RINTAROLL

in the works !

body shots (suggestive, msby black jackals x reader)

briefly, i was yours (pretending to be your boyfriend would be much easier if they didn't have feelings for you, fluff, angst, jjk sorcerers x reader)

© RINTAROLL. please do not repost/plagiarize any of my work.

“this wine is crazy good,” you comment after another sip.

“thank you,” gojo replies, tipping his glass. “also, i know you think the wine is crazy good. you’ve said it three times and had half the bottle by yourself.”

“because it is,” you argue. “i still can’t believe this place does promos like these.”

“i know,” he grins. “go on. admit it. say i’m a genius.”

“you really are.” you nod, too full of who-knows-how-much pasta and suspiciously expensive wine he somehow got for free. “like i could kiss you right now if it meant locking in a lifetime supply of free food.”

gojo doesn’t reply. he’s positive his face has turned red from that comment alone. thankfully, a waiter materializes beside him like divine intervention, placing a plate down with a great flourish. it’s tiramisu, topped with a cocoa-powdered ‘happy anniversary’ written in cursive, like a prop straight out of a romcom.

“on the house.” the waitress winks at gojo. “happy anniversary to the lovely couple.”

“you didn’t,” you gasp. your jaw drops, unaware of the silent exchange that just happened between the waitress and gojo before she leaves. “how much free stuff are we gonna get? this is insane!”

“i may have told the chef that you love tiramisu.” he’s smiling, but gojo’s voice comes out a little more high-pitched than usual.

“first, caviar. and then, this wine. and now, this?” you wipe an imaginary tear from your eye. “i love you.”

gojo’s heart flutters helplessly at that line. “i love you, too.” he waves a hand, seeming indifferent to it. because, of course you love him. platonically, at least. “go on. take a bite.”

you do. “satoru,” you moan once the spoon enters your mouth. “god. that’s so good i think i just saw the gates of heaven. or maybe that was an orgasm.”

gojo’s knee knocks the underside of the table. he blinks fast, not proud of where his thoughts just went—or of the way his blood rushes south in response. forcing a smile, he coughs into his hand and reaches for the wine. misses. tries again. clears his throat like it’ll cover up his fumble. a bead of sweat starts to form at his temple. the collar of his shirt suddenly feels way too tight. he adjusts it. it doesn’t help.

too immersed in tiramisu, you’re oblivious. of course you are. a meteor could be headed your way and you’d still be licking the spoon.

“you have to try this.” you say, leaning across the table to offer him a spoonful.

he leans in too, meeting you halfway with his lips already parted. the taste of sweet espresso and cream is good, sure, but he doesn’t really notice. not when your thumb brushes the corner of his mouth. not when you’re sucking the mascarpone off your thumb without looking away.

you had to be doing this on purpose at this point.

gojo’s still in a mental stutter when you settle back in your seat, heat pooling somewhere it shouldn’t. shifting in his seat, he lifts his glass and drinks the rest of his wine in one gulp. he scratches the nape of his neck as he turns a darker shade of red. burgundy, maybe.

“i still can’t believe we got all this for free.” you’re paying no mind. besides, who could focus on anything else when the free tiramisu melts like heaven on your tongue?

gojo clears his throat, praying the lighting hides his flushed cheeks. “we make a great team,” he says, feigning nonchalance.

“i guess married life suits us,” you joke with a wink.

as if burgundy wasn’t enough. judging by how his entire body feels like its on fire right now, he’s willing to bet that he’s turned into a shade of maroon. he laughs awkwardly. “i could get used to it.”

you smirk, a little smug. “you’d be lucky to get someone like me, satoru.”

gojo hums. you don’t know how much he agrees with you. you go back to your dessert, humming under your breath, completely unbothered, while a million ‘what-ifs’ race through his head.

a waiter walks past behind you, sending a thumbs-up to gojo. gojo glares at him to shut him up. you tilt your head in a silent question—crazy how that’s the only weird thing gojo has done the entire night that you have noticed—but gojo shakes his head and waves a hand. you almost immediately let it go once another spoonful of mascarpone enters your mouth.

you don’t know he called a few people three days ago so the restaurant would agree to this. that he greased a few palms for that special case of aged wine and the caviar on your appetizer. or that he bribed the pastry chef to save your favorite dessert, even though it hadn’t been on the menu in over a year. he even got the hostess to seat you near the back, away from too many eyes, just in case you laughed too loud, or called him a dumbass like you always do.

he didn’t tell you anything. and he is not planning to. he just relishes in the brief moment he gets to call you his wife in front of people without you questioning it. even if it’s just for tonight. maybe someday, he thinks.

you : i’ll go first.

you reach for the card from the stack in the middle of the table. suna’s eyes follow your movements closely. there’s a seriousness behind his expression—something that wasn’t there before in your last video, your fans note.

you : describe the first time we met. and tell me your honest first impression. no censoring.

suna : hm.

he doesn’t look like he remembers. he folds his hands together and presses them to his lips like he’s deep in thought. the crease in his eyebrows, however, reads like he’s digging through a mental folder he’s labeled “irrelevant”.

you : you don’t remember, do you?

suna : we’ve met each other several times but never introduced ourselves. i’m just not quite sure which one our first interaction was.

you : hm… that’s true. i think it might be that time i thought me and the twins were going to get lunch just the three of us. and then you showed up.

suna : and you called me suma the whole time we were there.

you laugh, one hand instinctively covering your mouth.

you : oh my god, i completely forgot. why didn’t you correct me? atsumu grilled me on the ride home.

suna : i did. like, three times. the fourth time you got it wrong, i just decided to let you live in ignorance.

mock-offended, you gasp, hand flying to your chest in dramatics. suna’s mouth twitches into a smile.

suna : also, that wasn’t even the first time we met.

you tilt your head, invested in what he’s going to say next. 

suna : second year. remember? it was after that match against kamomedai. you asked me if i was lost. post game. i was standing next to the bus. in full uniform.

suna turns his head and stares straight into the camera.

suna : mind you, my name was written in bold, capital le-

you : okay, okay, in my defense, you were just… standing around. all alone. by the vending machines. like some creep.

suna : i was waiting for atsumu. if anything, you should be more concerned about him lurking in public.

you chuckle sheepishly, mumbling a quiet "sorry" before your gaze drops to the table. suna laughs, low and warm. when you look back up, he’s already watching you with a fond, amused expression on his face (like maybe he’s okay with you getting his name wrong). you grin.

suna : alright. my turn.

he picks up a card, smirking as his eyes scan the question before reading it out loud.

suna : show me your tinder. or take a shot.

you groan. suna grins like he’s the devil himself.

suna : this might be the best day of my life. they’ve kept it from me for so long. oh, and only losers would pick taking a shot over showing me their tinder, by the way.

you : i don’t even use it anymore.

suna : that’s probably because you’re pulling no one with your tragic profile. hand it over.

you squint at him, but he’s already extended his hand out, smug as ever. reluctant, you reach into your pocket and drop your phone into his palm. suna unlocks it with ease, your passcode long committed to his memory. he snorts when he finally reads your bio.

suna : hm... “hot, emotionally unavailable, but good with parents”. i guess that’s pretty accurate. my parents do love you.

you : mhm. although, now that i think about it, you’re way more emotionally unavailable than me. especially since… you know. them.

his pleased smile twitches. only slightly. he looks down and taps the screen once more.

suna : you really don’t like them, do you?

you : i just didn’t really get what you saw in them.

a pause. he then locks your phone and slides it back across the table. the camera catches the brief hesitation in his expression before he lets go.

suna : still. i would never describe myself as emotionally unavailable.

you eye him suspiciously, surprised by the speed of him returning your phone. you take it back anyways.

suna : i’m incredibly available.

you : says the man who’s practically celibate.

suna : that’s what you think.

you raise an eyebrow. suna shrugs. something heavy settles in the air.

you read the next card.

you : are you ever jealous of me?

suna doesn’t answer right away. you clear your throat.

you : the answer’s obviously yes.

suna : ...right. because i’ve always wanted to know what it’s like to be a cold-hearted witch with a god complex.

you scoff, but you’re silently glad to see that mischievous glint flicker back into his eyes.

you : you’re jealous and projecting.

suna : you gonna let me answer?

you : by all means.

he exhales, that stupid smirk slipping off his face again. your heart stutters in nervous anticipation.

suna : i don’t think i’ve ever been jealous of you. specifically. more like... the people who flirt with you, maybe.

you : what… what do you mean?

suna shrugs, but avoids your eyes like the plague. his fingers fidget with the cards on the table, straightening the already-neat pile.

suna : i don’t know. you laugh at their jokes. like they’re funny.

you : they are, though. most of the time.

suna : they never are.

he’s sulking. he’s pretending like he’s not but he is. only a few can tell. you can proudly say you’re one of them. you smile, endeared yet amused.

you : you could’ve just said you wanted me to laugh at yours more.

suna : what? no. that’s embarrassing. don’t say that.

you : it's what you meant, though.

he squints at you. somewhere offscreen, osamu snorts, and then the crew bursts into laughter. you grin victoriously. suna bites back a smile, but it breaks through anyway.

suna : who do you think has had more sexual partners?

you : hmm… define “partner.”

suna raises an eyebrow.

you : what?

suna : that sounds like something someone with a suspiciously long list would ask.

you : well that sounds like deflection.

suna : yeah, okay. what’s your number, then?

you : heeelll no. we are not doing this.

you twist open the bottle of liquor. suna leans forward while you do, elbow on the table with his chin propped up on his hand, clearly not dropping the subject. his eyes follow your every movement as you pour yourself a drink, like he’s trying to figure out the answer through your body language.

you : stop that.

suna : just– blink twice if it’s a two digit number.

you : okay. blink once if you’re annoying.

offscreen laughter erupts. a soft “damn” from osamu is heard from behind the camera. 

suna : y/n.

you : fine. i guess i’ll answer if you answer first.

suna : …three.

a few seconds of silence pass as you wait for him to continue. you glance off-camera, catching osamu’s eye. he nods, confirming.

you : wait, that’s it? i thought you were counting down!

he shrugs nonchalantly, also pouring his own shot.

suna : quality over quantity. you know i’m not like that.

you : huh. sure, mr. i’m-not-flirting-i’m-just-being-nice.

suna : i’ll take that as a compliment.

you : thank god i didn’t fall for that.

he laughs, low, almost mockingly, but not quite.

suna : could’ve fooled me. cheers?

blinking, your mouth opens. closes. he’s already lifting his shot glass. before you could muster yp a response, he clinks your glasses together and knocks the shot back. you follow, a little slower and a little puzzled.

you : i kinda already know the answer to this one.

suna : what’s the question?

you : have you ever disliked someone i dated?

suna : oh. of course i have.

you : mhm. care to specify?

suna : well, i don’t really like any of them.

you : any of them? you make me sound like i’m a serial dater.

suna ignores you.

suna : but the one i dislike the most would be that guy who called you “babe” in front of everyone. like he was trying to prove something. i’m not even sure he even knew your name at that point.

you laugh at the memory. suna, however, doesn’t. he upholds a serious expression on his face.

suna : also, he once wore sunglasses indoors. and not even cool ones. like cheap, gas station sunglasses.

you : that’s fair.

[so, suna, you don’t have a favorite?]

you : he never got along with any of my exes.

you look over at suna. something about his expression is unreadable. you brush it off and awkwardly smile.

suna : you never got along with mine either.

you : your exes were spawns of satan, rin.

suna : yours peaked in high school and never emotionally evolved since.

you roll your eyes, smiling, not even denying his claim.

you : and here i thought you just hated everyone equally.

suna : it's just- i just think you could do better. you’d look good with…

he pauses, the words dying on his tongue. for a second, it feels like the air stills. you catch the shift in his eyes, how they flicker toward you and then away again. he finally clears his throat.

suna : someone like osamu. great cook, strong forearms. what more could you need?

you groan, but with a laugh. the camera pans to osamu who’s mid-sip. he slowly lowers his glass, revealing a disgusted look on his face. you laugh a little harder when you catch his reaction.

suna : not everyone gets to date a d-list celebrity, you know?

you shake your head, smiling to yourself. your gaze drops to your feet, where your shoes knock gently against his under the table. you’re wearing the burgundy sambas he got you for your birthday. so you could match his. which is what he’s currently wearing as well.

you : your turn.

suna takes a card. when he scans it, his jaw tightens. the tips of his ears start to tinge pink when he reads for the second time. you don’t notice, too busy sipping from your glass of water. suna clears his throat once. then again. it turns into a small coughing fit. you glance at him from behind your glance, silently making sure he’s okay.

suna : sit…

he swallows.

suna : sit in my lap for a full minute. or take a shot.

you start choking on your water. violently. lurching forwards, you loudly cough into your sleeve.

suna : damn. didn’t realize the card said waterboarding.

a round of soft chuckles are heard from the camera crew. not long after, you finally manage to recover and wipe your eyes.

you : shut up. i’ll take a shot.

suna : be serious. you’ve had three. one more and you’ll black out. i’ll take it for you.

you narrow your eyes.

you : are you calling me weak?

suna : no. i’m calling you a lightweight. there’s a difference.

[how about we take it down to thirty seconds, but you have to make eye contact the whole time?]

you hesitate, mouth parted in protest. your gaze flickers between suna and the crew.

you : …fine. can’t wait to ruin my dignity on camera.

suna : you act like it’s the worst thing you’ve done on camera.

you : you better shut up or i’m telling the internet how you cried watching-

suna : okay, okay. geez.

he raises his hands in defense. you dejectedly stand up and drag your feet to his seat. grumbling to yourself, you swing a leg over his lap and climb into his lap, effectively almost straddling him. when you do, suna’s arms stay planted firmly at his sides, like he’s trying very hard to not touch you. meanwhile, you’re perched awkwardly on top of his lap, with your legs half-stiff and your ass hovering barely an inch above his thighs. then, you finally make eye contact. suna’s already looking at you, gaze steady and a little too intense.

suna : sit properly.

you : i am sitting properly.

he exhales loudly. one of his hand lifts, hesitates mid-air, then lands at your waist. he presses you down until your full weight settles on him. your breath hitches at the sudden shift, your entire body tensing up at the contact. his hand stays where it is.

[eye contact, guys.]

you meet his gaze. again, he’s already looking at you, with those striking, grayish-yellow colored eyes. his face is unreadable, but you catch the faintest flush starting to spread across his cheeks.

you : stop blinking like that.

suna : like what?

you : i don’t know. you look weird.

suna : that’s just my face.

you roll your eyes, but there’s no heat behind it. you’re both still holding eye contact, faces way too close for comfort. his hand shifts slightly where it rests on your waist, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up before you can stop them.

you : wow.

you laugh, a little breathless. suna stays quiet, still with that unreadable expression of his.

you : can’t believe this is how i get to spend my valentine’s day.

suna : on my lap? lucky you.

you : mhm, such a privilege. should i start a gratitude journal?

suna : maybe write a haiku while you're at it.

you : hey. you're the one that agreed to this.

suna : i was blackmailed.

you : well, i gotta milk you for content, my guy. the fans love you.

suna : mmm. can’t wait to be someone’s lockscreen again.

you : you’re welcome, by the way.

suna : for what?

you : for boosting your stock.

suna : thought i was already a bargain.

you : okay, relax there, casanova.

[ten seconds left.]

you’re still on his lap. his hand is still at your waist. none of you move an inch, too scared of... something you can't quite place.

you : this is so… abnormal.

suna : nothing about this has ever been normal.

you’re breathing a little heavier now. he shifts under you slightly, and the movement sends a jolt up your spine. the timer goes off. you scramble off his lap in a flash. your chair scrapes as you slide back into place, heartbeat loud in your ears. suna exhales, low. he adjusts in his seat, shifting with a small grunt, legs spreading slightly as he leans forward. you catch the motion and pointedly don’t look down.

you clear your throat. the tension still clings to the air like humidity, but when you glance at suna, he’s already knocked back another shot. whatever just happened—he’s wearing his usual face again.

you : okay. final question.

suna : hit me.

you : do you love me?

he blinks.

suna : i mean. yeah? obviously. 

your breath hitches. it’s barely noticeable, but he sees it. you’re sure he does.

suna : platonically, of course.

you nod slowly, ignoring how your heartbeat is spiraling out of control.

you : cool. same. just two friends…

suna :

you : …who sit in each other’s laps for content.

suna : and almost kiss during drinking games.

you : which is normal.

suna : yep. not unusual at all.

a beat or two passes. you laugh awkwardly, looking at anywhere but him.

you : the comments are probably full of people screaming at us to kiss already.

suna : they sure love to do that.

your eyes land back on suna. he’s also looking at anywhere but you, hands fiddling with anything and everything that’s placed on the table.

you : to be fair, even if we were dating… it wouldn’t even look that different.

suna : yeah.

your eyes meet. you start laughing awkwardly. suna only nods, a little solemn.

you : good thing we’re not.

suna : yeah. would’ve been confusing.

you : so messy.

suna : ...probably would be nice, though.

he pauses, glancing away.

suna : for content, of course.

he says it like a joke, but his eyes don’t quite match his voice. he doesn’t even look at you when he says it, just spins the shot glass between his fingers, slow and restless.

you : yeah... for content.

you echo it back with a half-smile, but the words land heavier than they should. off-camera, someone coughs. someone else laughs and says, “that’s a wrap!” you both blink. suna straightens a little. you clear your throat, suddenly aware of the crew again. neither of you realize the camera hasn’t stopped rolling.

suna : guess we’re done being honest for today.

you : ...that’s good. i guess.

suna :

you :

suna : so…

you : yeah?

suna : dinner after this?

you : depends. is it for content?

he finally looks at you. there's that half-smirk again, the one you know and love.

suna: nah. the fans have seen enough.

*･🎬 ·̩͙ special cut

the camera pans to osamu again, still on the sidelines with his now empty coffee cup.

[so, what do you think?]

osamu : ‘bout what?

[the video. suna and y/n.]

osamu : you mean the hour-long denial exercise?

the crew laughs. you and suna were just walking off set when you see the camera being pointed at osamu.

suna : hey. you talking shit?

osamu : i'd never never talk shit behind your back. to your face? absolutely.

you : please do enlighten us.

osamu : you sure?

osamu doesn't even wait for your response before he starts talking.

osamu : y’two act like you're fooling everyone. y/n, i’ve seen your tiktok favorites. don’t pretend ya didn’t save that fan edit of suna with a doja cat song over it. and suna, ya sat through all of their partners pretending ya didn’t care. helped 'em move on, wrote the break up texts. yer not slick. we all knew yer in love. even the exes knew. if atsumu were here, he’d have shoved yer heads together and gotten this over with.

suna and you freeze, visibly flustered. the crew snickers.

osamu : the tension between y’two makes people uncomfortable. you’re basically a public health hazard. also, side note, atsumu bet on you two kissing by next week. he wins, i suffer. so please. stall.

the room breaks into muffled laughter. you bury your face in your hands. suna mutters an insult under his breath and walks off.

you shoot him a look that could wither flowers quicker than the heat. somehow, he’s unfazed, his stupid grin not leaving his face. with a sigh, you stand, rummage through your bag, and toss a chocolate bar at him. it hits his chest with a thump. “here. before you say something else that makes me want to choke you with your own tie.”

gojo’s grin stretches wider as he clutches the chocolate to his chest like it’s his most prized possession. “awww, you do love me.”

“don’t flatter yourself. someone had to pity you.”

“oh, i feel so special—wait,” he pauses, gaze dropping to the bar, “i thought you were going to give this to–”

you hear footsteps approaching. you don’t even have to turn around to know it’s geto’s, and he’s closing in.

right before gojo finishes his sentence, you instinctively press your heel down hard on his foot. he yelps and bites back the rest of his words with a grimace.

“where’s mine?” geto’s smooth and velvety voice is right next to your ear, sending chills down your spine

you turn around, acting composed. “what made you think i’d give you any?”

geto is closer than you expect—only a few inches away, thanks to the narrow aisles of your classroom. neither of you moves, eyes locked with each other in a familiar kind of silence. his gaze is unreadable but steady; you do your best to not let yours waver, even as a feeling you can’t name weighs heavy on your chest.

“you gave satoru one.” geto nods to gojo, who’s already unwrapping the chocolate you had tied delicately with a bow. he takes a huge bite out of it while keeping his eyes locked on his favorite live sitcom unfolding right in front of him.

you raise an eyebrow. “maybe i like him better than you.”

that earns the smallest lift of one corner of geto’s mouth. his eyes flicker with an emotion you can’t quite place, and before you can think too hard about it, he takes a step closer. just enough to almost close the space between you two. the space, or lack thereof, knocks the wind out of your lungs, making it suddenly hard to breathe.

then, he leans in, far closer than necessary. “you sure about that?” his voice dips low. dangerously low.

you keep your face blank, not letting any of your reactions show. but your breath hitches—and by the time you realize and try to steady it, it’s already too late. geto catches it. his smirk says so.

you’ve never been sure what goes on in his head. geto keeps his thoughts sealed tight, but there’s something lingering in his stare. something heavy. like he’s waiting for you to figure it out first.

gojo alternates glances between you two. “i love this,” he says, chewing far too loud for someone who’s eating chocolate. “should i get popcorn?”

“shut up,” you and geto snap in unison.

geto straightens his back just slightly—enough to let air back in your lungs, but not enough to give you real space. the sleeves of his button up brush your bare arms when he makes the slightest move, and it sends a sharp jolt through you every time.

you fold your arms, half hoping it’ll keep him at a distance. “don’t you have like, fifteen boxes already? go eat those.”

he shrugs, nonchalant and infuriating. “none of them were from you.”

you scoff. “even if i did give you one, i’d have them poisoned first.”

“i’d still eat it,” he says smugly, but there’s something behind his eyes. like his words mean more than they should.

“god, just kiss already.” gojo whines, dissolving the tension with his grating voice.

this time, both of you ignore him, knowing the words “shut up” mean nothing to that imbecile.

“i’m just saying i would’ve liked one,” geto drawls casually, “especially from you.”

you falter just a second before regaining your tough composure. “tough luck,” you quip.

geto doesn’t flinch. just keeps watching you with that same unreadable gaze. “okay,” he says eventually. “so what do i have to do to earn yours?”

“stop trying, geto.” you deadpan. “you’re never getting chocolate from me.”

his smile fades into something quieter. for a second you think he might say something else, but he doesn’t. he just leans back, calm and unreadable. “next year,” he says, offhandedly.

you glance at him, suspicious. “what about it?”

“you’ll give me one. i’ll win you over by then.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re delusional.”

he starts walking off, slow and easy, like the conversation you just had didn’t affect him in the slightest bit. “we’ll see,” he calls over his shoulder, that irritating smirk still on his lips.

beside you, gojo licks chocolate off his thumb. “are you gonna tell him you gave me the chocolate you were supposed to give him or…”