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tacitoru · 10 days

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Satoru had quickly gotten sick of being referred to by his given name. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to it - his childhood years in the States had desensitized the shock and indignation at such familiarity right out of him. It was times like after a game, when everybody wanted to chatshit and talk his ear off, or during a press stop, when interviewers led with questions that fueled their preexisting assumptions - it was times like those when he yearned for the staunch politeness of the Japanese language. Longed for the way you could innately keep people at arms length and save face at the same time. That was a luxury he hadn’t realized he had until recently.

Now though, he loves the way his name sounds out of your mouth. Obsessed with it, actually. That, and the punchy little gasp you make every time he slips his cock inside you, never gets old. Satoru cherishes it even more now that you’ve spent so much time apart. It’s been five long years since he’s seen you - you, corporeal, in the flesh and solid beneath his fingertips that itch for their rightful place on your skin each time you pop up in the occasional news article or an errant gossip column.

There was a time, in what seems like a lifetime ago, when you would call out for him in soft, demure tones. Sometimes he misses that immiscible mixture of fear and awe in your voice. Sweet little college student you who trailed after him on hand and foot until he effectively destroyed the pedestal you put him on with both hands. Listening to you now though, the venom laced through each syllable of his name sounds just as sweet as the former - at the very least, you’re saying it.

“Satoru,” you implore, breathless, like using his first name for the first time in years physically takes the wind out of you. That, and you’re still trying to pry off the hand braced against your lower abdomen, only managing to bend his thumb and pinky back with both hands. He can feel the way your stomach expands and contracts beneath his palm with each deep breath you take. “I’m being serious, this isn’t fucking funny.”

“Neither are my feelings,” he pouts, pressing down, adding pressure.

You lock up against the wall of the bathroom stall, silently praying you could morph through the material. The broad expanse of his shoulders and the wide stance of his legs trap you from wiggling too far out of his hold. You avoid eye contact in favor of glaring at the closed toilet lid even as he looms over you, leers down at you. Tell-tale bubbles roll through your stomach. “What happened to a truce?” you ask weakly.

“I got impatient,” he shrugs like he’s talking about a change in the weather and not a last-minute decision to hold you hostage in the bathroom at a friend’s wedding rehearsal. “Besides, isn’t that the best part of being a guest at a wedding? Fucking the other guests?”

You’ve got half a mind to roll your eyes until your captor’s hand on your stomach presses more insistently. “I am not fucking you at Utahime’s wedding.”

“So after the wedding?” he hums, scratching his chin with his free hand. “Technically this is the wedding rehearsal so we could consider this practice for the real thing if you want -,”

“- Satoru -! “

“What? I won’t even put it in all the way, I swear. I’m halfway there just being this close to you again if we’re being honest. Really, I thought I could hold it together at least for tonight, but then the way you were talking to me outside, just - wow, I chubbed up a little when you called me Gojo-san-,”

“Oh, no, fuck!” your groan is about as much as a warning as he gets when you suddenly lurch, keeling over his forearm to flip the toilet lid and wretch into the basin.

fic: pleaser

#gojo x reader #pleaser #gojo satoru #teaser #probasketball!au #nbaplayer!gojo

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