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Language:
English
Collections:
Mr Blindfold and Lady Scar
Stats:
Published:
2021-03-24
Words:
1,769
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
65
Kudos:
669
Bookmarks:
53
Hits:
6,323

PoP

Summary:

Utahime has a hobby that she's been keeping under wraps for years now. Unfortunately for her, the worst possible person discovers her secret.

Notes:

no i will not explain myself

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Look, Satoru knows he should be nicer to Utahime, okay? He knows she’s an important ally to his cause, that she’s a great teacher, and that all of her students adore her. He knows that she’s trustworthy. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that she’s not weak. At least not in sorcery. He gets it, he should not make fun of her.  

 

However. 

 

“Honestly, the first half of the book was a headache and a half to get through. If getting to the good stuff is a chore, then is the dick really worth it?”

 

Satoru taps on the space bar to pause the YouTube video, a gleam forming in his eyes that does not bode well for Utahime’s future - and yes, he did take his blindfold off to watch this. 

 

Iori Utahime: Semi-Grade One sorcerer, beloved sensei, drinker of beer, and, most notably, owner of the very popular YouTube channel, Pleasure on Paper, or PoP for short. 

 

How interesting. Miss. Respect-Your-Elders spends her free time reviewing erotic fiction on the internet, all while wearing a blonde wig and makeup to cover up her scar. She uploads twice a week - Wednesdays and Saturdays - and Satoru could not be more thrilled. He’s been marathoning her videos all day and has already liked and subscribed to her secondary channel (where she reviews the movie adaptations of her smutty books). 

 

He wipes a tear from the corner of his eye with his sleeve and raises the volume on his laptop. It’s hard to hear her over the sound of his own laughter. Is this what it’s like to tap into a gold mine? To strike oil? Has Satoru found meaning in his mundane life? For a brief moment he considers sending the channel link to Shoko, but  thinks better of it. He wants this treasure all to himself. 

 

Stretching his arms above his head, Satoru glances at the clock hung by the window: 7:34pm. It’s mid-summer, so the sun is still barely visible on the horizon, a splash of violet bleeding into the night sky. He’s been sitting on his sofa since noon and has only paused to order delivery. He’s currently watching Utahime’s review of the first book in a faery erotica series that came out a few weeks ago and, when he unpauses the video, her disappointed voice blasts through his apartment:

 

“I really hate when authors only use “proud length” to describe a dick. Once is enough. If you can’t think of a better way to word it, then clearly you’ve never seen one in person.”

 

Utahime is a merciless smut critic and has Satoru shamelessly turned on through the screen. 

 

“This story boils down to the same, tired tropes we’ve seen a thousand times before in faery erotica: a human woman meets a kind, mysterious stranger - who always happens to be blond and muscular and makes a show of being a-” she uses air quotes with an accompanying eye roll, “-feminist. Really, he just wants a trophy wife, but he’s hot, so our headstrong lead lowers her standards just a tad. Turn a few pages and BAM! He’s the prince of some season-themed magical kingdom - pointy ears and all. What a surprise!” 

 

Satoru has never seen these dramatized expressions on Utahime’s face before and, if he’s being honest with himself, which is not a pastime of his, he quite prefers her usual stoicism. Regardless, though, he has to admit she puts on a good show.  

 

“Halfway through, she meets the dark haired, arrogant prince with a heart of gold from a rival kingdom that’s modeled after a contrasting season! He’s an asshole, but he’s pretty, so we like him more than the other guy and, more importantly, we want to fuck that stupid smrik off his dumb, faery face.” 

 

“Projecting much, eh?” He can’t help but chuckle at how her eyes light up with an irritated flame that she usually reserves for him and him alone. Based on what he’s seen of her content thus far, Utahime always wants the protagonist to do the filthiest deeds to the arrogant, pretty-boy prick in every book she reviews. Not that Satoru’s complaining. Personally, he believes that she should live out her fantasies and pay him a visit. Hell, he’d even buy some pointy ears from the cosplay shop if it’ll get her to “fuck that stupid smirk off his dumb, faery face.” But it’s neither here nor there. Utahime is too proud to admit her attraction to him, and he likes watching her squirm. 

 

“There’s this one scene that semi-makes up for the loose plot and questionable dialogue: pegging! My favorite sport, as all my longtime viewers know!” 

 

Satoru almost chokes on his own spit. This is what he gets for not watching her videos in chronological order. 

 

“In the end, she ends up with the vanilla prince because the author is too much of a coward to give us readers what we really want.” 

 

Oh, to be an erotica writer in a world where Iori Utahime has access to the internet. It’s not impossible that authors everywhere have unknowingly created curses out of their fear of her harsh reviews. Satoru will have to keep an eye out for that. 

 

“All in all, this book is a five out of ten at best. I’ll probably read the rest of the series if you guys really want me to, but only so I can have another opportunity to tell you guys about this video’s sponsor, Adam and Eve!”  

 

Real smooth. He might have to send her a bouquet of flowers for such a seamless transition.  

 

“Anyway, guys, that’s it for this video! On Wednesday, we’ll be reviewing the highly requested: A Man in the Streets, a Cowboy in the Sheets! Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe! Thank you all, and I’ll see you next time!”

 

Satoru has never been so excited to hear a book report before, but clearly stranger things have happened. 

 

He sets his laptop aside and stands up, legs numb from staying in one position for too long. The last time he spent that much time watching anything was back in high school, when he, Geto, and Shoko marathoned horror movies on Halloween night. It’s a strange feeling; he’s accomplished a lot, yet has nothing to show for it.  

 

His phone is lying upside down on the coffee table in front of the sofa and he grabs it, a dozen notifications making the screen come alive in his palm. Work, work, work, work… a text from Utahime? 

 

How lucky! Perhaps, he foolishly dreams, today is the day she finally confesses her undying love to him! 

 

“If you tell anyone about this, I will fucking end your life, Gojo. I swear to all that is holy, I will skin you alive.” 

 

That is the complete opposite of what he was hoping for, actually.

 

“Ehhh? Utahime, I think you might have the wrong Gojo. I’ve done nothing wrong.” He sends a string of angel emojis as proof of his innocence. 

 

Her reply comes almost immediately. “I know you know about my channel. You’ve commented ‘8==D’ on thirty-six of my videos! Don’t play dumb, you asshat. Unless you plan to tell me that there’s another [email protected]?” 

 

See, this is why he needs to stop using his work email for pleasure. Gotta work on fixing that. 

 

“Eeek! I must have been hacked - call the police!” 

 

“I’m losing my patience.” 

 

“Didn’t know you had any to begin with.” 

 

“Ugh, you’re impossible. Promise you won’t tell anyone about this.”

 

“I’ll have to think about it.” He rolls the next text around in his head for a moment, but then hits send before chickening out. “Though I wouldn’t be opposed to you buying my silence...”  

 

She doesn’t answer right away and he almost gets nervous. Then, his phone lights up. “Don’t you make enough money?” 

 

“Who says I want money? I’m not Mei.” 

 

“That’s usually what the word ‘buy’ entails.” 

 

“I’m nonstandard, remember?” She sends him a single eye roll emoji and nothing more, so he continues. “I never realized how sensual books could be. Shame on you, Utahime, for introducing your precious junior to the world of adult literature without any guidance!” Satoru hesitates. Why is he hesitating? He’s never thought twice about a hookup, why is this any different? Still, his thumb hovers over his phone for too long. She responds. 

 

“Yeah, so? Not my fault you can’t mind your own business. Go to a bookstore if you’re so interested, and ask for the bestselling adult novels.”

 

He deletes what he was about to send and types out a new message, relief spilling out of his pores. Not that it lasts long. “No, no, no! That’s not good enough! I need a mentor! You have to help me!”  

 

“What the fuck do you expect me to do? Get you a library card or something?”  

 

Gojo Satoru swallows and sends his reply with his eyes closed, tossing the phone on the sofa afterwards like it’s dynamite. “My proud length and I are all worked up with nothing to do. It’s all your fault! How are you going to take responsibility for this?”

 

Minutes pass. Satoru starts to sweat in weird places - his back, his hands, his feet. What the heck is she doing? How does he fix this? Should he send an “lol” to lighten the mood? Should he block her number? Should he fake his death? The possibilities are endless, but none are sitting right.

 

Her text comes just as he’s about to post a Facebook status lamenting that his phone has been stolen. 

 

“As much as I’d love to wipe that stupid smirk off your dumb face, you’re too far away.” 

 

Satoru has not known how it feels to take a breath until this very moment. 

 

He does not wait a second before answering, which he knows is in bad taste, but he’s not feeling particularly tactful today. “Don’t you mean you want to fuck the stupid smirk off my dumb, faery face?” 

 

“Fuck you.” 

 

“Please do.” Before she has a chance to banter back, he sends a follow up. “So, are you implying that you would help me if I was in Kyoto?” 

 

“I’m not not saying that.” 

 

The gods really do love him. This single text is proof. 

 

“And I’m not saying I can teleport, unless…?” Satoru would be lying if he says he isn’t grinning like an idiot, hopping on one foot trying to get his shoes on. 

 

“...Be here in an hour. And bring a cowboy hat, if you can.”  

 

Notes:

Shout out to NightingalesCalling for always beta reading my work (and also for putting up with me and my daily bullshit)!!! ❤️❤️❤️

 

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