synopsis . Finding out your fwb is into being slapped and dominated. content . afab!reader, slapping, fratjo, stuffing fingers in his mouth, he’s a lil mean in the beginning, dom!reader, implied overstim, orgasm denial/edging, fucking an apology outta him, lots of begging, choking, masochism, one subby satoru, revealed mommy kink, etc. (not proofread)
author’s note: ib the banner art, which is from here.
You’d never been one to slap a man until now.
“I like you more when you don’t overthink things,” Gojo had said, back adorned with scratch marks that certainly weren’t from you based on the position you last let him fuck you in.
That wasn’t what set you off though.
No, it was moments later after a bit of back and forth when he found the nerve to cut you off and say, “Quit bitching, we’re not together.”
Slap!
Your hand flew right across his face without thinking.
While he was right—you two weren’t together—his words certainly didn’t have to be so harsh, especially not with you. It was audacious and most unexpected from him considering he was the one who started this relationship with you.
Although you figure you should’ve known things would turn out this way. He is a well known & sought after member of your university’s frat…
Gojo’s face was frozen in the direction you’d slapped it off to, his eyes widened as the pain struck all throughout his cheek and left it an agitated shade of pink. His tongue swat around the inside of his mouth before poking against the inside of the same cheek you'd struck, a small smirk spreading out across his rosy lips.
You should've know from then that this was not going to go into the angsty direction of conversation you were hoping for.
Not even seconds pass before his cock is rearing its plump head up against his sweats, having jumped to life after the feeling of pain spread throughout his body.
Your eyes trailed him up and down with confusion as to why he was smirking, brows taut until you found yourself doing a double take at his crotch. Honestly, you thought you imagined the excited boner that your slap just sprung about but, after a few bats of your lashes you quickly came to the conclusion that you weren't seeing things.
Hell, he got turned on so fast that it almost seemed like he'd only made his rude ass statement to get you to hit him. Was he insane?
Spoiler alert; yes.
You're not quite sure if it was the sight of his boner that got you into this position or the fact that you had anger you wanted to take out on him but, either way, you're promptly bouncing up and down the expanse of his cock now.
His voice was a lot more ragged as he spoke to you, the sound of it bubbling out of his throat as pathetic tears coated his blue gaze, "C-C'mon, you know I didn't mean it, baby."
"Do I know that?" You asked coldly, your finger tightly clasped to his jaw, keeping his head up and his eyes on your as you ride him.
"Uhuh, you do-, fuck... y'know you do," He mumbled, head nodding with a submissive quickness, and his bottom lip beginning to quiver.
Your hips rocked forward and he felt that mind numbing sensation of your pussy squeezing around his thick shaft, demanding he empty himself into you at any given moment. He may have been rude earlier but surely your cunt was being far ruder now.
"P-Please, I'll be good now," Gojo panted. Then his eyes sealed shut when your hand slipped down from his jaw and to his throat, the squeeze against his airway making his cock pulsate violently inside you—weeping for release.
You've been denying him of an orgasm for the past fifteen minutes now and he feels like he's on the verge of passing out, having never allowed anyone to edge him for this long.
A fucked-out giggle springs out of your throat as you sunk all the way down to his straining base, the puffy lips of your cunt left to bulge around him all cutely, "You're sayin' everything except what I wanna hear, 'Toru. Is it really this hard to say one little word?"
”No, but—hahh.. d’you really need to hear me apologize?” He asked as those pretty white lashes began to bat up at you with silent pleads. His hips impatiently buck upwards when you take an unnecessary amount of time to let his words sink in.
To which your grip around his neck gets stronger and your body leans forward a bit more, your chest mashed into his, “If you wanna cum then yeah.”
Gojo smiles all of a sudden before grunting out a half-assed, “M’sorry,” as if you were some kind of fool.
You saw straight through his little attempt and purposefully lifted your hips a bit before slamming them back down. “For what, Satoru?” You huff, feeling his breath hitch and tangle up against your palm.
“Ngh-,” Gojo moans, dick twitching within the saccharine warmth of your walls. “I’m sorry for bein’ so rude t’you..” He says as clearly as he can. It was quite difficult for him to avoid the slur in his words when your pussy had him overly drunk.
You repeat the same move from before and he tries to toss his head back, only to get tugged forward by the hand on his throat. Which makes him whine, “Ohfuck, yes, please don’t stop, please.”
“That’s it? You’re only sorry for being rude?” Your question comes out with so much tension behind it that he wonders if he’s truly yet to make up for his statement.
Though, you believe it to be deserved since he claimed you were bitching to him—all you did was express your feelings. And you’d like to think that if he meant it, he’d be too busy fucking it up into you to say it like that.
“I—,” He’s swiftly cut off by your fingers sliding into his mouth.
“M’not sure if I believe you, ‘Toru,” You teased with this look in your eyes that suddenly made him feel small for the first time in his life. You didn’t know it but he probably would’ve cum right then and there if you’d call him anything close to degrading. “If you’re really sorry, you’ll let me feel it, won’t you?”
Gojo nods dumbly again before mumbling a drooly, “Mhmmm,” around your fingers as he sucks on them obediently.
“Shit, you’re actually kinda cute like this,” The praise hits him at the same time his tip slathers against your sweet spot, causing both of you to moan out in unison.
His tongue lathers in between your digits and he keeps his eyes all doe-like ‘n pretty as he peers up at you. You could feel his whines around your fingers and each one made your chest tighten with a sense of pride.
You liked this side of him far more than you’d ever admitted.
When your fingers eventually fall from of his mouth, that’s when his own curl into the sheets below him.
“Can I,” He groans loudly in between his words, “Can I at least touch you now?” Another whine exits him when you nod in response, his hands flying to your hips to hold you as he lifts your body up a bit. Then he’s angling closer and his voice is pitching lower, “Can I cum now too?”
“Say please.” You command calmly.
Right then, Gojo starts fucking his needy cock up into your sopping hole, letting the squelches echo around his room and serve as a prelude to his incoming series of pleas. Next thing you know, he’s using his grip on your hips to help you ride him harder-, faster.
His voice cracks as he whimpers, “Please? Please let me cum. I-I won’t say anything like that ever again-, fuck.. I promise, I pinky promise. Please, I’ll be s’good for you. Please mo-,” He chokes then, as if to catch himself at the end.
You bite your lip and whisper, “Uh-uh, say it.”
Gojo can’t help but moan, his brows furrowing with frustration as your words make his head spin. You’re being pushed over onto your back faster than you have time to adjust and he’s pumping his cock into you at a different angle.
When your face begins to twist up into that expression he likes—the one that lets him know he’s hittin’ that sappy spot of yours just right, his own falters into something desperate.
Leaving him to huff a breathless, “Please mommy?”
“Good boy,” Your chime leaves you almost immediately and there’s a proud smile pulling itself across your lips. His cockhead nearly spurts at the sound but he waits oh-so-patiently for you to follow that up with a soft-spoken, “You can cum now.”
Then he’s cumming in thick, hot, ‘n creamy gushes, letting his eyes roll back til’ only the whites are showing as he releases the most pathetic moan you’ve ever heard.
Every drop of his load is thrusted into you with hushed out, ‘m’sorry’s tumbling out of his throat.
…And you may have imagined it but you swear he let a soft I love you slip as well.
can you still call each other friends when satoru, your best friend, has you straddling him on the couch as his tongue explores every inch of your mouth? you're grinding against him, one of his hands fondling your boob. you moan into his mouth, wanting more. but he pulls away instead, breaking the kiss. he looks at you, eyes half-lidded with a lazy smile on his kiss-swollen lips. "you taste so fucking good, baby", he whispers before capturing your lips again.
can you still call each other friends when your fingers were deep inside your aching hole as satoru watched you through the screen, dick in hand? it started as a regular call, but somewhere along the line, he pulled out his cock and started stroking it right infront of you. "don't be shy now. i can't be the only one putting on a show, sweet girl".
can you still call each other friends when satoru had you in his dorm room, legs spread as he eats you out oh so good? he licks a stripe from your clenching hole to your clit making you shiver. your hand is covering your mouth, concealing your moans so that his roommates don't know what's happening. which he does not like. satoru bucks on your clit before looking up at you with creased brows. "i wanna to hear ya"
"but what about?-"
"don't care. i want you to moan for me. let me know how good i'm making you feel."
can you still call each other friends when satoru dragged you to the men's restroom, your hands against the wall as he he pulls up your skirt and pushed your panties to the side before sliding his cock deep inside of you. he's grunting shamelessly loudly before delivering a sharp spank to your ass and thrusting even deeper inside of you. "fuck! 'toru...mmmm...slow down-haah", but he doesn't. satoru just slaps your ass again and grips it before dumping his seed deep inside of you.
can you still call each other friends when he wraps his arm around your waist and leads you out of the restroom, with a kiss on the cheek and patting your ass once before before letting you go.
this isn't what would be classified as a regular friendship, but you wouldn't have it any other way
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In the rink, in the dining hall, at those godawful frat mixers he wasn't fond of but showed up to because people liked it when he did so.
He was a walking headline: hockey’s brightest star, face made for highlight reels, and a record from last season that still made his coach choke up mid-speech. So when a girl sat down next to him in the library and didn’t look at him, Satoru thought he might be hallucinating.
You had your laptop open, notes spread next to an intro to econ textbook, and when he sat down, knowing he was impossible to ignore, you didn't bother looking up.
“Y’know,” He started, shit eating grin practiced, “most people at least say hi before stealing my good luck.”
"Huh?" Your pen scratched across the page. “Your what?”
“My good luck. You’re in my spot.”
You glanced at him, finally, eyes flat as if he were some guy complaining about printer ink. “There are thirty tables in here.”
Yeah, okay, technically you were right. There were thirty tables, but this one? This was his table. The one with the slanted leg that made his left skate twitch whenever he sat here, the one with the gouge across the surface that looked suspiciously like a hockey stick had carved through it years ago. This was the spot he always used when he crammed before exams; he convinced himself that it carried good luck, like the way he always tied his skates left to right or knocked his stick against the bench three times before skating onto the rink.
Superstition, maybe. He'd never test what happened when he didn’t follow the rules. Did you not get it? Did you not feel the weight of what you were messing with? He could already picture it: him bombing the next game, tripping over his own damn feet on the ice, all because a pretty girl had hijacked his seat in the library and didn’t blink about it.
No flutter of apology, no wide-eyed gasp of recognition, no “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, campus legend, here, take it.”
There are thirty tables in here. Were you messing with his head?
Maybe you hadn’t recognized him. Rookie mistake.
“You seriously don’t know who I am?” He insisted, sounding more and more like a conceited asshole.
You tilted your head, brow furrowed, and said, “You’re loud.”
Loud. Loud? Girls usually called him charming. For the first time in twenty-one years, he felt himself flounder.
“Wait,” He tried again, throwing out his ace card. “You didn’t see us win the championship last spring?”
“No?” You said, pen tapping against her notebook. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
The championship was the event last year; the school practically set fire to itself after the win. Professors canceled classes. Someone spray-painted his number across the quad fountain. People still stopped him on the street to say thanks for the title.
Yet here you fucking were, sent down from space apparently, blinking at him like he’d just asked if you’d ever heard of sliced bread.
“Uh, yeah,” He chuckled, maybe you needed reminding. “National title? We were on ESPN? Big shiny trophy, confetti, me lifting the captain over my shoulders—ringing any bells?”
“None.” You clicked your pen twice and went back to scribbling.
His jaw actually dropped. He felt heat crawl up his neck, a strange, tight thing that wasn’t anger but sure as fuck wasn’t comfort either.
Most girls would’ve killed for this interaction, batted their lashes, let him explain every second of his highlight reel, begged him to sign something stupid, like their arm. You made him sound like a door-to-door salesman peddling a product you didn’t want.
Worse—Was this what being provoked felt like? Not on the ice, not in a fight with a rival defenseman, but here, in the library, by a girl who hadn’t bothered to look up properly?
“You’re screwing with me,” He accused, his cologne slipping into your airspace. “Nobody lives under a rock that big.”
You sighed and finally turned, pinning him with a look that was all irritation and absolutely no awe. “Do you ever shut up?”
The audacity.
Satoru Gojo, manwhore, golden boy, ego the size of the rink—should’ve been insulted. He should’ve rolled his eyes, found another girl, and drowned himself in validation shots at the bar later.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice droppinp, plotting sin, “if I shut up, how would you know what you’re missing?”
Your pen stilled. He thought victory! He’d cracked through—earned a blush, a laugh, something. As if.
You turned back to your notes, cool as ice. Gojo tilted his head, squinting at you. Perhaps if he changed the angle, you’d suddenly remember who he was and start acting normal about it.
“Okay, wait.” He held up a hand, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Have we met before?”
“What?”
“Because, like…” He leaned closer, studying your face. Pretty. Definitely unforgettable. “If we’ve met, and I was—” his grin faltered for a second, “—I dunno, mean to you or something, that would explain why you’re acting like this.”
Your pen stopped moving, not quite believing the words leaving his stupid mouth.
“And by mean,” he rushed to clarify, “I mean, accidentally cut in line in the dining hall, or stole your chair in class. Not really mean. I’m not a monster.”
The look you gave him was priceless, somewhere between are you serious and I’d rather choke on this pen cap than respond. But his brain wouldn’t shut up. It couldn’t. Because what if that wasn’t it?
What if it was…oh, shit.
“Wait—” His eyes widened. “Did we—?” He gestured vaguely, lowering his voice into something conspiratorial. “Did we hook up? And I forgot to text you back?”
Now you were gaping at him, literal disgust painted across your face. “Excuse me?”
“Because if I did,” he backpedaled instantly, heart thumping, “first of all, I’m so sorry. That’s not usually my style. Okay, maybe sometimes it’s my style, but I swear I would’ve remembered you. You’ve got a, uh…” His tongue tripped over the word face. Soul. Anything. “You’ve got an unforgettable vibe.”
He sounded insane. He was insane. What the hell was wrong with him?
You shoved your notebook closer to yourself, clearly done with this entire exchange. “Do you not remember the people you sleep with?"
Oh great, now you sounded ten times more repulsed.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit. That sounded bad. Out loud it sounded bad.
He’d been around the block once or twice—or more. Fine, a lot more. But what the fuck else was he supposed to do? He was the rising star of the hockey program, winning game after game, the entire school riding his name like it was their meal ticket. He tried not to get sloppy, not to get wasted too often, because staying in shape for the rink mattered. The girls flocked like moths. He’d step into a bar, and three different majors would combust in the corner booth.
Was he supposed to…say no? Let them cry? Break their little campus-sweetheart hearts? No! He liked to help. He was generous, and he had a reputation for it, actually. If his generosity sometimes looked like making out in the back of a frat house or stumbling home at 2 a.m. with glitter on his shirt—that wasn’t his fault.
So yeah, he didn’t remember everyone. But you? He’d remember you. He would’ve. Satoru dragged a hand through his hair, hoping the sheer proximity might dig him out of the hole he’d already sunk into.
“That’s not—okay, that sounded bad. Really bad. But—listen, I don’t forget people. I swear. I mean, maybe once or twice, but that’s only because—”
“Because what?”
He felt like he was back on the ice, blade catching, the whole arena waiting for him to fall. Because what? Because, shit—because you looked like that. Even with your brows drawn in irritation and your mouth set in a thin, don’t-you-dare line, you were ridiculous.
You had this softness at the corner of your eyes that stayed even when you glared, and a faint sheen of lip balm he wanted to taste.
“Because,” he blurted, smiling too wide, “I wasn’t myself that night. Probably concussed! Happens a lot, hockey players y'know."
He wanted to laugh it off, lean on his usual charm, but something about your absolute refusal to play into his script made his confidence drop to the ends of the earth.
“Okay, no, wait,” he said quickly, voice pitching up as the words tumbled out faster than he could control. “You’d know if I ghosted you. I mean—do I look like the kind of guy who would just leave someone hanging like that?”
“Yes,” you deadpanned, flat as the damn rink.
Attraction bloomed right alongside offense, until he couldn’t tell the difference between the two. How dare you. How dare you make him feel this shit and yet still attracted.
His knee bounced under the table. His grin was slipping but he refused to let you see it.
“So…” The words kept dragging, fishing for something, anything that didn’t make him sound like a jackass. “We didn’t....?”
You blinked at him, incredulous. “Absolutely not.”
Ouch.
The certainty in your voice hit him harder than a body check at full speed. No hesitation, no coy smile, only flat-out rejection.
He’d heard a lot of things from girls in his life, squeals, giggles, even the occasional I love you muttered too soon, but never those two words.
“Wow.” He whistled low, trying to play it off. “You said that with your whole chest, huh?”
“Because it’s true,” you replied, eyes already dropping back to your notes. “And if it wasn’t obvious, it will never be true.”
Never. Christ.
Offense fused with fascination, humiliation with attraction, until Gojo Satoru, the guy who’d coasted through life on charm and cheekbones, didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do with himself.
On instinct, he invaded your space again, because distance felt too much like defeat.
“Y’know,” he murmured, grin tugging at his lips, “most people would die for the privilege of saying they’ve been in my bed.”
You looked at him slowly, eyes narrowing like you’d just discovered mold on week-old bread.
“Oh my god,” you said flatly. “You think I’m upset because I missed my shot at sleeping with you?”
That…wasn’t the reaction he’d planned. Wait. Were you mocking him? That tone belonged to rival defensemen right before he dropped gloves. It belonged to teammates when they roasted his Spotify playlists. But from a girl? No, worse—from a girl who didn't know who he was?
“That’s not—” He defended himself, but you cut him off.
“No, no, let’s roll with it,” You nodded like you were genuinely considering it. “Clearly, my life is empty and tragic because I didn’t make it onto your…what? List? Roster? Whatever you call the collection of poor souls you can’t even remember the names of.”
Roster. Christ. Nobody had ever called it that out loud. He opened his mouth, closed it again.
“And just to be clear,” You went on, pen twirling between your fingers as if this conversation wasn’t obliterating his entire ego, “you think I’m sitting here, in the library, studying supply and demand, all while secretly pining over the fact that Satoru Gojo didn’t bless me with his—” you paused, smirk dangerous “—what, five minutes of glory?”
He choked. FIVE MINUTES? That was… that was character assassination. That was slander. That was—Wait.
Wait wait wait.
His name. You said his name. His heart tripped over itself like it had forgotten the rhythm. “Hold on. Did you—? You do know who I am?”
You looked up, unimpressed. “Of course I know who you are.”
But—you—so you’ve known this whole time?”
“Obviously.” You leaned back in your chair, as if he weren’t unraveling in front of you, "We've been in the same class since freshman year."
Same class? Since freshman year? No. No, no, absolutely not.
Impossible.
He would’ve remembered you. He had to have. That pretty face? That sharp tongue? The way you looked at him like he was gum on the bottom of your shoe? That wasn’t forgettable.
You weren’t the type who could sit in the back row and fade into the wallpaper. He would’ve seen you. Clocked you. Stored you away for later, the same way he catalogued every superstition, every ritual, every habit that kept his game tight.
Unless—you were lying. Fucking with him, testing him. Yeah, that had to be it.
If what you said was true, then Gojo Satoru, campus legend, face-on-a-banner Gojo Satoru, had gone three years without noticing someone like you.
“Nah, see, that doesn’t make sense. We couldn’t have been in the same class. I’d remember.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He repeated it like it was the dumbest question in existence. “Look at you. You’re…” His hand gestured vaguely; his brain couldn’t settle on a word. Pretty? Scary? “There’s no way I would’ve missed you.”
"I'm flattered."
Fuck. Direct hit with sarcasm.
Maybe you transferred last year and sat in the corner and wore disguises. Except—god, look at you. Your mouth was so plump even when you were unimpressed; your eyes skimmed over him like he wasn’t worth the carbon dioxide he was exhaling. No one ever looked through him, you should’ve been burned into his memory from the first second.
He was half-hard and humiliated and trying not to look like either.
"You come here often?"
You snorted in response. "And it gets worse."
"Don’t knock it. I’m trying here.”
“Don’t.” Your pen scratched another note. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
He laughed anyway, because what else was he supposed to do? Walk away? Admit defeat? Not a chance.
“So you have noticed me before,” he pushed, eyes zoning on your pretty caligraphy. Why the fuck is he assessing calligraphy now?
“I notice colds before they knock me on my ass, too. Doesn’t mean I want them.”
He gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “Cold? That’s harsh, sweetheart.”
“And desperate.”
His knee bounced faster under the table, he'd never been called desperate before. But then again, he was here begging for scraps of your attention while you flicked him away like a mosquito.
"I’m not all bad. I’m fun. I’m generous. I—” he swallowed, embarrassment crawling up his neck, “I eat pussy like a fucking champ.”
Your eyes went wide with incredulous amusement. “Are you bragging about your tongue in the middle of the library?”
Shit. Shit. He had.
“I—I mean—” he stammered, cheeks flushing despite the smile he pasted on, “it’s true, really true. Ask—well, maybe don’t ask, but…” He trailed off, groaning into his hands. “Fuck.”
You laughed for the first time since he sat down.
“Wow. That’s your pitch? Not your stats, not your trophies, not the championship ring—you want me to be impressed because you’re apparently good at going down?”
His throat bobbed. “...Yes?”
He wasn’t lying. He was good. But now it sounded like begging.
"And pray tell, Satoru, does eating pussy get you to shut the fuck up?"
He chastised himself, for the hundredth time, not to look. It was library etiquette, common decency. But when you turned to ask him the question, the tilt of your shoulders and the reckless way your top didn’t quite cooperate with whatever modesty laws applied to campus left him speechless.
His gaze moved with a mind of its own, snagging, then jerking away as if burned, "Yeah?"
The part of him that catalogued strengths and weaknesses—opponents’ tendencies, teammates’ favorite pregame songs—now kept a new private stat line: your collarbone, the curve under that fabric, the casual ripple when you crossed an arm.
"So, hypothetically speaking of course, if I sat on your face, would you leave me alone?"
His brain flat-lined, then rebooted with all the grace of a freshman goalie.
“...Yes.” The word squealed out before he could process it. His knee stilled, broad shoulders leaning forward like a man possessed.
Your lips quirked. “Is that so?” you echoed, mock-sweet.
“Yeah,” he rasped, voice dropping low, rough with need. “You can use me. Sit on my face, grind on me ‘til you’re done—fuck, I’ll be quiet, I swear. You won’t even know I’m here."
"Mmh, hard to believe."
He was hard under the table, fingers flexing against his thighs because he wanted to touch, wanted to taste.
You tilted your head, "And what if I don’t cum?”
His pupils blew wide, a scoff leaving his lips, voice was hoarse when it came out. “You will."
You closed your laptop with a sharp snap. His breath caught.
“Pack your shit, hockey boy."
He scrambled, fumbling with his notebook, shoving things into his backpack like the national title was on the line. His grin was back, but it was ruined—half feral, half worship.
Fifteen minutes in, Gojo Satoru knew two things: one, he was absolutely working harder for you than he had for any championship game. And two, if this was love—ugly, humiliating, face-red love—he was already ruined.
Not on the ice, not in overtime, but here—cramped between two sagging shelves of books no one had touched since the fucking Carter administration with your back pressed to history and your skirt bunched around your hips.
He’d thought about this, the second you said pack your shit, but thinking wasn’t the same as kneeling. Thinking wasn’t the same as parting your thighs, your plushy thighs brushing over his cheekbones, tongue already itching to taste.
“Fuck,” he whispered, the word falling out on a groan.
He didn’t wait for permission, nosing in, open mouth to the wet patch on your panties, starving for this exact thing. You hissed in surprise, fingers flying to his white hair as he mouthed over the fabric, sucking until it was soaked through.
The sound was echoing in the tight aisle, and he hoped someone heard. Let the whole place know Gojo Satoru was down on his knees like a supplicant for a gorgeous girl who apparently hated his guts. He hooked your leg over his shoulder, shoving the scrap of lace aside, and licked, moving his tongue because he had something to prove.
You’d mocked him, dismissed him, called him desperate, and Christ, he was.
The first drag of his tongue through your puffy folds made you gasp so daintily, his cock twitched in a way that he almost doubled over.
“There she is,” he mumbled against you, “Knew you’d sound pretty.”
He was nose-deep between your thighs, knees wrecked on the shitty carpet, tongue working like the game clock was winding down.
“God, you’re so—” you broke off on a shaky breath, “So annoying.”
He pulled back to grin, lips already swollen. “Annoying?” He gave your clit a lazy kitten lick. He pushed his tongue into you, just the tip, shallow strokes teasing in and out, never giving you the full thing.
Your thighs shook. “You motherfucker—”
“Mmh?” Gojo looked up with those crystalline eyes, gleaming, his tongue still moving. “What was that? Annoying?”
Your hips rolled against his mouth, and he let you—hell, he wanted you to. He flattened his tongue, let you take what you needed, let you smear yourself all over him until his chin was slick and his ego was obliterated.
You glared down at him, breath hitching when he did it again—short, fast little thrusts that had slick gushing onto his face.
“Soooo annoying, sweetcheeks?” His grin split wider as he dragged his tongue out and shoved it back in.
You gasped, nails scraping over his scalp. “Stop—fuck, stop playing around—”
“Playing?” he mumbled against you, nose nudging your clit while his tongue fucked you mercilessly, shallow. “Baby, I’m workin’ overtime here. I’m your MVP.”
Gojo tried to keep the jokes at first. But then he got a real taste of you—dizzying—and it shut down his whole brain.
“You—fuck—you taste…” His words dissolved into a hungry moan as he licked you open, hoping he could somehow drown in it.
Every slick gush on his tongue made his cock grow impossibly harder; it had him gripping your thighs like a bitch. His ego couldn’t hold up under it—he was whining now, actually whining, rutting his face against you.
“So good—so good, I can’t—” He gave up talking, gave up everything, burying his mouth against you.
He sucked at your clit, slurped greedily, tongue plunging inside your hole until his jaw ached. He didn’t care. He wanted the humiliation of being strung out on the taste of you, until your legs trembled against his ears. He hummed low, vibration spilling into you, because fuck yeah, he was good at this.
Gojo knew that much.
When you whimpered his name, dragged from your lungs against your will, Satoru thought he might die happy right there, knees bruised on the library carpet.
“Look at you,” you muttered. “Finally shut the fuck up.”
He whimpered against you, hips wanting to rut the air if he could, and you felt the words more than heard them, a muffled, desperate plea: “Please… just let me…”
He was gone, whining into your cunt, eating you like you were the first and last thing he’d ever be allowed to taste.
"Keep it down!" You hissed in between pants. When you tried to push him away with a shaky hand, he only growled and latched onto your clit. “Sa—toru—” Your voice broke.
Satoru pressed two fingers into you without warning, while his mouth sealed over your clit again. The combination had your back slamming into the bookshelf, books rattling, your gasp echoing far too loud in the so-called quiet.
You tried to scold him again, but he felt the words become caged in your lungs, a strangled cry took their place when his fingers stroked deeper.
Your head tipped back against the shelf, neck arched, throat bared. Lips parted, trembling with a cute cry you tried to swallow down. He’d seen girls moan before, but you? So fucking pretty when you lost control.
Your brows pinched both from pleasure and what he'd guess was the remaining hatred for his personality, lashes fluttering. He swore he saw stars burst behind his eyes at the sight. His mouth never stopped moving.
Gojo's pupils were blown, wide and adoring, drinking you in like he'd never seen a woman cum before. You squeezed around his fingers so tightly he thought his knuckles were going to snap. Your thighs clamped around his ears, and instead of fighting it, he let himself be smothered. His cock twitched painfully in his jeans, untouched, but he didn’t care. This was better.
Your back arched, breasts heaving under your top, a broken sob tearing free as your orgasm came along. You shook, hips grinding helplessly into his mouth, and Satoru’s vision blurred with tears he didn’t realize had pricked his eyes. He kept his gaze locked on you—star-eyed, dazed, a man who’d finally found something worth worshipping.
Your orgasm bled out slowly, in shivers and slow breaths, until you finally slumped against the bookshelf, thighs loose around his head. Gojo kept his mouth on you anyway, coaxing every last twitch, humming while hoping he could wring another wave out of you if he tried hard enough.
But then your hand came down on his shoulder—a pat, like he was a dog that had done a trick well.
“That’s enough,” you murmured, still breathless.
Gojo blinked up at you, face wet, utterly starstruck.
“Enough?” he rasped. He looked like he’d just been baptized and then excommunicated in the same breath.
You smoothed your skirt back into place, eyes still glazed, but your mouth turned into the faintest smirk. “Yeah. Thanks for the service or whatever.”
“Service?” Gojo repeated, stupefied, still kneeling there on the shitty carpet.
You shouldered your bag from one of the shelves, legs falling down from his shoulders, stepping back into the aisle like nothing world-ending had happened.
“Try to stay quiet on your way out, champ.”
Then you were gone.
He stayed crouched, staring at the space you’d vacated, catching up with the fact that you’d just gotten off on his tongue and left him hard and dripping in the library stacks.
Realizing he didn't even know your name.
Not that it mattered—he would remember it the moment he found out, no matter what. A slow, crazed look took over his face as he tilted his head back against the shelf, chuckling at himself.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smiling like a lunatic. His heart was sprinting, and his cock was still painfully hard. He pressed his fingers to his mouth, committing the taste of you, the sound of you, the whole impossible picture to memory.
★After one more of your encounters, FWB!Satoru realises you're not as calm as you seem.
★ cw: fluff fluff fluff, a bit of smut but just a tad, SATORU IN LOOOOOOVE
★wc: 509
FWB!Gojo, who'd railed the life out of you barely minutes ago…
Well, railed isn't the right word.
How his hand intertwined with yours, noses barely touching as he stared into your eyes, whispering praise with every soft roll of his hips, making sure you felt full. Breath fanning across your cheek, head following every time you'd try to look away.
"Hey, no, pretty girl, no. Me. Look at me."
Those baby blues so gentle while he hugged you through your orgasm, soon following with his own. Letting his forehead rest against your shoulder, a soft sigh from his lips when you started to play with his hair.
Maybe it was the orgasm, or maybe it was the strain of holding himself up to not crush you, but his heart was pounding against his chest.
He shrank away when you moved from underneath him, waddling to the bathroom while babbling about how you have to pee, or else you'll get an UTI.
So he lay there, back to the headboard now, eyes lazily drifting across the room to lay on you, beautifully naked and yet, the first thing he wants to see if your smile. "Was that good?" He says, voice soft and low and—
"Of course it was good." You'd replied, looking away. Grabbing one of his shirts, slipping on your own pants. "You get too much in my face, though. Makes it feel like you're… uhm…"
He feels his heart do a happy little flip. In love, that's what you'd thought.
"Yeah? Use your words, or did this dick knock your thoughts out—"
A pillow is sent flying in his direction, and he breaks into laughter. Placing it behind his head, crossing his arms. "You won't even stay and cuddle?" He mumbles, the hurt not being hidden by his tone.
"Satoru, I'm hungry."
"Yeah, me too." He sighs, standing up, slipping on sweats and a band shirt. Stopping in front of the mirror to smile at your reflections, his hand around your waist, hugging you to his side. "We're matching!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You scoff, and he doesn't catch your eyes, no. It's like you toletared him, which.. well… was the complete opposite of what he felt.
"So, grumps, let's get waffles." He says, picking you up bridal style as you kick your feet, letting out a squeal as he laughs. "Gosh, you're so adorable. Whatever. We need to get going to get my wife waffles—"
"I hate that nickname, 'Toru—"
"No you don't, wife."
"Ugh. Whatever. You pay."
He doesn't miss how your cheeks turn pink.
Nor does he miss how you smile when you look at him, how your eyes sparkle with something a bit more. How, when he's busy eating to speak, you let him wait to keep saying whatever he was saying.
How you pressed kisses to his lips in a hug when he took you home.
Or how, when he texted you, the name that popped up was [Satoru baby🩵], instead of just his name.
Maybe he did matter to you. Maybe.
masterlist!
taglist! @mannythemunchkin, @asherthecompost
✪A/N: hear me out I had a vision. I was listening to cigarettes after sex okay pls dont bully me but UGH i couldnt stop thinking of lovesisck gojoo aughhhhhh
✰ gn!reader x gojo ✰ fwb!gojo, one-bed trope, sugushoko cameo, suggestive content (MDNI) ++ mildly ib this post from @/woahjo bc reading it put me in such a fwb!gojo mood it's so good TT enjoy this short lil brainrot ✰
“rock, paper, scissors—!”
shoko’s hand smacks down against her palm at the right moment, her fingers curled into the shape of her fist— the shape of a rock, technically. what follows is a split second of silence before the erupting sound of her cheers, and suguru’s subsequent groans.
“damn it,” he huffed, pouting at the shape he had put his own hand into— the shape of scissors, the pair of his index and middle fingers proving to be no match against shoko’s rock.
“looks like shoko gets the master bedroom,” satoru snickers as he watches them, playfully bumping his shoulder against your own while he spoke— something that made shoko narrow her eyes at you with a knowing glance for a moment before suguru was ushering satoru over.
“whatever, it’s your turn.”
when in doubt, a friendly game of rock, paper, scissors between 4 adult friends is the perfect way to decide who gets to sleep in which bedroom in the cabin you all rented out for the weekend. a cabin that, unlike what was mentioned in the original listing, only had three bedrooms instead of four. this meant that one of you was going to take the couch— and so far, it wasn’t gonna be shoko.
“hah!” with luck finally on his side, suguru grins triumphantly as he loudly slaps his hand over satoru’s fist, beating satoru’s own rock with his paper. satoru blinks in surprise at this, his expression falling from that signature easy grin of his to a look of genuine shock.
“can we do best two out of three?” satoru tries, but quickly raises his hands in defense when shoko clicks her tongue at him, jabbing her finger into his chest to reprimand him for trying to avoid his fate.
“it’s not over yet, you still might win this next one,” you offered, raising your own hands into position as you now stepped in front of satoru, taking suguru’s place.
satoru’s lips fell into a pout as he positioned himself, but even a child could tell he was putting on an act. satoru’s eyes meet your own, and for a short moment, you seem to forget where you two are. there’s an unmistakeable glint in those icy blue irises that makes you feel as though it was just the two of you hanging out, as if suguru and shoko weren’t both spectating your every move this very instant.
you resist the urge to glance over at them, not wanting to see what kind of look they were throwing your way. ever since you and satoru started to… mess around, there’s been this undeniable tension between the four of you. like there’s an elephant in the room that everyone knows is there but no one wants to be the first to acknowledge it.
if satoru wasn’t so good at making you feel good, you’d probably worry about the elephant more than you currently are. truth be told, it hasn’t affected any other aspect of your friendship with him or the others— besides the occasional awkward glances whenever satoru’s touch lingers on you for a moment too long —so you’re perfectly fine with what you two have going on.
after all, as long as it’s not keeping you up at night, what’s stopping you from having a little fun with one of your best friends?
you’re pulled from your thoughts when satoru gasps, his lips curling up into a relieved smile as he jabs his fingers over your hand— he did scissors, and you did paper.
(if you were any more childish, you’d have thought the implication of your fingers in between his was him making things too obvious in front of suguru and shoko. but it’s not like you’re thinking about that right now, anyway. of course you aren't.)
“oh,” you can’t really stop your voice from sounding mildly disappointed, shoulders slouching a little as you pulled your hands back and crossed your arms over your chest. “good game, i guess.”
it’s not until much later on, however, when you’re all getting ready to sleep, that satoru approaches you once more about the current bed situation.
“hey,” he whispers, though he has no real reason to— the others are still awake, just in the other room. “you didn’t really think i’d let you sleep on the couch, did you?”
you look up at him from your position on the couch— you’d just gotten comfortable against the cushions, about to pull your blanket up to your chin when he peered over from the behind the furniture. he tilts his head as he looks down at you, white tufts of hair falling over his face.
(he looks... pretty; with the moonlight shaping his features, and whatnot.)
by sheer instinct, you huff in response. “i just got comfortable.”
satoru merely grins at that— it’s not a rejection, after all. “you’ll be even more comfortable in an actual bed. come on.”
he urges you softly, tugging at the blanket draped over your waist. it truthfully didn’t take much at all for him to convince you— with a small roll of your eyes, you bit the inside of your cheeks to suppress a small smile as you got up from the couch.
you quickly learned that satoru just so happened to get the bedroom furthest down the hallway from the other two rooms. a small part of you wonders if that was a conscious decision on his end.
especially now because, after lying in silence next to each other for a only few minutes, you somehow ended up rolling on top of him— lips slotting against his as if they were made to.
it’s not like either of you planned it, but it’s also gotten increasingly harder lately to be alone around him without immediately getting the urge to jump his bones. you reckon he feels the same, if the firm way his hand slides up and down the expanse of your back before slipping underneath your shirt says anything about it.
“mmh,” he hums against your lips, his chest rising and falling at a steadily increasing pace. your legs move to straddle his waist as you make out with him, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt when you grip his shoulders. he kisses you the same way he always seems to— breathless, needy.
he nips at your lower lip just as you start to pull away, quietly gasping for air. your eyes are still closed, so you completely miss the way his own glaze over as he admires you above him. he could get used to this view.
“we probably shouldn’t…” you trailed off, biting your lip when your eyes fluttered open, only to find he was already staring at you.
“‘probably’?” he parrots, lips curling up into another grin when you hesitate in your response. his fingernails trace along your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake— gently coaxing the truth out of you. “is that what you want?”
“you already know what i want,” your response comes faster than you’d expected it to. it’s hard to miss the way his breath hitches, hearing the resoluteness in your tone.
slowly, he sits up, pulling you up with him until his back is leaning against the headboard. he’s quick to pull you back onto his lap, both hands now slipping underneath your shirt, his head falling forward until his lips are ghosting over your jawline.
“then tell me when to stop,” he murmurs lowly against your skin. there's a small, painless pinch on your waist; satoru presses the skin in between his fingers, struggling to hold back the steadily increasing desire he feels for you.
you sigh softly, your head tipping back slightly, exposing more of your neck to him in the process. “i don’t think i’ll want to.”
it’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s gripping the hem of your shirt, bunching up the fabric in his fists as he hastily pulls it up and over your head. the very instant your shirt is pulled off his lips are capturing yours once more, the action effectively solidifying how the rest of the evening will go:
you'll fuck your best friend again, and cross your fingers that the others don't hear you down the hallway.
⚝ synopsis : satoru likes you to a painful degree, dare he say he loves you. everyone but you can see it. the problem? you only want to be friends (with benefits).
⚝ content : 18+, fem reader, tiniest bit of angst, fwbs to lovers, oral (m receiving), college au, piv, pet names, brief mention of dubcon? (drunk reader), mentions of alcohol, rated w for whiny gojo, pet name(s), prὁne-bone, possessiveness, praise bc he's just a sweetie, choking, reader is spoiled but so is he, MDNI.
⚝ word count : 3.2k | 11 min read. y'all idk how this happened
⚝ a/n : gege please dpwm i need my man back this INSTANT. but tysm u guys for the warm welcome !! like, comment &/or reblog for smooches on the mouf ♡
𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 friday night, another club outing satoru did not wanna be on.
granted, it was a setting that would otherwise be right up his alley. satoru was the life of the party after all, the loudest one in the room without fail. but he could distinctly remember the point before your arrangement began, and after.
it didn't matter before that he could get anyone he wanted, have any warm body take up space in his king-sized bed. it didn't matter that you could do the same; dance up on anyone, grind your perfect ass against them until they had no presence of mind but to follow your piper's song to the nearest empty room. then regale your best friends with the details the next morning.
however, after the first time you propositioned him, drunk out of your mind but purring in his lap like a needy cat, it only became harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself in public. his patience to wait out these parties to get you home wore thinner, to the point of near-nonexistence. obnoxiously thrumming bass, bodies smacking together like mindless fish caught in a net, having to yell and strain to hear his friends standing less than a foot in front of him...things he never minded at all before became all too fucking annoying.
but you've always acted as his life raft, bidding his escape with a, "wanna get out of here, toru?"
and he followed every single time, ignoring shoko's wiggling eyebrows and geto's smirking as you led the way out the door. their jeering bounced right off his skin; he felt damn-near invincible knowing he'd be having his own kind of fun, with much better music.
tonight was no different. you stood by the bar, drumming your fingers against the counter while waiting for the bartender to return with two drinks. satoru's eyes roved over your body shamelessly over the rim of oval glasses, taking in the expanse of your legs that weren't covered by your leather miniskirt and the way your top hugged to your figure. he approached with his bottom lip tucked, much like his hands in the pockets of his pants.
by the time he arrived to stand next to you, the glasses were placed down with a muted "clunk," just barely perspiring as his usual was passed into his freed palm.
"my saviour," he greeted, bent over at the waist to let the words brush against your ear, "what would i do without you?"
"mmm-mm," you shrugged, grinning in return, "probably die of thirst."
satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, rightening his posture to take a sip of his drink. he caught the double entendre he wasn't even sure you meant to drop — there was a constant thirst inside him that you really were the only cure for. a thirst to hear you whine and beg for him, call him toru in that sweet tone that made him want to legally shorten his name.
another long sip.
the way he wanted, no needed, you was almost obsessive. he knew that. but could he be blamed? you were pure temptation wrapped in the most enticing body; you were the raging flame and he was but a moth, acting on pure instinct to capture that warmth for his own. every night he spent with you was a testament to that effort, prodding and caressing your body in every way he knew how. he pulled every trick out of his book to have you writhing on his sheets. satoru was sure the neighbours hated you both, but at least they knew his name well.
"you lovebirds coming over to the table?" shoko raised a thin brow at the pair of you, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.
"lovebirds? sho please, you know better," you laughed, crossing the space to link arms with her.
ah. satoru felt a twinge of something pinch in his chest. that problem still remained.
he worshipped the ground you walked on, blessed your name like you were his deity, but you still only saw him as a friend. granted, he was a friend with extensive benefits, but a friend nonetheless. hell, for as long as you two have had this arrangement, you've never spent a full night with him — instead opting to scoop your clothes off the floor, grab a quick shower and bid him a soft goodnight, simultaneously calling yourself an uber as you left his apartment.
his face was much dimmer following behind you and shoko, having dropped a small wad of cash he didn't count on the bar-top, and he drew his glass back to his lips in an attempt to quell that pinching feeling.
it wasn't as if he never offered for you to stay the night, never lifted his messy sheets on the opposite side he always kept vacant for you. but, it was hard to stay persistent when you always answered with some variation of, "thanks toru, but we're just friends, remember? i don't wanna make it weird for us."
he watched your hips sway under your skirt with a furrow in his brow. the hem flapped around the very tops of your thighs, drawing other eyes that weren't his own cerulean pair to its attention. he itched to make a show of you being his — maybe throw an arm over your shoulders or lean down to peck your lips — but knew how well (not well at all) it would go down with the other party if you caught on.
it just meant he had to be the one to get you out of there sooner.
satoru let you have your fun, down a responsible-enough number of shots, twist your hips this way and that on the dancefloor with geto and shoko. they both towered over you, almost forming a protective ring of raven black and coffee brown around your twirling body, and he was grateful for it. the imagery alone of some other person creeping up behind you, grabbing at your waist in an attempt to steal a dance, was enough to tighten that vulnerable spot in his chest.
after downing the rest of his second drink, he stood, leaving another roll of money in shoko's purse and making a beeline for you on the dancefloor. geto parsed him with a knowing look as he squeezed passed them, shoko only gave a thumbs up and a wide grin. they both knew all about what went on between you two, and they knew all too well how much satoru pined over you.
if it wasn't the way he looked at you, or the way he'd mindlessly put his hands on the small of your back, on your hips, around your shoulders, then it'd have to be the fact that he grouched about it at every given opportunity. the minute you left him alone, he'd go on and on until one of them had to smack him in the back of the head to shut up.
so, watching him slot his hips to yours, immediately winding them in tandem to the beat, they understood quickly to leave the pair of you to your little world.
"let me take you out of here, y/n," he murmured, you spun in his toned arms to settle into his torso. your arms circled his neck as he pushed his nose closer to yours to bump them together.
"you stole my line," you drawled, "getting impatient on me, toru?"
satoru bit back a groan, the way you spoke coupled with the eyes you gave him from beneath the canopy of your lashes was staggering.
"maybe i am, you're holdin' out on me."
you blew a raspberry of a laugh at his frown, "you saw me last night, you baby."
"twenty-four whole hours too long."
your eyes rolled unconsciously, he could be such a little shit when he didn't have his way. still, you were never one to deny him.
"take me home then, before you start sobbing for pussy in the club."
a triumphant beam overtook his face at that, he actively disregarded the teasing lilt to your words. all he heard was "take me home," and it was like you waved kikufuku in his face.
he picked up you up easily, princess-style, making you squeal and nearly kick a patron close by. you giggled out your apologies, but satoru was already leaving, carting you off to the exit of the club.
your back landed hard against his front door when he put you down again, and his body followed right behind. your lips crashed together with fervor, teeth colliding and tongues looping around each other. you mewled so sweetly into his mouth as his hands wandered up under your top, grabbing hold of your tits over your bra. his cock twitched in its confines, you had an effect on him that would be scary if he didn't relish in it so much.
"lose this shit already," satoru huffed against your lips while tugging the hem of your blouse upwards. you obliged with the nth roll of your eyes, and with the top gone, you pulled him back down for another searing kiss.
you marked your path downward after switching your positions, pushed his shirt up to his chest to lick a wet stripe down his abs, until you came face-to-face with the sizeable bulge in his pants. he smoothed your hair away from your face while you pulled his belt buckle apart. an exhale stuttered in his chest — you mouthed around his bulge from the outside of his boxer-briefs, though with the sounds satoru made, you may as well have shoved the whole thing into your mouth.
deciding to end his misery, you hooked your manicured fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his cock free to smack against your cheek. you licked another matching stripe up the underside, shadowing the pulsing trail that was his most dominant vein, then kitten-licked at his slit once you hit the peak.
with one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other on his thigh, you took his pretty pink tip into your mouth, and his face absolutely crumpled.
satoru groaned, long and low, his head thumping against the door as it was thrown back. you could feel the corners of your mouth tingling from the stretch, straining a little to fit around his girth despite making this journey countless times by now.
he stammered out a hiss when his tip hit the back of your throat, you would've laughed if not for the fact that you desperately held off your gag reflex. his grip on your hair tightened, coming to hold it in a fist to both keep the hair out of your face and guide your movements as you sunk further down his length. you breathed through your nose and willed your throat to relax, more broken sounds sprang from his lips as you let him in.
"f-fuck, just like that, pretty," he praised hoarsely, gently bobbing your head up and down his length with his grip on your hair. you powered through the tears flooding your lashline and the rivulets of spit accumulating to drip down your chin.
while he worked your mouth, you pried your lids apart to peer up at him, eyes rimmed red and pupils blown wide.
and that was his undoing.
his body tensed hard as he held your head down, nose right up against his pelvis and tickled with snow-white hairs. his abdomen spasmed under the point of it, undulating as he painted your throat white.
"you're so fucking good to me," he mumbled against your lips after helping you back to your feet. satoru, of course, was the shameless type to make the fuck out with you right after dumping his cum into your mouth; and he did just that. he picked you up again while his tongue swiped over yours, blindly walking you up the stairs to his bedroom.
he plopped you down unceremoniously, pulling your legs apart to sink between them. you'd lost the skirt somewhere along the way, that left nothing but your thong to separate you from satoru's still-leaking, still-hard dick. however, even those got ripped down your legs and tossed to the side — every article of clothing was a victim in his ever-expanding need for you.
"i need to fuck you, will you le'me fuck you?" he babbled in a pitchy, fissured voice, circling your clit with his fingers. he dipped them shallowly in and out of your hole to smear your wetness right across your folds. all he needed was for you to nod the affirmative before he was rapidly replacing his digits with the head of his cock, gathering your syrupy arousal to drench him.
"just suckin' me off has you this wet, hmm? i knew you liked me."
"sh-shut up and put it in already, toru- hate it when you tease."
satoru snickered, but complied, grabbing at your legs again to flip your body over. he knew you loved getting fucked prone the most, you didn't even hesitate to grab a pillow to hold on to. something about the way you seemed to scream for him that much louder, claw at the sheets and burble for him to give you more more more— made it his new favourite position too.
so, with little hesitation, he positioned and pushed his cock into you, slowly enough for you to adjust to his girth. your eyes rolled back almost immediately, the way he filled you up could never get old.
you mewled into the pillow once he found a good starting pace, dragging his cock deliciously slow against your spongy walls. still, it was only a taste of what you knew he could give to you.
"more, toru, want more- shit!"
you barely started getting the greedy words out before satoru was settling a hand on the small of your back, using it and his palm flat against the bed as leverage to drill into you. now that he knew you were adjusted, he didn't hold back — what kind of guy would he be if he didn't give his girl everything she wanted (and then some)?
drool and tears soaked into the white pillowcase while your sticky essence doused his cock, collecting in a ring at the plinth of it. repetitive strings of "fuck yes!" mingled with his deep groans to ring throughout the room, bouncing off the walls in conjunction with his hips bouncing off your plush ass. he couldn't help but free up a palm to smack it, then two, three more times when he heard how much more noisy it made you.
"g'nna cum for me? yea?" he took note of the way you started to quake beneath him, your cunt clenching and releasing uncontrollably around his length. he knew your tells by now, and that quiver in your moans told him everything without you needing to say a word. satoru secured his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough at the sides for your brain to go foggy and remaining thoughts turn to mush.
like a thief in the night, your orgasm stole through you, bringing the simmer in your blood to a boil. heat flashed through your body, collecting to pulse through the walls of your cunt that clamped down against satoru's battering. with another ruined groan, he was right behind you, cock twitching and throbbing wildly inside you. rope after rope splattered your insides, though that didn't stop his hips from jerking in a fractured pattern.
you both came down panting. you turned in his arms to look up at him, his softened eyes were already centered on your face. as mean as he was when he fucked, he was always otherwise gentle with you — tender in a way that made a part of you melt with every touch. but he was your friend, and you both had a good system going. what would be the point of ruining it?
"what're you thinkin' about so hard already?" satoru's usual pouty cadence returned quick, successfully knocking your thoughts off track.
"i need a shower," was your only reply, and you moved to crawl from beneath him. your bed-partner's features toppled into a genuine frown; he knew exactly what that meant.
you were leaving him again.
but he wouldn't let it happen this time, not if he could help it.
"wait, y/n," he moved to gently grasp your arm before you could scoot off the edge of the bed. you turned to him with question in your gaze.
"let me join you," he propositioned, and a hint of a smile pulled at your lips.
"i don't know if i have the stamina left, toru."
"i won't- we can just shower. y'know, together," he started, freeing your arm to rub at the back of his neck, "and you could, y'know, stay."
your expression turned wry, "toru, you know why i can't-"
"no, actually, y/n. i don't," he scowled, "why can't you? why don't you? we've been close enough for so long, slept together for so long. you know i can take care of you."
exasperated, you stood. he followed quick, moving to hold your arms again. even in his own displeasure, he was mild. you were melting again.
"you tell me all the time we're just friends, but what if- what if i want more? need more, than just friendship with you?"
you gawped up at him, blinking in place of something to say. of course, you always had a kind of a feeling — satoru was not the man known for his subtlety — but it was another thing to hear him say it to you, much less with this desperately pleading intonation.
"satoru, i..." you sighed, "i can't fuck this- we can't fuck this up. you're too precious to me."
"but what if we don't? you're precious to me too, y/n, more than you even know."
and for all you knew, he could be right. he was always sweet with you — patient, attentive, doting, so painfully soft. it wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed your mind before, either. you contemplated staying with him several times before, fantasized on what a 'morning after' — many 'morning-afters' — would even look like. but shit, what would you do if you one of you found a way to mess things up? topple a best-friendship you've had going for more years than you could even trace back?
"i just- i can't lose you, satoru."
"you won't. you're stuck with me forever, pretty, we promised."
he moved to cup your cheeks, holding your face akin to the way someone held precious china.
"i like you way too much. shit, at this point i think i love you."
your bottom lip wobbled. this snow-haired fuck really did always make it hard to say no to him.
"i-i like you too, toru. a lot."
"so you'll stay," he gleamed, making a statement more than he was asking a question, "please say you'll stay."
"yes, toru, fine. i'll stay."
with his smile still very much in place, he leaned down to kiss you.
god, he couldn't wait to finally wake up to you tomorrow.
gojo satoru x reader. fwb!au. angst to comfort/fluff
kind of a sequel to this
You’ve been ghosted.
To be fair, you had kind of expected this. Key work: kind of. You try to not let your heart constrict itself into an organ of loathe, depression and hatred for the past 3 weeks.
Unfortunately, the agony still sits on your granite kitchen counter three weeks later. It’s in the box of his stuff he had the nerve to leave behind, along with all the thread-like semblance of hope you had for your future together. (How foolish of you, really.)
The kitchen itself, however, is empty. The living room you’re standing in — also empty. Your family and friends who came to help you move your stuff to your new apartment left a few minutes ago. They’re on their way there first to pick up some food before all of you move more heavy boxes into the place. And you’re grateful.
Grateful that you have people in your life that don’t ghost you, even if you can count them on a hand. People that care. That are consistent in your life. That aren’t curse-bound.
God, you hated him for the first week. Hated how even though you tried to make his habitual appearances not a part of your routine, you find yourself missing the white hair that tickles your neck when you search for a fresh set of pajamas, the clingy hands that harbor not-so-innocent touches as you put on skin care, and even sometimes, in the morning when you didn’t have the heart to kick him out the last night, the most amateur brewing of coffee you’ve ever had because who needs coffee when you have Gojo Satoru to keep you energized.
You shake your head to rid your thoughts. You take a deep breath in, ready to say goodbye to the place, goodbye to the memories, ready to let the box be discarded away just like he has done to you.
And just as you almost let go, you feel it.
You feel him. You don’t turn. You can’t. Because it cannot be real. You know what’s real and it’s not tender kisses and hands intertwined, it’s a job in a new city, in a new position. Life is not Gojo Satoru, it’s a new apartment.
Yet, there in your old apartment, you come to life upon hearing his voice.
“I see you’ve changed the place.”
His joke comes soft and light, as if to not scare you. Because he has to know that you are livid. He keeps his distance. Though, everything in Satoru is compelled to hold you. He thinks your name must be carved into his bones, with the way it urges his joints to reach for you, always always drawn to you.
You still haven’t turned. Still in shock, because this has to be a hallucination. Some sick joke from the universe, maybe. He calls your name, but before he can close his mouth, you turn around and ask harshly, “What are you doing here?”
Tears are already brimming at your eyes. You find yourself looking at him for the first time in a long time and it makes your heart ache. You could hear him out, but there is something in you that doesn’t want to. You had been raised with impatient needs, always in a rush to satisfy the ones who claimed to love you. Love is patient, love is kind, and you want it so bad to not be love.
A moment of silence passes by as Gojo bores into you, until his heart caves and takes a big step toward you, tests the water by taking your hand in his.
And you cry, weakly shrugging away, before he’s pulling you into the warmest embrace of your life.
“I’m sorry.” He catches sight of the box on the counter and can only guess what it could be. He’s been so selfish with his love for you, that he had forgotten about the treachery that so greatly tries to seep through his infinity. Gojo hadn’t accounted for it, didn’t ever in his life think he could feel afford to be humbled. But, as he stands there with you falling apart in his arms, he feels intimidated. “I’m so sorry.”
“I hate you.” Are you okay? How have you been? Where did you go? He hums softly, still caging you with his arms. You dare to ask, because to love is to be vulnerable, “Where were you?”
He holds you tighter, his eyes threatening to drop some tears of their own. He laughs and you can hear how watery it is when he tells you, “A box.”
You pull away, brows furrowed as you look up at him. He wipes away a falling tear on your cheek before pulling you into him again, desperate for you to not see him cry.
“I’ll explain later… Just let me hold you right now.”
