A broken vow .

You don’t consider yourself a weak man.

No one does, actually. You have your reputation among jujutsu society, and it isn’t that of a weak man, not by a longshot. You’re a clan leader, a warrior. Weakness isn’t part of your identity. Vulnerability? Sure, when the time is right. Weakness? Never.

That’s what you tell yourself. You keep your pride close to your chest, lest he snatches it right from your hands.

No, generally speaking, you aren’t weak at all, but—

“Oh my God, yours looks so good, gimme.”

Satoru has a way of bringing it out of you.

“Back off.” You try to keep your voice firm, but it’s already a struggle. “It’s mine. You’ve had yours already.”

You’re trying hard not to look at him. You know if you do, you’ll cave immediately.

Satoru isn’t one to give up so easily, though. And he isn’t one to play fair, either.

“C’mon,” he whines, resting his chin on your shoulder, “just a bite, I promise. I just wanna have a taste!”

“Fine. You know what? Fine.” You cut off a tiny piece of fondant with your spoon and push it in his general direction. “Here.”

Don’t look at him, don’t look at him, don’t look at him.

Slowly, Satoru pulls away. You feel his stare in the side of your head. Don’t look at him.

“Wow. So you just don’t love me anymore, huh? Wow. I came out here to spend some time with my beloved even though I’m exhausted, and you’re making me drink, and I don’t even like alcohol, and now you won’t even share your dessert with me, the love of your life—”

As he whines, his grip on your bicep tightens. This, more than his yapping, is what’s most effective to sway you, and he is well aware of it. He talks your ear off to create some white noise, but the real focus is there.

“—anyway, I think I deserve it, don’t you?”

You tell yourself it’s because this really isn’t his scene. Satoru only ever goes out with his coworkers to spend time with them, not because he enjoys drinking or even because he likes going out. It’s fine if you indulge him. It’s fine if you let him steal your entire chocolate fondant right from your plate, without even trying to protest.

He came to dinner for you, so it’s fine to indulge him. That’s all it is.

“Fine,” you huff. “You can have it, baby.” He lets out a cheer of victory and digs in immediately.

It totally isn’t because of the little rosy tint on his cheeks. Or his big, bright, shimmering eyes, that catch the light just right. Or even the slightest little pout he was sending your way to make you cave. You’re not weak to him. You gave him your fondant because you wanted to.

That’s what you tell yourself. But both he and you know the truth.

And honestly, it isn’t your fault! He’s just… he’s…

Yeah, no. You have no excuse.

In your defense, you have a long history of indulging him, one that started on your very first meeting.

He was just six years old, and you were barely nine. Sitting beside his lord father with his hands folded elegantly in his lap, face completely blank in a cold, haughty mask. A meeting between clans, not your first, but definitely his.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked like a doll, that was your first thought back then. Soft-looking hair. Big, shimmering blue eyes. Chubby, rosy cheeks. Dewy soft skin.

Lifeless.

You couldn’t bear to see a kid so pretty look so sad. So when he slipped away with a yawn, you asked to be dismissed, and went after him. You’d hidden chocolate bars in your yukata sleeves for later. You’d planned on enjoying them back at your clan’s estate, but sharing couldn’t hurt, could it?

He didn’t react, when you sat near him on the engawa, in a small patch of delightfully warm sunlight. Silently, you handed him the chocolate bar. He took it without even looking at you. Took his time savoring it, his cheeks flushed in delight.

Then, when he was finished, he held out his hand expectantly. Tilted his head to look up at you, and you were hit with the full force of that bright, piercing gaze.

Big blue eyes shimmering under the sunlight. Lips set in an adorable pout.

“I know you have more,” he said. “Gimme.”

How exactly were you supposed to say no?

You didn’t say no. You gave him every single one you had. And he graciously accepted to share the last one with you.

That was your first meeting. You were doomed from the start.

You’d thought that weakness would disappear as you grew older together. Surely, he wouldn’t be cute as a man the way he was as a boy. You’d learn to hold your ground.

Your heart had other plans.

You fell for him, hard. And to make matters worse? He felt the same.

You should’ve known things would only go downhill from there.

He knows all about the soft spot you have for him, and he takes advantage of it at every turn. Like right now. Shamelessly stealing your dessert after he all but inhaled his own, all because he’s craving more sugar and he knows you’d never say no.

You really need to learn how to say no.

Satoru makes quick work of your fondant, licking the spoon and his lips to make sure not a single crumb remains. He’d lick the plate if you weren’t there to scold him for it.

“Yeah, that was nice,” he says with a sigh, slumping back in his chair. “Good choice, sweets.”

You want to cuss him out. “Yeah? I bet it was great.” Your voice is oh so bitter. “Would’ve loved to have a taste, baby. You know, since it was my dessert.”

Satoru rolls his eyes, wrapping his arms around your bicep again, chin once more resting on your shoulder.

“It was the least you could do, honestly,” he retorts, huffing. “We could be home right now, having amazing sex—”

“Keep your voice down—”

“—but instead, you dragged me here to watch Nanami and Shoko get wasted.” Another huff. “Besides, if you really wanted to eat that, you should’ve just said no. You should grow a backbone, babe.”

It hurts because it’s true. You still want to cuss him out. In fact, you’re turning your head, opening your mouth to do so, but Satoru moves swiftly. He pushes himself closer, lips close to your ear.

“But if you want a taste that bad, I can give you one.”

You turn to face him. His face is the picture of innocence, eyes twinkling, brows slightly raised, lips pushed into that annoying pout. But you’re not fooled. There’s hunger in his gaze, too. Like you’re the next dessert he wants to devour. You don’t hate the idea.

You’re not a weak man by any means, but Satoru knows how to bring it out of you.

“You’re the worst, you know that?” you pant against his lips, squeezing his waist roughly.

He tastes sweet. The fondant you almost had is right there, on his tongue, and you think there’s no better way to get that taste.

His hand squeezes your shoulder, and in response you push against him harder, effectively trapping him against the concrete wall shielding you from the street. His arms tighten around your neck, lips moving against yours fervently.

“Liar,” he retorts, just as breathless. “You love me. You love me and you’d do anything for me.”

It hurts because it’s true, and you push your tongue in his mouth to shut him up. He lets out a small, startled sound, and it only serves to fuel you.

Greedily, Satoru wraps a leg around your thigh, trying to get leverage to roll his hips into yours. At that rate, you might genuinely fuck him right there in this dirty alleyway.

The friction is delicious against your bulge, and you can’t help but match his rhythm, grinding against him like a horny teenager. He bites your lip and you tug his hair in retaliation, a groan spilling from his throat.

This is bad. Bad, bad, bad. Not exactly the most dignified way to have sex.

You grip his hips and still his movements, earning a whine of frustration.

“No, come on, it was just getting interesting, you jerk—”

“How about we go home, huh? So I can enjoy you properly.”

Now that catches his attention.

“Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, let’s do that.”

Needless to say, he gets what he wants from you. He was right. You need to grow a backbone.

.

It’s rare to see your beloved look so peaceful.

The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. It’s pleasantly warm under the bedsheets. By all accounts, this morning is nothing less than beautiful.

It’s all made better by the sight of Satoru, sleeping serenely beside you.

Skin glowing under the gentle sun. Soft breaths hitting your cheek. It’s the first time in weeks that he gets to sleep in, and you’re overjoyed that you get to be there.

You’ve been admiring him for, what, maybe half an hour? Maybe more? You’re not sure. You’re not sure you care.

Eventually, a restlessness settles in your bones. You should get up. Get started on breakfast. Maybe even bring it to him in bed, he’d love that. Do his laundry so he gets to rest some more. That’s a good plan.

With your mind made up, you shift to get out of bed. The cool air hits your leg, and you almost abort the mission. Satoru’s right there, and he’s warm.

No. Nope. Come on. Breakfast.

Your leg peeks from under the blanket again. You push up to your elbow, grab the covers to throw them off your body—

“Where do you think you’re going?”

You freeze. You’d hoped you wouldn’t wake him, you were being careful, moving slowly and gently. Now he’s up, and judging by his scrunched-up face, he is not happy.

He looks adorable like this. Frowning, eyes still heavy with sleep. You coo at him, brushing your knuckles against his cheek. “Breakfast, baby. I’ll bring it to you here, okay?”

Once again, you move to leave the bed. You don’t even get to straighten up. Satoru crawls on top of you, pinning you down with his weight. His arms snake around your waist. His lips tickle your neck.

He doesn’t even dignify you with a response, as if it’s a given that you’ll simply surrender to his will. You can’t even find it in yourself to blame him: you’ve never, ever done anything to make him believe otherwise.

But you’re strong. You have a plan, and you intend to stick to it. He’ll thank you later.

So, as gently as you can, you roll to the side, deposit him on the bed, and snatch his arms from around your waist to free yourself.

Your feet are so close to the floor — almost there. You move to leave a tender kiss on his forehead.

And you make the same mistake you always make. You glance at his face.

His features are twisted into an absolutely outraged pout, like you’ve just insulted him in the absolute worse way you could ever have. Like you’ve just told him he was nothing more than a warm body, a hole to fuck. You suppose that’s exactly how he’s taking this. His brows are furrowed over his slightly widened eyes, an almost wounded look in the baby blues.

And your shaky resolve crumbles entirely.

You feel cruel. You feel like the world’s cruelest man, and you must be, abandoning your beloved like that. Like he’s a dirty sock so old you can’t get rid of the stench, so you decide to throw it away.

Quick. Fix it.

“I’m gonna make breakfast, baby,” you coo, stroking his hair. “Yeah? We can have breakfast in bed.”

He simply stares, his face falling. Unimpressed, or maybe he’s just half-asleep still?

Until he speaks. His face changes again, a brow raised, mouth curled in an almost disgusted manner. “Uh, no?”

Like he can’t believe you’d do him the insult of suggesting such a thing. Because, of course, breakfast in bed includes making breakfast, and making breakfast includes you leaving him.

You sigh, closing your eyes, and he seizes the opportunity. He grabs you by the back of the neck and pulls you down again.

“Satoru, stop—”

“Nuh-uh.”

“—baby, please, I have stuff to do—”

“I don’t think so.”

He wraps his limbs around you like a particularly vicious octopus. His face is buried in your neck again. A part of you is almost offended by how confident he is that you’ll just give in.

The other part of you? It gives in.

You run your hands up and down his back, caressing softly and earning a hum of delight. In return, Satoru’s hand pats your chest. You feel his body relax on top of yours, his breath slow and soften. His eyes close once more. There’s a small smile on his lips.

Your heart leaps.

Breakfast can wait. You’ve already achieved your goal anyways.

.

You don’t spend a lot of time at Jujutsu Tech. Usually, it’s less than an hour, once a week. To drop off your recent mission reports, get some new assignments, fresh report sheets, and then back to work.

You rarely get to play the loving partner part with Satoru. Usually, when you’re there, he’s out on a mission, or teaching, or avoiding his responsibilities and buying an obscene amount of sweets and pastries.

Today, though, you walk into the office you two share, returning from admin with your new assignments for the week, and he’s there. Sitting on your desk, with his jacket draped over the back of your chair and your jacket on his shoulders. The sight is so endearing you fear you might melt into a puddle.

You almost do, but a sharp instinct snaps you out of it. This is Satoru. With his Six Eyes and his frankly excellent perception of cursed energy, there’s no way he didn’t see you coming.

This is a set-up. He wants something from you.

So when he saunters up to you, slipping his arms through the sleeves of your jacket and around your shoulders, you don’t pull away from his affection, but you don’t return it either.

“Hi, baby,” he all but purrs, kissing and nuzzling your cheek affectionately.

“Hi, Satoru,” you respond soberly. You won’t fall for his tricks. Not this time. You’re strong.

He keeps up with the affection for another moment, but quickly he realizes you’re not reciprocating and pushes himself away. With his hands curled around your shoulders, he frowns, eyebrows visibly furrowing under the blindfold.

“What, no kiss? No sweetie, no honey, no angel? Do you just hate me?”

You won’t bother with pretending you’ve been fooled. You won’t fall for his tricks. “What do you need, Satoru?”

He gasps. Puts a hand on his chest in indignation. “Excuse me? Are you suggesting I only came to see you for my own benefit?”

You cock a brow. “…Yes.”

He has nothing to say to that. He just stares, mouth pressed into a thin line. He’s been found out, and quickly too.

But he’s nothing if not determined.

“What I need is some loving from my baby, but I guess that’s just too much to ask for.”

He steps back, turns away the slightest bit—

Your arms wrap around his waist and you pull him back against your chest, kissing his nape. You’re weak.

He smiles, snuggling into your hold.

“See, that’s more like it.”

You pinch his side. “Watch your tone, will you?” Not even a hint of bite in your voice.

His hand cradles your jaw, and his lips find yours. This time, you reciprocate, the kiss lazy, languid. You feel so much better now that your arms aren’t empty.

He pulls away, brushing the tip of his nose against yours. “Missed ya.”

“You saw me this morning.”

“I’m expressing my undying love, jeez—"

You kiss him again, just to shut him up. It works. For a moment.

For a minute, he simply enjoys your embrace. Quiet in a way he only ever gets when it’s just the two of you. Basking in your warmth, the strength of your arms around him. Then, he speaks.

“Alright, let’s go home!”

Already he’s moving, your arm hugged to his chest as he tries to tug you out of the office. And again your instincts flare. He’s been suspicious. There’s something in that office that he doesn’t want you to see.

Naturally, you first think he damaged something, so you plant your feet to the ground and resist his strength, eyes raking over your desk.

“Baby, what are you doing,” he whines. “Let’s go already.”

Don’t fold. Don’t fold. This is a trap.

It wouldn’t be the first time he breaks something in the office and flees the crime scene. There’s a sizable dent on the side of your desk to attest to that. So what is it? What did he do this time?

He tugs on your arm harder. “Y/N, come on, move!”

You can’t find actual damage near your space, so you turn to his—

He moves in front of you, hiding his desk from your eyes. Ah. His blindfold is pushed up into his hair, leaving his lethal eyes uncovered. A cheap, dirty trick, almost guaranteed to make you cave. His eyes shimmering, his rosy, slightly swollen lips pushed into a pout.

You’re close to folding, but in his eagerness to get his way, he’s also revealed the source of his need for his early escape.

“What’s the hold-up, huh?” He huffs, brows furrowing slightly, his expression now impatient and needy. Jerk. You’ll kiss him.

“Satoru.”

Your low tone makes him perk up. He knows he’s been found out, so now he’s gonna pull all the stops to get out of this situation.

Brace yourself. Don’t fold.

He pushes himself against you, wrapping his arms around your neck again. Chest to chest, lips so close to yours you can feel his breath. You try hard not to look at them, but his eyes are a problem, too. Too wide. Too blue.

He hums, still maintaining the pretense of innocence.

“Satoru,” you say again. “What’s on your desk?”

He shrugs a shoulder, as if he’s completely clueless and has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Satoru.” You’re trying to sound stern. Trying. This isn’t working. You have absolutely no hold on him.

“Dunno what you’re talking about, baby. Can we go home now?” He pushes his hips against yours teasingly. Brushes the tip of his nose against yours again— fucker. He knows you’re weak for that. “We have so much better things to do, don’t ya think? Hm?”

Don’t fold. Don’t fold. Do not fold.

Gently, you grab his waist and step around him, despite his best efforts to stop you.

And it’s right there, on his desk: a high stack of papers, no doubt waiting to be completed by your partner. And judging by the sheer size, it’s been waiting a while.

You turn to him, eyes burning. “When was the last time you did your paperwork, exactly?”

He smiles. Shrugs and pokes his tongue out. “No clue.”

“Satoru—”

“Ugh, spare me, will you?” He steps away and rolls his eyes, waving a careless hand. Like you’re in the wrong here, somehow. “Why would I do that when there’s Ijichi to take care of it?”

That poor guy is gonna have an aneurysm.

“Satoru. You are not dumping all that on Ijichi.”

Satoru, the poster child of bratty behavior, has the audacity to cross his arms and sigh. “So what, you want me to do it?”

“It’s your paperwork, Satoru! Yes, you’re gonna do it.”

He turns his head away with a huff. “Nah. No way. Why would I do that? It’s boring, and tedious, and I might get a headache.”

“Enough.” You make your way to his desk and grab the stack of papers. Wow, it’s a lot. “I’m bringing that home and you’ll do it tonight.”

And he has the gall to gasp, shaken to the core. Like you’ve done something truly heinous. “What?!”

You let out a sharp sigh. It’s like getting a toddler to eat their veggies.

You turn, determined to hold your ground. Really, you’ve been over this more than once with him. You’ve had to help him catch up with his mission reports often enough.

Your eyes land on his face. Rookie.

His face is downturned. Arms crossed, eyes slightly averted. And, oh, have his lips always looked so pink?

And he drops the bomb.

“Sorry for wanting to spend time with you instead of doing some stupid paperwork, I guess.”

No. No, this is a ploy, a ruse, a maneuver to get you to do his bidding.

And, like a fool, you’re falling for it. You can’t even bring yourself to be angry. Something visceral snarls in your chest, at the sight of his face. It looks horribly wrong, fix it, fix it, fix it.

You give up. You’ll be the fool if that’s what he wants.

“Baby,” you murmur and set the papers aside, wrapping your arms around his waist. He settles in your embrace, hands braced on your chest, face buried in your neck. You feel the curve of his smile against your skin. Smug bastard. He’s not even trying to hide it.

He’s so pleased with himself, it’s like the satisfaction is radiating from him. You look down to what you can see of his face.

His eyes are squeezed shut, pushed into half moons by his rosy cheeks with how wide he’s grinning. So serene, so childishly happy that his scheme was successful. How could you ever be angry with him? You never stood a chance.

You kiss his cheek, and he hums, delighted that’s he’s won. “Alright,” you coo. “Let’s go home.”

You swear there’s a spring to his step, when you both make your way to the car. The paperwork sits untouched and abandoned on his desk.

.

Satoru thinks he might lose his mind.

Patience has never been his strongest suit, and you are well-aware of it. You know him like the back of your hand. You know that he likes his eggs poached more than sunny side up; that he always needs at least thirty minutes of lounging in bed before starting his day; that he handles heat badly and prefers lighter clothing, even when it gets colder.

You know that he hates waiting.

And, yeah, maybe it is rich coming from him, CEO of being late. He’s usually alright with it when people make him wait, even if he’ll complain about it to their face, for the simple pleasure of annoying them.

But you? You should know better.

He checks his phone again. The time switches from 18:29 to 18:30 right before his eyes. You said 18:00 sharp, emphasis on the sharp. He’s officially been waiting for thirty minutes, and that is just unacceptable.

This is such a nice day, too. Warm, with a cool breeze keeping the temperature at a reasonable level. Birds chirping, clouds gently drifting by, all that good stuff that you love. You should be here, with him. Ideally, buried inside him to the hilt, but he’d settle for a cute, wholesome date, too.

He’s enjoying neither, because you’re not here, and yeah, he’s definitely losing it.

He checks his phone. It’s probably been another twenty minutes, at least!

18:31.

Ugh, come on!

It’s been days since you last saw each other. Days! He feels unhinged, unraveled. His jaw aches in the evening, because he spends his days gritting his teeth. Any longer without you and he’ll start bouncing off the walls, clawing at the floorboards like a dog.

Any longer and he’ll start begging for your presence.

Honestly, it’s like you don’t even look at him lately. All you do is work. And because he is who he is, all he does is work, too. It’s a miracle if he gets to spend a couple of hours in the same room as you. He barely has time to think of you.

He misses you. Misses you like a limb.

He’s so exhausted that he misses you even when you’re right in front of him. He isn’t even allowed to enjoy the moments he gets with his beloved, too worried by how fast time flies. And before he can catch his breath, the moment is over. Nothing could ever make him wish he were anyone else— nothing but this. This horrible, mind-numbing lack of time.

And now you have the audacity to let your clan elders gnaw on that precious time. Time that he took in his already packed schedule to spend with you, time that was meant to be spent together.

Unbelievable. Oh, he will not let you hear the end of this.

He’s ready to give up and call you, but a splash of energy catches his attention from the corner of his Six Eyes. Getting closer, fast.

He can’t help but grin. Finally, finally.

He waits until you’re just behind the shoji door. With an overly exasperated groan, Satoru flops down onto his back, feet swinging off the engawa.

“What a jerk,” he mutters angrily, toying with the bandages covering his eyes. “I don’t deserve this. Asshole. Jerkface.”

“I know you’re not talking about me.”

Your voice sends shivers down his spine. That irritated edge he can hear? Music to his ears. He covers up the smirk that was blooming behind an exaggerated pout.

“Wow,” he drawls. “Finally remembered you’re not single, did you? Had fun at your little meeting?”

He knows you didn’t. The whole point of those meetings is to slowly suck your soul out through your nostrils. That’s why all the elders are dry and lifeless. Duh. The question is rhetorical, just the beginning of your punishment.

He hears the dull sound of fabric hitting the ground. You probably dropped your haori. Not enough clothes on the floor, but it’s a start.

“You know I didn’t.” And there’s your reply. Yeah, yeah, he knows, he’s been to enough of those meetings to know. “You’ve been to enough of those meetings to know.” You can be so predictable sometimes.

“Maybe if you hadn’t ditched me to go to the meeting, you would’ve had a better time.” He can hear the childish petulance in his own voice. Can’t be bothered to tame it, to try and hide it even the slightest bit. You deserve all that you’re getting. “I mean, I’m just saying. Maybe an afternoon with your boyfriend would’ve been more fun, but hey, who knows? Definitely not you.”

You stay quiet for a second. Two. Three. “Satoru, if you’re only here to make me feel bad, we can cut the evening short right now. I have a rematch in half an hour anyways.”

Now that is unacceptable. Actually, it’s beyond unacceptable, practically a criminal offense. “Are you joking?” He hisses, pushing himself up. “So what, I should just fuck off and die?”

You seem pissed. And tired. Maybe he should cool it. Just a bit.

“You think I want to spend my already limited free time with them, instead of you?” You retort. Your back is to him. Starving him of the sight of your face. Why?

Look at me, he wants to scream. Don’t deny me, don’t push me away.

“I’d love nothing more than to stay here and snuggle,” you continue. This time you just sound sad. He feels a pinch in his chest. You don’t finish the thought. You don’t have to. He knows exactly what you want to say.

Duties that you can’t escape. Either of you.

“Ditch them,” he demands. Fuck ‘em. With an annoyed huff, he stands from the floor and moves to drop on the bed gracelessly. “C’mon, babe, you’re really gonna spend the night with them when I’m right here?”

Finally, you turn to look at him. He takes a deep breath, feeling his lungs fill with air properly for the first time since you last saw each other. Yes, yes, exactly. That’s all he wants, all he needs, just keep looking at him like that.

Your eyes travel from his face, down the length of his body, down his slender, model legs and back up. The mood shift in you is so obvious to him, who’s gobbling up even the tiniest details that you offer him.

You’re opening up. You’re letting him in.

Yes, yes, yes. Come on.

“’S been so long since you’ve fucked me,” he drawls. “At this rate, I might forget what you feel like.”

Your eye twitches, but you’re not a man of ego. No, if he wants you to give in, he needs to bait. Then, you can punish him for all the bratty little comments.

“We barely see each other lately. You haven’t even kissed me yet.”

Hook.

He sees your face soften. You shift to face him. “I know, baby, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Ooh, look at you, offering the line yourself. “Yeah?” He masks the glee in his voice, replacing it with a pathetic longing that he knows you’re weak for. His hand tugs at the bandage covering his eyes, unwinding it and dropping it to the floor near the bed. A cheap, dirty trick, but he really wants to get his way. Your gaze meets his, and he knows he’s got you. “When are you ever gonna do that?”

“Soon,” you reply with a squeeze of his calf. Gentle. Affectionate. Tender. You are just the perfect man.

“How about right now?” With a light tug to your obi belt, your yukata falls open.

And sinker.

You rise from the floor to crawl on the bed. His heart thumps painfully against his ribs. Yeah, yeah, let’s go, come on. He backs away, perfectly playing his role of the fleeing prey, until his head hits the headboard, and you seize your chance to get on top of him, hands firmly planted on either side of his head.

You tilt your head, studying him. He can see his own reflection in your dark, dark eyes, and wow, it’s no wonder you want to fuck him into next week so bad. He’d want to fuck himself too.

“Yeah. You know what?” You purr, leaning closer. “I think I will. Fuck ‘em.”

He grins. “That’s the sp—”

Your mouth is on his before he can finish the sentence, a rough kiss that he barely expects. He wraps an arm around your neck, the other around your shoulders, trying to tug you down, but you refuse him. He whines into the kiss, digging his fingers into your flesh. Hard, rough, pure muscle, god, just take me!

You pull away to kiss the corner of his lips, his cheek, the soft underside of his jaw, down to his throat, your favorite spot. Already he feels lightheaded, heart pumping ruthlessly, he’s so easy, too easy.

“I want you so bad,” you rasp against his throat, and woah, okay, starting off real strong there.

His heart throbs. His dick, too.

“Nhh, what are you waiting for, then?”

He nuzzles against your temple, hooking a leg around yours to grind roughly against you. You’re hard as a rock under your yukata.

He can’t hold back a chuckle. “Is that a knife in your pocket or are you just—” He yelps when you bite, straight into the tender flesh of his throat. “Ow, was that really necessary?”

You lower yourself against him, finally, jeez, and claim his mouth again.

“You talk too much,” you pant against his lips.

“’Cause you’re not even doing anything,” Satoru retorts without missing a beat. “Gotta fill the awkward silence somehow.”

You punish him with another bite, on his jaw this time. Softer, like one was your limit. His obi comes undone with an expert tug of your hand, and you caress his navel with your fingertips. Starving him, still.

Impatient, he grabs your wrist and pushes your hand flat against his stomach, pulling closer with his leg, his hand tugging your yukata down your back. You pinch him in retaliation, and he flinches violently.

“Mean.” He never misses an opportunity to whine and pout. “Weren’t you supposed to make it up to me?”

You huff out a chuckle. “What, you waited for days, but five more minutes is a death sentence to you?”

“Exactly!” He slaps your shoulder and slides his hand down your chest to grasp your shaft. The hiss you let out is beyond satisfying. You’re not riled up enough, he needs you feral like a dog, he needs to be bent over and— “You made me wait days, so get to it. Never heard of ‘happy wife, happy life’?”

You roll your eyes, but you reach out to open the nightstand drawer all the same. Your hand comes back with a bottle of lube.

Oh, now we’re talking.

You sit back on your haunches to open the lube, and Satoru has to make an actual, conscious effort to keep from drooling. He swears his thighs are trembling. How is he meant to be calm when you’re right there, sitting between his legs, looking like you want to eat him alive?

He could die.

With a groan, he lies back, stroking his cock teasingly. He barely gets two pumps in before you smack his wrist with your free hand. He lets go, with a loud, frustrated whine.

“Not getting any younger here,” he complains. “Could’ve gotten myself off three times with how inefficient you are.”

You plop yourself down beside him, leaning on your elbow. “Soggy, pathetic little orgasms they would’ve been, darling.”

Satoru can’t help the outraged gasp he lets out. “Excuse me, I— angh…” Your hand’s slipped between his thighs, your middle finger circling his rim. “Let me finish my sentences, asshole.”

“Like I said,” you tease, slicking up his puffy hole, “you talk too much. Can you blame me for doing what I can to stop you?”

“Uh, yes?”

You laugh at that. God, you are so hot when you laugh, it’s unfair.

He rises on his elbows and ghosts his lips over yours, baiting you once more. You bite easily, light little pecks that make his heart flutter. Sneakily, he wiggles his hips, trying to get your finger in him.

“You’re not slick, you know,” you murmur, keeping your fingers frustratingly out.

“And whose fault is that?” Satoru retorts, head falling back with a moan as your finger pushes inside just barely, only to pull out immediately. His stomach tenses, he clamps his thighs over your wrist to keep you trapped. “Fucker.”

He’s getting sick of the phantom touch, and quickly. Alright then. You asked for it.

“Baby,” he breathes, looking up at you with pleading baby blues. “C’mon, I just wanna feel you…”

You inhale sharply, oh, this is too easy, and push your finger in. Slowly, gently, because you don’t feel like tearing his asshole apart. You’re just nice like that. Satoru rewards you with an open mouth kiss, letting you slip your tongue in his mouth, while his hips grind against your hand.

For a moment, a blissful moment, all he hears is the sound of your lips smacking together, your panting intertwining with his moans of pleasure, the slick sound of your finger lubing his hole up. Warmth blooms in his stomach, in his chest— more, more, he needs more, now.

“Give me your cock,” he pants, “come on, I’m ready, don’t make me wait.”

You don’t listen to him. Instead, you slide in another finger, and he clenches his jaw, brows knitting. Denying him— you’re so good at that. His head falls back as he pants, hips rocking in time with your thrusting, and you bend down to lick and tease at the sensitive skin of his throat.

Satoru’s losing it, though, and quickly. Your fingers are too big, too thick, too precise in their movements for him to resist. Heat coils in his stomach, his body tightens further with every stroke, he’s getting close, too close—

“Y/N, wait,” he whines, voice high and almost squeaky. You slow immediately, face leaving the crook of his neck. “Hold on, I…”

“You don’t wanna come?” You purr. Your movements haven’t stopped completely, and Satoru can’t keep in his high, breathy moans. “I just wanna make you feel good, baby. Don’t you want that?”

“Fuck you,” he hisses. He reaches up, tangles his hand in your hair, tugs hard.

You pull your fingers out of him entirely, and he groans in frustration at the emptiness, the cold. He digs his nails into your skin, and if you weren’t too far from him he’d bite.

“No need to throw a tantrum, sweets.”

“You know what I want,” Satoru whines, “come on, pretty please?”

You lean down and press your lips to his. A placating kiss, meant to stall. You let him nip and bite, let him ravage your mouth and distantly, he feels your hand brush against his inner thigh. Then, you maneuver yourself between his legs again, bending them at the knee to bracket your hips. Your cock rests against heavy against him, throbbing, leaking pre all over the place like it can tell it’s about to be inside him. You need him just as bad, so stop stalling, stop denying him—

“Deep breath for me?” You say against his lips.

He obeys. Takes a deeeep inhale, and—

You push inside him in one smooth motion, and he swallows back an obscene moan, just for the pleasure of hearing the borderline pornographic sound you let out in his ear.

“Fuck,” you pant. The satisfaction that fills him feels almost as good as your cock. C’mon, go wild. “Fuck, Satoru. Good? You feeling good?”

He would answer, he would, but he just feels so full, it’s like you’ve ripped his voice from him.

“Uh-huh.” He nods, head tilted back, mouth wide open, eyes scrunched close—

You pull out almost completely and push back in, smooth and soft and gentle. “You look so fucking good right now, baby,” you pant, settling into the rhythm.

“Yeah, I b-bet I do,” he says right back.

You lean down to push closer to him, your thrusting switching to a lazy grind into him. He turns his head, looking for your lips, and you kiss him eagerly, tongue stroking his like your shaft is massaging his insides. And it feels good, so good, so fucking good he can feel his brain melt into goo and leak out through his ears, but still he needs more. Harder. Meaner.

And you know that. This is just the warm-up.

You’re still taking your sweet fucking time though, stroking against his walls, listening to each of his moans greedily. He wants to curse you out, almost does, but he’s beyond helpless when you’re inside him like this. All he can do is moan, soft and high, lips parted like he wants you in there, too.

That gives you an idea. You lean up on one hand, the other gripping his thigh, never once breaking your thrusting.

“Show me your tongue,” your order.

And he obeys, because what else is he supposed to do? He pushes his mouth wide, pink tongue lolling out.

He sees you gather spit, and his hole flutters around you, betraying his excitement. You let the spit fall past your lips and onto his tongue, but just as he’s about to swallow, you grasp his jaw tight, stilling him.

He whines in frustration, kicking his leg petulantly, but you deny him still.

“Stay right there,” you murmur, and lean down to lick at his tongue. It turns into a harsh kiss, biting at each other’s lips with wet groans filling up the room.

You lean back and pull his leg up, onto your shoulder, and he knows he’s about to get what he needs.

“Baby,” he whines, just for the sake of it. His hips twitch, and you allow it, until he’s practically fucking himself on you, back curved gracefully, throat exposed with his heartbeat fluttering under the soft skin.

It isn’t long until you take the lead again. You grasp his wrist and yank his arm from under him, and he lets out a dramatic yelp as he falls flat on his back.

“I’ve got you,” you purr. “I’ve got you, my Satoru.”

His cock jumps. Easy bitch that he is.

You kiss his palm, tender and sweet. Then, you guide it up to the headboard.

“Hold on.”

He clutches the wood, thighs quivering. “You gonna fuck me now?” He can’t help but taunt, biting his smiling lips. “Or do I have to wait another two years?”

You don’t dignify him with a verbal response— instead you clutch his thighs, pull out fully and slam back into him. The pace you set is deep, harsh, each hit ripping a moan from him almost against his will. The entire fucking bed rocks with your movements.

And Satoru takes it, all that you’re offering, pleasure building in stomach with every slap of your hips against his ass. Fuck, he’s gonna be so sore tomorrow.

“You sound so sweet, baby,” you purr, caressing the soft skin of his thigh. “Is it— hah, is it everything you wanted?”

Blindly, he reaches up with one hand, the other clutching the headboard so tightly he almost hears the wood groaning. You grab his wrist and pin it near his head, bending over him and folding him in half like origami, his knee to his chest and fuck—

“Unh, Y/N, fuck!”

“What, am I not doing it right?" You quip. Satoru glances up, and the borderline ravenous look on your face makes his insides twist, his hole clench around you. You hiss, lips twisting into a snarl, and your hand leaves his wrist and wraps around his throat. Satoru lets out a strangled, high-pitched whimper as you squeeze his windpipe. “Yeah,” you say through a laugh, “thought so. You feeling good, sweetheart? I bet you fucking do, yeah, when was the last time you were so loud? Come on, baby, take it, have your fill.”

Nothing coherent leaves his mouth after that, nothing except your name and moans that only keep getting louder and louder, each snap of your hips scrambling his brain further. Your pre mixed with the lube sticks to his inner thighs, your hips, your balls, slick sounds replacing the slap of your skin against his.

You’re giving so much, so quickly, after days of withdrawal it feels like he’s drowning in the pleasure, drowning in the scent of your sweat and your moans and the way you say his name so sweetly still, even when you’re fucking him like you’re actually trying to break something— it’s so much, it’s too much, too fast, it’s exactly what he needed.

You’ve given up on talking him through it, as always when you’re getting close. Your thrusting is growing more frantic, falling out of rhythm, and before he knows it he comes hard, back arching off the bed like a pornstar.

“Ah— baby, fuck!”

His come splashes on his stomach, his hips, mixing with your pre and almost frothing with the friction. The groan you let out as he tightens is sinful, god he needs to hear more of those, he needs—

He hears two loud snaps in quick succession and suddenly you gasp, covering his body as the bed literally falls apart underneath you.

And for a hot second, Satoru is stunned, panting, and horribly confused. The mind-blowing orgasm doesn’t help him gather his wits, and for a moment he wonders if he even heard correctly. Maybe he’s hallucinating? Like, you were fucking hard, but not that hard, were you?

Oh shit, maybe you were.

You’re panting harshly above him, face and neck and chest all deliciously red, the veins in your neck bulging with effort. You lean up, eyes raking over him.

“You okay? Baby, you okay?”

You sound so worried, it’s honestly sweet. But all Satoru can think about is that you fucked him so hard you broke the bed.

He laughs. High and loud and bordering on full blown cackling. He can’t lie, that’s impressive. His leg falls off your shoulder, limp and heavy.

“You broke the bed—” he lets out through wheezing, “holy shit babe, you actually broke the bed!”

You roll your eyes, pushing your hair out of your face. “Was that a lifelong dream of yours or something? It can’t be that funny.”

Oh, but it is. It really is that funny. It takes a second, but Satoru calms down, while you’re looking around helplessly like the furniture can still be saved somehow. Like you’re still looking for the culprit.

All while still inside him, hard and throbbing. And no cum of yours filling him up.

He leans up on his elbows. “Wait, Y/N, you didn’t come?”

“We really have a bigger problem right now—”

“The only big problem is your cock right now, babe,” Satoru cuts in cheekily, sitting up on your lap. He swipes two fingers in his come and smears it on your balls, fondling them while he’s at it. You hiss.

“Satoru…”

“No, really, why are those still full, huh?”

You grab his wrist to still him. “Satoru, the bed—”

“—is fucked anyway,” he finishes for you. “C’mon,” he pleads. “Who cares about that? You have more important things to focus on right now. Come in me.”

To really drive the point home, he leans in to kiss at your neck, under your jaw, and wriggles his hips teasingly.

“Come on,” he pushes. “Baby, come on, I want it so bad…”

You push to lay him down, and his heart kickstarts again. You’re so easy, too easy. He loves you, loves you, loves you.

You press your lips to his and push into him with slow thrusts, keeping the pace mild but deep. Sweat drips down your jaw to your neck and Satoru leans up to lick at it, moaning in your ear.

“So good,” he whimpers, hole wet with your pre, squelching obscenely. You grip his thighs tight, rocking your hips into him.

Overstimulation sneaks up on him with each brush of your mushroom tip on his prostate, pushing his moans into throaty, high sounds. It’s quieter, this time, less frantic, yet somehow no less animal. Not with your lips stretched into a snarl as you bite at his neck, his shoulder.

He comes before you, again, his dick spurting to the best of its ability, his come almost see-through. His entire body tightens around you and his cry of your name pushes you over the edge and finally, fuck, finally warmth floods his insides as you spill in him, pushing your hips against his like you get any deeper than you already are.

He doesn’t move; neither do you. For a few seconds, you both simply lay there, panting as you come down, skin glistening with sweat and come. You catch his lips in a slow, unhurried kiss, claiming his mouth the way you know he loves.

It takes a while before you get yourself up and moving again, and in Satoru’s eyes it’s still unacceptable. Leaving him in this emotionally vulnerable time? You’re the absolute worst.

When you dare to pull out of him, your come dripping out of his abused hole, he growls in frustration.

“Come back,” he demands.

You pat his thigh affectionately. “In a second, darling.”

“No, now.”

He kicks his leg petulantly, but you don’t relent. You move away, and Satoru groans, hiding his eyes with his arm. “Asshole,” he mutters.

You return in under a minute, but even that was too long for him. He needs to be in your arms now, immediately. He needs your warmth.

Gentle hands lift his leg onto your shoulders. You swipe a wet cloth over his skin, both cleaning and soothing him. A sigh of contentment escapes him, against his will.

When he uncovers his eyes, the smile you’re giving is so gentle, so loving that his heart squeezes.

“Happy?” you ask, fingers running up and down his leg.

Satoru nods, delightfully exhausted. “I love you,” he blurts out.

You kiss his ankle. “I love you.”

Your phone vibrates on the nightstand, stealing your attention from him.

“Fuck,” you breathe when you peek at the notifications. “The elders are harassing me.”

Right. Your rematch.

Satoru chuckles. “Ditch them,” he demands. “Stay with me.”

You stay silent for a second.

“You know what?” You say after what feels like forever. “Yeah. I will.”

A satisfied smile stretches Satoru’s lips.

You need to grow a backbone.