alicelovesherbfs

eventually, yuta agrees to join you and toge– begrudgingly, of course– but he’d try for his two best friends. 

“how do you even–” snap. yuta sighs, staring at the now damaged tent pole in his hands. “i think i just broke it.”

he, in fact, did break the pole. and there was no back up. 

you squint your eyes at him suspiciously. “you did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“hey!” he protests. “i may hate the idea of sleeping outside, but it was an accident!”

“fine, fine,” you coo, “i believe you.” you stare at the ruined tent, trying to think. “now what? we’re three hours outside of town and it’s getting late.”

toge points to a sign far off in the distance. “hotel?”

the three of you blink as you pull into the parking lot not too much later, red rising to your cheeks. 

“a… love hotel?” you gulp.

“and in the middle of fucking nowhere? yeah, definitely not sketchy at all…” yuta says sarcastically.

you sigh in defeat. “well, what other choice do we have? it’s the only place for miles and i’m fucking starving.” you drag your feet towards the entrance, “they better have superb room service.” 

the three of you are pleasantly surprised when you step into the building; it’s actually really nice inside.

you try to ignore the assuming looks from the clerk as you check-in, scurrying away as quickly as possible once she handed you the room key. you could practically feel her thoughts in your head with how much her gaze was burning into the back of your skull as you three walked towards the elevator. 

the room is fucking beautiful. you almost forgot where you were, glancing around in awe at the decor and the pretty flower petals scattered along the bed. 

“i guess a lot of campers come here after their trips?” you joke, plopping yourself onto the mattress. “holy fuck, this is so soft,” you moan, curling into the sheets.

yuta’s cock unwillingly twitches in his sweatpants. toge’s throat tightens. fuck.

and you’re still completely oblivious to their reactions as the rest of the night goes on, groaning satisfactorily from the food you ordered. 

“jesus, this is incredible,” you exclaim, rolling your eyes blissfully.

yuta and toge eat slowly, silently shooting each other knowing looks throughout the meal. they’re trying so fucking hard to ignore the tent growing in their pants– pun intended. 

they’re grateful for the brief period of relief they’re granted when you step away to shower, though thinking about what you’ll look like afterwards was counteracting their self-control.

you don’t even realize the switch within you; it just happens, and don’t sense it’s happening, either, believing everything to be normal. 

you stumble out of the bathroom, towel loosely caging your body as you giggle uncontrollably. your cheeks are deeply flushed, and your cunt is throbbing. your eyes finally meet those of your best friends whom are currently staring back at you with their jaw slack. 

you notice something different about them. “are you guys hot?” you ask, “why are your cheeks so red?”

“i could ask you the same thing,” yuta answers, swallowing hard, “am i gonna have to deal with an icy shower in the morning?”

toge’s erection is so strained and leaky as he shoves the blanket down further into his lap, hoping somehow the pressure eases the ache.

but nothing’s working. you all feel so incredibly needy that you can’t think straight. 

what the hell happened?

toge quickly reaches to grab the menu that is still sitting on the bed, flipping through the pages frantically.

“still hungry?” you tease.

and then he sees it. the bolognese dish the three of you shared. written in the fine print: contains aphrodisiacs. his eyes grow wide and look between you and yuta before huffing out a “fuck.”

yuta glances over his shoulder, gulping once he sees what toge is concerned about. “uh, y/n?” he calls you cautiously. “did you… read everything before you ordered food earlier?”

“what for?” you question. your towel slips just enough that the friction of your hardened nipples against the material is the only thing still keeping it in place and your body covered. “bolognese is the same everywhere, isn’t it?”

“yeah, well, not here.”

you furrow your brows. “what?”

toge swallows. “aphrodisiacs,” his voice is quiet, somewhat raspy. “infused with aphrodisiacs.” 

your lips part in shock, and only then do you realize how much sense it makes, considering you are in a love hotel, and just how fucking screwed you are. 

you stare blankly for a moment. “well,” you breathe, “fuck.”

yeah, you definitely were about to get screwed.

your towel drops to the floor instantaneously whilst toge and yuta rip off their clothing and throw it carelessly off to the side. your eyes are hungry, tongue thirsting for their taste, as you hastily shuffle over towards them. the three of you are like wild animals as you pounce on one another. yuta grabs your hips firmly and forces you onto his lap, lips impatiently sliding all over your neck along with his hands on your torso. he cups your breasts and squeezes, humming against your throat. you groan from the feeling of his touch and his hard cock pulsing against your dripping folds. 

toge’s standing up behind you now, wrapping his arms around the front of your waist to reach your clit. his teeth sink into your neck as he coats his warm, dainty fingers with your sticky slick.

“you’re soaked,” he thrums against your skin, “feels so good.”

yuta kisses you sloppily, whining into your mouth from the pressure of your folds pressing against his length, desperately needing to be inside of your wet hole. 

“fuck,” he huffs, “need to fuck you, please,” he drops his head and sucks hard on the fat of your breasts before bringing your nipples into his mouth. “wanna feel this pretty pussy.”

“god, y–yeah,” you moan, “put it in, yu. fuck me.”

he doesn’t need to be asked twice. toge steps back for a moment to allow yuta to slip inside of you, positioning you atop the mattress on all fours. toge slides underneath of your body, gripping your hips as his tongue laps into your folds, cock twitching just inches away from your face. 

“it’s so pretty, toge,” you gasp, fingers teasing the base of his creamy cock, “fuck, you’re so hard.” 

“more,” he groans into your cunt and your body jolts, sending yuta’s cock deeper into your stomach. you cry out and toge continues, “touch me more.”

you take all of him into your mouth, instantly choking on him as yuta keeps an unforgiving pace, the impact of his body against yours forcing toge’s length to slide in and out of your mouth without you even having to try. 

“fuck, look at you,” yuta growls, gripping your hair and assisting you even further with sucking on toge’s pretty cock. he pulses against your walls with each filthy squelch of your tongue and your sticky arousal engulfing him inside of you. “so messy, aren’t you?” he sends a harsh slap to your ass and you cry, toge releasing the loudest moan– honestly, it's the loudest you’ve ever heard him– as the rough ridges of your tongue drag across his vein and slit so precisely. 

“oh, fuck!” he gasps, nails digging into your hips as he begins to piston up into your wet mouth desperately, “g–gonna–,” he can barely get out a word, eyes rolling violently as your pretty hums and slurps along his thick cock send him into overdrive. “shit, shit–” he curses “gonna fill you,” hissing as you glide across his tip with your teeth, causing the coil in his stomach to finally snap. “take it,” his throat cracks, hot ropes of milky cum stuffing your mouth full to the brim, “fucking take it.”

you struggle to swallow all of his cum, the sticky substance dripping down your chin as you begin to scream uncontrollably, yuta’s cock buried so deep inside of you that you forget how to function and toge’s tongue working on your sex like it’s his fucking job. 

“holy fuck,” you sob, fingers curling into the sheets, eyes watering from the intense pleasure. “i–it’s– i can’t–” you try to breathe, but it’s nearly impossible when their skilled bodies are stealing the air right out of your lungs with each brutal claim of your cunt, “fuck– i’m coming!” you finally cry, toge cupping your clit with his puffy, cherry lips like he’d die if he let you go, yuta jerking your head up by your hair to arch you back further and feel you deeper. 

“let go, baby,” yuta coos, “let me see that pretty cunt squirt all over my cock.” 

you whimper, legs shaking violently as your sweet juices soak his length, spilling out of the sides and reaching toge’s mouth. he moans into your folds, slurping up every drop you’ve gifted him. 

“so sweet,” he mutters, kitten-licking your bundle of nerves.

yuta’s not slowing down, one hand moving to wrap around your throat as he destroys your cunt like he’s trying to send you into ruin.

“yu–yuta,” you choke, biting your lip from the overwhelming bliss. “it’s– so–”

“you can take it, sweetheart,” he assures, “keep squeezing my cock and make me come.”

toge’s still tasting you, now assisting you to slide your greedy cunt along yuta’s cock to help him come undone. yuta’s breaths begin to lose stability, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as his tongue slips along the divets. you’re whining, ungodly sounds escaping your throat with each merciless touch. 

“fuck,” yuta growls, “s-so close.” you lift a hand up to grab his wrist around your throat for leverage. “wanna fill you up,” he grunts, “you gonna let me?”

“let him,” toge’s voice is demanding as he sucks on your clit. you choke out a groan, hot tears burning your eyes from the bliss. “swallow his cum.”

yuta sends you one final, deep thrust as he lets out a loud wail, moaning into the nape of your neck as he spills his hot seed into your battered cunt, whimpering every time your walls clench around him to pump him dry completely. 

“shit,” he huffs, laughing elated, “you’re so goddamn perfect.”

toge drinks up the residue of your releases like a starved man, groaning and living for the way your body withers against him pathetically from the overstimulation. he lets you go with a pop, licking his lips satisfied. “proud of you,” he hums, kissing along your thighs gently before he slips away from beneath you to sit up onto his knees. “you’re incredible.”

yuta collapses forward onto the bed, pulling you down on top of him. toge slips beside you two a moment later, the three of you pressed together and calming from the intense sex. 

“we should definitely talk about this– us– in the morning,” you insist, yawning shortly after as you drift off.

"You just have to put on the jacket," Toru continued, his voice taking on that persuasive tone he used when he wanted a favor. "Do the hair. Show up at the rink and tell her it’s over." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, as if he were swiping away a notification on a phone. "Tell her I found a model or that I’ve moved on. I just don't have the energy for the devoted boyfriend performance right now, and my flight leaves in an hour."

Satoru felt a surge of nausea. His knuckles turned a ghostly white as he gripped the spine of his textbook, the hard edges digging into his palms. "Toru, this is cruel," he said, his voice vibrating with a rare spark of heat. "Even for you. She’s a person, not an assignment you can just delegate because you didn't do the required reading."

Toru’s eyes went flat, the way they did right before he won an argument. He stepped forward, invading Satoru’s personal space, the metaphorical distance between them feeling larger than ever despite their identical height.

"You owe me one, remember? Unless you want me to just text her 'we’re done' and block her number. At least this way, she hears it from a face she knows." Without waiting for an answer, he snatched his signature leather jacket from the bed and tossed it. The heavy, scent-soaked material hit Toru’s chest like a physical blow. "Don't mess it up, brother."

At 2:00 PM, the light filtered through the high, frosted windows in beams, hitting the white surface with a blinding glare of the ice rink.

Satoru’s eyes were screaming. The contacts Toru had forced him to wear were dry and scratchy, a constant reminder that he was currently living a lie. Without his glasses, the world was a smudge. He stumbled slightly on the concrete stairs, his boots clattering too loudly in the hollow space.

Then, the world seemed to sharpen. He saw you.

You were a blur of motion, a shadow spinning in the dead center of the rink. Your headphones were on, sealing you away in a world of rhythm that only you could hear. You moved with a terrifying, disciplined precision, launching into a double axel. For a heartbeat, you were suspended in the air, graceful, lethal before your blade cut back into the ice with a sound like a diamond scratching glass.

You carved a wide, elegant arc across the ice, surging toward the barrier. You stopped inches from the wood, the spray of ice crystals hitting the toes of his shoes like tiny diamonds. You pulled your headphones down, letting them rest around your neck.

Your gaze was a cold, sharp sweep. It made Satoru feel like a specimen under a microscope. He tried to adjust the leather jacket, tried to channel Toru’s arrogant stance, the way his brother leaned against walls as if he owned the building.

"What are you doing here, Satoru?"

The name hit him like a physical strike. His heart did a frantic, uneven dance against his ribs. He hadn't even opened his mouth. He was wearing the jacket, the jewelry, the cologne, he was a perfect physical replica of the man you were dating.

"I... urm..." he stammered, the cocky persona evaporating instantly. "How did you...?"

"Toru doesn't come here," you said, your voice indifferent but sharp as a razor blade. "He finds the cold unflattering. And he certainly doesn't look at me with guilt in his eyes." You leaned against the railing, your eyes narrowing as you took in his trembling hands. "If your brother is too much of a coward to say it himself, then consider the message delivered. Tell him we’re broken up. From this second."

You’d known Toru since freshman year. You knew every inch of his ego. And you knew, within three seconds of seeing this man walk through the door, that the soul behind those blue eyes was much, much softer.

Satoru’s shoulders slumped. The lie was dead before it even started. "I'm sorry," he whispered, looking at his shoes. "I really didn't want to do this. He... he just wouldn't listen."

"Save it," you snapped, turning to skate away. "You weren't going to apologize if I hadn't known."

"No, that’s not true," he called out, his voice cracking with a rare flash of spirit. "I’m still sorry. I hate this. I didn't want to hurt you."

He watched you skate away. Toru had always called you judgemental , but Satoru saw something else, a girl who was fiercely protective of her own time and dignity.

A week later, the world felt as gray as the campus concrete. The meeting with the Dean had been short and devastating. “Academic excellence is a requirement for this scholarship,” she had said. Between the heartbreak and the grueling hours at the rink, your focus had fractured. If you didn’t fix your Physics grade, you wouldn't just lose your spot on the team, you’d lose your future.

That desperation led you to the back of the lecture hall. You waited until the room emptied, leaving only one person behind.

Satoru was methodically packing his bag, sliding his notebooks into his bag with precision. He looked like himself again. The cologne-soaked ghost of Toru was gone, replaced by the boy with the thick, black-rimmed glasses and the soft, oversized hoodie. He looked approachable.

You stepped into his line of sight, blocking the light. "If you were really serious about making it up to me," you said, your voice steadier than you actually felt, "consider this the way. I need a tutor. Specifically for Physics."

Satoru froze, a strap of his bag halfway over his shoulder. He blinked, his eyes appearing huge and startled behind his lenses. For a moment, he just stared at you, his brain seemingly catching up to the fact that you were actually speaking to him.

A soft, betraying pink crawled up his neck and settled in his cheeks. "Tutor you?" he managed to ask, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"I'm at risk of losing my scholarship," you added, leaving no room for him to argue or offer pity. "7:00 PM. The West Wing of the library. Come if you want to." You didn't wait for an "okay." You turned and walked out, feeling his stunned gaze lingering on your back like a physical warmth.

The library was a tomb of hushed whispers. You were tucked into a corner booth, hunched over a textbook, a steaming vanilla mocha sat by your elbow, but it had long since gone cold.

"That's not quite right."

The voice was soft, appearing right by your ear. You hadn't even heard him sit down. Satoru leaned over, he pointed a long, steady finger at your notes.

"Check your constants here," he murmured, his face so close you could see every speck in his blue eyes. "It’s h-bar, not h. If you don't use the reduced Planck constant, your uncertainty principle calculation is going to be off by a factor of 2pi."

You stared at the scribbled numbers, the symbols blurring together. The frustration of last week bubbled up. "I don't understand," you admitted, your voice cracking just a fraction. "None of this makes sense anymore."

And for the next hour, the world narrowed down to the scratching of lead on paper. Satoru was a natural teacher. He didn't get annoyed when you asked for clarification. He noticed the way you tapped your pen against your chin when you were stuck, a small, rhythmic tic.

The library's ventilation kicked on, blowing a draft of icy air across the table. You shivered, pulling your arms tight against your chest.

Suddenly, a weight settled over your shoulders. It was warm and heavy. You looked up to see Satoru standing there in just his graphic t-shirt, having draped his hoodie over you.

"The ventilation here is terrible," he whispered, his ears turning a vivid, brilliant red as he quickly sat back down and avoided your gaze. "And you can't focus if your core temperature is dropping. It’s basic thermodynamics. Energy diverted to maintaining heat is energy taken away from cognitive function."

You looked at the sleeve of the sweater, then at him. You didn't say thank you but you pulled the hoodie tighter, burying your nose in the collar for a fleeting second.

"Listen, I’m still so sorry about earlier," Satoru said, his pen hovering over a diagram. "Toru... he didn't tell me the truth. He described you as someone who... well, someone who wouldn't leave him alone. I was wrong to judge you based on his ego."

You felt a sharp, familiar sting in your chest. You set your mocha down, the plastic lid clicking. "I asked him questions about his day because I thought that’s what people in a relationship did. I didn't realize that caring was the same thing as an interrogation. What's wrong with wanting a boyfriend to show up to his own anniversary dinner?"

Satoru’s pen stopped mid-graph, his voice thick with disbelief.. "He missed your anniversary?"

You looked Satoru in the eye, wanting him to see the hurt Toru had caused. "I sat at that Italian restaurant for two hours on our anniversary while he was at a frat mixer three blocks away. He didn't even text. When I found him, he told me I was being demanding."

"I don't think you're high-maintenance at all. I think Toru just doesn't know how to look at the things that actually matter."

In the weeks that followed, the loud, chaotic frequency of Toru was replaced by the steady, low-humming presence of Satoru. Twice a week, he would wait for you at the rink. He’d be holding a styrofoam cup, the cardboard sleeve damp from the steam.

"Vanilla mocha," he’d say. "Extra shot. You looked like you were losing the war with gravity this morning."

You’d wrap your frozen fingers around the warmth, wondering how Toru hadn't known your favorite drink after three years, yet Satoru had memorized it in a few days.

One night, the library was closed for maintenance, so you were studying in your dorm. The room was a mess of sticky notes and open laptops.

You came out of the bathroom, drying your hands, but froze at the threshold of the room. Satoru was sitting on your bed, his phone pressed to his ear. The volume was up so high that the voice on the other end felt like a physical intrusion in your private space.

“YO! Did you see the video I sent?" Toru’s voice was unmistakable and slurred.. "I'm at this house party. Man, I met these two girls who think I'm a literal sculpture. Anyways, how’s the skater? Did she cry? Please tell me she didn't get snot on my leather jacket. That thing cost more than her skates." The laugh that came made your skin crawl.

Satoru’s head snapped up. His eyes met yours, and in that moment, he looked like he was watching a car crash in slow motion. The blood drained from his face, leaving him pale.

“Uhh... yes, Professor. Yes, I’ll send that lab report soon,” Satoru stammered, his voice trembling as he frantically fumbled for the end call button. His lie was pathetic, a flimsy shield against whatever just happened. 

The silence that followed was suffocating. It was heavy and smelled of the betrayal you thought you had moved past. You didn't scream or react in any way.. You just walked over to the bed, your movements robotic.

“You’re a terrible performer, Satoru,” you said softly. “Both times now. So maybe stop trying to cover for him and just stick to physics.”

Satoru sat rigid in his spot, his phone still gripped tightly in his hand. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the walls. 

You picked up your highlighter, the yellow ink staining the page as you began to work again.

The cafe was a sanctuary of amber light and the comforting smell of coffee. Between them, two vanilla mochas sat like peace offerings, the foam dusted with cinnamon. The steam rose in identical, lazy curls, swirling together in the center of the small table, connecting their separate worlds.

Satoru’s eyes flickered from the drink to her face. For the first time in a while, a soft, genuine tug pulled at the corner of his mouth, a real smile that reached his eyes, crinkling the skin behind his glasses.

“Maybe I ought to give this a try, too,” he murmured, his voice dipping into a warmer register that made the hair on her arms stand up. He took a tentative sip, the sweetness a stark contrast to the bitter black coffee he usually drank to keep himself awake. “I usually stick to the basics, function over form, but clearly, you have superior taste. It’s... actually quite good.”

Satoru traced the rim of his paper cup with his thumb, his expression shifting from guarded composure to something animated and raw as he started talking about his love for gaming.

“It’s not just about the buttons or the graphics,” he said, his voice dropping into that quiet, intense tone people use when they’re sharing a secret they’ve kept locked away. “In a strategy game, the universe is governed by logic. There are rules. If you work hard enough, if you learn the mechanics and account for the variables, you can protect everyone. You can actually win.” He looked down at the table, his fingers stilled. “When I’m deep in a build, I feel like I finally have a grip on the world. It’s a closed system. It’s... satisfactory.”

He looked up suddenly, a self-conscious flush hitting his cheeks as he realized how much he’d revealed. “I probably sound like a total nerd. It’s just a lot of sitting still and overthinking.”

She didn't laugh. Instead, she leaned forward, her hands tracing invisible patterns on the scarred wooden table as if she were marking the ice with her blades. “No, Toru. I get it. It’s about control, isn't it? The world is loud and messy, but your world has a rhythm.” She looked at him, her eyes bright with a sudden, shared understanding. “For me, it’s the exact opposite of sitting still, but the feeling? The feeling is exactly the same.”

“I was seven the first time my mum brought me to the rink,” she said, her voice softening as she drifted into the memory. “I remember stepping through the heavy  doors. The air was so cold it felt like breathing in tiny glass needles. It hurt, but in a way that made me feel awake.”

She closed her eyes for a second, and Toru found himself holding his breath, watching the way the cafe light caught the bridge of her nose.

“But then you push off,” she continued, her hands moving gracefully over the table. “There’s this specific sound, a crisp hiss of steel cutting through ice. In those minutes, the gravity changes. You don't feel like you’re in this world anymore. You’re just... gliding. Freely. No one can reach you there.”

“The expectations, the noise, it all just fades into the background,” she whispered, her smile turning wistful. “When I’m mid-rotation, the world loses its edge. It becomes a blur of colors, and the only thing that’s real is the bite of the skate and the rhythm of my own lungs. It’s the only place I’m actually me, instead of the girl everyone expects me to be.”

Satoru watched her, his own drink forgotten and cooling. He’d seen her in crowded lecture halls, and he’d seen her standing beside his brother like a trophy, but he realized with a jolt of clarity that he had never actually seen her until this second. 

“A blur of colors,” he repeated softly, nodding as if he were memorizing the phrase. “I think I’d like to see that sometime. 

For the first time, the air felt lighter. He listened to her with an intensity that made her feel like the only person in the room, his gaze never wavering, his blue eyes finally steady.

Three weeks later, the afternoon sun cut through the campus windows. Satoru rounded the corner to meet her after her afternoon seminar, but his pace faltered.

There, leaning against the lockers, was a guy from the soccer team. He was a carbon copy of Toru’s brand of charisma, the athletic slouch, the expensive team jacket, and a smirk that suggested he owned the very air people were trying to breathe. He was blocking her path, his shadow sprawling over her like an eclipse.

Satoru’s chest tightened, a physical constriction that made it hard to swallow. He searched her face for discomfort, but she was wearing a small, polite smile.

The sensation that hit him was involuntary. It was a sharp, jagged heat that soured into a hollow ache in the pit of his stomach. Was this jealousy? The thought was terrifying. He had no claim to her. But as he watched the soccer player lean closer, invading her space, Toru felt like he was watching a rare manuscript being handled by someone who couldn't even read.

For a split second, Satoru considered retreating. He could go to the library, hide behind a stack of books, and nurse his bruised ego in the silence he was used to. He wasn't a fighter. He wasn't the guy who won the girl.

Then, she looked up.

Her eyes bypassed the athlete’s smirk entirely and locked onto his. “Satoru!” she called out. Her voice bright and unmistakably relieved.

The hollow ache in Satoru’s chest vanished instantly, replaced by a surge of light. He watched, mesmerized, as she deftly sidestepped the athlete, leaving the guy mid-sentence as she hurried toward him. The soccer player’s brow furrowed, his expression shifting from smug to genuinely baffled as he watched the girl choose the quiet guy with the glasses over him.

Satoru didn’t know what came over him. Maybe it was the lingering heat of jealousy, or maybe it was the way she looked at him like he was a lighthouse. When she reached him, he stepped into her space boldly and pulled her into a short, firm hug.

He could feel the coldness of the hallway air on her jacket and the faint scent of vanilla mocha that always seemed to linger around her.

“Hey,” he said, his voice steadier and deeper than he felt. “Ready to go?”

“Uhh, hi,” she chirped, a soft, beautiful flush creeping up her neck. She stepped back, looking a little dazed, before turning to lead the way toward the library.

Satoru glanced back over his shoulder. The soccer player was still standing there, jaw clenched, looking like a man who had just realized he’d lost a game he didn't even know he was playing. Satoru felt a dizzying, giddy sense of triumph as he turned back to her and matched her stride.

The kitchen of Satoru’s shared apartment with Toru was a battlefield of flour, steam, and Shoko’s cigarette smoke drifting in from the open window. Suguru Geto, ever since he found out Satoru was tutoring you, decided you all needed to have a bonding day and that a homemade meal was the only cure for stress. He was currently leaning against the fridge, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched Satoru meticulously dice carrots into perfectly equal cubes.

"You're prepping dinner, Satoru, not performing surgery," Suguru teased, his voice full of mischief.

"Precision matters, Suguru." Satoru muttered, though his ears were pink.

Because the kitchen was designed for two people and currently held four, the counter space was limited. You found yourself squeezed into the corner with Satoru, your shoulder pressed firmly against his. There was only one large cutting board left, forcing you both to share the wooden surface. Every time you reached for a potato, your hand brushed against his. The contact was brief, a flicker of skin against skin, but it sent a jolt through you that had nothing to do with the heat of the stove. Satoru shifted his weight, making more room for you, his presence a steady hum at your side.

From her perch on the counter, Shoko  took a long drag of her cigarette, careful to blow the smoke outside and squinted at the two of you through her tired eyes. She traded a knowing, silent look with Suguru. The kind of look that said 'Look at these two idiots.'

"So," Shoko started, her voice lazy. "Is the genius here actually teaching you anything? Or is he just reciting the laws of motion until you fall asleep?"

"He's a great teacher," you said, not looking up from your work, though you could feel the heat rising in your face. "He makes the complicated stuff feel... simple."

Satoru’s knife stopped moving. He stared intensely at a carrot, his face darkening into a deep, unmistakable crimson.

"Oh, he's definitely dedicated," Suguru chimed in, his eyes glinting with a predatory kind of amusement. "I don't think I've ever heard Satoru talk about 'maximum penetration depth' with quite so much... passion. It’s all he’s been focused on for weeks."

Satoru cleared his throat loudly, the sound a bit strangled. He knew exactly what Suguru was implying. 

The heavy ceramic pot on the stove suddenly hissed, the broth bubbling up and threatening to spill over the sides. In a flash of shared instinct, both you and Satoru reached for the lid.

Your hands met squarely over the steam-slicked handle. His palm was large and warm, completely covering yours. The world seemed to stall. The sound of Suguru’s laughter and the clink of Shoko’s lighter faded into white noise. You didn't pull away and neither did he. You stood there in the steam, connected by a pot of soup and a feeling that was becoming too big to ignore.

Satoru’s gaze flickered down to your joined hands, his chest rising and falling in a ragged breath.

"I've got it," he whispered, his voice vibrating in the small space between you.

As you finally pulled back, your heart hammering against your ribs, you caught Shoko smirking into her drink. Suguru had started humming a low, annoying tune. The kitchen felt smaller than it had ten minutes ago, the air thick with a new weight that neither of you knew how to put back into the box.

The sky had turned dark by the time you finished your last lecture. The moment you and Toru stepped through the heavy doors of the department building, the clouds finally broke. 

"The new cafe is five blocks away," you said, watching the water bounce off the pavement. "We'll be soaked before we hit the corner."

Satoru looked at the rain, then back at you, his expression unreadable behind the glare of his glasses. "Maybe... you could stay at my dorm," you suggested, "Just until the rain gets lighter. We can study there."

The walk to your dorm was short, but the air between you felt charged, as if the lightning outside had followed you indoors.

The dorm room was small, making his presence feel twice as large. You were sitting side-by-side at your desk, the drumming of the rain against the window providing the only soundtrack. Satoru leaned over to point out a complex line of text in the textbook and his hand brushed against yours.

Usually, he would pull away instantly. But today, he stayed. His skin was warm, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers. The room felt suddenly stiflingly hot, the tension from the kitchen with Suguru and Shoko still hanging over you.

As he began to explain a diagram, you leaned in closer, close enough to catch the scent of clean laundry. He could clearly smell your perfume and the closeness  seemed to short-circuit his brain. His voice faltered, then stopped altogether. The silence that followed was heavy, vibrating with everything neither of you was saying. Slowly, Satoru set his pen down on the open book.

"Are you going to finish the explanation?" you whispered, your voice barely audible over the storm outside.

Satoru turned his head. His blue eyes were dark, focused entirely on your mouth. "I can’t... I can't right now: he admitted, his voice rough.

He reached out, his hand trembling as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of your jaw making your breath hitch. When you finally leaned in, the kiss started off slow, a tentative exploration of lips, testing the waters to see if the other would pull away.

But when you pressed closer, the spark ignited. The kiss grew deeper, hungrier. Satoru pulled back just long enough to rip his glasses off his face, tossing them blindly onto the desk, before crashing back into you with a desperate kind of intensity.

Satoru’s hands, which were usually so steady, were shaking as they found your waist. In one sharp, decisive motion, he pulled you off your chair and onto his lap.

The air left your lungs as you straddled him, your knees hooking on either side of his chair. The sudden weight of you seemed to break whatever remained of his composure. His head was thrown back, the sharp line of his throat exposed as he let out a jagged, broken moan that you never thought you’d hear from the quiet Satoru.

His eyes were blown wide, his pupils dilated until they almost entirely swallowed his irises, leaving only a thin ring of blue. He looked shattered, almost as if his logical brain couldn't compute how the dry friction of denim on denim could ignite a reaction this good.

Satoru’s breath hitched, a jagged sound in the quiet of the room. He began to heave upward against you, his movements desperate and uncoordinated. Every time his hips met yours, the rough, heavy fabric of your jeans created a searing, electric heat that made your toes curl. You needed that pressure, you needed the grounding weight of him as the world began to blur at the edges.

You were shaking in his arms, your fingers digging into the muscle of his biceps as your forehead pressed against his. The only sounds in the room were the frantic, uneven gasps for air.

Driven by a sudden need, you gripped his shoulders tight and leaned in to crush your mouth against his again. This time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was messy, desperate and loud, filled with the small whimpers and guttural groans that neither of you could hold back anymore.

"I can't—" Satoru gasped, the words breaking off into a sharp, pained hiss as you shifted your weight against him again.

He buried his face in the sensitive crook of your neck, his hot breath ghosting over your skin before his teeth grazed you. His hands, large locked onto your hips, his knuckles white as he pulled you flush against him making your back arch, forcing a faster, more frantic pace.

“S-Satoru…” you gasped, your voice breaking as a wave of heat finally crashed over you. Your body shuddered violently, your strength failing as you slumped against his chest.

Not a second later, a low, broken groan ripped from deep in his throat. His grip on your hips tightened until it was almost bruising, pinning you to him as he finally came apart. He let his forehead fall heavily against yours, both of you trapped in a haze of adrenaline, the air between you thick with the sound of your shared, burning breaths.

notes: divider credits: @sisterlucifergraphics Pic from pinterest!

Well you shouldn't really expect anything more with him in the first place when you agreed to be his sugar baby.

But with how he treated you, how could you not?

He made sure all your wants were met and more. Most of the time you didn't even need to ask, he would just know somehow. Boxes of designer clothes, shoes, bags, and jewelry at your doorsteps.

That gruff voice of his sounded gentle when he spoke to you, causing butterflies to flutter in your belly. Low timbre that made your core purr whenever he whispered sinful things in your ear as he encapsulated you with pure pleasure. And even when his tone was more tender, uttering something innocent like simply asking about your day- it would still get you to squeeze your thighs together.

His touches made your skin blister, sent shivers down your spine, leaving you breathless. You could still feel them when he was not around, it made you shiver. Longing for more. For him.

You glanced at the ring on his finger, one he didn't even bother to take off when he first approached you.

Does he treat the missus at home the same way?

It was your own fault really, you put yourself in this situation. You should have said that you were not interested at that time. You should feel horrible- a voice at the back of your mind said.

You didn't know what were you thinking.

Well.. you didn't think, that's the problem.

But how could you? With his smile rendering your brain useless, wired neurons malfunctioning when he sets his eyes on you.

Sometimes when he thought you were still asleep, you caught him smiling at his phone. Some other times, he unconsciously fidgeted with said ring.

Seemed like he had a good thing going on with the missus, why did he come to you then?

Men, you sighed. The hypocrite that you are, snuggling to his hairy chest.

...

John wasn't the first one who took interest in you that night.

It was one of his beloved, Kyle, who squeezed his hand under the table to get his attention before pointing at you with his chin.

John saw that look in his eyes, and the others. He looked around and noticed Simon and Johnny stopped exchanging spit to look at you too.

Pretty thing that you are. With your tight little dress and sweet-looking face, looking innocent yet so sinful effortlessly.

They want you.

But of course, they couldn't just waltz over all at once. They didn't know your preference yet, what you would be comfortable with.

They were in it for a long run after all, not just a quick fuck. Til death do us part.

John was the leader, in and out of of their job. He was also the most experienced, even if Kyle argued he was the most charming of them all. Johnny was too eager, and Simon was.. Simon.

And so John made his move.

A tempting bait that you bit without a second thought.

He gave the updates of his progress with you to the others. Sending candid pictures, and even recording of your sweet moans that he took without you knowing.

...

Kissing the top of your head when you snuggled to him, he smiled when he saw the eagerness of his partners in the groupchat.

He expected you wouldn't escape their grasp now that you've bonded with him.