呪術廻戦 ゛★ bsf frat boy!satoru pretends to be sick so you skip your date .
fem!reader ✩ standing up your date ✩ handjob ✩ fingering ✩ satoru has little to no boundaries ✩ best friends with benefits (?) ✩ mdni 18+ .
the whole year you’d been best friends with satoru gojo and somehow still managed to forget how much of a dramatic fucking bitch he could be when he didn’t get his way.
he was the kind of frat boy every girl on campus either wanted to ride or slap. six-four of pure ego and stupid good looks, white hair always a mess like he’d just rolled out of someone’s bed (he probably had), sigma chi letters stretched across his chest half the time, sunglasses perched on his head even when it was dark outside. loud. shameless. the guy who could turn the average tuesday night into a full-blown rager and still somehow pass all his classes without trying. he called himself the strongest for a reason—strongest beer pong player, strongest at getting free drinks, strongest at making you roll your eyes until they nearly fell out of your skull.
and tonight he decided to show up at your dorm unannounced like he always did, key he’d stolen months ago already turning in the lock before you could even yell at him to wait.
“babe, i brought snacks and that nasty energy drink you like and—holy shit.”
he stops dead in the doorway.
you’re standing in front of the mirror in the dress you’d spent an hour picking out, hair done, makeup on point, heels already strapped on. you look good. you know you look good. and the way satoru’s blue eyes drag over you from head to toe makes heat crawl up the back of your neck even though you’ve seen that look a hundred times before.
he kicks the door shut behind him with his foot, plastic bag of drinks dangling from one hand. “where the fuck are you going looking like that?”
you turn, finishing the last swipe of gloss. “i have a date.”
“a date, satoru. with a guy. from my lit class. we’re getting dinner.”
he stares at you like you just told him the sky is green. the bag crinkles in his fist. “since when do you go on dates?”
“since tonight. why are you even here? i texted you earlier that i was busy.”
“yeah, well, i ignored it because i thought you meant studying or some shit. not—” he waves a hand up and down your body like the dress personally offended him. “not this. cancel it.”
you snort, grabbing your bag off the bed. “absolutely not. i already said yes and he’s picking me up in twenty minutes.”
satoru’s face does something complicated. the cocky smirk flickers, then disappears entirely. he dumps the snacks on your desk without looking, then dramatically collapses onto your bed face-first like he’s been shot.
“i feel like shit,” he mumbles into your pillow.
“sick. fever. dying. could be the plague. you can’t leave me like this. what if i choke on my own spit and die alone in your dorm? that’d be on you.”
you stare at the six-foot-something wall of muscle currently face-planted in your sheets. “you walked in here fine thirty seconds ago.”
“it’s a sudden onset thing. very serious.” he rolls onto his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the other hand weakly gesturing at you. “look at me. pale. trembling. on death’s door. you really gonna abandon your best friend in his time of need just to go eat overpriced pasta with some random dude who probably still lives with his mom?”
“i might throw up. or pass out. or both. simultaneously. you want that on your conscience?” he cracks one blue eye open to peek at you, and the pout he pulls is so over-the-top it should be illegal. “c’mon. stay...” he whines, looking up at you. “we can order shitty pizza and watch that dumb reality show you like. i’ll even let you paint my nails or whatever girly crap you want. just… don’t go.”
the jealousy is so obvious it might as well be written on his forehead in sharpie. he never asks you to cancel plans. never acts this pathetic unless he’s three drinks deep or trying to get out of something. but right now he’s looking at you like the idea of you walking out that door in that dress to meet some other guy is physically hurting him.
your phone buzzes on the dresser. the date. “i’m ten minutes away.”
satoru’s eyes flick to the screen, then back to your face, and for once the usual loud bullshit drops just enough that you can see the real thing underneath—possessive and a little scared and way too honest for someone who usually hides everything behind sunglasses and shit-eating grins.
“you’re such a fucking baby.”
“your baby,” he corrects immediately, still pouting. “now text him before i start coughing up blood for real.”
you grab your phone, thumbs moving before you can second-guess it.
> hey, something came up. can’t make it tonight. rain check?
the reply comes almost instantly—disappointment, understanding, maybe next week—and you lock the screen without answering.
the second the message sends, satoru is moving.
he sits up, reaches out, and yanks you down onto the bed by the waist like he’s been waiting the entire conversation for permission. you land half on top of him with a surprised sound, the dress riding up your thighs, and he doesn’t give you a second to adjust. both arms wrap around you tight, one hand spreading wide across your lower back, the other sliding up under your hair to cradle the back of your neck. he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder and just stays there.
physical touch has always been his love language. you’re used to it—used to him draping himself over you on the couch during movie nights, used to him throwing an arm around your shoulders in public like he’s claiming territory, used to him demanding you sit in his lap to “keep him warm.” tonight is no different, just dialed up to eleven because of the jealousy still simmering under his skin.
“there. better,” he mumbles against your skin, voice muffled and smug and way too relieved. “told you i was dying. only cure is best-friend cuddles. doctor’s orders.”
“you’re so full of shit.”
“and you’re soft as hell for me.” he tightens his arms when you try to sit up, dragging you fully into his lap so you’re straddling one of his thick thighs. his hands are everywhere—one sliding under the hem of your dress to rest on the bare skin of your thigh, the other spanning your waist, thumb rubbing slow circles like he can’t stop touching. “stay right here. don’t move. i’m still recovering from the fact that you were going to leave me for a date.”
you huff, but you don’t fight him. his hands are warm and familiar. every time you shift even slightly he makes a low sound and hauls you closer, until you’re practically melted against his chest, legs tangled with his, the hard planes of his body solid underneath you.
the distinct, unmistakable press of something thick and hard against your hip.
you freeze. pull back just enough to look down between you, then up at his face.
“are you serious right now?”
satoru doesn’t even have the decency to look ashamed. he just grins, slow and shameless, blue eyes half-lidded as he rolls his hips up once, deliberate, letting you feel exactly how hard he is.
“not my fault,” he says, voice dropping into that low and lazy drawl that he uses when he’s about to be a problem. “you’re dressed like that. sitting on my lap. what’d you expect?”
“i expected my best friend not to get a boner while we’re just laying here.”
“and i expected my best friend not to look fuckable as hell in a dress she was about to wear for some other guy.” he shifts again, hands sliding lower so they’re gripping the backs of your thighs now, keeping you exactly where you are. the hard length of him is pressed right against you, impossible to ignore. “help a guy out, yeah? since you’re the one who caused it.”
you stare at him. “you want me to… what, exactly?”
“whatever you want.” his grin turns wicked, thumbs stroking the soft skin under your dress. “hand. mouth. vagina. i’m not picky. just don’t leave me like this after i came all the way here. that’d be cruel.”
he leans up, nose brushing yours, voice taunting.
“c’mon. you’ve helped me out before when i got too worked up after parties. what’s one more favor between best friends?”
his hands squeeze your thighs, pulling you down harder against the thick ridge in his sweatpants, and the sound he makes is filthy.
“or are you gonna make me take care of it myself while you’re right here looking like that? ‘cause i will. but it’d be a lot more fun if you did it for me.”
you shift a little, one leg sliding over his so you’re half-draped across him, chest pressed along his side, head up so you can look down at his face. the position puts your thigh right over the hard line of him, and every tiny movement makes him twitch.
“you’re shameless,” you mutter, but there’s no real heat in it. your free hand drifts down, fingers brushing over the waistband of his sweatpants like you’re testing the waters.
satoru’s grin stretches wider. “and you’re still kinda here with your leg on my dick, so… who’s the real problem?” he tips his chin up, blue eyes half-lidded. “c’mon. kiss me already. you’ve been staring at my mouth for like a full minute.”
you snort and roll your eyes at his audacity, but you lean in anyway. the first kiss is slow, almost lazy, the kind of familiar press of lips that happens when you’ve known someone too long and the line between friendly and not has been blurred for months. he makes a low, pleased sound and immediately deepens it, tongue sweeping against yours like he’s been waiting all night. one of his hands slides up your back, under the dress, palm warm against bare skin. the other stays on your thigh, squeezing, thumb tracing idle circles higher and higher.
you break the kiss just enough to talk against his mouth. “this is such a bad idea.”
“best idea i’ve had all week.” he nips your bottom lip, then soothes it with his tongue. “you canceled a whole date for me. least you can do is take care of the situation you caused.”
your hand slips under the waistband, fingers wrapping around him through the thin fabric of his boxers. he’s thick, hot, already leaking a little at the tip. the second you give a slow stroke he groans into your mouth and ends it off with a little whine that shot straight to the spot between your legs, hips rolling up into your grip.
“fuck— yeah, just like that.” his voice is rough, the cocky edge still there but it’s softened at the pleasure. “you’re good at this. always have been.”
you kiss him again, deeper this time, muttering between the wet slide of tongues. “you say that every time i touch you.”
“cause it’s true every time.” his hand on your thigh moves higher, fingers brushing the edge of your underwear. “want me to return the favor while you work me? fair’s fair. you’re already half on top of me. wouldn’t even have to move much.”
you pull back just enough to raise an eyebrow and look down at him, still stroking him slow and teasing. “you asking permission now? since when are you polite?”
“i’m a gentleman.” he grins up at you, completely full of shit, then leans up to catch your mouth again. the kiss turns messier, open-mouthed, a little desperate. his fingers slip under the side of your underwear, brushing over where you’re already wet. “or i can just take what i want. you know i’m whipped for you, baby.”
you snort into the kiss, hips shifting so his fingers can slide further if he wants. “whipped, yeah right,” you scoff lightly, “do it then. stop talking about it you brat.”
“bossy.” he laughs under his breath, but he listens. two long fingers push into you slow, curling just right while his thumb finds your clit. the angle is a little awkward with the way you’re half-lying on him, but he makes it work anyway, wrist flexing as he fucks into you in time with the strokes of your hand on his cock.
you break the kiss on a soft sound, forehead dropping to his. “jesus, satoru—”
“yeah?” he sounds wrecked already, hips rocking up into your fist. “feels good? you always get this wet for me or is it just ‘cause you get off on ditching your dates?”
“make me.” he leans up and claims your mouth again, kissing you through the next curl of his fingers. his free hand stays locked on your waist, keeping you close, touchy as ever—like he needs the constant contact. “c’mon, keep moving your hand. don’t get distracted just ‘cause i’m making you feel good too.”
you squeeze him harder in retaliation, twisting your wrist on the upstroke the way you know he likes. he curses into your mouth, fingers stuttering inside you for a second before he picks the rhythm back up.
“there you go,” he pants between kisses. “just like that. feels so fucking good. you sure you don’t wanna just climb on and ride me already? dress is already half off. wouldn’t take much.”
you laugh against his lips, breathless, still stroking him while he works you open. “you’re so fucking needy.”
“and you’re still touching me, so i must be doing something right.” he nips your jaw, then your throat, sucking a mark just below your ear while his fingers keep moving. “say the word and i’ll flip you over and finish this properly. or we can stay just like this. your call, bestie.”
his thumb presses harder against your clit at the same time he curls his fingers deep, and the sound you make is absolute music to his ears.
“keep going,” you manage, voice shaky. “just— keep going.”
satoru smiles against your skin. “yes ma’am. whatever you want.”
you keep stroking him, girp tighter now, twisting on every upstroke the way that always makes his thighs and abs tense. his fingers match the pace inside you, curling deep, thumb rubbing steady circles over your clit until your hips start subtly rocking against his hand without permission.
“fuck, look at you,” satoru pants against your mouth, still kissing you between words because the guy’s just that needy. “ditched a whole date just to sit here and get fingered by your best friend. you’re so fucked up for me.”
“you—you’re the one who faked sick,” you shoot back, voice shaky and words rudely interrupted by a moan as he adds a third finger and stretches you open. “don’t act like this isn’t ex-exactly—fuck—what you wanted.”
“never said it wasn’t.” he grins, blue eyes half-lidded and dark, hips bucking up into your fist, seeking more. “i wanted you in that dress. wanted you canceling on some random guy. wanted your hand on my cock and my fingers in your cunt. pretty sure i’m winning tonight.”
you laugh, breathless, and lean in to bite his bottom lip. “fuck you, you cocky asshole.”
“when, pretty girl?” he curls his fingers harder, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “c’mon, baby. you’re close. i can feel it. soak my fingers while you get me off. do it.”
the banter dissolves into messy kisses and broken sounds after that, the two of you busy seeking pleasure rather than being at each other’s throats. you move faster, thumb swiping over the head every time you reach the top. he fucks you with his fingers in the same rhythm, trying his best to match yours. his free hand stays locked on your waist the whole time, squeezing the skin there, keeping you pressed against him like he’s terrified you’ll suddenly remember you have somewhere else to be—like on a date with some dude from your class who can never make you moan like this.
“s-satoru— mmmphh, fuck—”
“yeah, i got you.” his voice cracks. “gonna cum for me?”
you break first. the orgasm hits hard, walls clenching around his fingers as you moan into his mouth, thighs shaking against his. he works you through it, slowing only when you start to twitch from overstimulation, then focuses on chasing his own.
“keep going— just like that, don’t stop baby, i know you’re feeling real good—” his legs push up so his knees go up with his legs spread, giving him more leverage to snap his hips up harder into your fist. a few more strokes and he’s coming with a low and needy groan, spilling hot over your fingers and onto his stomach. his whole body tenses under you, then goes slack.
for a long minute the only sound is the two of you trying to catch your breath.
you stay exactly where you are—half draped over him, one leg still thrown across his, hand messy and sticky, dress wrinkled beyond saving. satoru’s fingers pull out of your cunt, occasionally swiping your folds to feel how much he just made you cum. his other arm is wrapped tight around your back still, too lazy to move it anywhere else but the grip’s gone slack.
then the post-nut clarity hits like a truck—you bear the brunt of it.
you both let out the exact same long, exhausted sigh at the same time.
“…holy shit,” you mutter against his shoulder.
satoru huffs a quiet laugh, forehead pressed to your temple. “yeah.”
“i just canceled on a perfectly nice guy.”
“who was already on the way.”
“so i could stay here and jerk off my best friend while he fingered me.”
satoru’s grin is practically audible. “and you came first. just saying.”
you groan, both satisfied and frustrated, and bury your face deeper into his neck. “i’m going to hell.”
“we’ll go together.” he finally slides his fingers out of your panties, then wipes them on his own shirt. both arms wrap back around you immediately, pulling you fully on top of him so you’re chest to chest. “pizza’s still coming, by the way. and no pants for the rest of the night. don’t mind if the dress comes off though.”
“just shut up for two seconds.”
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