Wonder How Many Times Reader Has Had To Take Super Mario Privileges Away From Sev Isha And Jinx Bc They

like how utterly BEAUTIFUL is the desperation in the way he’s frantically stumbling around and slamming you into the walls, grasping your arms like ur gonna disappear??? lmao lmao lmao lmaoooooooo

Ino smut + N$FW audio

• minors do not interact!

──── Your parents may not approve of your relationship with Ino, but that wasn't enough to make him stay away from you, let alone to stop him from invading your room during the night.

"Ah! Takuma, fuck." Ino grinned unabashedly, gripping your hips as he increases the pace of his thrusts.

"Shhh..." He whispers against your ear, slowly licking below the cartilage. "We don't want your dad to come in here and find his good daughter sitting on the troublemaker he forbade you from seeing, isn't it, love?"

Your intimacy throbs, squeezing the hard cock between your wet walls as you ride up and down on Ino's thick length. Your forehead pressed against his shoulder, biting your lips to contain the loud sounds, but unable to help the gasping breaths that escape from oneself.

"Hmm... Fuck, princess." He throws his head back, groaning softly, leaning against the headboard of the bed, lowering his gaze to watch his own cock disappear into your hungry pussy, drawing air through his teeth at the obscene sight. "So damn hot, baby."

You disengage from Ino's shoulder to kiss him messily, intertwining the tongues in quick movements, not holding back the interrupted moan you let out when he held onto your ass more firmly, thrusting deeper into you.

The sound of his full balls slapping against you was starting to get loud, and you wanted to warn him, but all that came out of your mouth were whimpering moans and gasping breaths.

Both stared at each other, intoxicated by one another. "You're almost coming, aren't you, pretty? squeezing me like that..." Ino murmured against your lips, feeling your insides clench around his cock. "Come, kitten, make a mess on me." He urges with his voice still low.

You kiss him again, intending to contain the scandalous moans that wanted to escape your mouth. "Takuma-ah!" You whimper against the boy's soft lips as you unravel against his skilled movements.

Ino releases a restrained grunt against the skin of your shoulder, spurting inside you as his orgasm arrives. Breathing heavily as he gradually slows down his movements.

"Holy shit!" He breathes out. You smile shyly, equally trying to regulate your breathing. "You better go home, Takuma, before my parents come to see what those noises were." You warn him as you give pecks on Ino's lips and try to get out of his lap.

"So is that it? You use me and then just throw me away? I'm just a whore to you, aren't I?" He feigns drama, both of you laughing softly as you lightly tap his shoulder. "Let me stay just a little while longer, okay?" Ino clings to you like a koala, ignoring your protests and holding you affectionately in his embrace.

Takuma Ino's Version! Before concluding the series, is there any other character you would like to suggest?

Your interaction is very important to me, reblogs and comments are always welcome. 🫶🏻💕

Ellie (I Wanna Ruin Our Friendship)

MINORS DNI, MEN DNI

Pairing: Ellie Williams x Reader

WC: 7k

Summary: Ellie was infatuated the day she met you. The two of you instantly growing close, in turn she fell in love with you. One problem, she was a coward.

Content: 18+, best friends to lovers troupe, college auish, loser!Ellie, femme type reader, both Ellie and reader are oblivious asf, weed (e using), smut, sub! ellie, thigh riding, pussy eating, fingering, biting, marking, top! reader

Divider Credit: @enchanthings (I love your work so much! You make the cutest stuff) 😭💗

Author’s Note: Huge thank you to @astralnymphh for reading this for over and giving me suggestions! You’re the best and I love you mwah!! You also inspired me to write loser Ellie… Sooo ♡ Based on the song Jenny by Studio Killers! Also… We need more sub! Ellie… please

I. A Smile Beyond Words —

Both you and Ellie had been friends as long as you could remember. The memory was like yesterday: it was first when Ellie moved into your neighborhood, your mom lugging you over with her, freshly baked cookies in hand, she knocked gently on the door and waited for an answer.

“Mom, they’re still unpacking. This is probably such a bad time,” you sighed. Anxiously you began bouncing your foot, staying close to your mom almost to hide yourself from whoever would answer the door.

A smile was still present on her face. With a hand, she waved you off. “Nonsense, sweetheart! Who wouldn’t want home-baked goods?” she giggled. The house's front door opened, and a gruff-looking man nodded, greeting you both. 

“Hello, may I help you?” he remarked, his hands still steady on the door. 

“Hello! Sorry to bother you sir, but my daughter and I here saw you move into the neighborhood..” your mother began, her tone was cheery, and welcoming, “And we wanted to say hello! And give you this.” She offers him the cookie container.

His mouth hung open for a second in disbelief, before he collected himself and took the container from her hand. “That’s very kind of you, miss. My name is Joel… Joel Miller,” he mumbled, his other hand reaching out to offer his hand out to shake your mother's.

“Well, it’s great to meet you, Joel… Got any kids?”

“Yeah.” His eyes fell onto you briefly before continuing, “Probably about your age actually, let me call for her.” His head turned, and he yelled: “Hey Ellie! Come greet our neighbors.”

A voice from farther within the home yelled back, clear annoyance in the tone, “Hold on!”

“No! Ellie, now,” he hollered, rolling his eyes, and turning to your mom. She laughed, knowing all too well how that felt. 

A sigh escaped Ellie’s lips. She stopped unpacking her room and made her way to the front door, where she saw her dad chatting away, a container in his hand, and a woman on their front steps with a girl who looked her age beside her.

Joel noticed Ellie and cleared his throat, “This is my daughter… Ellie.”

Ellie, now seeing you, awkwardly stood beside Joel and didn’t dare utter a peep. Her freckled cheeks flushed, embarrassment crawling over her bones realizing not only your mom heard her reply, but so did you. She realized the tone she used wasn’t the best… especially for her first impression. Joel’s free hand slung around her shoulder, and she groaned, waving at you realizing that’s what he was hinting to do. 

She didn’t expect you to brightly smile at her and introduce yourself, finally feeling at ease seeing a girl your age in your neighborhood, let alone your next-door neighbor. And, that’s how you and Ellie met.

She’d somehow found the courage to bring you to her room, posters of Savage Starlight, space, and her favorite band adorning her walls. 

“Wow! Your room is so cool, I haven’t had a girl my age like you in our neighborhood in… who knows how long,” you sighed. 

Ellie gulped, nervously fiddling with her nail beds. “U-uh thanks…” Her eyes were glued to the many boxes still scattered around her room.

You settled your eyes back on her, noticing her frigid gestures. I know you’re nervous, but I am glad to meet you,” you beamed, hand reaching out to shake hers. “I do want to be your friend… Your best friend, maybe even…” 

Ellie laughed the thought at the time seeming impossible to her lonely self. “You’re joking right?” She bit her lip, feeling bad suddenly because of her tone.

You shook your head, reaching out and grasping her hand. “No, I’m serious. I promise, pinky swear,” you winked at her, holding out your pinky.

Her mouth hung open, this was the first time something like this had ever happened to Ellie. “Okay…. Let’s give this a try then—shall we?” She stuck out her pinky finger, twisting it with yours to conclude the pinky promise. 

From there, the two of you were stuck together like glue in your college, even through your high school years. The two of you had a relationship like no other, even with the new friends you’d both made over the years.

Things never changed.

II. Best Friends —

Even though you and Ellie met at fourteen, it didn’t stop you from having things like matching bracelets. Both you and Ellie had a set of bracelets you made together, first when your friendship had started. 

It was an idea sparked when the two of you were looking for a specific movie. You shuffled around different items to try to discover the movie you’d both tried your hardest to find. But with no luck yet, you kept your search up.

This leads to you finding a box of beads, strings, and other things to make bracelets or other jewelry. 

You glanced over the box, showing it to Ellie. “Hey! This looks fun, Ellie. Let’s try it. Pretty please…”

She rolled her eyes, her slit eyebrow-raising. “Beaded bracelets? What are we—in middle school?” Ellie teased, she was kidding and wouldn’t ever want to be mean to you seriously. She’d never want to cross that line or break it. 

You pouted, hugging the box to your chest. “Ellie… If you’re going to be my friend… We need matching bracelets, so…pretty please?” You gave your best puppy dog eyes, trying to make them appear bigger to guilt Ellie into accepting. 

She was going to accept, either way, she just liked pushing people’s buttons. “Of course we can do it!” She smiled at you, grabbing the box and the two of you created each other a bracelet. It read your name, yours reading hers, along with your favorite color beads, and some charms. 

You smiled, looking over the bracelet now on your wrist. You’d swore you’d never take it off, and Ellie did the same. 

“Thank you,” you shyly said.

You were too kind, too kind to be thanking for something like a friendship bracelet. She was just so honored to be your friend, so silently, Ellie hugged you. 

The embrace cut you off guard, her not saying anything back besides abruptly pulling you into a hug. A hug you never wanted to let go of. 

Ellie’s physical affection towards the people she loved was one of her strongest ways of showing she cared about someone, including you. She was like a koala bear.

Your koala bear. 

III. Stolen Lipstick —

Ellie was captivated the day you smiled at her; it took her breath away, and even to this day, it makes her heart pound slightly in her chest. Ellie stared at you, sitting in your vanity chair and applying lipstick to your lips. She observed the way the pink made your eyes pop, the color complimenting the color of your skin.

You hummed, shaking your head, hand extending for a makeup wipe to remove the color. “It’s not the right one, El. I don’t know, I’ll try this one,” you frowned. You removed the previous color, puckering your lips, and applying the new darker shade of pink to your lips. “Yep! This is the one.”

Ellie smiled, loving either color on you. “Whatever makes you happy, babe,” she shrugged, the stupid giddy smile never leaving her face. It was like you cast a spell on her from the day she met you, that had her obsessed, and hopelessly in love with her perfect best friend.

You shifted your body to face her, “You’re too nice to me, I’m going to the bathroom, and then let’s get going, okay?” You muttered, getting up and slipping out of the door hearing a little ‘mhm’ from Ellie.

Once Ellie was sure the coast was clear, she got up from your bed and slipped over to where you sat only moments ago. She grabbed the previous color of lipstick you wiped off, pocketing it into her baggy camo pants. She figuratively crossed her fingers, hoping and praying you wouldn’t notice the color gone. In her gut, she felt bad but knew it truly would go unnoticed due to the many lipsticks you had.

She swallowed, awkwardly looking at your vanity for a moment then remembered you’d be back soon. She went over to the bed and laid back down in the position she was previously in before you left. Her face hit your pillow, the scent of your perfume filling your lungs, almost lulling her to slumber. Ellie was almost grateful she scurried back into your bed, because only seconds after you came bouncing back into your room. 

“Hey! Sleepyhead! Wakey, wakey let’s go,” you excitedly clapped your hands together and walked over to your bed, where Ellie was comfortably lying.  

She groaned, turning her head propped up on your pillows to face you. “Alright, fine I’m getting up,” she spoke and got up from your bed. 

You grinned at her, and it made her hold her breath at the sight. As a person you are so alluring and pretty to Ellie, the simplest thing like your smile had her down so bad. It was almost hard to be around you at times. The two of you were always together, so always pushing aside her feelings for you was swallowing her whole. 

But one thing about Ellie is that she is a coward. A coward too afraid to admit her feelings for you and ruin your friendship. So that’s why she did little things, like stealing your lipstick and other things now and then. It was nothing you’d miss, but those things meant the world to her. So, Ellie felt like both a loser and a coward simultaneously.

IV. Hidden Sorrows —

Silence. A dead silence fell over Ellie.

Ellie felt her mouth run dry, she opened it for a moment and quickly closed it, still at a loss for words. Her brow arched, green eyes glimmering under the car’s light. “You got a boyfriend…?” She uttered, finally forming words.

You were sitting next to her in the passenger seat, nervously fiddling with your manicured nails. “Mhm, he asked me out yesterday, and I wanted to tell you. Are you upset?” You noticed her quiet behavior when you mentioned it and frowned. 

Ellie noted the obvious frown on her face and shook her head, “No, no! I didn’t mean to come off that way. Just… scared he’ll hurt you or something,” she whispered. She tried to play off her quietness and shift in attitude upon hearing the information as simply, that. 

She didn’t want you to know that her heart broke in two. The words hit her like a ton of bricks, sadness washing over her knowing her perfect best friend was taken. Taken and stolen from her now that you had a boyfriend. Ellie wanted to be the person you were taken by, but she’d never admit that, especially not to you.

It was silly, she knew she’d never get a shot with you or even a chance, but here she is, sad over you getting a boyfriend. Which was inevitable, wasn’t it? It was like the earth was mocking her and playing some huge prank on her.

“Is that it? I don’t know… You just seem so off since I told you about it,” you pouted, puffing your cheeks. You were being playful, but also serious with your tone. Ellie could tell. She could always read you, like an open book.  

Ellie eagerly nodded, not wanting to infringe on your happiness. Even if she loved you, your feelings always came first. It would be selfish of her to be upset. 

So she bit back those feelings, as always, and pushed a reassuring smile on her face. “Yes that’s… it. I promise.” She grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently to try and reassure you.

Your hand squeezed hers back, leaning over from your seat to lean your head against her broad shoulder. The way you comfortably rested your head on Ellie had her breath hitching for a moment, the smell of your perfume filled her nostrils, and the warmth of your hand was so comforting. 

“Thank you for looking out for me though, El,” you muttered, nuzzling yourself more into Ellie’s shoulder. 

You always enjoyed being close, and physical with Ellie. It was one of your favorite aspects of your friendship. Sometimes you’d wonder why no other person made you feel the way Ellie does. Somehow, you chalked up how you felt for Ellie as nothing more than a friendship. Despite the numerous times you or Ellie had been asked, you’re nothing more than friends.

Feeling you nuzzle more into her shoulder, she peered down, despite you being in a relationship now she couldn’t love you any less. Ellie felt her face grow warm, she knew she was staring but you looked so pretty in the dim light of the car, your hair sprawled on her shoulder and face nuzzled into her shoulder.

Ellie leaned down, inhaling the scent of her hair and pressing a sweet kiss to your head. She didn’t miss the muffled giggle from you, and she smiled, her hand squeezing yours once again. It was a habit of hers. 

“Always, pretty.”

V. Smoke It Away —

There were always points in your and Ellie's relationship that crossed the line, many, many times. Even due to just how touchy the two of you were. Always cuddling, holding hands, and hugging. It was things friends did, but it always felt like there was more between you two.

Ellie sighed, her tattooed arm gripping the pillow in frustration. Why did feelings have to be so complicated? Why did she have to be so hopelessly in love with her best friend? These were questions that often crossed her mind, especially now you had a boyfriend named… What was his name again? Derek? Micheal?

Ellie, in all honesty, didn’t care. She would find herself drifting off when you’d bring anything about your boyfriend up. She wanted to be happy for you, and she was; but the more you talked about him and spent time with him the distance grew. Ellie didn’t like that. Distance between the two of you isn’t something she’s used to, so when she saw you texting her less, not replying to her spam of Instagram reels, and just less of you. It made it all worse.

She felt almost hollow, laying on her bed, messy auburn hair sprawled across the pillow. She felt her heart break just like the time in her car when you’d first broken the news. Ellie hadn’t yet noticed her eyes watering, the tears building up and pouring out, dampening her cheeks. She reached up to wipe them, the effort almost pointless with more and more tears breaking the floodgates. 

The walls she worked so hard building up came crumbling down, and Ellie let herself finally feel it. Previously, she was forcing herself to not cry. Almost like she wasn’t allowed to feel heartbroken over you being in love with someone else, but was she? It felt selfish in a way, but now you were distancing yourself.

It felt like a punch in the gut, she sobbed harder, nails digging into the sheerness of her pillowcase. She sniffled, finding it harder to breathe because of how hard she was crying. She’d never felt such an overwhelming feeling. She hated it.

Ellie’s love for you was a powerful all-consuming force. It filled her heart to the brim, leaving little room for anyone else. But then the heartbeat and sadness you’d somehow brought into her life hit her like a tidal wave, overpowering everything else she felt. She knew it wasn’t you who was responsible for this pain, but her cowardice for not revealing her feelings to you weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was haunted by the what-ifs and the could-have-beens, wondering if things would have been different if only she had found the courage to speak up.

Maybe you didn’t realize the amount of affection Ellie truly held for you. Ellie knew you were oblivious to her feelings, she always tried to hide them even with how close your relationship was. Boundaries were in place, at least she thought and she’d never tried anything with you or crossed them, because Ellie genuinely loves you. 

Ellie sat up from her tear-stained pillow and wiped the remaining tears with her sleeve. “Fuck this… I need to smoke,” she mumbled to herself. Her voice sounded hoarse from her crying. Ellie rubbed at her eyes, the skin puffy and red, and her previous tears also accompanied the congestion in her nose. 

Opening the little drawer on the side table, Ellie pulled out her pre-rolls and lighter. She mentally thanked herself for preparing a few for times like these. She brought the end to her lips, flickering the lighter to light the other side. She inhaled it, the smoke filling her lungs, helping numb her emotions.

She breathed out the smoke, the room growing foggy from it. Ellie brought it back to her lips, taking another drag, then another, and another before she dabbled the end of the finished preroll into her star-shaped ashtray. 

The weed made her feel giddy and light, but she sat there on her bed, its effects washing over her, and her thoughts turned to you. She felt a longing for you, a sense of comfort and familiarity, as the thought of you was like a warm embrace from home. Her heart ached for you, even after everything Ellie missed your presence in your life. 

It didn’t help when she caught eye of the friendship bracelet clad on her wrist, yet another reminder of you. Ellie pitifully frowned, using her free hand not occupied holding the pre-roll, to slide it off her wrist. She meekly clutched it in her hand, tossing it onto her bedside table.

A buzz sounding from her phone tore her from her antics. She hummed and grabbed the device, the screen lighting up with a notification, it was from you.

You: ‘Hey Els, sorry for not replying to these till now. Is it okay if I come over?’

Ellie’s breath hitched reading the message, but without thinking she clicked on it and began to reply. The weed had lowered her inhibitions, making it easier for her to give in to her true feelings. Despite the tears that had streaked her face less than an hour ago, Ellie couldn’t deny seeing you. She found herself missing you more with every passing minute. 

Ellie: ‘Yeah, come whenever. See you soon :)’ 

Ellie let out a soft sigh as she turned her phone off, throwing it on her bed and laying back. She closed her eyes, the silence in her room seemed to echo the hollowness in her chest, and she found herself staring at the ceiling as her thoughts swirled over you. She tried to push the memories of you aside while she waited for you, the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, but they stubbornly refused to be silenced. 

Her brain or heart was somehow always testing her too long for you, and you finally would see her after a dreadfully long week. It felt incredibly long to her, never going so long without seeing the person who… made her the happiest. 

VI. Friends? Or More? —

You almost felt stupid for not listening to Ellie or reaching out about how your stupid boyfriend, just shy of one week, cheated on you by kissing some random girl at a party, you kicked him in the nuts and walked away. Somehow, you did an excellent job of swallowing down the tears in front of everyone and shakily calling your mom to come pick you up. 

Your mother answered immediately and was on her way to get you within minutes once you texted her the location. When she arrived, she found you in a state of despair and self-pity. Following the party, you locked yourself away from the world, wallowing in your stupidity and pain of the entire situation.

The universe seemed to taunt you with every attempt you made to move on from Ellie as if it was trying to send you a sign that you should just confess your feelings to her. You had tried to find happiness in your current relationship, and when your boyfriend asked you out, it caught you off guard, but you accepted nonetheless. 

You cried over being cheated on but didn’t feel sad over your ex-boyfriend. You were lying in your bed, covers swallowing you up, and self-pity absorbing all your being. Usually, you were a bubbly person, full of energy, and always reaching out to your friends, but not for the past week. You’ve been radio silent, even with Ellie whom you never went thing long without seeing or texting. You pouted to yourself, feeling bad for leaving Ellie in the dark for so long. Lifting out of your cave of blankets, you reached over to your nightstand and texted Ellie asking if you could come over. 

When Ellie quickly replied and agreed to meet up, your heart leapt in your chest, almost infusing you with a sudden burst of energy through your veins. You couldn’t wait to see the person you love the most in the world, Ellie. You kept it in the back of your mind as you dressed it had been a foolish decision to try dating a man, and the very thought of romantic interactions made your stomach churn with repugnance. It was never worth accepting his offer, to begin with, then he goes and cheats on you.

The entire situation seemed almost comical as you developed deeper into your thoughts, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at your attempts to enthusiastically tell Ellie about your relationship. The truth was, your feelings for her had been eating away at you the entire time, plaguing your mind and every thought. You gave a shake of your head in an attempt to dispel the tingling sensation that coursed through your body when you thought about her. 

Ellie had always been your closest, dearest friend, and you over time fell in love with her. It was hard not to, she was so kind to you and treated you like a person. She was the most genuine person you’d ever known. You yelled down to your mom you were going to Ellie’s, throwing on a coat in an attempt to keep yourself warm and shielded from the cold and making your way out the front door.

Within seconds, you were over to Ellie’s, her living next door so convenient. You raised your hand, knocking softly but loud enough for Ellie or Joel to hear. It was only seconds after you knocked, the door opened and you saw Joel standing there. 

He smiled widely at you, “Hey Kiddo! Been a while seen I’ve seen you, Ellie is in her room. Come in it’s freezing.” 

You returned his smile, walking in through the door to escape the cold. Joel closed the door softly behind you. “Yeah, it’s great to see you too! I’m going to go see Ellie,” you replied, a polite smile still etched on your face. 

He nodded, walking back to the living room to the sofa. You made your way upstairs, gulping as you made your way up the stairs, your stomach doing somersaults, your right hand clutching the wooden railing. You never felt so nervous to see Ellie, but having to explain… everything and potentially confess to her crossed your mind. So you were in a pickle. 

When you reached Ellie’s room, you knocked waiting for her to signal it was okay to proceed inside. “Come in!” She yelled, it was muffled by the door.

You braced yourself before turning the doorknob and entering her room. When you saw her figure, sitting on her bed with her grey sweatshirt, eyes red and blotchy, the room smelly of weed: your heartbeat sped up. You closed the door and quickly made it over to her, taking a seat only inches apart.

“Hey… So I’m sorry about being kind of distant this week,” you muttered, the guilt you felt making it too hard to make eye contact. 

Ellie fiddled with her fingers, her leg bouncing with anxiety. “Kind of distant…?” Ellie huffed, not bringing herself to look at you either knowing she’d fold at the sight of you. Her tone came off harsher than she intended. She bit her lip, thoughts going millions a minute after she said that. 

You almost felt your mouth go dry, but you understood why you never did this to Ellie, not in all the years you’d known each other. So the guilt continued to reside in your every being, your hands felt clammy as they lay by your side. You bit your lip, shaking your head, “I’m so sorry- Ellie please look at me,” you pleaded, your hand reaching out to grasp hers. “Let me explain.”

Ellie’s hand grabbed yours, squeezing it and finally looking up. Her usually brightly green eyes were duller looking, which made you frown. “I’m sorry for my tone, sweetheart. Didn’t mean it, just grouchy your douchy boyfriend stole you,” she whispered.

You chuckled at the mention, which had Ellie opening her mouth an ‘o’ shape, surprised you didn’t already bite back at her remark about your boyfriend. “Speaking of, he cheated on me, and turns out men aren’t for me. I disappeared because I was wallowing in self-despair,” casually you shrugged it all off as if it weren’t a big deal. Your whole demeanor seemed nonchalant. A smile was tugged stupidly on your face, your hand squeezing Ellie’s back. 

Her eyes see red upon hearing the mention of him cheating on such an amazing person like you, but then again… Now you’re single and he’s not in the picture. Relief flooded over her, the weed accompanying that feeling. “Wait… He cheated on you and you don’t like guys?” Her eyebrow quirked, somehow she needed you to confirm it again.

“Yep…” you purr, scooting closer to Ellie, your thighs now touching. “I like someone else.” Your other hand reached over and grasped her face, forcing Ellie to maintain eye contact with you. Your thumb trailed over the numerous freckles littered upon her cheek, a sly grin on your face as you moved your face closer to Ellie’s. “I like you, Ellie.”

Her pink tongue ran over her lips quickly, she blinked a few times, not believing what she was hearing. “W-what…” she uttered, disbelief written on her face. “You- Sweetheart, like me? I must be dreaming, I swear…” 

“Nope, you aren’t, Ellie…” you rasped, your thumb tickling her skin. Even with her eyes all red, and her hair thrown in her usual half-up bun, she looked so pretty. Without thinking your lips fell onto hers, only for what felt like seconds before you pulled away. “Fuck- I just confessed and kissed you, El. I’m sorry-” 

Your worries were swallowed by Ellie’s lips on yours, she hungrily kissed you again, your lips swallowing the tiny moan she let out. As you kissed her, you could taste a distinct tang of weed on her tongue. Her hand lets go of yours, her fingers gripping your sides. The kiss was wet and intense, fueled by a sense of urgency and longing. Both of you are feeling the weight of the week-long separation. 

You pulled back briefly in need of air as you were caught off guard by the kisses. “Ellie, I’ve wanted to ruin our friendship for who knows how long…” you panted, your eyes glued to hers. 

She felt jittery, your hand now free from hers, comfortably grasping her side, your hand going up and down her side. It was like the weed heightened everything she was feeling, her pupils were blown out as she took her breaths of air. 

She shook her head, tongue once again darting out to wet her lips. “You’ve… wanted to ruin our friendship? God, I’ve wanted to kiss you… I felt like some stupid lesbian yearning over her best friend.” She sighed, shaking her slightly at her obliviousness to your feelings for her. 

You giggled, the sound making her smile harder. She missed you… and missed that sound escaping your lips. She wished she could mentally take a picture of you, the way you captivated her was like nothing else. You were like an angel, somehow, that blessed the earth with your beauty and kindness. 

“Glad we both feel the same way, now shut up, and kiss me, Els,” you playfully tugged her forward and pressed your lips against hers. The desire, and need for each other are overly apparent.

She nodded her head eagerly into the kiss, her lips eagerly pressing back. Your tongue swiped against her lower lip, the sensation driving her wild. It was like nothing she’d ever experienced before, you were an entirely new experience for the girl. 

An experience like this she’d imagined more times than she could count on her hand, but one that was happening. She still couldn’t believe it. 

She opened her mouth, realizing you wanted excess inside. Feeling your tongue against hers made Ellie let out another breathy moan, your tongues messily sliding against one another. You took the opportunity to suck on Ellie’s tongue, the sensation going straight to her core, her grip tightening on your hips. 

The grip she held on you only furthered fueled your actions, you went back to greedily kissing her, almost sucking the life out of the poor girl from just kissing. 

The pair of you separated, chests rising and falling, small huffs escaping your lips. You and Ellie stared at one another, a stupid grin on both of your faces. Ellie’s once dull eyes were dilated, focused, and glistened with a spark of something else. 

“Ellie,” you grinned, “Would you… Are you okay with me going further than just kissing? If not that’s okay… just really want to make you feel good.” Your own eyes twinkled, the same sparkles appearing in Ellie’s like your own. 

“Yes… Absolutely. Anything you want I’ll do, just please…” She gripped your hips, the begging having more of an effect on you than you’d think.

“I’m glad you want it just as much as I do. Okay lay back on your bed for me,” you breathed out. She obeyed, immediately getting onto her back as you instructed.

You crawled over to her, your gaze fixed on the sight before you - Ellie lying back, eyes begging for something… anything, her hands pathetically gripping the sides of her bed. It surely was a sight. Her whole demeanor leaked of neediness, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she patiently waited for you. She looked absolutely delicious, ready to be eaten up. 

Of course, you were starving for a taste. You tugged at her sweatpants, signaling to her you wanted them off. She nodded eagerly, you discarded the piece of clothing and threw it behind you without a care in the world. 

Ellie was sprawled beneath you, her body now clad in only her boxers and a sweatshirt. You wanted to savor this moment, engrave it in your memory, to finally show Ellie how you truly felt for her. You wanted to make her feel so good she’d see stars, the same ones she excitedly points out to you. This was a special moment for you, considering how long you’ve yearned to touch her this way.

You moved to sit between her legs, grabbing at the flesh of her thighs that was decorated with various freckles and moles. The feeling of your hands on her skin made Ellie tremble, her green eyes closed in bliss. Until they fluttered open, her head snapping to look at the unexpected sensation now pressing between her legs.

The sensation was coming from your knee pressed against her clothed pussy, you rubbed it back and forth, your eyes never peeling from Ellie’s face to watch how she’d react. Her mouth dropped open, hands dropping to the sheets to ground herself. You applied a little more pressure, slowly going faster and then slow.

Ellie’s eyes looked glossed over, almost like glass. “Please… do something,” she whined, hips lifting to rub against your thigh herself. 

This had you halting her hips immediately, Ellie pouted at the action. If she wanted to do the work, then she could. You backed away, retracting your knee from against her, Ellie’s pout growing wider. The distance you created displeased her, she wanted you as close as possible.

“Ellie, I want you to listen to me and follow my instructions. I want you to straddle my thigh and ride it for me. Do you think you can do that for me?” You batted your eyelashes at her, your lower hand slowly gliding from the lower part of her leg to the inner part of her thigh. 

Her skin felt like it was on fire, every touch of your skin against hers sending another wave of warmth over her. She nodded her head, too eager to form words yet. “Yes, I can.” 

You couldn’t help but smile as you felt the eagerness and desperation radiating off Ellie. She shifted her body back, no longer laying down, and created space for you to lean back against her pillows. You settled yourself against her many pillows and stuffed animals, spreading your thigh to provide a space for her to sit. Faintly, you tapped your thigh, signaling to her what to do.

Ellie bit her lower lip, teeth nibbling into her soft lips. She crawled over to you, sitting herself comfortably on your thigh. When she finally sat herself down, underwear still on, she felt her face grow hot. “Should I.. uh… keep this on?” Ellie avoided eye contact with you, finding it too embarrassing due to the position and how new this all was.

This was not something you would let slide, not for a minute. You grasped under her chin, lifting her forest green eyes to meet yours. You clicked your tongue, shaking your head. “Ellie, I never said to take them off, did I?” You pressed her, leaning forward to tug at her sweatshirt. “This though? Off.”

Ellie listened, taking the hoodie off and throwing it into the abyss of her room. She looked at you again, waiting for further instructions.

“Waiting for more instructions from me? Good girl, Els.” 

The nickname sounding velvety off your tongue, Ellie subconsciously moved against your thigh, the rough material of your pants making the perfect friction for her pussy. She moaned, a breathy whiny moan slivering out of her pretty lips, her hands desperately gripping your shoulders, dull nails leaving crescent patterns in their wake from how hard she was digging. 

She moved her hips back and forth, wanting—no—needing more friction. “Yes, please let me keep going,” she whined, eyes skewing shut, and holding onto you for dear life. 

 “I’m not stopping you,” you leaned closer, your lips mere inches from her ear, “Make yourself feel good.” Before pulling away you pressed a kiss to the shell of it, the action making Ellie’s breath hitch. 

Ellie frantically began moving her hips, her underwear growing damper, the friction gliding perfectly with her clit. She snapped her head back, her boobs moving with the frequency of her hips. Your hand moved forward, grabbing at her breasts, your lips sucking at her nipples. You nibbled and sucked, leaving marks on the flesh—to claim her as yours.

Ellie sighed, loving the harsh love bites you were littering across her chest. Ellie moved one hand to grip your waist, the other steadied on your shoulder. She tried moving faster, the friction from her underwear no longer enough for her. She needed more.

“This not enough for you?” You quipped, noticing her once fast movements suddenly slowing little by little. 

Ellie pathetically shook her head, her voice trembling as she spoke, her face begging for more. “No, I need more. Please… Can you touch me without these on? Can’t feel anything…” 

You pretended to debate and think about your answer but nodded. “Yes, lay down,” you instructed. You massaged her sides, fingertips dipping her sides playfully as she scooted off you. Her legs were shaky, making you laugh.

Ellie slid off next to you, rolling her eyes at you laughing at her. The sensations flowing through her body and straight to her core were the cause of no one other than… you. Without a word, she removed the last layer of clothing still clad to her body. Her underwear. 

She shimmed them off, leaving her fully bare and exposed, her wet pussy now on full display for you to see. Your mouth began salivating at the sight, her pussy already so sensitive and puffy from just dry humping. You returned to your original position, Ellie lying down, you hovering over her, in between her thighs. 

Your hands pressed firmly, grabbing at the fat of her thigh, your dainty nails ever so gently scraping the surface of her delicate skin. Your face inched closer to her core, and you pressed a gentle kiss along her thighs, making your way close to where she wanted. In your wake, you left more love bites, and little bruises making sure to leave as many as you could.

You craved to express your devotion and admiration for Ellie in the most profound way possible, and this was your way of doing so. As you worship her body, taking the time to adore and cherish every part of her body, every little nook and cranny. Finally, you pressed a tender kiss to her clit, Ellie’s hand flying instinctively to grip a fistful of your hair. She let out a groan, one deep within her throat, too overwhelmed by the sensation and her pussy pulsing for attention. 

With your tongue, you licked from her clit and down and greedily sucked away at the wetness. The taste of her was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before, as you slurped away at her juices, Ellie tried to squeeze her legs shut, the sensations from your tongue almost too much for her. Your grip tightened on her legs, refraining her legs from closing around your head.

“My god, El… You taste amazing,” you groaned into her heat, the vibration adding an extra layer of sensitivity to the mix.

“Please! I am so close… Oh fuck-” Ellie shuddered, her mouth agape and tiny whines leaving, hips moving against your mouth desperately. Her forehead crinkled, sweat drops forming as she got closer and closer to her sweet release.

Her stomach was twisting in knots, your tongue relentless and not stopping as you sucked on her clit like it was your favorite piece of candy. Ellie’s wetness was leaking out from her hole; to help further push her over the edge, you pushed two of your fingers inside. An obscene wet sound came from it, just showcasing how wet Ellie was. You pumped your digits a few times, Ellie’s hold tightening even more.

The coil within her stomach snapped when she felt you curl and pump your fingers in, then out. Alongside the nonstop stimulation of your tongue working itself to get a drop out of her. Ellie whined, riding out her release on your face, your slender fingers still curled inside before slipping them out. You eased them out with a squelch, dragging them up to swipe through Ellie’s folds.

Lazily, you cleaned up her, not wasting a single drop of her orgasm. Your tongue lapping up her juices as if your life depended on it. Her grip loosened on your hair, Ellie’s chest rising and falling, trying to recover from her high. You sweetly kissed Ellie’s clit one more time, pulling away and kissing up her stomach.

“How did that feel?” You glanced at her, noticing her body trembling from the release. “I hope it felt okay, and… I really do mean what I said, Els.”

She lifted her head, eyes still shut, but snapping open when she heard you say those words. “I know, and it felt amazing… Are you kidding?” Ellie chuckled, a dazed smile on her lips. “I meant what I said too.” 

You felt yourself instantly melt hearing her say that, you laid your head on her stomach, finding comfort in listening to Ellie’s breathing. You peered at her from that position, heart racing a million miles a minute. “I love you, Ellie. I’m in love with you.”

She grinned harder, her hand reaching to smooth out some loose hairs at the top of your head. “And, I’m in love with you. You’re truly my dearest friend.” 

“Friend? You know we’re more than that now… Way past being just friends, Ellie,” you snorted. You leaned up to kiss her on the lips, pecking them softly, before pulling away to rest your head against her chest. 

Your eyes trailed off to the side, catching sight of the charmed matching bracelet you and Ellie shared, promising to never take it off, you clicked your tongue and narrowed your eyes teasingly. “Really, El? Took off the bracelet?”

She snapped out of her blissful trance, cheeks warming that you’d noticed. She’d completely forgotten she took off the bracelet in the mess of her feelings. You’re an observant person, so of course, you’d pick up on something like that. “Fuck, sweetheart. Smoked a little and got too… into my feelings.”

You reached over, and with little effort grabbed the bracelet. Guilt twanging your heart for making Ellie so upset, you sat up again, grasping Ellie’s wrist delicately, and sliding the bracelet back on. “Not a big deal, now, never take it off,” you pouted. Fingers tapping her wrist, dancing over the smooth surface.

Ellie’s lips curled into a small grin, hands enveloping around your waist, tugging you so you were on top of her. “Never,” she whispered, voice oh, so promising, squeezing your hips in reassurance.

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :)

༻behind the screen༺

♡ pairing. gojo x fem! reader (au you're coworkers)

♡ summary. when a late-night swipe on an anonymous dating app leads to a sultry phone call, you think it’s the perfect way to escape your work stress—especially your infuriatingly smug coworker Gojo Satoru. but when the man on the other end starts sounding eerily familiar, secrets slip out.

♡ contents. 18+ MDNI, smut, phone sex, mutual masturbation, praise kink, dirty talk, satoru is pining over you.

♡ wc. 3k

♡ a/n this was a request! it became longer than i anticipated hehe. but i had fun writing it nonetheless 💕

Gojo Satoru was used to being in control. Whether it was at work, in social settings, or just walking into a room, he was the guy who turned heads, the one who made people laugh, the one everyone gravitated toward.

Confidence was his currency, and he spent it lavishly. But around you? His brain seemed to malfunction entirely.

It was infuriating, really. He could charm anyone with a single smile, yet you—you—barely spared him a glance. And when you did, it was usually accompanied by a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

But you didn’t hate Gojo Satoru—hate was too strong a word for someone as maddeningly smug as him.

What you felt for him was more akin to the annoyance of stepping in gum on a hot summer day or spilling coffee on your favorite blouse. He was a constant presence in your life, always hovering with his stupidly perfect grin and those ridiculous quips that made your eye twitch.

And yet, to him, you were an enigma. You didn’t fall for his charm, his playful teasing, or his self-proclaimed ‘devastatingly good looks,’ and that made you a puzzle he was desperate to solve.

At first, he chalked it up to frustration. No one had ever resisted him the way you did, and it had to be a fluke. Then, the realization hit him like a freight train: he didn’t just want your attention—he wanted you.

It was a big, messy crush, and he had no idea what to do about it. Gojo Satoru didn’t pine, for god’s sake. So, he acted indifferent.

Unfortunately, his strategy was… suboptimal.

Relentless teasing. Sarcastic remarks. Even the occasional ‘accidental’ brush of his hand against yours. None of it worked. Instead of pulling you closer, it only seemed to cement your belief that he was a certified pain in the ass.

Case in point: last Friday in the break room.

“Still no boyfriend, huh?” he’d asked with a smirk, leaning casually against the door frame as if he hadn’t been plotting that line all day. “Guess guys just don’t appreciate all that… sarcasm. Or is it the constant glaring?”

The flash of irritation in your eyes was immediate and searing. He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth, but instead of apologizing, he doubled down with a cocky grin. That was his defense mechanism—smugness as a shield.

You didn’t even bother to dignify him with a response. You stormed off, brushing his shoulder while your heels clicked against the floor as he stood there, internally kicking himself.

Now, as you lay in bed on a random Tuesday night, those words played on repeat in your head. It wasn’t because they hurt—of course not. But they lingered, burrowing into your thoughts like an itch you couldn’t scratch.

Was that cocky ass, right? No… you could get a boyfriend… if you wanted to.

The thought made you scowl, your finger aimlessly scrolling through your phone as the glow of the screen illuminated your face.

“God, who cares what he thinks…” you groan, tossing your phone aside. But the moment you did, it buzzed, and the glow of an ad caught your attention.

A dating app. Anonymous. Discreet. Perfect for someone who wanted validation… without the strings.

“Why not?” you mutter, tapping the download button.

You didn’t expect much. Maybe a few shallow conversations, something to pass the time and make you feel less… undesirable.

Fuck it.

༻♡༺

Gojo Satoru slouched on his couch, one arm draped lazily over the backrest while his other hand flicked mindlessly through his phone.

The TV was on, some senseless drama he couldn’t care less about playing in the background. It was just noise, really—something to drown out the thoughts he didn’t want to entertain. Thoughts of you.

“You’re sulking,” Suguru’s voice cut through the haze, casual and smug as always. Satoru barely looked up as his best friend wandered in from the kitchen, a beer in hand.

“I don’t sulk,” his thumb swipes with more force than necessary, and the pout tugging at his lips, said otherwise.

Suguru snorted, plopping down beside him and cracking his beer open.

“Sure,” he said, leisurely taking a sip. “So, what’s your deal this time? Another tragic failure to get her attention?”

Satoru’s eyes flick up to glare at his friend, but the effect was less menacing and more petulant. He looks back at his phone, refusing to dignify that with a response. Still, his pout said everything Suguru needed to know.

“It wasn’t a failed attempt…” he grumbles after a moment. “She reacts… just… the wrong way…”

Suguru’s brow arches is amusement as he takes another sip of his beer.

“Lemme guess… she glared at you. Again.”

Satoru was silent, staring at his phone like it might provide him with a more dignified answer, but eventually, the admission slipped out, quiet and begrudging.

“Her glare is cute…”

Suguru doesn’t miss the soft pink dusting Satoru’s cheeks, and his eyes roll so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out of his head. He sets his beer down with a sigh, leaning back to rest an arm along the back of the couch.

“You’ve got it bad, man. Just confess already.”

“I can’t,” Satoru’s sigh is so dramatic it could’ve won him an award. He drops his phone onto his chest, staring up at the ceiling like it holds the secrets of the universe. “She totally hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Suguru counters. “She just thinks you’re an idiot, which—let’s be real—you kinda are.”

“Wow. Thanks,” Satoru said flatly. “Your support is truly heartwarming.”

Suguru shrugs, unbothered as always. He grabs his beer and takes another sip, eyeing Satoru like he’s both a lost cause and an endless source of entertainment.

“Y’know what your problem is?”

“Oh, please. Enlighten me,” Satoru stretches his legs out on the coffee table.

Suguru sets his can back down with a decisive clink.

“You overthink things with this girl. Maybe you need a distraction. You oughta download one of those dating apps everyone’s obsessed with. Blow off some steam.”

“A dating app?” Satoru’s nose scrunches in disgust, like Suguru had suggested he take up competitive bird watching or something.

Suguru, unperturbed, reaches over and snatches the phone off Satoru’s chest with zero hesitation. “Yep,” his fingers fly over the screen. “You’re clearly incapable of doing this on your own, so I’m doing it for you.”

“Wait, what—”

“There.” Suguru shoves the phone back into Satoru’s hands, grinning like a man who’d just solved world hunger. “All set.”

༻♡༺

That was how Satoru found himself lying in bed, staring at the app now loaded onto his phone—the bright interface practically mocking him.

A dating app? Seriously?

He was Gojo fucking Satoru. He didn’t need help in that department—if anything, people practically threw themselves at him.

And yet, here he was, thumb hovering over the ‘Get Started’ button like it was some kind of nuclear launch code.

“This is so dumb…” he mutters to himself, running a hand through his snow-white hair. But the alternative—sitting here alone and thinking about you—was worse. Much worse.

With a resigned sigh, he taps the button. The setup was painless enough, and he will admit that the app’s anonymity piqued his interest. No names, no faces, no preconceived notions—just bios and conversation. A refreshing change from his usual routine.

But once he started swiping, reality set in.

The profiles were… bland. Painfully so. If he had to read one more line about someone who ‘loves hiking and tacos,’ he was going to throw his phone across the room. Plus, the conversations he’d had were dull at best and unbearable at worst. Small talk wasn’t his thing, and most people just couldn’t seem to keep up with his wit.

Satoru was about five minutes away from deleting the app when your profile popped up. It was short, clever, and witty—his kind of humor. Intrigued, he swiped right and shot you a message.

Hours slipped away like water through his fingers. The conversation flowed so easily it was almost surreal. You didn’t tiptoe around him or try to impress him—you met his sarcasm with your own, and every jab you threw only made him want to know more.

The two of you talked about everything—movies, terrible music recommendations, the absurdity of office politics. The way you called out corporate nonsense had him laughing so hard he had to put the phone down to catch his breath. He couldn’t remember the last time someone made him laugh like that.

God—you were funny, sharp, and quick on your feet in a way that reminded him of—

Nah…

It wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The universe wasn’t that cruel—or that kind.

He groans, tossing his phone onto the bed and rubbing a hand over his face. His mind was betraying him again, spiraling back to you like it always does.

‘You need a distraction. Blow off some steam.’

Maybe Suguru was right. Maybe he needed a distraction. Something—anything—to get you out of his head.

As his phone buzzes with a new message, his gaze drifts back to the screen.

still there, or did I scare you off?

A slow grin spreads across his face. Whatever. Whoever you were, you had his attention. For tonight, that was enough.

Still here. Hey, can I be honest for a sec?

mmm… depends. how honest?

He smirked, typing quickly.

Well, tbh I’ve been having a tough time. Got it bad for this coworker. Total knockout, but I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m an idiot.

He hits send before he can talk himself out of it, watching the little ‘delivered’ icon appear. Your reply comes after a brief pause.

yikes… sounds complicated.

He chuckles, already typing again.

You have no idea... anyway, I figured I could use a distraction. And if I’m gonna distract myself, I’d rather do it with someone who can actually keep my interest.

There was a beat of hesitation, and then he boldly added:

Wanna have phone sex?

This time, the pause stretched longer. Long enough for him to wonder if he’d blown it. But then, his phone buzzes again.

fuck it... why not?

Grinning like a kid on Christmas morning, he hit the call button through the app. The line rang once, twice, before clicking.

“Hi…” your voice greeted him softly.

“Hey princess,” he drawled. “Thought I might’ve scared you off.”

“Oh… no,” you said, a soft laugh escaping you. “But I will admit, you’re straight to the point, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He leans back further, his free hand trailing lazily over his stomach. “Why waste time, right? Life’s too short for tiptoeing around.”

Ironic, considering how he seemed to do nothing but tiptoe around you—his coworker—at work. You—who always had him second-guessing himself in ways no one else ever could.

However, this wasn’t about you. This was a stranger—right? A voice on the other end of the line. That was all.

But as you laugh through the phone, he closes his eyes, letting the sound settle over him. It was nice… and familiar. Too familiar.

No.

He was imagining things. Again. His brain was playing tricks on him, twisting your voice into something it wasn’t. There was no way it was you.

“So,” he said, steering the conversation back on track. “You’ve done this before?”

“Not really,” you admit, voice dipping slightly. “Actually… no. Honestly, I haven’t. This is my first time.”

His grin widens—the cocky edge returning to his tone.

“First time, huh? Well, you’re in luck. I’m an excellent teacher.”

You let out another soft laugh, nervous but sweet, and it sends a jolt of heat straight through him. What the hell is wrong with him tonight? Your voice—soft, familiar—it feels like a melody he’s heard before.

“Is that so?” you ask, breaking his train of thought.

“Hmm? Oh… absolutely,” he said, shaking his head with a smirk. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he forced himself to focus. “Just relax, princess. Let me guide you.”

“…okay,” you whisper.

He exhales slowly, letting the tension drain from his shoulders as he shifts lower on the bed.

“Now… are you laying in your bed for me?”

“mhmm…” you hum softly.

“Mm, good girl,” he murmurs. “Alright, tell me—what are you wearing?”

“Just… an oversized shirt,” the hesitation in your voice makes him grin. “Nothing else.”

“Yeah?” his hand trails down to the waistband of his sweatpants as he closes his eyes. “That’s perfect. Makes it easy to imagine my hands slipping underneath, right up to that pretty pussy of yours...”

Your sharp inhale crackles through the receiver, and the sound sends a thrill straight to his cock.

“Do something for me,” he begins palming his growing bulge. “Run your hands down your thighs… nice and slow. Tease yourself the way I would.”

There was a beat of silence, and he held his breath, waiting. Then, he heard it—a faint shift in your breathing, followed by a soft, shaky exhale. It was subtle, but it was enough to tell him you were doing exactly as he asked.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his own hand slipping beneath his waistband to wrap around his cock. It twitched eagerly in his palm, already hard and aching as he imagines you following his instructions.

“…you touching yourself, sweetheart?”

“Y-yeah.”

The word trembles on your lips like a secret only he’s allowed to hear, and his grip tightens on his cock as he begins to stroke himself slowly—matching the rhythm he imagines your hand moving in.

“Good girl,” he purrs, the sheets rustling beneath him as his hand glides across his length. “Now slide your fingers inside that tight little cunt… nice and slow.”

Your soft moan spills through the line, and his hips buck involuntarily at the sound—his hand moving faster.

“Fuck… love hearing those pretty little sounds” he groans as his thumb swipes over his tip, slick with pre-cum. “How many fingers are you using?”

“Two,” you gasp as the word breaks into a moan.

“Add another,” he commands, almost a growl.

You hesitate for just a moment, but then your breathy whimper crackles through the line, and he hisses through clenched teeth, his dick twitching eagerly at the sound. But somehow, without meaning to, his imagination betrays him.

He pictures you—his coworker. Fuck, why couldn’t he stop thinking about you?

You—head tipped back; lips parted as your fingers work you open—his cock throbbed eagerly at the mental image.

Fuck… this was supposed to be a distraction, not fuel for his already out-of-control infatuation. He groaned, annoyed at himself but powerless to stop, and his strokes grew faster, more desperate as he surrendered to the fantasy.

“Haa… that’s my girl,” he praises, eyes fluttering shut as his hips buck into his hand desperately. “Stretch yourself for me. Make yourself nice and ready for my cock… nngh… wanna fucking fill you up, princess. Make you take every inch.”

Your soft, choked moan crackles through the phone, and it unravels him further. His strokes grow faster, more erratic—his free hand gripping the sheets as he chases his release.

“Bet you’d look so pretty,” his hand becomes a frantic blur as he loses himself to his fantasy. “All spread out and dripping for me. Taking my cock like a good girl… haaa… gonna fucking stuff you full as you cum all over m’ dick.”

“Fuck… m’ cumming,” you gasp, and as your broken cry crackles through the receiver, it sends him careening over the edge.

“Fuck… yes, good fucking girl… haaa—m’ cumming too.”

He pumps his cock, hips jerking as thick, hot streams of cum spill over his hand and onto the sheets below. His breath hitches in his throat, and before he can stop himself, your name rips from his lips, raw and guttural, a desperate cry he couldn’t contain.

Through the phone, your own gasping breaths mingle with his—the faint sound of your release trembling through the line. Then, for a brief moment, the world was quiet, save for the shared rhythm of your breathing as the two of you come down from the high.

Until, reality set in.

Fuck.

He blinked up at the ceiling, his free hand raking through his hair as his brain scrambled to process what just happened.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He felt like a goddamn asshole. He’d just moaned someone else’s name—your name—while he was supposed to be with someone else.

What the hell was wrong with him?

But then, you laughed—a soft, breathless sound that broke through his spiraling thoughts.

“That was… fun,” you said warmly, slightly teasing. “But, um… how do you know my name?”

His stomach dropped.

“I… what?” his voice cracked slightly as panic clawed its way up his throat.

“You said my name,” you reply, a curious lilt to your tone now. “I don’t remember telling you my name. And, you know, the app is supposed to be anonymous…”

It hit him all at once.

The voice that had been haunting him, the one that felt so painfully familiar, the one he’d convinced himself couldn’t possibly be yours—it was yours.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as realization washed over him.

“Wait…” your tone shifts from amused to sharp. “You sound familiar. Like… Gojo?”

His stomach flips, dread pooling in his chest like ice water.

“Uh…” He froze, his mind scrambling for something, anything, that could salvage this disaster. “…hi, princess?” His tone was a weak attempt at his usual cocky charm—it fell flat. “Didn’t expect to find you on this app…”

There was a beat of silence, and then, like the idiot he was, his mouth moved faster than his brain.

“Sooo… still no boyfriend then, huh?”

beneath the mistletoe — satoru gojo

having a crush on your brother's best friend is bad enough. having that best friend look better at every family dinner is just cruel. but worst of all? he's noticed your not-so-subtle staring.

It should be illegal how Satoru Gojo manages to look better every goddamn single Christmas dinner.

You watch him over the rim of your glass as he throws his head back laughing at something your aunt just said, the sound rich and warm like honey. And it doesn't help that he's rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, giving you a perfect view of his unfairly handsome forearms.

Your grip tightens on your glass as he runs a hand through those perfect white strands of his, and you catch yourself wondering, not for the first time, if they're as soft as they look.

It's been like this for years now — ever since your brother Suguru first brought his college roommate home for the holidays, Satoru's own family being overseas.

Now he's practically part of the family, showing up to every gathering with that infuriating smile and those stupidly blue eyes that seem to find you no matter where you are in the room.

You deliberately focus on your plate, stabbing a potato with perhaps more force than necessary. But your eyes, the traitors, keep drifting back to him of their own accord. It's frustrating, really.

Almost impossible not to notice the way his white hair falls just so over his forehead, or how his jaw flexes when he's deep in thought, or the way his throat moves when he takes a sip of wine.

Not that you're looking at his throat.

You're not.

(You totally are.)

And then, because the universe hates you, he catches you staring.

Those blue eyes lock with yours across the table, and his lips curl into a faint smile that makes your stomach flip. You nearly choke on your wine, quickly averting your gaze to study the tablecloth like it's the most fascinating thing you've ever seen.

"Stop staring at my best friend," Suguru whispers as he passes behind your chair.

Shit. Was it that obvious?

After dinner, you escape to the back porch, needing some air that isn't thick with the scent of cinnamon and Satoru's cologne. The winter night is crisp and clear, your breath forming little clouds in the darkness.

You're not surprised when you hear the door open behind you, or when the familiar scent of cigarette smoke wafts your way.

"Those things will kill you, Suguru," you say without turning around.

"That's what I keep telling him," Satoru's voice chimes in, and you turn to find them both strolling onto the porch, your stomach dropping. Suguru takes another deliberate drag of his cigarette, maybe just to spite you both, while Satoru wrinkles his nose.

"Speaking of things that might kill you," Satoru says, "how's that final year of college treating you?"

You try to focus on the question, but it's difficult when the porch light is hitting his eyes just right, making them look impossibly bluer and you have to resist the urge to melt under his gaze.

"It's fine," you manage, aiming for nonchalant. "Just trying to survive my thesis."

"Ah, your thesis." His lips quirk up in that stupidly attractive way of his. "What was your topic again? Something about modern interpretations of folklore?"

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You mentioned it exactly once, months ago, during summer break. You hadn't expected him to remember.

"Japanese urban legends and their evolution through social media," you correct him, trying not to read too much into the fact that he remembered at all. "Though at this point, it's more like about my own evolution into madness."

Suguru snorts, flicking ash off his cigarette. "Please, you're the only person I know who actually enjoys research. I've seen your color-coded spreadsheets."

"Some of us like being organized," you shoot back.

As if on cue, your aunt's voice carries from inside. "Suguru! Can you come help your father with something?"

Suguru sighs, crushing his cigarette under his heel before heading inside, leaving you alone with Satoru. And suddenly the porch feels much smaller than it did a moment ago.

Great.

"So," Satoru says, shifting closer until his arm brushes yours. "Going to tell me why you've been watching me all night?"

Heat floods your cheeks. "I haven't—"

"You're not as subtle as you think," he interrupts. "I can feel you glaring holes into the back of my head whenever I'm around."

"I don't glare," you protest weakly.

"No?" His voice drops lower as he steps closer, backing you against the porch railing. "Then what would you call it?"

You swallow hard, trying to ignore how good he smells up close. "Curious observation?"

He laughs, the sound sending warmth spreading through your chest despite the cold. "Is that what we're calling it now?" Then his eyes flick up. "Would you look at that?"

You follow his gaze to see a sprig of mistletoe hanging from the porch ceiling, definitely not there earlier today. You're going to kill your mother. Or your aunt. Or your cousin.

Maybe all of them.

"We don't have to—" you start to say, but Satoru's already leaning in, moving into your space with that casualness he's always had, like being this close to you is the most natural thing in the world.

"I've been waiting for an excuse to kiss you since sophomore year," he murmurs. "Please don't ruin this for me."

Oh.

Oh.

His lips meet yours before you can process that confession, soft and warm and tasting faintly of the mulled wine from dinner. Your hands find their way to his chest as he cups your face, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he kisses you like he's been thinking about it for years.

And the truth is, he has.

When you finally break apart, his forehead resting against yours, you say, "Suguru's never going to let us live this down."

"Worth it." Satoru smiles, stealing another quick kiss. "Though I should probably thank him for the mistletoe."

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew. Who do you think helped him put it up?"

You smack his chest, but he just catches your hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. "Merry Christmas to me," he says with a wink.

And despite yourself, you can't help but smile back. "Merry Christmas, you idiot."

© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.

Reblog if you want one of these in your ask box:

•A compliment

•A story

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•A cute message

•One thing you want to tell me

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There’s something really interesting about Jayce’s word choice here: “While your best friend bleeds out in your arms”

“Bleeding out” implies that Viktor was still alive to bleed out

However we as an audience know/can infer that Jayce knows deep down that’s not true

As others have pointed out:

1) His clothes are more torn while he carries him than in the council room which would imply that Jayce throughly check for signs of life, that cpr was done, etc

2) Jayce carried him for five blocks - where there would have been no signs of life

3) He brought him to the lab not the hospital - he knew there was nothing the hospital could do

4) Viktor’s spine is severed - he had to have felt that something not right was going on there, holding him in his arms for FIVE blocks

5) He later tells Viktor “my partner died in this room”

To me Jayce saying “bleeds out in your arms” means that he may have convinced himself, deluded himself into believing that Viktor hadn’t actually died, that he was dying and that he had saved Viktor from dying

I don’t think until after meeting Mage Viktor, did he really allow himself to acknowledge that he brought Viktor back from the dead

I think you can see it in the way he reacts to being back in that room, before Mel walks in, before the not-Viktor-Viktor joins them

He appears resigned to me, like he’s been forced to come to terms with the fact that Viktor actually did die that night

I personally think it explains a lot of his behavior after - how he can’t believe Viktor leaving him, him thinking Viktor was coming back when it was Heimerdinger & Ekko, etc

I think most, if not all, of us can agree that being brought back from the dead is different than being saved from death, Viktor wasn’t saved because Jayce preformed CPR, he basically preformed necromancy on him but while Viktor knew that - Jayce had (seemingly) convinced himself that it wasn’t like that or at least not as extreme as that

Which honestly kinda makes me wanna cry 😭

TLOU TWITTER LINKS

Ellie williams

Ellie eating you out

scissoring with ellie

ellie rewarding you for being a good girl

fingering ellie before she goes for patrol

ellie riding your strap

ellie plowing you from the back :D

Abby Anderson

ABBYS STRAP GAMEEE

ABBYS STRAP GAMEEE PT.2

tribbing with abby before she goes for an assignment

dont get mad but, ABBY STRAP GAME PT.3

Abby grinding on youuuu <333

abby eating you out to help you go to sleep

Dina (Woodward?)

dina eating you out aftter patrol

dina using her strap on you

eating dina out :D

giving dina the strap

MILF!dina fingering you

dina fucking you with her strap

Joel Miller

joel treating his good girl <333

joel taking his stress out on you

this is so joel idc

joel making you squirt

joel fucking you before patrol

pre-outbreak!joel :3

Jesse

jesse pounding you

riding jesse after patrol

normal world!jesse fingering you in the car

getting high and getting fucked

edging jesse

jesse treating you

if you’re getting a ‘doesn’t exist’ page, log into Twitter with an account and they should all show up xx ❤️

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

summary · a typical night of lovemaking with your boyfriend takes an untypical turn when you decide to accept rather than decline an incoming call from his best friend.

content · NSFW MDNI, dom!bottom!reader, sub!top!armin (ft. the amazon position, my beloved<3), sub!eren, a pinch of eremin, phone sex (sort of), praise, degradation, humiliation, elements of exhibitionism and voyeurism, pet names (darling, sweet thing, baby), laughter, banter and bad flirting during sex, intended as an armin x reader NOT an eren x reader (reader just bullies eren the entire time lol), reader and armin fuck nasty while eren gets off to it basically

wc · 4.7k

notes · hello! i haven’t written smut in a hot minute lol. this has been sat in my drafts for months but i finished the rest in the last, like, day lmao. anyway, this is DISGUSTINGLY self-indulgent but i hope you enjoy! <3

Armin’s phone buzzes on the bedside table, screen lighting up with the name of the caller.

Usually, he is always quick to answer, only one, two rings max, but that’s a little hard to do considering you’re currently fucking any and all sense of self right out of his body.

Nonplussed, you reach for the vibrating phone, a smile forming when you read the name of the caller. You slow your movements to a stop too, which finally pulls Armin out of the foggy daze he’s in, enough for him to recognise his ringtone.

Before he can voice the question, you tell him, “It’s Eren.”

Armin swallows the drool that’s gathered in his mouth. “I’ll– I’ll have to call him back.” He gently squeezes your thighs, bracketing his own, and groans. “Later,” he adds softly as his eyes flutter shut, unable to stay open.

Alluring as your boyfriend is, so vulnerable and open, with his sweaty skin shining like honey in the dim light of your bedroom, your mind is unable to resist wandering... Replaying all the conversations you’ve had with Armin about your shared attraction to Eren, the transparency in Eren’s own reciprocated feelings, the lingering stares, the hard gulps, the ‘platonic’ flirting...

Your fingers tiptoe up his chest, a playful gesture, not uncommon for even the bedroom, but still it piques Armin’s interest enough for him to reopen his eyes. “Why later?” you muse, grinning like a fox. “Why not now?”

As if processing your words, Armin blinks, hard, then parts his lips to reply, but words fail to reach his brain, much less his mouth. And so he stares at you, like the unspoken answer couldn’t be any more obvious because it couldn’t. Armin is quite clearly busy right now, and he’s sure that whatever reason Eren has for calling him can afford to wait, at least until he’s– well, finished.

...But you don’t seem to agree.

You go ahead and offer the phone to him as if it’s commonplace to do so in these circumstances, and Armin’s eyes widen, his lips part and close again, but he makes no further effort to protest or stop you.

“It’d be rude to keep him waiting,” you say, “and if you don’t hurry, I’ll just pick up for you.”

A few seconds, a pause, drifts into place then; a chance to decline the call or say the safeword or just do anything to show that he doesn’t want to continue — but Armin just chews on his bottom lip, eyes casting down, indigo under the shadow of his lashes, and it’s all the answer you need. You’ve always loved that about him; he may look and act like a blushing virgin, but here, with you, he can’t help being your dirty little pervert.

With a satisfied smirk, you accept the call and hover it over Armin’s ear. Your boyfriend catches his breath, but as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, you’re resuming your actions from before and knocking that breath back out again.

“Fucking finally,” Eren’s playfully exasperated voice crackles through the phone speaker. “Thought you were never gonna pick up, dude. What took you so long? You always answer on the second ring.”

Armin glances at you, as though you might be able to supply him with a believable enough excuse for his behaviour. Despite those puppy eyes, you know he doesn’t need your help — not that you’d give it to him if he did, though. You enjoy seeing him struggle a bit sometimes. How could you not, when he always makes the cutest expressions? And besides, diamonds can only form under pressure, right? So all you do is give him a small, encouraging flick of your head. Go on. Answer him.

Armin takes a deep breath. “S–sorry,” he starts. His sweaty palms nervously massage the flesh around your hips. “My phone was, um, in– in the other room.”

“More like in another building,” Eren jokes and chuckles to himself. Armin probably would have laughed too, if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep his voice in. “Anyway, I just wanted to know if you’re still down for drinks on Friday? We never actually made official plans and usually you get back to me by now but– well, I know you’ve been busy so I thought I’d, y’know, call and check.”

You notice Armin regaining his bearings at the reminder of his plans with Eren, and out of jealousy or sadism, or perhaps a bit of both, you lift yourself up, until the tip of Armin’s cock is on the brink of slipping out of you, and forcefully drop back down.

Your poor boy barely manages to capture the noise he makes behind his hand in time, the other leaping up to claw at your shoulder. His face screws up, eyes and lips squeezing tightly, but you don’t stop there. You lean over to his sensitive neck to nip and kiss the already marked-up skin, all the while making fast, shallow thrusts. The lewd sound of your motions, definitely audible to Armin and potentially to Eren, makes Armin’s cheeks fill with blood. Behind his hand, he suppresses another sound.

“Hello? You still there?”

You’re lucky enough, for whoever’s sake, that Eren is as oblivious as he is.

“Yes,” Armin says, trying to stabilise his breathing. “Mm– mhm! Friday sounds g–good, yeah.”

Unfortunately, Eren is not oblivious enough.

“Is everything, uh... okay? On your end?” Eren asks, and perhaps to anyone else, it would have sounded like a genuine question, but having known Eren for a while now, almost as long as Armin, you notice the uncharacteristic quiver in his voice — one that seems less concerned and more nervous.

You hand Armin the phone then, confusing him for a moment as to why you suddenly decided to give it to him. He’s about to speak into it, to respond to Eren, but that’s when you lift up again and drag Armin down the bed by the legs, a faint noise of surprise escaping him, before raising them up so his knees are pressed to his chest.

He tries to regain his composure despite the compromising position. “Uh, yeah, I’m–” But then you’re sinking back down on him completely, and he moans out at a volume that a part of him hopes Eren doesn’t hear — but that another, more significant part of him hopes he does.

“I’m okay,” he finishes, a little high-toned and not much louder than his moan from seconds ago.

“Are you sure?” Eren’s voice cracks. He hurriedly clears his throat. “Cause you, um, you– you just sound...” He laughs awkwardly and you know in an instant that you’ve got him right where you want him; that his relaxed demeanour is being tested, chipped away at by Armin’s suspicious sounds and staggered speech.

As if on cue — you still aren’t sure if it was on purpose or not — Armin moans again, louder this time, so that it’s painfully unmissable. The curse word Eren mutters under his breath right after is a little less unmissable, but you’re much too hyper-aware from the adrenaline and endorphins to let it slip past you.

You take the phone back again. “Pretty, right?” you say, right into the mic, and you physically feel the way Armin shudders at your intervention, how his sweaty skin grows goosebumps all over.

There’s silence on the other end, but you aren’t so easily discouraged.

“Don’t back out now, Eren,” you insist. “Go on, finish your sentence. You were about to say that Armin sounds pretty, right?”

He remains quiet for a few seconds longer. Only his breathing is audible, so you can hear the way it shakes, the way he licks his lips. “Something like that,” he mutters, voice dry.

You hum. “And I’ll bet his sounds have made you really hard, huh?” The muscles in Armin’s thighs helplessly jump under your weight. “Bet you wanna touch yourself to them, don’t you, Eren?”

On the opposite end of the phone, Eren’s breath hitches. His face is unbearably hot, like lava under his skin. He and Armin are close, sure. Always have been. They’ve done some things together before, when drunk, lonely or just curious, but this? This is different. You’re here now, and something about your presence has Eren’s thoughts fizzling into static.

“I asked you a question, Eren,” you say, stern yet somehow casual, bored, as if such authoritative phrases came naturally to you — and suddenly Eren is hearing Armin’s name in place of his, imagining you and Armin in different scenarios, in ways he knows he should never imagine his best friend and his partner, yet which could never be so vivid with anybody else. Images of you fucking Armin, pulling his hair, looking down at him with a misleading merciful gaze; Armin tied up, gagged and blindfolded, with erotic toys strapped to his body, like the girls in those porn video thumbnails Eren typically avoids; tears on pale cheeks, big blue eyes with fair eyelashes, a pink tongue and two fingers sliding across it, deeper and deeper into a gagging, o-shaped mouth.

Then those eyes melt into sea green, tears form on dark lashes, slide down skin slightly more olive-toned, past a jaw that’s more defined...

Eren combs his fingers through his loose hair, trying to catch the breath he didn’t realise was getting away from him.

“Are you gonna be a good boy and answer me?” you urge further at Eren’s skeptically long silence, with a smirk that’s wide enough to be heard in your voice. “Or should I just hang up and leave you to take care of that boner all on your own?”

Eren lets out a small — very, very small — and involuntarily whine, so subtle that if it wasn’t for the vibrations in the back of his throat, he might not have realised he made it, or that it came from him at all. He wants to argue — “Boner? What are you talking about? Don’t be so full of yourself.” — but he doesn’t need to glance down to know you’re right.

“D–don’t hang up,” Eren says, curt and a little unsteady. Humiliation rises in him like hot air at the sound of his own desperation, oblivious to how he’s playing right into your hand.

You smile, absentmindedly caressing Armin’s shoulders and torso, a wordless way of reminding him you’re still paying attention to him, but also a silent demand to stop squirming. “So bossy,” you say, like you’re scolding a child. “A ‘please’ would be nice, you know.”

The true nature of your words swells under the surface — an underlying threat. Not everything is as it seems in the world, and this is not just a suggestion or a statement, nor a throwaway thought that you happened to voice out loud. This is an order.

Whether or not Eren obeys, however, is a different story. He casts his gaze down to his lap, where the outline of his hard cock is visible through his sweatpants, along with a dot of precum, soaked through two layers and much too soon for what can be considered normal. He wonders what you would say at such a sight, what kind of expression you’d make — but that simple wonder is really just yearning in disguise, and Eren decides then, that complying is the only way he can get remotely close to satisfying that yearning.

He couldn’t disobey if he wanted to — and he really didn’t want to.

So, “Please,” he finally says. Less reluctantly this time.

“Atta boy!” you chirp, though only in a partially condescending tone. You’re sure that given Eren’s personality, he’d typically be fighting back a little more, flashing a bit more attitude or snark, but — whether it’s you, Armin, the situation or some combination of those things — something must have his head too clouded with arousal to try denying himself this.

Beneath you, Armin whines.

You turn your focus back to him. “Is my boy getting impatient? Or jealous, maybe?” you tease, caressing the apple of his cheek with the backs of your knuckles.

His eyes shutter closed as he leans into your touch and whines again, further back in his throat, but loud enough that you’re certain his phone still picks up on it. “Please,” he says, delicately, as if trying to find his voice, or perhaps the courage to speak at all.

Armin is unfortunately your weak spot and with Eren at your disposal, to mess with and be cruel to, you lack the heart to tease your lover any further.

“I’m sorry for neglecting you, darling.” You lean down and kiss him gently. “I’m here, I’m listening. Tell me what you need.”

His face glows pink; he hesitates.

You catch on.

“It’s okay, don’t be shy,” you soothe him, petting his hair. With your other hand, you make the calculated decision to bring the device closer to your mouth. “Eren needs to know how to be a good, obedient boy, after all–” You trail your fingers down the contours of Armin’s cheek to his chin and tenderly hold it– “and who better to demonstrate than you, my sweet thing?”

Across the line, the breath suspended in Eren’s throat, that he’s been holding back in fear of interrupting the scene he feels so ashamed for listening to, suddenly sputters out of him like gas out of a clogged car exhaust. Because, fuck, he was not prepared to hear you say his name just then. To suddenly make it personal; to swing open the door on this private, intimate, closed-door moment between you and your boyfriend, his best friend.

He wasn’t but he should have been. He’s heard and witnessed enough about your dynamic with Armin, as well as fallen victim to your friendly bullying and teasing himself, enough to know you’re not somebody who passes up an opportunity to see a person scramble and fluster. He should’ve known better than to think he could get away with being a passive player in this game of yours; that it was only a matter of time before you dragged him back, by the collar and leash you managed to lasso around his mind in the short duration of this call, and threw him out on the playing field as an active participant instead of a mere spectator.

Sure, you can’t actually see each other, but the phones in your hands are a constant reminder that every word comes with a plural audience and every miniscule sound may or may not be audible to the other side. That alone does its wonders, but here you are the gamemaster and you wield the power to do more; to take matters into your own hands, to bend, knead and shape them to your will. And you’re no amateur; you know exactly where to sink your fingers, how much pressure to apply and when to press harder or let go, so that you have not one, but two pliant putties in your palm.

“Now...” You sigh and shift your position on Armin’s cock. It garners the exact reaction you were aiming for — a warbled moan — and one that will surely leave its mark on the third pair of ears in the room with you. “Let me and Eren hear what you need, baby. Show us how a good boy uses his words.”

Armin sucks in his bottom lip and inhales a steadying breath through his nose. “I...” He swallows. “I want you to move.” His eyes, though hooded, noticeably drop to where the two of you are connected. “I want you to– to fuck me ‘til I can’t think. Please?” His voice is high, desperate, quivering. Clammy hands paw at your thighs. “I just can’t– I can’t take it. I can’t take waiting anymore, I need– I need you to fuck me and make me come, I need– y–you, I need you, please.”

A shaky groan interrupts through Armin’s phone.

You smirk, let the noise steep in the silence you make for it, to marinate in your own satisfaction, so he might think, for just a moment, that you didn’t notice, before leaning into the speaker.

“Eren,” you say innocently, and you think you hear a sharp breath in response, “I hope you’re not touching yourself right now.”

Nothing. Only background noise.

“You’re not, are you? You know that would be bad, right?” you continue. “And worse, if you lie to me about it.”

All you hear is a quiet exhale and the distant hum of what might be the AC.

You lower the phone. “Tell him why it would be bad, Armin.”

Armin’s eyes never once leave yours as he answers, “Because you didn’t give permission.”

“That’s right.” You smile at your boy and stroke his hair in approval. “Be honest then, Eren,” you resume. “Were you? Touching yourself?”

As you wait, you watch anticipation, glimmering with an edge of hope, grow in Armin’s eyes.

A heavy breath. Then, a low, gravelly, guilty, “Yeah.”

You emphasise your disappointment with a long sigh. “Mm. See, this is exactly why Armin has to set an example for you,” you reprimand, your hand still brushing over messy blond hair. “He’s doing you a favour and you’re not even paying attention? Just getting distracted by your cock like that’s all you can think about?” You drop a lock of hair that you were twirling around your finger. “It probably is, isn’t it?” you scoff. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic.”

Excitement passes through Eren like a tidal wave. His hand is still resting over his crotch, fingertips over his balls and palm under the head of his cock. He doesn’t quite understand why he’s so smitten by your words nor why he craves to hear more of them, but he does. And he’s willing to chase after it — to do anything, really — if it means he’ll get more.

“Hands off your dick, Eren.”

Another order, this one large and unsympathetic, leaving no room for doubt or defiance.

His hand retreats, shamefully, as if you were really there, as if you had caught him red-handed with your own two eyes and are now observing him to make sure he does as he’s told.

“I don’t care how hard you get or how bad you want to come. Your full, undivided attention stays on this phone call and nothing else,” you explain, as if you’re just talking about the weather. “Have I made myself clear?”

Eren swallows and hums his affirmation before quickly correcting himself.

“Yes.”

And unbeknownst to you, he has to cut himself off at the polite honorific that almost follows, the same way a person might catch themself about to call their teacher ‘Mom’. Somewhere in the firm, instructional tone and the ease with which you hand out commands, it felt like a natural addition, but not one that Eren, nor even his already dwindling dignity and pride, are ready for.

But rather than bestowing him the praise, the infamous pet name that you’ve been taunting him with, for his agreeable behaviour, you grace Eren with no more than a simple clinical, “Good,” and an air of finality followed by a thunk as you set the phone on the nightstand.

When you sit back to face Armin, with his hair all mussed, cheeks flushed and lips tinted red from constant worrying between his teeth, you’re unable to suppress your grin.

“Hey,” you whisper.

Armin grins back, full of teeth and that pinch in the corners of his eyes that you love. “Hi,” he returns with a chuckle. You steal a quick kiss amidst the soft laughter before hooking your thumbs behind the back of Armin’s knees and rocking forward and up. You both sigh with the movement, then again, when you move backward and down.

Armin’s head lolls back into the pillows, unfurling a column of pale skin before you. “Fuck,” he gasps out. His hand slaps down over one of yours and the other digs blunt nails into your waist.

You move again. Faster.

“Oh, fuck–”

Again. Harder.

Another cry, another expletive.

Hearing, seeing, experiencing your boyfriend rapt with ecstasy and useless to conceal it fills you with a glee that borders on manic.

“I love your reactions so much, Armin,” you rasp; a confession you’ve made countless times, every time, but that never fails to make your beloved blush. “And I love that they’re all mine. You’re so perfect, I love you so much.”

His next stream of sounds melts on your tongue as you kiss him eagerly. “Always so pretty and vocal,” you say in the breaths between yours and Armin’s panting mouths. “So good for me, aren’t you? Only for me. Only me and Eren get to know you like this.”

You grind down into Armin’s erratic thrusts until you’re all but fused together each time you meet. Your hands roam; crawling up to cradle his jaw, dragging down to toy with his nipples, jumping to his legs and pushing until he’s folded under your weight and clutching your hair in a wanton fist.

You reluctantly part from him to return to a more comfortable position above him while Armin’s hands clamber to secure his knees in place for you — always aiming to heed your every whim, even the ones you don’t voice. Your own hands layer over his as you slow down, drawing circles with your pelvis. Steady, smooth, sensual. Savouring the feeling of being so close to him.

You long to be closer, still.

So you move yourself up, off his cock, push his legs down and back onto the mattress, help him sit up. The entire time, Armin is just gazing up at you with glazed-over yet still-adoring eyes, up until you’re straddling his lap and he registers what you’re doing. Then he becomes your grateful devotee, chanting a breathy chorus of ‘Yes’s and ‘Thank you’s and encasing you in his arms as you welcome him back inside you. You hush his sweet cacophony with the hungry embrace of your lips, catching whimpers and fragments of love declarations, as you ride him with fervour. Every so often, you slow down and tease, just to prolong your unified bliss, but the sporadic fluctuations drive Armin insane.

He makes a noise like he’s overjoyed and on the verge of sobbing at the same time. “You’re– fuck, you’re so good to me, I love you, I– ah, shit, I love you so much!”

In Eren’s grip, the back of his phone is damp with his sweat. He’s addicted to the sound of you and Armin, the words you share, the moans you make together. He wants you both so carnally yet he couldn’t be happier than where he is now, forced to clench slippery fingers around the fabric of his sweatpants, far from where he’s aching for relief. Entirely dependent on his imagination to pair images with what he can hear. It’s cruel and heavenly. The more it drags on, the more he’s convinced he could come right there in his briefs. Untouched.

“Can– can I come? Please? I’m so close, I– I’m losing my fucking mind,” Armin babbles against your neck.

You nuzzle his temple while your fingers rake through his undercut. “Me too, let’s– let’s come together, okay?”

Armin nods frantically against your skin until tears breach the barrier of his waterline and he’s coming inside you with a muffled moan. You’re right there with him, head thrown back as your hands form fists in Armin’s hair. His arms, enveloped all the way around you, squeeze you from the tension of his full-body orgasm before falling slack at your sides.

As Armin slumps against the headboard, you catch your breath and reach for the phone. Over the sounds of pleasure earlier, you couldn’t tell if the line was silent or if your little voyeur of a friend had hung up. You’re pleased to see his name still aglow on the screen.

“Enjoy the show?” you quip. Though the unfitting conversational lilt to your voice throws Eren for a loop, that’s not why he chooses to remain quiet. Compliant as he’s been, he refuses to indulge your ego any more than he has to — but you expected that, so you simply move on to the question you did want answered.

“Did you keep your hands off your cock like I told you to?”

Armin perks up at that, curious as you are about what the answer will be. With bated breath, you both wait, but the tense silence is disturbed by Armin’s phone vibrating. You are about to ignore it until you recognise the sender of the message — and notice that it contains an attached image. Your eyebrows arch up your forehead at the bold gesture, but you tap the intriguing notification nonetheless.

Nestled just below the last exchange of innocent messages with his best friend, is a photograph of Eren Jaeger’s hard cock, straining against grey boxer briefs and lewdly framed by a circular patch of damp fabric.

“This is what it looks like... without you touching it?” you say, wearing a shit-eating smirk that is sure to translate into your tone.

“Yes,” Eren hisses through gritted teeth; a hybrid of embarrassed frustration and the ever-present need for release.

You giggle and show Armin the photo. “He sent us a fucking dick pic, Armin, can you believe that? Our little show must’ve really done a number on him, wow.”

The subject of your appraisal sighs and shakes his head at your mocking antics, but by the size of his pupils you can tell he isn’t unaffected by the image.

You take another look at it, but the most you feel is amused. “Barely even touched himself and he’s got a precum stain that big, that’s hilarious,” you snicker.

As though he can sense Eren’s humiliation through the phone (it’s quite palpable, really), Armin mercifully defends him. “He’s been good though, right?”

Disappointed by Armin ruining your fun, you pull a face. “I guess.” But then, struck with an idea, it morphs into an impish grin and you lean forward, hand on his chest, as you exaggeratedly purr, “But not as good as youuu, babycakes~”

“Pfft!” Armin pushes you away half-heartedly. You relent and manoeuvre around him. “God, that is terrible. It’s like you’re not even trying,” he jokingly criticises, but cups your face as you lean in to kiss him anyway. You decide to nip his bottom lip and tug at it, still feeling playful, but when you part, Armin is staring at you with an intensity that warms you more than a harmless joke should. You kiss him again, a little harder, a little longer. Breathing a little heavier.

“Can...”

Right. You almost forgot you have company.

With much reluctance, you tear your focus away from your boyfriend. “Mm, what is it?”

Eren hesitates for a second before asking, “Can I, um, touch now?” His desperation is evident in the gruff quality of his voice. “Please?”

All too familiar with what you’re like, Armin gives you a pointed look and mouthes, ‘Be nice.’

Rolling your eyes, you take a moment to think, then say, “Send us a video of you edging yourself three times and I’ll think about it,” before tacking on a quick, “See you Friday!” and abruptly ending the call.

Armin stares at you in shock for a few seconds, then shouts your name scoldingly. “I told you to be nice!”

You gasp and cover your mouth in faux-alarm. “No way, is that what you said? I totally thought you were saying ‘mean ice’, that’s so crazy how that got lost in translation...” You keep your mouth covered to hide your growing smile.

Armin frowns at you, or tries to at least; he ends up smiling too. “You’re so mean sometimes.” He lightly pinches your cheek. You swat away his hand. “I ought to keep you in check more.”

You scoff and snake your arms around Armin’s neck. “You wouldn’t dare. I know you like it when I’m mean.”

Armin mutters a small, “Only in moderation,” that is meant to be assertive but gets lost somewhere under the scope of your bewitching gaze. Even though you’ve been dating for years, he still falters in moments like these. Too adorable.

Giggling, you seize his lips in a kiss — one that is only the prelude to the sequel of your passionate night ahead.

NOT SO INVISIBLE STRING — GOJO SATORU

synopsis: the universe has a funny way of working. gojo always knew he was destined to be with you and so did others. it just took some time for you to figure that out as well.

content warning(s): FLUFF! eventual smut so 18+ mdni, fem! reader, pining gojo (sooo cute), mutual pining, friends to lovers, unproetected sex, gojo calling you baby multiple times while going innn.

word count: 6.8k zoo wee mama... pls read anyway or i'll d—

SPRING 2008

“So, you’re not gonna miss me? Not even a little?” 

An arm was suddenly thrown across your shoulder, leaving you to bear its weight. The press of his uniform stuck to your nape, making his presence all the more difficult to ignore.

Fellow students bustled and sidestepped their way around you two, some even falter in their steps to ogle briefly at the scene unfolding before them.

“Satoru, move!” Shoko— your saviour— jabs Gojo’s side, urging him to budge, but to no avail.

He’s still tethered to your side, twirling around his diploma in his unoccupied hand despite your best efforts to create space between you two. “You’re literally blocking people’s way toward the gates,” she says.

It’s graduation day and the last day of school for the spring semester, bringing the school year to yet another successful end. It also meant that today would be the last time your upperclassmen would walk on school grounds as students.

The sun was beginning to dip behind the many trees surrounding the school, and its marvellous glow cast warm hues of pink and orange that stretched across the sky. Its rays descend onto the school’s campus; setting for a brilliant, comforting atmosphere. 

Answering Gojo’s initial question about whether you’d miss him, you avert eye contact with your persistent senior. “I never said that,” your voice teeters between a grumble and a groan riddled with exasperation. 

Your eyes sweep the courtyard and you spot a few familiar faces in the crowd. Some are gathered along the steps leading up to the school taking photos to commemorate today. Others linger on campus chatting amongst themselves, and some whack each other with their diploma scrolls while others treat theirs delicately.

And not too far off from where Satoru holds you hostage stood a small crowd of his classmates—specifically, his female classmates— waiting for their chance to bid their goodbyes...

Or stumble out an unprepared confession thrown out in the heat of the moment before they may never see Gojo Satoru again.

Who knows. 

All you’re sure of is that they are most definitely throwing you shady death glares from your peripheral.

“Y’know, I’m gonna miss you,” Gojo says, arm still looped around your shoulders. He has half a mind to drag you away from standing right front and centre in the entranceway and shuffles you off to the side. “All the years we’ve spent together—”

“Two years, by force.” 

“— and now we’re being split apart,” he finishes, paying no mind to your sardonic comment. The infliction in his voice prompts you to turn to look at him, only to wind up and see a slight pout tugging at his soft, pink lips. “How ever will we manage?”

You smother down the urge to heave a loud and heavy sigh at the clingy characteristics he’s displaying today and decide to play nice.

Gojo’s always been one to be playful, perhaps even a bit pushy at times but it was all in good nature. However, for some reason, his antics have reached a whole new level today. 

Emotions were running high among staff and students alike. Some are more potent and… persistent than others.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure, patting his arm half-heartedly, “and I will certainly be fine. Everything will be just fine.”

In the middle of your sentence from the corner of your eye, you spot another one of your seniors— Geto Suguru. You watch him step out from a conversation with two classmates of yours (Haibara and Nanami) and is now trekking his way over to where you and Gojo occupy the front steps.

“Geto-senpai!” 

Geto greets you warmly by placing a comforting hand on your head and gives you a reassuring pat once, then twice. The action leaves your hairstyle a little dishevelled, nonetheless, there’s a small smile tugging at your lips.

You’ve only interacted with Geto a sparse number of times outside of class or at the end of the school day. Whenever you both would cross paths you appreciated how he would regard your presence with temperance. It always left you feeling at ease. You’ll miss him. 

You’ll especially miss how he was so quick to offer you and Haibara snacks from the vending machines on campus.

Gojo emits a pathetic squawk at the special name drop.

Pale, white brows are pinched tightly together with faux betrayal. “How come he gets honorifics but I don’t?!” he complains once Geto’s within earshot. 

“I see that Satoru's already started…”

Though Geto was talking to no one in particular, Shoko chips in given that she bore witness to Gojo’s incessant pestering toward you ever since the home bell rang. “You missed the part where he blocked her from getting to the lockers for a good several minutes.” Unzipping her bag, she carelessly shoves her diploma into it. 

“Anyway, I’m gonna head out for a smoke. I’ll catch you guys later.” Before departing, Shoko stretches her hand towards you and gives your arm an affectionate squeeze. “Get home safe, ‘kay? Don’t let these guys keep you out too long.”

Which reminded you…

“Gojo, this has been fun and all…” Being rag-dolled around by your upperclassman across campus has been anything but fun. “But I really should start heading home now.”

You wanted to beat the rush hour of students and working-class alike trying to go home on a late Thursday afternoon. Looking for empty seats on the 4:25 PM train was brutal and you did not have the energy to stand the entire ride home.

Sensing your air of urgency, he eventually relents. Heaving a dramatic sigh, Gojo steps back a few and gives you some space.  

“Gimme a second, yeah?” He rummages around in his uniform pocket, searching for something. It only lasts about a second before he pulls out his flip phone.

“Suguru!” A curt upward nod of Gojo’s head is the only warning Geto gets before he tosses his cell toward his best friend to catch. You’re appalled that he catches it so easily with the little to no notice that was given. “Take a picture of us.”

…Huh?

Your brows drew close-knit together with confusion. “What are y—?!” Before you can even finish your question, you’re pulled tightly into Gojo’s side. 

His arms circle your neck once more, but this time, he uses the opportunity of your close proximity to tip his head to the side and knock it against your own. 

“Smile,” Gojo murmurs into your ear, his slender fingers pinching at your cheek prodding for you to plaster on a sugary smile for the picture.

You don’t have enough time to register, let alone recover from how his lips faintly brushed against your skin, Gojo’s already obnoxiously yelling “Cheese!” towards the awaiting camera.  

Snapping the photo Geto sports a lazy grin admiring his work. “Looks good,” he says before he tosses the phone back to its owner. 

You’re still reeling over the gentle graze of Gojo’s lips against your cheek, too dazed to digest what’s going on around you. What. In. The hell. Just happened??? 

Sputtering out a laugh, Gojo grins down at the image on his phone. “What’s with that face you’re making, huh?”

Eyebrows furrowing, you look up at Gojo curiously. Whatever was in that picture that made him smile that wide couldn’t have been good. “What do you mean?” You question, stepping closer to see what he was referring to on his screen.

Gojo tips his cell over and shows you the photo Geto took. There you both are in grain, Gojo looking the most lively out of you two. Despite the quality of the camera, you can see the proud and happy smile he wears compared to your frazzled and confused expression.

If anything, it looked like you were the one who was graduating and he so happened to snag a photo with you before your big send-off.

“I wasn’t ready…” you grumbled, looking away from his phone.

There’s a faint smile lingering on his face, blue eyes still trained on the screen. His voice's cadence grows warm and carries a small hint of affection.

“That face of yours is what I’m gonna miss the most.”

SUMMER 2009 

To no one’s surprise, you and Gojo kept in close contact, even after graduating high school. 

Well… More so Gojo kept in contact with you. Consistently. 

Whenever he can.

He was there during your spring graduation (shocker), much to the elation of the entire female population from your graduating class. Looking back, the number of times he stopped to pose with random students around the school when he came to greet you was absurd.

You’ll also never forget how loud he cheered when your name was called despite Principal Yaga telling the audience to hold their applause and hollers until after the ceremony.

Fast forward to the summer of ‘09 where Gojo consistently seeks your presence to go and hang out with him now that you have a freed-up schedule. Whether it's with him alone or with Geto and Shoko, you can always rely on him to shoot you a ‘u busy?’ text an hour before dragging you out for the rest of the day.

“Sooo,” you start slowly.

Your eyes skim across the playground, watching the few children who were there amble and climb on the jungle gym before you. The sun was beginning to descend below the skyline, and hues of warm orange press onto your features casting you and your surroundings in a soft glow. 

“You’re a… guardian now,” you state, eyeing how Gojo stretches his legs out beside you. 

You both sit at a park bench, the chorus of laughter and playful shrieks surround you as you watch Megumi— a kid Gojo now supposedly looks after— poke mindlessly at something buried beneath the playground’s sand.

“Yup!” he chirps, but then it’s swiftly followed by a hesitant, “Well, sorta kinda…”

There’s a mental warfare going on in his mind as he combs through the various explanations he can give you, searching for one that would be both concise and easy for you to digest.

“To put it simply, from here on out I’m going to be a constant in Megumi and Tsumiki’s life.”

You think of the step-sibling duo. They’re the sweetest pair of children you’ve had the delight of coming across, and now…

“They’re doomed,” you say with pity, your gaze still focused on the youngest Fushiguro. 

Gojo gasps in disbelief at your bold accusation with his hand flying to his chest, clearly having taken offence. “What’s that supposed to mean?!” he asks.

But before you could give him a smart alec answer, the cheerful exclamation of your name pulls your attention elsewhere. The soft thump of Tsumiki’s shoes approaching prompts you to smile brightly. With open arms, the girl practically throws herself at you and giggles.

You give her cheek an affectionate squeeze. Despite her being in the second grade, you couldn’t help but coddle her. “Why hello, Tsumiki!” 

It takes her a few moments to finally release you from the hug, backing up a bit she glances up at you. “Where were you? I missed you on Tuesday, the swings weren’t fun without you!” she says, pouting.

“I wasn’t feeling the best, so I had to turn down Gojo’s invite to meet you guys at the park that day.”

Upon hearing all the commotion, Megumi spots Tsumiki talking to you a few steps from the play area. It prompts the young boy to walk over and join you three at the bench. He nods his head over at his step-sister and says, “She thought you guys broke up.”

Huh?

You blink rapidly. “Broke— Broke up!?” You squawk, the inflection of your voice rising at the ‘up’ part.

Where could she have possibly gotten that idea from? You and Gojo weren’t even dating!

Gathering your composure you plaster on a sweet smile, ready to explain to the young pair that you and Gojo weren’t together like that before a heavy arm comes hunkering down onto your shoulders. “Even if she tried, she can’t get rid of me that easily,” Gojo comments.

Christ.

Tsumiki claps her hands together in glee at this revelation. “Yay! ‘Cause I like you!” she confesses. “I thought I’d have to deal with Gojo and his friend with the big ears pushing me on the swings forever.” And with that, she’s already off running to the big yellow slide, pulling Megumi along in her wake.

The sweet smile you wear grows more and more strained the longer you two sit there on that damned bench with Gojo’s arm still lodged around you like it belonged there. 

Long delicate fingers drum themselves along your bare shoulder which leaves a tingling sensation that lingers against your skin.

“Gojo Satoru…” you hiss between clenched teeth.

Your hand creeps up to give his knee a mean pinch, but as always, Gojo reads your movements like a damn book and catches your hand in his before that could happen. “Hm?”

“What do you mean ‘Hm’?” You gesture in the general direction of where the kids are playing. You feel your brows start to pinch together. “Why would you tell them that?!”

“It’s true though, no?” Snowy white wisps of hair fall in front of his eyes shaded by his signature round sunglasses. “We haven’t ‘broken up’ and we’re still together. Just not in their understanding of it.”

“You—! That’s not—” You flounder for words, trying to spit out why he can’t go around inadvertently feeding into the imagination of whatever relationship Tsumiki and Megumi thought you two had. But you come up blank.

“You’re irritating, you know that?” you say, as you try (and fail) at removing his arm which still rests comfortably around your shoulders, pressing you tight against him. “You’ll wind up confusing them.”

An easy smile slips onto his lips as he observes Tsumiki and Megumi scramble up the slides. “Relax,” he responds. “They’re smart kids.”

And until it was time for the Fushiguros to go home, there you two sat underneath the thinning ochre sky. Stuck under the guise of an unspoken relationship.

WINTER 2011

Being the “middleman” between two people who are so obviously into each other but cannot figure out how to hang around each other normally was all too common for Shoko.

It’s a shame that Geto wasn’t available to come down and hang out with the three of you tonight, he would’ve revelled in getting a kick out of this expected yet unexpected… turn of events.

Brought in as a buffer between you two, with an unlit cigarette dangling loosely from her lips Shoko leaned back in her chair and watched the buzzing scene before her unfold with bemused eyes. 

Underneath the comforting golden glow of the restaurant’s hanging table light, Gojo picks at the cookie dough chunks that litter your plate to which you turn a blind eye. Now, Shoko could’ve easily brushed this occurrence off, seeing that friends often eat from each other's share of food all the time.

But something was... different.

With Gojo seated to your left inside the booth, he neatly cuts up a piece of his soft, creamy cheesecake and leverages the small serving on his spoon. “Here, try some of mine,” he says.

Harmful, right? 

So, you reach for your own spoon to retrieve the sample of dessert that he was offering you. But without any hesitation, Gojo lifts his cutlery to your lips and prods the food toward your mouth.

There was no way that he intended on doing this right here, right now. In front of Shoko especially.

“Say, ‘Ahhh’!”

Concern creases your brow when Gojo continues to press the spoon against your lips, idly humming as he waits for you to open your mouth so he can spoon feed you as if he were your mother. A delicate, yet sure hand cupping your chin and everything.

He was being serious.

From your peripheral, you catch the slow spread of a Cheshire-like grin creeping onto Shoko’s face.

You press your fingers onto Gojo’s wrist and frown. Trying to retreat from his hand, a peal of nervous laughter bubbles out from you at his display of reckless affection at the table. “Give me a br—”

Gojo uses the opportunity of your uncertain state to slip his sharing of the  Japanese cheesecake into your mouth in the middle of your sentence. Your eyes widen a small fraction at its creamy taste, prompting him to comment, “It’s good, right?”

The cigarette threatens to slip from Shoko’s mouth, as her lips slightly gape at what just happened before they curve into a soft smile. Her brown eyes are warm with… something. It’s as if she knew something that you didn’t.  

“Ehhh…” Is all she says before you’re already jumping down her throat to clear up any misunderstandings.

“It’s nothing!” you supply in a rushed manner. Your main objective was to simply imply that this was nothing for her to lose her head over. Hell, even the friendliest of friends feed each other all the time! Right?

But at your remark, Gojo’s mouth downturns into a cute little pout. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” From the corner of your eye you glance at how he’s fixed another spoonful of the dessert, and it's hovering in your direction.

“Sato—” Fuck.

You quickly correct yourself on your mistake, and school your voice to have a bit more edge to it. Despite that, you don’t overlook how hard Gojo’s beaming at you. “Gojo, not now.”

“Ehhh?” Shoko exclaims once again, but this time the cadence of her voice has changed. It’s gained an amused note to its tune. “You call him Satoru now? Since when?”

“I’ve been begging her to use it for the longest time ever,” Gojo answers on your behalf, and he ignores your mutter for him to please stop talking in favour of jabbing an accusatory finger at you. “You know how painful it was to see you be all chummy and on a first-name basis with everyone but me?”

Lord. You’ve forgotten how dramatic he could be. 

There’s a teasing glint in Shoko’s eye that you quite don’t like, and her lips purse heavy with consideration at his comment. “You make him beg?”

Groaning, you cross your arms against the table and bury your face. You can’t with them. Your two former upperclassmen were the bane of your existence right about now. 

“I’ll kill you both,” you mutter, your speech muffled by the fabric of your sweater.

A FEW YEARS LATER

A calming blue nightly glow ripples through your curtains, casting your room in nothing but moonlight. Amidst the serene silence, you idly stare at your screen and read the text Satoru sent you right as the clock struck midnight.

Satoru: Are you home?

What an ominous question. Your eyes skim over his message again. And then again. 

…And again.

Thumbing through your phone, you glance at the time displayed on the top of your screen. It’s been five minutes since you’ve opened his text. You should probably send something back soon before he quintuple texts you.

As you’re about to respond right when Satoru immediately shoots you another.

Satoru: I KNOW you see this!!! ( `ε´ )

Satoru: Hurry hurry hurry

You: yes... why?

Now it’s his turn to take a while to respond. First, it takes a couple of minutes for you to receive that pinging chime; indicating that he’s texted you back— which isn’t too bad because you like to consider yourself a pretty patient person. 

But then five minutes slowly turn into ten, and that ten becomes a whopping fifteen until finally he answers.

Satoru: Open your door.

What the fuck.

Satoru: Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl

So that’s why he took so long to reply. The man was coming all the way down from his place to come and visit you!

You: you're actually insane.

You: hold on!

Rising from your seated position on your bed, you stalk over to your bedroom door and are about to exit when you spot yourself in a nearby mirror.

“Oh!” you exclaim to no one in particular. You can’t open the door for him looking like… this.

Wait, why do you care about what Satoru thinks of your clothes?!

 He’s seen you wearing much worse. Like that one instance in first-year, when you had to borrow Geto’s spare parachute pants because Haibara accidentally spilt his soda all over your lap during an informal outing with everyone.

Yeesh.

Shaking your head, you slip out of your room and pad down your apartment hallway wearing your discoloured oversized band tee and shorts. Upon reaching your door, your hand hesitates on the doorknob. 

It stays like that for a few seconds until the doorknob is rattled in a fashion that’s all too persistent, annoying, and all from—

“Satoru!” you hiss, swinging the door open. You’re ready to chew him out on how much of a nuisance he may be for your sleeping neighbours a few doors down. But your looming reprimand falls short on your tongue once your eyes take in the man facing you.

“Happy birthday!” 

In the darkness, the soft glow of sparklers illuminates your features and highlights the exquisite details of a beautifully decorated cake held in Satoru’s hands.

Wordlessly, your hand aimlessly searches for the light switch to brighten up your hallway so that you may get a better look at what’s on the cake. 

Something trembles in your chest and it hurts a little to breathe. But not in the way that you detest.

He’s cute.

Gojo Satoru is so heartbreakingly cute.

On the cake, you see that damn grainy photo you two took on his graduation day back in ‘08. The photo you love to hate.

Wetness springs to your eyes from the entire gesture, from the fact that he ensured he was the first one through text and physically to wish you a happy birthday, and from the fact that he’s here right now.

“Hey…” There’s concern creasing Satoru’s expression as he pokes his head down a little to get a better read on you. “Are you crying?”

You sniff back your tears and grunt out a watery, “No… Shut up and come in already.”

Ushering him inside, Satoru hands you your cake, toes off his shoes and heads straight to your living room. Good to see that he’s already making himself at home.

Plopping himself down onto your couch you hesitantly follow behind him, suddenly feeling like a stranger in your own home. “Come, come!” He waves a welcoming hand at you and pats the seat beside him, insinuating that you should sit.

With immediate interest, you do as he says and take a seat beside him after you position your cake in the middle of your coffee table. The couch feels so small now, with him spread out like that.

Pulling out something from his pocket with one hand and tugging off the party hat from his head with the other— had he been wearing that the whole time?— Satoru clears his throat. “Before you cry again, I gotta make sure you’re able to see your present first.”

He takes your head in his hands, and you realize his fingertips are a little cold as they press on your warm cheeks. Stretching the string down from the party hat a bit, he places it under your chin and snaps the cardboard cone into place on your head.

Breathing a noise of satisfaction seemingly content with how you look, a cheeky grin dances across Satoru’s face. “Perfect. You can now go ahead and open your gift,” he says, handing you a small black velvet box with the company logo HW scrawled across it.

“Wait, what,” you deadpan.

This can’t be what you think it is.

“It’s not a ring!” Satoru blurts. But composes himself seconds later with a quip of, “Unless you want it to be?”

Har. Har. Very funny.

You disregard what he’s said and peel open the box with caring hands.

Inside was the most extravagant necklace you’ve ever laid eyes on. A diamond pendant laid bare inside the box in the shape of a forget-me-not with your birthstone at the flower's centre. 

That could’ve easily cost him a little over one million yen if you think about it deeply.

“Satoru!” you squeal.

Without thinking, you throw your arms around his neck and squeeze your longtime friend into your loving embrace. Satoru’s gift to you almost topples and sinks into the crevice of your couch had it not been for his quick hand to catch the necklace.

Your heart’s racing, and initially, his body goes rigid until he gradually relaxes under your hold. “You’re crazy, ’s too expensive!” you sparingly chastise him. 

Satoru swallows hard and brings a careful arm up to reciprocate the hug. You feel the warm press of his arm against the thin material of your shirt. 

“Nothing’s too expensive if you’re involved,” you hear him murmur into your ear. “So, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

You give him one last bone-crushing squeeze, hoping that your rare show of physical touch does not go unnoticed and exemplifies how grateful you are. Pulling away from him you look him dead in the eyes. “Thank you, seriously.”

Shrugging you off like it was no big deal as if he didn’t blow double, maybe even triple the money the average Japanese businessman earns on a singular paycheque toward your necklace, Satoru casts you a gentle smile and changes the subject. 

There would be no need to dwell on it any longer with what’s to come.

“Now…” He gives your lower back a soft pat. Once, and twice. “A birthday kiss from the birthday girl.” Satoru puckers out his lips and shuts his eyes real tight, making a huge show out of it.

For extra effect, he even hums a prolonged Mmm-ing sound to emphasize him waiting for you to initiate it.

It’s a joke; you know he’s joking. He has a ridiculously long history of being overly affectionate with his teasings and whatnot. 

But this time, you really do lean in and take said kiss from him.

There’s something incredibly adorable about this kiss that has your heart surging in your chest. Partly because it’s the first time that you’re kissing each other, but mostly because of how frigid and careful it is. It made you feel as if you were in high school all over again, trying a plethora of new things for kicks and giggles.

The tension was almost palpable, thick enough to suffocate the air he breathed. Even when you pulled away creating space between you both, Satoru still felt a lingering lump in his throat.

Cracking your eyes open, you see that Satoru’s own are blown wide. Piercing cerulean eyes stare unblinking at you. Normally, you would’ve found that to be off putting as hell, had it not been for the slow rise of a blooming pink crawling up his neck.

“Sorry,” you offer weakly. Sensing that you may have gone too far, you make an effort to scoot off his lap. But a determined arm holds you in place.

“Again.” He swallows thickly, and your eyes follow that mesmerizing movement in his throat. “I… I didn’t do it right. Please.”

And who are you to make him beg? So, you do as he says.

Leaning in, your lips press against Satoru’s once more. And this time, he has the sense to close his eyes and bask in it, not daring to let his nerves get the best of him (though he’d never admit it). 

Slotting yourself to be more flushed against him, the tips of your noses brush and you feel Satoru’s hand smooth down your spine. The pads of his fingertips press onto your exposed skin peeking out from underneath the hem of your shirt bunched around your hips.

God, you wanted him bad.

It’s abrupt, the way you push yourself off him and force yourself to stand on your feet, breaking the kiss. The rise and fall of your chest is a bit staggered and Satoru’s is too. He’s all red-faced and his snow-white hair is a bit dishevelled, considering how many times you’ve combed your fingers through it.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Cute. 

That alone made you want to jump his bones even more.

You shake your head and get one good look at him before you leave him to head down your hallway. He looked perpetually enraptured by you, eyes hyper-focused on your every movement.  “Come to my bedroom.”

Satoru’s stunned, the implications of your remark not lost on him.

And like a keen lost puppy, of course he follows. He joins you in your bedroom seconds after you and stands in the doorway, just kind of hovering there. Not sure of what to do.

Wait. Did he come here too fast? Did that make him look overly desperate? A million and one questions rush through Satoru’s mind as his neck grows red, stained with embarrassment, want… arousal. 

Seeing how he seems to be short-wiring at your doorway, you beckon him to join you on the bed with your hand. Once he does, he sits extremely close next to you. His clothed thigh brushes against your bare one, which sends a jolt of electricity through you.

Your fingers find his nape once again and they stroke up on his fresh undercut, prompting him to shiver a bit. “Why’re you so shy all of a sudden?” you question, your voice going gentle with a provoking edge to it.

Gaining some of his personality back, Satoru pinches your cheek. “‘Cause I didn’t think you’d want to kiss me!” But his mean hand then turns soft and slides along your jaw, his thumb rubbing smooth circles into the skin just below your ear. 

“Well, I’m here,” you say, scooting impossibly closer to the man beside you, “and wanting.”

Message received.

Hauling you onto his lap, Satoru cradles your face in both hands and kisses you deeply. It’s full of emotion, expressing all the things he’s been wanting to say for the longest time. A trembled exhale escapes you, and it’s through that that Satoru uses the opportunity to slide his tongue alongside yours. 

The kiss is frenzied, but so filled with love.

“So you like me?” he asks, his breathing laboured.

“Yes,” you bite, pushing him away from you and onto the mattress. “As if swapping spit with you wasn’t enough.” You guess you’ll have to show him how much you undoubtedly like him, love him even, through other means. 

He huffs a breath of laughter and drops his back onto your bed. Underneath you, you see Satoru’s eyes sparkle as he watches you have your way with him. 

But something’s up.

His eyes climb up a little higher and this time, he barks out a real laugh.

You still have that piece of fuck sitting on your head. You probably look stupid as hell right now.

Discerning that you’re about to raise your hand to your head, Satoru holds your wrist in his palm. There’s something bright that gleams behind those alluring pools of blue, warm and tender. He bites back a smile. “The birthday hat stays on during sex.”

You scrunch your nose at him. “You’re so dumb,” you growl with artificial frustration and tear off the cone-shaped hat from your head, tossing it into the depths of your room. He whines at its loss, but you’re quick to placate him with a slow roll of your hips into his lap.

Satoru’s jaw clenches and his hands fly to your waist, gripping you tightly as you continue to grind yourself down onto his erection. Your ministrations pull a wanton whimper from his lips, one that has you grinding with more purpose— the purpose of hearing that sound again.

“Do you like that?” you ask.

He nods, not trusting himself to speak, else he’ll let out a pathetic string of moans.

“I know, me too.” Satoru’s dick lurches in the confines of his pants as he watches you dry-hump him into the mattress slowly, your eyes shining with lust. Fuck, he could get hard just off your expression alone. “It feels reeeally nice being up on you like this,” you continue.

You have a fucking dirty mouth. One that Satoru’s growing more and more addicted to the more you speak.

There’s an incessant throbbing between your legs that you can’t quite alleviate. While rolling your hips into Satoru’s lap— with his occasional thrust to match your movements— felt good, it can only do so much. You wanted and needed more.

And so did Satoru, because he’s already pulling at the waistband of his pants. His thumb loops two layers and tugs both his pants and boxers down, revealing his toned V-line. 

Fuck.

You fall victim to Satoru’s enamoured gaze from below, which makes you squirm hot with arousal. “Take it off,” he commands.

He wants you to strip him of his clothes. 

Caught taking a startled breath, you ignore the wicked, handsome smile that slinks onto his face as you slip off his lap so you may curl your fingers around his waistband and pull. Your pussy clenches when his erect dick springs into view, and the heat pumping through your veins runs a little hotter.

You shiver at how pretty and filling his dick looks. After a few seconds of openly ogling at his lap, Satoru clears his throat which successfully gets you to drag your eyes back up to his face.

“While that was nice,” he starts, leveraging himself up onto his elbows and grins at your cute error, “I meant you, baby. Take it off.”

“Oh.” 

Seriously? Just ‘Oh’?

Mentally facepalming, you shimmy your shorts down your legs along with your panties. They pool down at your ankles and you step out of them to stand between his legs.

Fully sitting up, Satoru pats his lap; encouraging you to sit on him again. “C’mere.”

You crawl onto his lap, but you don’t sit down fully. Hovering a few inches away from his cock, your knees press on each side of his thighs, trapping him in. 

There’s no way in hell you were gonna sit down right now, knowing that if you do, you’d be pressing your bare pussy onto his naked thigh and he’d feel everything. Exposing how wet you are.

Humming, Satoru lifts the hem of your oversized top to your breasts and sighs. “Pretty,” he murmurs before he leans forward and captures your nipple into his mouth.

You gasp harshly at the titillating feeling. Your hands balance on his shoulders for support, as he rolls your nipple on his tongue.

“Sa— Ah!” You cry out. The hand between your legs startles you and has you whimpering in the open air.

“You’re wet,” he comments, slipping a finger against your slick pussy.

“Shut up about it…”

But he doesn’t. Another finger joins the first and delves down between your lips, gradually easing them inside you. They push against your walls, curling in a way that has you gasping into his neck. “You got wet from grinding alone, huh?” 

A breath stutters out of your mouth and you rock yourself against his hand. You can’t take this anymore. You want more. “Do you have a condom?” you ask.

“I—” he groans when your hand slides between you two, your fingers curl around his dick and stroke his tip along your leaking slit. “I didn’t bring one, because I didn’t think we’d—”

Oh.

Biting your bottom lip, you sling a heavy arm across Satoru’s shoulders. You meet his hungry gaze with one of your own and inch closer toward his dick that rests against his stomach. What you’re about to do could be risky, but at this given moment you couldn’t find it in you to be overly stressed about it.

“No worries,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, “I trust you enough to pull out in time.” And like that, you push down on him and ease Satoru’s cock into your aching cunt, making him bottom out inside you completely.

You’re so wet and slippery that it took little to no effort for him to slide inside. The noise of your slick sticking to where you two meet at the hips has you two moaning softly in unison.

The harsh mutter of your name echoes off your bedroom walls and goes straight to your cunt. “So tight,” he grits out behind clenched, white teeth.

Each time you slide up and down on his cock, Satoru grows more unrestrained with his vocal appreciation of how well you take him. Desperate little moans escape him each time your sweet cunt squeezes him of all he’s worth.

You were no better. Choppy, broken whimpers can be heard from you, loving how he stretches your walks with your length. He fits perfectly inside you like your cunt was destined for this moment, for him alone. 

“Let me fuck you,” Satoru blurts out. He was losing it, and he could feel him tipping closer and closer to the edge of release.

“You are— Ugn!” you say weakly when his hands grab your ass and he stands, lifting you with him as if it were nothing. Kicking off his bottoms, Satoru props you on your back against your mattress.

 Crawling between your legs, he positions the crown of his cock to press against your opening. “No,” he drawls, with one hand on the base of his shaft and the other propped beside your head. “Let me fuck you.”

He pushes in and you swear you see stars. 

Satoru pistons himself faster and faster inside of you, rocking your bodies against the mattress which makes your wooden headboard tap noisily against your drywall.

You fear your neighbours may have some… less than pleasant words to share with you about the noise tomorrow morning. 

“Ah! Fuuucking— shit!” You wail. Euphoric tears start prickling at the corner of your eyes. “Don’t stop, please!”

The pleasure melts through you when Satoru presses down harder into you, his hand finding the back of your right knee and hikes your leg around his waist so that he can fill you at a new angle.

“Baby,” he murmurs into your neck. He says it like you’ve been his for years. “Say my name.”

“S—Satoru!”

Laughing a little, probably too fucked out of his mind, Satoru removes his face from your neck and presses a hot, searing kiss onto your lips.

You yelp when he drives his cock more harshly into you, growing more desperate with the urgency to come inside you.

Riding his high, Satoru says the first thing that comes to mind, which is a long drawn-out, “Haaa…”

What Satoru meant to accomplish was to wish you another ‘Happy Birthday’, but of course, it all gets garbled up in his throat due to his approaching orgasm and comes out sounding fucking obscene.

That’s what gets you.

You come hard, your back bowing off the bed. Satoru, remembering your initial statement about how you trust him to pull out, does exactly that. Albeit, he did it at the very last second, but you avoided a pregnancy scare. So you can’t be mad.

Thick ropes of his cum splash across your bare belly and some get on your top. You’re hyperaware of how it trickles down your abdomen, some dipping into your belly button.

Wow.

Breathing hard and heavy, both coated in sweat among… other sensual fluids, Satoru rolls onto his back.

“Stuck with me for life, huh?” he asks, delicate fingers intertwined with yours. 

You hum. “Seems so…” you agree quietly. 

Now that you think about it, there hasn’t ever been a moment where Gojo Satoru hadn’t been present in your life, ever since meeting him during your high school days.

You two lay like that for some time, soaking in each other’s company until the early traces of morning light ripple through your curtains.

You’re about ready to shut your eyes until your thoughts are accosted by something you offhandedly forgot. 

“Satoru?” you begin, tone nice and sweet.

“Hm?”

You sit up slowly so you can peer down at his blissed-out face. “By chance, was the cake you got for me made out of ice cream?”

You know how deep his love for sweets goes. You just pray and hope to whatever higher power that he chose the safe route and chose a normal ca—

“…Yeah, why?”

Jumping out of bed, you rush to the living room where the cake is probably spilling its guts out all over your expensive, mahogany coffee table. “You IDIOT!” 

A string of curses follows you out into the hallway, as Satoru sits on your bed confused.

“What’d I do?!”

Whether you liked it or not, you were stuck with this bumbling idiot if he had any say in the matter, an invisible string keeping you two bound.

And maybe it wasn’t that bad.

Even if it’s at the cost of your ¥20,000 table.

if you read this far, we're fucking making out.