thumb pressed to your clit, rubbing it raw.

You whine from his touch, increasing your pace, resting your head on his shoulder. “You and me, just like this,” you huff, short of breath.

“Yeah? You thought about me deep inside you, huh? Fucking this sweet pussy until you come all over my cock, huh?” He thrusts up into you, grip tightening, fingers digging into your flesh. He’s close too, you can feel it.

You moan into his skin, sweat beading on your forehead, throwing your ass back against him in tandem with each pump of his cock. A few more strokes and the two of you come together, the mess spilling onto the sheets as soon as he pulls out.

He wipes you down with tissues and baby wipes you have handy on your bedside drawer. As soon as you’re both clean, he cradles you in his arms, spooning you from behind.

“I know this is going to sound super cheesy, but I truly feel like a winner now,” he says, kissing the nape of your neck.

You chuckle, squeezing his hand in yours. “Wait until you win March Madness. Then you’ll really be a champ.”

“Even if I lose, I’ll still have you. And that’s been my dream all this time.”

You shift your body to face him, gazing into his eyes. “I thought your dream was to make it into the NBA?”

He smiles, booping you on the nose. “It’s part of the dream, sure. But I wouldn’t be anywhere near where I am now if it wasn’t for you. You kept me going all these years. Knowing you were always on my side gave me the strength I needed to get here. As long as I have you, I’ll be living the dream.” He kisses you on the forehead. “I’m going to love you for the rest of our lives.”

“Forever and ever?”

“Forever and ever.”

~~~

In an upset, your school loses in the Final Four. It’s the furthest they’ve gotten in university history, and a large part of that is due to Connie and his extraordinary performance as their point guard. His efforts do not go unnoticed; his coaches and many prospective agents have contacted him, encouraging him to apply for the NBA draft.

June of the same year, Connie Springer is drafted tenth in the first round and you’re sitting right beside him with his parents, cheering for him. Just as you have throughout all these years, and just as you will for the rest of your lives. Forever and ever.

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