fay.

'Fuga.'

You're interested immediately. Coming to a stop outside, the meaning of the shop name is printed in white on the window. 'Fuga — One of the Japanese meanings of this is 'a way of elegance or grace'. We hope to include fuga with every order that we take; there's no rush, just sit back and enjoy.'

The opening and closing times are also unusual. They're open in time for the usual morning rush hour but unlike other coffee stores, they stay open until 9pm. You can't imagine the shifts that their staff must take and how much happens behind the scenes.

Despite being hidden, it is the morning rush hour on a weekday and through the window you can clearly see that there is a queue forming. Underrated coffee shops get discovered pretty quickly these days thanks to social media and it's not long until they'll be announcing a sister location somewhere else in the city.

Stepping inside, a bell chimes overhead but it's drowned out due to the hustle and bustle inside the shop. The scent of crushed coffee beans hits you immediately and the sound of lofi music playing in the background is just about heard over the level of conversations in the store.

Joining the queue, your eyes scan the cafe. It's pretty spacey compared to the other units that most coffee shops rent out. There's clearly more places to sit in the back and all of the window seats are currently taken. There's a handful of students and people in suits either sat working away on their laptops or taking a call. In the corner an old man is sitting back and enjoying a cup of his own hot coffee.

There's three people currently manning the counter and you worry whether that means service is slow but on further observation you notice they work well, weaving in and out of each other. There's a man situated at the till, tall and large you first notice. Then you see that he has pink hair and it's only when you inch closer to being served that you notice he has an array of black tattoos. They're printed on his face as well as around his wrists and you start to wonder how many baristas you've seen with face tattoos.

He seems to be the first.

Behind him seems to be a white haired figure with a plum pink stripe dyed into their hair. It's clear that whoever employs these people are very laid back with how they are presented. The figure moves quickly but also with caution pouring and making drinks before bringing them to the collection section and calling out a name.

You've been so caught up in studying the new environment of the cafe that you don't even realise that it's your turn next. You haven't had the chance to look at the menu so when you finally do, you're left with your mouth open in front of the tattooed man. And on closer observation you find that he's rather intimidating.

"Good morning." you greet.

"What do you want?" he asks in a monotone tone evident that he's been repeating this question for a while. You brush off the fact that he hasn't greeted you back and you simply hum as you stare at the menu.

It's evident that you're irritating the barista by not even knowing what you want, the bored expression on his face and his finger impatiently tapping the counter. Your eyes are scanning the menu until he finally says something that in all of your years of going to local cafes have never heard in your life.

"Can you hurry up?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said," he draws as if it's painfully inconveniencing him to repeat himself, "can you hurry up? There's a queue behind you." It's evident in his tone that he's not asking but rather ordering you to do so and for a split second there's a moment in which you forget that you are in fact the customer.

"I'm aware." you say, "I'm deciding."

"You had two minutes to decide." he retorts.

"I've never been here before, of course I'm going to take my time looking at the menu." you keep a calm tone making it clear that you don't want any misunderstandings.

"Do you want a medal? What's your order?"

Fine. You think to yourself, you're gonna give him the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe it's been a long morning, maybe he wasn't supposed to be on shift today but then got called in, maybe he's just an asshole. You don't care. But what you do care about is getting your morning coffee as usual.

"Vanilla latte with oat milk please."

"We're out of oat milk." he announces keeping his tone flat with enough space to add some frustration into it as if this was your own fault.

"Really?"

He doesn't reply, keeping a blank face that silently asks 'do I look like I'm joking?'

"Uhhh, could I get an iced strawberry matcha then please?"

"We're out."

You hold back a sigh, forcing a tight lipped smile on your face. "Fine. A cappuccino. Any milk you have. Please."

The barista doesn't look up, tapping onto a screen. "Regular or large?"

"What's the difference?" you ask.

He points to the side where the size cup differences are shown and as usual the large is 50p extra.

"Regular."

"Name?"

After giving your name, he mutters something under his breath and if you were in a bad mood this morning then you would have asked him what his issue was but instead you keep quiet, silently wishing he spills lukewarm coffee all over his disgustingly attractive face. Somehow. If it was logical to spill coffee on one's face.

"Four fifty. Tap your card and stand over there." he orders without any patience.

You don't even think twice before tapping your phone and moving immediately. In your mind you continue to curse him forever whilst watching his back muscles move swiftly as he makes your drink. Him and the white haired figure switched places with him making your order and his co-worker now at the till.

You expected a long wait but it takes less than five minutes before he's yelling out your name with impatience.

And he pronounced it wrong.

Whether it was on purpose or he wasn't listening to you at all, you'll never know but you go ahead and take your order. You can't even say thank you directly before he's rushing off and completing another order. Deciding to get out as soon as possible, you grab as many sugar packets you need, a stirrer and you head on out.

"How fucking rude." you mutter to yourself, opening the lid to your cappuccino. There's no latte art and you wouldn't expect there to be given the rush. You pour your sugar in and stir until satisfied, slowly making your way to the office building.

Sure, you know baristas are sometimes not the most welcoming people given the high stress level of their jobs and you've come across some reclusive baristas before but this one…he's just plain rude. You don't usually complain about how people do their job but this one has really struck a nerve.

How was he hired in the first place? Does the manager know he speaks to customers like this? How did he even pass an interview to get hired for this place? Does he act like this with all his customers?

Those are the questions that you continue to ask yourself whilst on the way to work, you get a little distracted after taking a sip of your coffee and coming to find out that your cappuccino is actually pretty good. Usually some cafes don't do cappuccinos the right way but there's something about this cup that makes you wonder what exact type of coffee bean they use.

You make a mental note to check later in your free time and it's not long before you start to feel rejuvenated by your coffee. Despite your bad customer service, you still manage to get a good cup of coffee to support your day and it's almost enough to forget your bad interaction.

*** Almost.

That cup of coffee was good.

Good enough to make you check their company website and check their 'about us' page.

And of course it just so happens that you stumble onto their google reviews.

Fuga Coffee Shop | reviews (54)

Naturally, your laptop cursor clicks onto their reviews. They only opened two months ago so it's understandable why the reviews must be so low, they're just starting out. The reviews are automatically filtered to their top reviews, which is from just over two weeks ago.

ihatemonkeys009

The grumpy tattooed barista is a little anti-social but he makes the best lattes ever! will be coming back again! four stars.

"A little?" you say aloud to yourself, "give me a break."

The review that follows under that is also highly popular.

ghostsarerealiswear2334_67

free wifi and they open early and don't close till late?! best study place ever! (please like my review!) five stars.

kentoforwork89

A nice and newly established restaurant under the Japanese name 'Fuga', the name is fitting for its elegant service and high quality coffee. They have a wide range on the menu and serve food too. The cafe is spacious, plenty of space to study or work and if you use electronics they have power sockets dotted around. Good prices for the service and highly reliable. I will be coming here again as it is not overwhelmingly busy or loud like some other places. I highly recommend. four and a half stars.

ilovesweetssooooooooooomuchhhgojo9838

tHE tattooed barisSta maybe be cold hoever his coffees are the warmest!!!!! xoxoxoxo peefect date location (soz for typos idid this fast on my phone so i coulget fre emochi) FIVE STARTS

You let out a sigh reading the reviews, it's a little cheesy but you get the point. Reading all 54 reviews you've come to find that a lot of people find the same tattooed barista annoying but miraculously all is forgotten once you've tried a coffee from him.

There isn't one totally bad review — maybe from an AI bot who says that the location is in a whole other city but other than that it's clear that this cafe is a new and upcoming contender as one of the best spots in the city.

And that doesn't sit right in your soul.

Taking this personally as someone who runs a company, you understand that if people were talking about your employees in this manner then they would be subject to being fired. You're confused on how this man is still employed even after fifty reviews, surely the owner must be reading them.

You sit in silence for a while as you contemplate.

Should you?

Or shouldn't you?

Hesitant, your fingers hover over your keyboard, testing out a sentence.

i tried this cafe as a new customer — no, no, too cliche, you backspace your sentence entirely.

Thinking for a moment, you reflect on what you want to say. You start typing slowly before it all flows within your fingertips, a mini paragraph forming on your screen. You're writing in the heat of the moment, out of pure frustration and embarrassment. Most people would be able to forgive and forget but well…unfortunately you're not most people.

anonymouscapybara45

this place is relatively new in this city and as a coffee lover i was extremely enthusiastic to try this place out. my high hopes for this cafe were quickly crushed once i was (not even greeted) but completely mistreated by the tattooed barista.

i did not like this service, no matter how good the quality of the coffee was.

i do not think a barista should be talking to customers like this. i felt severely unwelcomed and i am having second thoughts on returning to this place.

there's better and kinder staff in other cafes in the city who i will gladly give my money too.

1 out of 5 stars.

Sure, it's a little…Karen but you feel petty. Highlighting all the adverbs makes you think that your english teacher from high school would be proud. There's a small feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach as it dawns on you that your review will be the first one star review the company has ever had.

But this is not a baseless review. You actually felt this way at the time. It's a little exaggerated but who cares, they don't know you and they never will because you're not stepping foot there ever again.

There's not much satisfaction in the world that you can get other than pressing post on your review.

***

An hour later you've moved on with your life. You've settled into your home, following your post-work routine and you're now sitting on your couch. Your phone lights up with a notification and your eyes land on the screen.

You get a notification from your gmail that someone has mentioned you in a reply and with your thumb clicking on the message your eyes slightly widen.

The owner has replied to your message.

And for the first time it seems because they haven't seemed to reply to all the other positive messages on the site.

You'd forgotten that this was an option for them, simply thinking that your review would just get the employee removed. Your eyes skim over the reply.

From the Owner of Fuga in reply to anonymouscapybara45

Hello valued customer,

we apologise that you have had this experience recently, it is never our intention to make our customers feel this way. Our company and brand relies majorly on the respect and communication with our customers which is always taught and trained to our employees. We apologise for the actions and behaviour of our barista and on behalf of the company we would like to invite you to have any item on our menu free of charge over the course of the week. We would like to give you a seven day voucher and invite you back to a better atmosphere of our cafe to show you truly how we treat our customers.

Please pop into our cafe at your convenience. We look forward to seeing you and we apologise again for your experience.

Kind regards,

Fuga Owner (Jin Itadori)

Your mind is baffled.

Free drinks…for a week? Because of your bad review?

Not even the other low starred reviews have had this level of response from the owner. You're the first one star review they've had and they haven't even responded maliciously. You can't pass up on this good of an opportunity to have free coffee for the next week? You could be saving a ridiculous amount of money.

You re-read the review a few times to make sure that it still seems real to your eyes.

Maybe it will be the last time that you'll see that barista again.

**

You try your luck the following day. You're a bit more hopeful walking into the coffee shop the next day. It's a little less busier than the previous day and the queue is a little shorter.

But most important of them all, you don't see that tattooed jerk around.

This time serving the till is the white haired figure you saw making the drinks the last time you arrived. Behind them works another person that you haven't seen before who has their back turned making orders.

Soon enough it's your turn to go up to the till.

"Hello." They greet and almost immediately you feel comfortable that you won't be shunned for simply being a customer at this cafe.

"Good morning," you greet back with a smile before explaining your situation. "This may be a bit awkward but uhm, I was the customer who wrote a review of this cafe and uh— the owner said I was given a voucher as some sort of compensation."

For a second you thought you were scammed or that the entire thing was a lie just to catch the poor customer who's written terrible reviews but you watch as the wave of recognition hits the barista.

Instead they nod and say, "one moment" before turning around to head to the back. You shift from one foot to the other, patiently waiting and in the meantime thinking of what you'd want to get as your first free drink.

Your smile soon drops once you see the figure that follows the person that you were speaking to at the till.

That tattooed bastard.

His eyes widen slightly at the sight of you before turning into a miserable frown, clearly he wasn't expecting you to be the customer who wrote the review but there's also something that tells you that he's not totally surprised.

The white haired barista makes their way back to you, "If you go over to Sukuna he can help you with your voucher."

Sukuna. Now you know his name. And now you know he's somehow still employed by this damn coffee shop.

You walk over with hesitation and you can't help but notice Sukuna's eyes watching you as you make your over to a quiet area.

"It was you." he says but there's no bite to his tone. It's merely a statement he's making but you don't miss the judgement in his eyes.

"I was being honest." you shrug, holding your head high. You have no regrets whatsoever, you were merely giving constructive feedback about an environment that felt hostile to you. About a certain someone who was hostile.

Sukuna leans in a little closer to you, one hand placed on the counter as he speaks to you. "Because of you and your stupid review I have to serve you free drinks for a week, which is coming out of my pay by the way."

"Maybe it'll teach you how to speak nicer to customers." you retort back.

You notice his hand turning into a tight fist, gripping the counter, clearly holding back on responding to you. With his other hand he slides over a piece of paper. "Here's your damn voucher and, no I didn't write it, so what do you want?"

You tilt your head a little at him.

Sukuna corrects himself and in a deadpan monotone he starts over. "Hello. Welcome to Fuga. What would you like today?"

A satisfied smile reaches your lips. "Much better. I would like an iced strawberry matcha with oat milk please."

"Regular or large?"

"Hmm since it's on the house, large please."

"It's not on the house…" he mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"Hmmmmm."

Sukuna disappears, diving into the hustle and bustle of his other colleagues making your own personal drink. As he makes your drink you look over your voucher, Sukuna's written today's date already and the expiry date is set seven days from now.

Once again, your order doesn't take him long and you spot your green and pink drink in his large hands. Approaching he hands your drink over to you which you thank before taking a sip.

On your tongue, the grassy flavour is immediately sedated by the sweetness of the strawberry at the bottom. There's the perfect amount of ice and matcha in your drink for you to enjoy and it takes everything in you not to fall to your knees and praise Sukuna on how great he's made this drink.

"Not bad." you murmur, downplaying your enthusiasm. "Can I get another free drink?"

"One per day stupid."

"The voucher doesn't clarify that, it's handwritten."

"I don't care."

"Would you like me to write another poor review?"

Now this is what gets Sukuna clenching his jaw together. He takes a pause, calming himself down before speaking to you again. "No anonymouscapybara45 I wouldn't like that because you got me in a lot of shit for this."

You don't flinch when he mentions your username. Ah, so he's read the review then. You quip back, "Your boss fire you yet?"

"No," and there's a slight pout, "he's just annoying the shit out of me at the moment."

"Hmm right, if you make me an iced vanilla latte with oat milk to go I think I might just refrain from writing a bad review about you for today."

You watch as he clenches his jaw in frustration. "Just this once. For the rest of the days you get one drink only."

"And a sweet treat!" you chime in.

Sukuna pauses, mulling over your suggestion. He lets out a sigh.

"A free drink and a snack." He offers.

"Deal." You outstretch your free hand to shake on.

Sukuna looks at your hand in pure disgust like you've just offered to spit in his mouth. "Deal. Just don't make my job harder than it needs to be." he mutters.

"I don't think I can promise that." you reply and you watch in pure satisfaction as he walks away mumbling to himself.

fratboy!sukuna has to force himself not to fuck your face when you get on your knees for him. the sight of you kneeling drives him up the damn wall. he’ll rest his hand on the back of your head guiding you gently. when you wrap your mouth around him he lets out a curt breath and , “look at you… my pretty girl.” sometimes he has to dig his fingers into his thigh so he doesn’t grab your face and take over. when you pop off the tip for a second, he’ll tilt your chin up with two fingers. “look at those pretty eyes... you're doing so well for me.”

fratboy!sukuna is obsessed with finishing inside you. there’s something about the moment he gets close to coming that makes him lose the last bit of restraint he has. he’ll grab your hips, pull you up against him, and whisper, “let me give you all of it.” he loves the way you tense when he spills deep. afterward he stays inside you, breathing against your neck, holding your waist still like he doesn’t want a drop of his cum escaping. “stay like that for a second,” he mutters. “fuck, i’m not done feeling you yet.”

fratboy!sukuna gets insanely jealous. one time at a party, he saw gojo starring a little too long at your ass and his mind went haywire. he almost immediately grabbed you by your wrist and pulled you down onto his lap on the couch, wrapping his big biceps around your waist. "kuna? are you okay?" you'd ask so obliviously, squirming on his thighs. "just fine, baby." he'd grit, staring gojo down.

fratboy!sukuna gets unbearably horny in lectures when you’re not near him. he’d sit in the back row man spreading, pretending to take notes while he kept glancing at the empty seat beside him. it made his mind wander in the worst possible way. he’d rest his hand over his mouth like he was focusing, but really he was picturing you sitting on his lap bouncing up and down, instead of two buildings away in your own class. when the professor called on him he barely heard the question. after lecture he’d text you, “come over now. i'm not kidding, i can’t think straight when you’re not here.”

fratboy!sukuna loses it the first time he hears you moan. he swears he wasn’t going too rough, but the second you let out that soft little sound he lost every bit of composure. it wasn’t loud or filthy. it was timid and breathy and so you that it sent a jolt straight to his soaked cock. he’d grip your thighs, eyes fixed on your mouth as you tried to hide your face. “don’t do that,” he’d mutter, tugging your chin up. “let me hear you, precious girl.” every time you let out another tiny sound, his grip would tighten and he’d push in deeper, almost desperately, like each noise from you made him harder and harder.

fratboy!sukuna wants to ruin you, but you’re just too sweet. he had the strength and the drive to toss you around, fold you in half, keep fucking you until your eyes blurred. he wanted to. it sat in the back of his mind every time you touched him. but then you’d look up at him with that shy expression, fingers fisting in the sheets. he’d lean down, kiss your jaw, and breathe out a quiet laugh. “you don’t even know what you do to me.” he’d move slow, controlled, holding himself back even when he felt his restraint slipping. you were too sweet for the things he imagined doing. so he kept himself steady and gentle until you were ready for more.

fratboy!sukuna loves overstimming his sweet girl… especially when he’s eating you out. sukuna could stay between your thighs forever. he’d hook your legs over his shoulders, grip the backs of your knees, and settle in like he had nowhere else to be. the first release he drew out of you only made him hungrier. he’d dive back in before you could caught your breath, tongue flicking up and down over your clit, savoring every twitch of your hips. you’d whimper his name, hands gripping the sheets, trying to close your legs. he’d keep you open easily and glance up at you with that hungry look. “aww, i’m not stopping, baby." he’d say, voice low. “c'mon, give me another.”

fratboy!sukuna loveeeees pushing your limits, seeing how far you can really go. of course he never forces anything, but he loves showing you just how much you can take. he’ll start slow and watch you take him, then grin when you whimper his name over and over and... then he’ll shift your hips higher, testing how far he can go. “you can handle more,” he whispers, voice thick with need. when you nod, he drags you back onto him harder, murmuring praise against your cheek. “good girl. don’t hide your face from me.”

fratboy!sukuna has a massive kink for pinning your hands above your head. the moment he realised how small your wrists looked in his hand, something in him ignited. he’d push you back onto the mattress, fingers wrapping around both your wrists with ease, pressing them above your head. your breath would hitch and your legs would tense. he’d grin down at you, leaning close so his nose brushed yours. “stay like that,” he’d groan while guiding himself in. he liked the way you squirmed, the way you tried to move your hands only for him to hold you still with one arm like it was nothing. “good girl. keep them there.”

fratboy!sukuna loved dragging things out just to see how flustered he could get you. he’d lay down between your legs looking at you with those lustful eyes. his fingers would circle your clit without actually giving any real relief, he was slow on purpose. “why’re you wriggling?” he’d tease, leaning close so his breath fanned over your sensitive skin. “thought my shy girl liked taking things slow.” you’d try to glare at him but he’d just laugh under his breath and kiss your jaw, voice softer. “just say you want me and i’ll give you exactly what you need, baby girl.”

fratboy!sukuna has a fixation on you riding him. he’ll sit back against the headboard with his hands resting softly on your thighs while you climb onto him. he loves the way you sink down slowly, your breath catching as you take all of him to the base. “use me how you want, precious,” he says, watching every little thrust you make. when you start getting overwhelmed or tired, he grips your waist tighter and lifts you up and down himself with ease. “thought you wanted to be on top. come on, baby, keep going.”

fratboy!sukuna uses his size to fold you however he wants, he's not necessarily rough, just fast. god, he loves how easily he can move you. he’ll grab your hips and flip you onto your stomach before you even process it. he’ll push your legs apart with his knee and slot in behind you, leaning over your back. “you fit so perfect,” he smiles, dragging his mouth along your neck. he likes bending your knees to your chest while he’s inside you, holding your ankles with one hand like it’s nothing. your little gasp always gets him. “yeah. that’s it. take all of it.”

fratboy!sukuna gets off on how tight your cunt grips him. he was already massive, so your tight pussy made it even worse. the way your body squeezes around him drives him insane, he’ll slow his thrusts sometimes just to feel every inch. he’ll groan against your shoulder, “you’re gripping me so tight… you trying to keep me in there? hmm?” when you shake your head he smirks, pushing deeper. “then relax. or don’t. i like it when you cling like that.”

fratboy!sukuna was obsessed with your hands. he’d stare when you fidgeted with your sleeves or played with the necklace he bought you. it got so much worse when you touched him. the first time you wrapped your fingers around his cock he had to squeeze his eyes shut in ecstasy for a good while. “yeah… fuck, like that,” he’d grunt watching your wrist move. he’d guide your hand at first, then let you take over while his breathing grew uneven and he'd come undone much faster than usual. afterwards he’d kiss your knuckles, "your hands are so cute, baby."

fratboy!sukuna doesn't need photos or videos, he jerks off to the thought of you alone. he's lay in his room after football practice, replaying how you looked earlier in chem when you fiddled with your pens and gave him that adorable smile. fuck you were cute. he dragged a hand down his stomach and wrapped his fingers around his dick, huffing unevenly as he pictured you kneeling between his legs, eyes big and wide. he’d whisper your name under his breath, hips lifting into his palm. sometimes he’d stop right before finishing just to imagine how you’d react if you walked in and saw him like that, hand around his length, chest rising, groaning for you.

fratboy!sukuna likes making you beg without saying a word, he’ll hover right at your entrance rubbing the head of his cock against you slowly while watching your face contort. he grins. “c'mon, sweetheart." you whisper that you need him and he still shakes his head. “not enough.” when your voice gets small and shaky and oh so desperate, he finally pushes in, groaning at the way you immediately tighten around him. “yeah. fuck, that’s what i wanted.”

fratboy!sukuna gets dangerously turned on when you cry from the pleasure, those tiny tears at the corner of your lashes? they make him so much hornier. he’ll kiss them away stroking your cheek. “fuck, y/n,” he whispers, sliding deeper. “you look so pretty like this.” he slows down for a moment, letting you breathe, then drives back in with more focus. “i’ve got you honey, let me take care of you.”

fratboy!sukuna groans into your throat when you scratch his back, every time your nails drag down his shoulders his thrusts shudder. he leans over you, mouth pressed to your throat, breathing hard. “do that again.” when you tug his hair he actually laughs under his breath and pushes in harder. “yeah. that. don’t be shy with me.”

fratboy!sukuna loves when you leave marks on him, he’ll tilt his head to the side, exposing his thick, meaty neck. “go on.” when you bite or suck lightly he moans like a porn star and pulls you closer. the next morning he checks the marks in the bathroom mirror with a satisfied smile. he doesn’t cover them up. he wants people to see.

fratboy!sukuna finishes on your stomach just because he loves watching it drip, sometimes he pulls out at the last second just to see it. he pumps himself fast, staring at your flushed tits and swollen lips. when he spills across your stomach, he drags his fingers through it, spreading it lightly. “pretty.”

nothing makes fratboy!sukuna hornier than his sweet girl.

asshole!sukuna can’t help but crack a smile. he’d had about ten girls come and slap the fuck outta him today. they were all old flings desperate to get their get-back, but that was hardly the point. you were this new thing entirely, a soft thing that seemed sweet regardless of if he was notorious for being a cunt or not. 

“what’s y’ name, sweetheart?” 

asshole!sukuna decided he wanted to see you again after that. you’d caught his interest, which doesn’t happen often. he asks for your number. your instagram, your snapchat, everything. it was kinda pathetic how eager he was to get to know you, but you handed them all over anyway. your friends warn you after the fact that he’s definitely not good news, but you can’t help but want to see where this goes after only dating squares for most of your life. 

asshole!sukuna takes you on a date the very next day, and you were pleasantly surprised at how chivalrous he was. he pulled out your chair at the small hole-in-the-wall restaurant he took you to, he paid for everything, and even more surprisingly, made you feel comfortable. you talked for hours about everything and anything. 

you learned that asshole!sukuna had a lot of hobbies. he played guitar, drums, did a fair few building sketches in the art room with his friend geto when he had time, and had a real connection to film. all of which were things you found extremely attractive, and he could tell, because the next time you two went out he took you to his dorm and showed you his musical endeavors. 

“you’re like... super talented, it’s really attractive.” you smile gently, sitting at the foot of his bed, watching as he finishes up a love song he’d been learning for you. 

“yeah, y’ think so? gonna come to all my gigs when i’m a famous musician?” 

“will i get a backstage pass?” 

“oh, absolutely.” 

asshole!sukuna had officially swooned you after about five dates. he'd mustered up the courage to ask you to be his at that same restaurant he’d taken you to on that first date, and the rest was history. you and sukuna, the couple everyone of his mates envied due to how perfectly you two fit together. 

“how the hell did a guy like you bag a girl like her. yr' gonna destroy the poor thing.” geto teased while they were smoking up one night. 

asshole!sukuna could only reply with, “god, don’t you just hate jealous, hating ass motherfuckers?” 

asshole!sukuna loved to not so subtly brag about you to literally anyone he talked to. (which wasn’t many, but still.) 

“eugh, you’re buying lunch? my girlfriend made me food today, fucking loser.” he’d laugh at the dining hall when gojo and geto sat next to him with a greasy burger and fries. they just gave each other a look, smiled, and rolled their eyes. 

“hm? nah, can’t tonight. me and my girl are getting hot pot. have fun drinking your problems, tho.” he’d turn toji down, turning his nose up at the idea of bar hopping like he wasn’t the most frequent man along the strip a few months back. 

“a two man? i’m not bringing my girl around your little one and done situation, don’t ask me that shit again.” he’d laugh in jogo’s face, hating the idea of his precious baby being around a sleaze bag like him. 

asshole!sukuna always puts you first. his frat’s planning something big, another fundraising night where they really care about attendance, and he’s meant to be there early to help set up. but out of the blue, you’ll send him a text just to say that you've had a slightly shitty day, and boom, he’s suddenly nowhere to be found. his phone’s off, car’s out of the driveway, and he’s at your door with your favorite food and that pissed look, how dare the world have the nerve to bother you. 

asshole!sukuna likes to keep you very close to him when you’re out and about, with either an arm at your waist or his fingers intertwined with yours, he’s most comfortable when you’re right there where he can see you. that way, if anything were to happen, you’d be there for him to protect.

asshole!sukuna lets you get away with absolutely everything. 

“ryo, can i draw on you? like, draw on your back while we watch a show or something?” 

“sure, baby.” 

“ryooo, can i braid your hair?” 

“of course, love.” 

“hey, ryomen? could you drive me to my friend’s house? she lives on the other side of town, though.. it’s okay if you don’t want—” 

“no, no. let’s go, sweetness.” 

“ryo, you smell.” 

“shower with me then, baby.” 

with anyone else, asshole!sukuna would have either yelled or broken their jaw for even thinking they could ask him such questions. but with you? the princess gets what the princess wants or whatever the saying he made up in his head was.

asshole!sukuna fucking hates when people talk over you. it’s a common occurrence due to your soft-spoken nature, you’ll be in the middle of saying something, and someone’ll cut in with whatever thing they think is funnier or more worth listening to. sukuna never lets it slide. “she was talking, dickhead.” he’d scoff, shutting them up and earning a shy, thankful smile from you, as you continued with what you were saying, far more important than whatever that clown had to yap on about anyways. (in sukuna’s mind, at least.) 

asshole!sukuna spends a shit ton of money on you. you almost always go against the idea, but he just can’t help it... when he sees your eyes light up when you see something you like at the mall, he physically can’t resist. he’ll bookmark the product, then order it online to come to your apartment the next day. 

“ryo... why do i have another package?” you whine over the phone, earning nothing but a chuckle from the other end. 

“could tell you wanted it, so just enjoy it, sweet thing. you deserve all the fruits of my labour.” 

“you don’t work? isn’t it your parents’ mon—” 

“semantics. just enjoy, baby.” and he hangs up the phone, grabbing his keys to drive to your place and see how you like the new gift. he thinks it was a new dress? couldn’t be sure, it was hard keeping up with the millions of notifications from the post office. 

asshole!sukuna remembers everything about his girl and makes sure you’re always getting exactly what you want. if he’s out getting dinner before driving to your place, he’ll stop at five different places if that meant getting your order perfectly correct. local maccas has a broken ice cream machine? he’s driving to the next location to try his luck there. one place doesn’t have the kind of noodles you like? he’s making his way to the closest chinese place to see if they do. he is the embodiment of “if he wanted to, he would,” and it’s all worth it seeing your face light up when he holds up the paper bag with a smile. 

“your favourite.” 

“oh my god? this is the place out of the city? how did you—” 

“don’t worry about it, angel.” 

and that was another thing, ashole!sukuna  didn’t let you worry about anything. your place felt too messy? he was over there turning on mlp equestria girls and helping you clean. you wanted a home cooked meal? he’s at the store buying the ingredients. you needed help with an assignment? he’s pushed back his own work to sit down and help you smash them out. 

asshole!sukuna is so overly territorial when it comes to functions. he doesn’t know, there’s just something about people drunk and horny all around you that ticks him off. he’ll always have you either sat next to or on his lap at frat parties. you stick to him regardless, but he has to make it obvious to all the fuckwits blatantly staring at you that you are indeed, his. 

if they don’t get the hint the first time and are still gawking after his mild pda, asshole!sukuna would up the ante. he’ll take you off to some hallway or, if the guys are being particularly sleazy, he’ll kiss you right there. his lips trailling up and down your neck while he stares them dead in the eye, challenging them to look away. 

“ryo... people are looking!” you whisper nervously. 

“let them, sweetheart. you’re too pretty not to stare at.” he grins against your neck, sucking and biting at your soft skin. 

by that point, they always look off. whether that be due to his death glare or the realisation that you’re not going anywhere anytime soon was beside the point. 

asshole!sukuna gets embarrassingly hard at the smallest little things with you. you’ll just be sitting on the couch together and you’ll start scratching his back or head, boom, hard. when you’re sitting next to him in the library and you’re biting your pen, boom, hard. even when you’re just laying in bed, tired from the day, he’ll lay next to you and just sigh. 

“how the fuck do you just look like that. you make it so hard to keep my shit to myself.” he groans as his arms snake around your waist. 

“jeez, i can feel that thing poking into my back... what did i do now?” you smile sleepily. 

“i wish i knew. seems like one look at you and i pop a boner.” he admits, a little embarrassed. 

“can i help you out?” 

asshole!sukuna loved how willing you were to service him, but preferred it the opposite way round. sukuna would spend hours between your pretty thighs if he could, sloppily kissing and sucking at your cunt with dazed eyes, loving nothing more than the pretty moans and groans he could pull from your throat. 

“fuck yeah, y’ like that, baby? you like my tongue, hm?” he’d tease with his mouth full, pumping two fingers in and out of your soaked pussy as he dragged you closer and closer to your orgasm. 

asshole!sukuna knew how wet his filthy words could get you, and he abused that knowledge each and every time he needed you prepped and ready for him. 

“y’ think you can take me, baby, yeah? think you can take this fat cock?” he’d taunt, slapping the thick head against your cunt as your slick coated the pink, glossy skin. “fuckkkk, pretty pussy’s beggin’ t’ get drilled.” 

“what’s that? you need me? well, isn’t that fuckin’ cute. beg a little more and maybe i’ll give you what you want.” 

“be a good girl n’ say please and it’s all yours, angel.” 

asshole!sukuna was massive, but you always took him so well. “you can do it, baby. i know you can.” he’d coo in your ear, lining up the monster of a thing. 

“one, two, fuckkk.” 

asshole!sukuna saw stars every time he’d push in, letting go of a long, pornographic moan as he began to thrust slowly in and out of your tight entrance. the look on your face as your eyes rolled back in pleasure made coming in less than a minute extremely hard, but the intense need to make you finish first overrode any sort of selfish desire to fill you up to the brim in the first few minutes. 

asshole!sukuna loved missionary the most because he could see your pretty face. he enjoyed a bunch of freaked-out positions, but nothing could beat watching your pupils dilate and your lips quiver the second you finally came, his name on your tongue as you let go of the tension building in your tummy. 

“y’ gonna come, baby? y’ gonna come on this cock?” he’d grunt, slamming his member deeper and deeper the louder your cries got, faster and faster until— “fuck, ryo! m’ cumming!” you’d stutter, your insides spasming on his cock, drawing out his own orgasm with one final pound, filling you up with hot ropes of his seed. 

asshole!sukuna was the king of aftercare. words that were filthy before, now soft and caring. 

“you okay, baby? did i go too hard on ya?” he’d ask through tired pants, standing to grab the wet wipes in the side drawer to wash your messy parts off. 

“you want me to order something? anything you want, love. i’ll get you anything and everything.” 

“c’mon, sweetheart. drink some water.” 

asshole!sukuna never made you feel small after intimacy, in fact, sometimes you enjoyed the aftermath more than the mindblowing sex. 

“m’ okay, ryo. just wanna cuddle.” you’d admit shyly, reaching for him to come back to bed. 

his eyes would soften and he’d plop down next to you, pulling you into his lap. “anything for you, angel.” 

sure, sukuna was an asshole, but he couldn't even dream of mistreating you, his biggest exception.

“love you, baby.” 

“love you too, ryo.” 

a/n: i wrote this semi off my face so excuse any bad word or structural choices 💘

You slid into the booth across from him. "Satoru?"

"You're exactly two minutes and forty seconds late," Satoru announced, and you feared that wasn't a joke. He checked his phone screen. "Statistically speaking, women in their twenties are usually ten to fifteen minutes late to initial meetups to assert social dominance. Two minutes is almost negligible. I like the effort."

You stared at him. What the fuck. You hadn't even taken your jacket off yet.

"I got caught at a red light," you said slowly, furrowing your eyebrows and eyeing his hands. Why were they so big?

“Right. Variables.” Satoru nodded, looking way too serious about the whole thing. He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“So — I brought the lease agreement. As I mentioned, I have a 780 credit score and I want dishes done within twenty-four hours. To prevent breeding grounds for fruit flies.” He slid the keys across the table along with the papers, completely unprompted. “I assume you don’t have a problem with basic hygiene? You shouldn’t have—” his eyes dragged over you, slow and sleazy, “—judging by your appearance.”

You looked at the keys. Then at his stupidly pretty, already supremely annoying face.

Your brain was trying to throw up big red warning signs, but you really needed the space. It was cheap. Close to work. And you’d have to survive maybe a year or two before you could afford a one-bedroom on your own.

You go, girl.

“I’m clean,” you said, picking up the keys. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to figure out exactly what brand of lunatic you were about to chain yourself to. “Listen. You’re not going to be weird, are you?”

Satoru tilted his head, genuinely confused. “Define weird.”

You bit your lip.

There went those “quick” two years of your life.

You already knew the answer. You already fucking knew. Time for some hard coping. Maybe this was just a phase. Maybe he’d snap out of it soon. Maybe he’d gone through a breakup and was just being salty. That was probably it. Must have been.

And to be fair, the first few weeks weren’t actually that weird. You were getting to know each other, learning how to exist in the same space. It was quiet, even. You would’ve paid good money to keep it like that forever.

He mostly worked from his room, only came out for meals, did the dishes, and left you alone. He barely even talked to you, which should’ve been suspicious, but you chose to ignore it. You started to think maybe you’d read him wrong at the café. Maybe the breakup theory was right. Maybe he was just having a weird day.

But spoiler alert, because you couldn’t have been more wrong.

Satoru had not gone through a bad breakup. You suspected he had never gone through any breakup at all ever. Once he got comfortable enough to drop the act, or perhaps as some calculated 4D chess move to trap you past the point of getting your deposit back, his true colors started showing.

Satoru didn’t bring girls home. He didn’t do any of the hot-man things you’d expected either. Instead, he spent most of his free time on Reddit, arguing with strangers about the state of modern dating, and why “nice guys” like him were being overlooked by society.

After about a month, it clicked.

This man was chronically, terminally online. And an incel on top of it all.

The rule of never judging a book by its cover confirmed itself in the most jarring way possible. Would say, you played yourself there girl, but who am I to judge.

It started with the staring. You’d be sitting at the kitchen island in your sleep shirt, eating a bowl of Cheerios, and you’d look up to find him just… watching you. He never looked away when you caught him either. He’d just blink those big, stupidly pretty blue eyes at you, gaze heavy and analytical, like he was trying to calculate your exact molecular structure. Which, in a way, he kinda was. Carefully assessing the harmony of your facial features, exactly like the looksmaxxing subreddit had probably told him to.

You were always the one who had to look away first, your face feeling weirdly hot.

Then came the rants. You’d come home from a brutal shift and collapse onto the couch, and Satoru would emerge from his room like clockwork. He’d drop down next to you, eyes glued to his phone, and start talking like someone had asked.

“It’s basic hypergamy,” he announced one night, to absolutely no one. “Men are biologically disadvantaged in the modern dating sphere because of the top-twenty-percent rule.”

You didn’t even look at him. You just kept staring at the TV and wondered how long you could keep nodding along before it would become suspicious.

And he would just keep on going.

Spewing the most vile, stupid shit while you sat there, eyes flicking from the TV to him and back, nodding along because you genuinely did NOT care. Top twenty what percent? Wasn’t he objectively in the top ten at least? What the hell was he even talking about? And every time you didn’t answer, he probably took it as an agreement. You just deadass had nothing to say to him.

Not because you lacked the energy to argue. Though you kind of did, because talking to this manchild was like talking to a wall, and even that would’ve been more productive. Buut mostly because you weren’t even listening anymore. You’d learned how to tune him out pretty quickly.

You were tolerating him, which is what you told yourself. You were tolerating him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that ever since you first laid eyes on him, your brain had decided to revert to its default caveman settings.

Like that one evening when you were walking down the hallway toward the kitchen and the bathroom door opened. Satoru stepped out, dripping wet. White hair plastered to his forehead, water still running down his chest, wearing nothing but a towel dangerously low on his hips. You shamelessly followed his happy trail…The way the towel barely clung on his hips. Gaaawd.

Your brain stalled at the sight of his pretty body and your mouth went dry — or did you start to drool? You couldn’t remember anymore. You reminded yourself why you were tolerating him. Then berated yourself for doing exactly what he did — objectifying.

But hey. What's better than an incel asshole? A hot incel asshole! That's what's better. Be fucking for real. Congratulations to you specifically, really found a rock between a sea of gems.

You thought you had it handled. Juuust white-knuckle your way through the lease. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

And then you walked past his partially open bedroom door and heard him on Discord.

"Yeah, I mean, the living situation is okay," Satoru was saying, sounding so perfectly reasonable. You thought he was going to say something nice. Like, what a good roommate she is, how glad he was to have you there.

"She's clean. And yeah, she's hot, but she's not like super hot hot where it's scary, you know? She's cute hot. Next door hot, pretty hot. Just my type, you know my type, dude. I can definitely work with that."

You froze in the hallway. Your face did something that could only be described as a visual representation of what the fuck.

Cute hot. I can definitely work with that.

What does that even mean? You knew exactly what it meant, unfortunately. He wasn't just a weird roommate. He was a weird roommate actively running some kind of deranged, incel-fueled long game on you. Casually. Over Discord with his incel buddies. 

You quietly backed away, went to your room, locked the door, and screamed into your pillow.

It was not like your roommate was describing you like a property investment to someone over Discord while you were standing mere feet away. 

You hated this. You hated him. And you hated yourself for having been even remotely apologetic about it, for feeling your heart skip a beat when he said just my type. Curse you and your completely stupid and irrational attraction to someone you should probably be filing a restraining order against! But god, he was so so cute. If he could just shut the fuck up, or get lobotomized, or something. You could take him to Claire's over the weekend?

But to his credit, and you could not fucking believe you were giving him even some credit at all right now, he was sometimes tolerable, heavy on the sometimes. The man never missed a rent payment. He scrubbed the bathtub weekly. He always bought the expensive brand of paper towels, the ones with the little flower pattern you liked.

Good roommate, generally speaking. Fucking nightmare, every other way.

And the attraction was just a proximity issue. Obviously. Trust. Everyone would have this problem! It would go away with time! His personality was ass. And soon enough you'd look at him and convince yourself his looks were ass too. Start acknowledging his hotness the way you acknowledged anything asexual.

It was totally fine. You were fine! He was just a guy. A guy who happened to look like a Final Fantasy character rendered in 4K, but still just a guy. A nice guy.

And work with that, he definitely did. Because he was fine too! Just not in any way he would ever admit to his Discord buddies.

Because doing it the normal way guys in their sexual prime do was completely fine. He was in his twenties, so naturally, his mind wandered a bit when his head hit the pillow with passing thoughts about the way your sleep shirt rode up your bare thigh. There was absolutely nothing wrong with getting off while thinking about someone! It was just the normal biological need the podcasts yapped about! It was healthy to be sexually active, even if his only active partner was his fist.

And if that happened to escalate into jerking off to a completely innocent Instagram picture and coming all over his phone screen while staring at your pixelated smile? Also completely normal! Everyone dealt with new living arrangements differently… Someone screamed into their pillow, someone else was jerking off every time you got said person inexplicably hard! He couldn't be expected to live like a celibate monk when he was just a poor, horny guy trapped in an apartment with a gorgeous roommate who also happened to be exactly his type. He wasn't being a creep! He was just adapting to his environment.

Goddamn.

It wasn't fine. He wasn't fine, you weren't fine either.

But as the weeks dragged on, he started getting worse. 

The passive-aggressive creepiness turned into passive-aggressive entitlement. He had decided, completely on his own, that the two of you were basically already together. You could feel it in the way he hovered. In the way he looked at you like he was waiting for something. Like a bill was coming due and he was just giving you time to find your wallet.

It started with the food. Without any discussion, he started either making food for both of you or straight-up eating what you’d made for yourself. Like that was just the new normal now.

“Satoru, did you eat my food?” you’d ask, staring at the empty space in the fridge where your meal had been. The one you’d been looking forward to all day. And he’d just nod from the couch like it was the most normal, domestic thing in the world and not a direct violation of the rules you’d set when you moved in.

Or there was the night you came home completely drained, fully prepared to eat a sleeve of saltines and a bucket of ice cream for dinner, only to walk into the apartment smelling like garlic and roasted vegetables?

Satoru was actually at the stove, cooking. A rare sight — the man usually survived on takeout and DoorDash. And he’d used your expensive dried tomatoes too. The ones you’d been saving for a special occasion. The ones you’d shoved to the back of the fridge on purpose so he wouldn’t find them.

“Men in the kitchen are a rare sight, I know,” he said, not looking at you as he stirred, trying to look like the eighth world wonder. “But I thought — what if I made pasta? It’s the one my mom used to make. Figured I’d make it for myself. Made a lot though, so… you can have some too, I guess.”

He was already plating a portion for you as he spoke, trying and failing to look casual while clearly nervous you wouldn’t like it.

You watched him for a moment and felt something shift in your chest. You immediately labeled it as hunger and moved on.

He didn’t ask if you liked it. He just assumed you would. And he was right, yeah you ate it, but that wasn’t the point. The pasta wasn’t even that good. It was waay too salty. But it sat warm in your belly, and you didn’t have it in you to tell him the truth.

You thanked him for the meal but didn’t acknowledge the grand gesture you hadn’t agreed to in the first place. You didn’t make conversation either and went straight to do the dishes.

When you glanced back, he was watching you with that look again. Spooked, you looked away first.

And of course an incel like that would have opinions about your love life too.

You’d been seeing someone — nothing serious, just a guy from Hinge. Two dates in, and you were still on the fence. He didn’t make your heart do that stupid thump thump thump, and his hairline wasn’t all that great either.

You made the mistake of mentioning a possible third date while making coffee, trying to have a normal, boring conversation about your respective lives.

“I think I’m going to see him again on Saturday,” you said, mostly to your mug.

Satoru looked up from his phone. He was always on his phone doing gods know what.

"The architect guy?"

"Nah, I ghosted that one. Different guy."

A pause. He furrowed his eyebrows the way he did when he was assessing something. “How many are there?”

You gave him a warning look.

"I'm just asking."

"And I'm not answering," you said, rolling your eyes.

He put his phone down, which was never a good sign. You turned back to the coffee machine.

“I just think,” he started.

“Don’t,” you muttered, already regretting bringing it up.

"—that you're not being strategic about this."

You turned back around, mentally preparing for what was about to come.

“About dating. Statistically speaking, cycling through too many low-value options in a short period of time actually decreases your own value. If you want to attract a high-value man—”

He didn’t just mean men. He meant himself. Which, bless him, but also fuck him for putting it like that.

You stared at him for a moment, seriously considering yelling and throwing your mug at his stupidly symmetrical face.

“Satoru,” you said. “Did you just tell me I’m getting ran-through?”

He opened his mouth, then immediately closed it. His ears went pink — he had probably clocked his own stupidity, apparently, which was a first.

"No! It's not — that's not what I—" he started, hands coming up like he was surrendering.

"Where did you even hear that phrase?"

"It's a concept from—"

"No." You held up a hand. "No, I don't want to know, actually. You just made me really upset."

You picked up your coffee and looked him over. Standing there in his stupid nerdy sleep shirt, with his stupidly cute messy hair, genuinely confused about why this conversation had gone wrong. Like he really thought you’d realize he was right and apologize on your knees for even mentioning other men.

You felt furious, tired and something else you weren’t going to name.

You couldn’t believe you’d ever imagined getting railed into oblivion by this man. Instead, you had to talk to him like he was a toddler. You had a feeling you were going to become a cautionary tale. A PSA about what happens when you move in with an incel.

You went on the date that Saturday anyway. It was fine. The guy was fine-ish — less fine after the weird-ass conversation you’d had with Satoru prior. You came home to find him on the couch, waiting. Expecting something. But neither of you said a word. You just went to your room, got into bed, and stared at the ceiling.

You were so fucking tired. Tired of dates that were just fine. Tired of coming home to this. Tired of the whole thing.

So you cancelled the next one. And the one after that.

Men were mediocre anyway, you told yourself. You needed peace. You needed to stop cycling through low-value options and god, you couldn’t believe that phrase was living rent-free in your head now. You were going to find whatever the fuck podcast invented it and send the hosts very ugly, very threatening email.

And maybe the apartment really was full of questionable worldviews, because somewhere between the sexual marketplace value speeches and his creepy behavior, you developed one of your own.

You became morbidly into the idea of breaking his incel resolve. Like you’d accidentally discovered a new kink.

Not even in a romantic way. More like you’d started writing a very questionable mental screenplay about dismantling him piece by piece. Watching the podcast rot leak out of him in real time. Making the incel guy want you so badly he forgot every subreddit he was joined in, until he was pathetic enough to cry at your feet — and you weren’t even the dominant type!

Wasn’t there a term for that? There had to be. You’d read the fanfictions. You’d read the think pieces. And every time you’d wondered why women did this to themselves. Now you knew exactly why. It was like disaster tourism. Some people went to Chernobyl for the thrill, some people chased storms. You were simply built different.

Because when a man looked you in the eye and said shit like, “It’s actually been studied. Women who wear revealing clothing in domestic settings are subconsciously signaling availability to increase their mate value. It’s an evolutionary response to competition,” and meant it, like he hadn’t just dropped full Andrew Tate shit on a random Wednesday night, you simply weren’t going to let it slide.

You were already stretched thin. And he was on veeery thin ice. So you made a plan. You were going to show him exactly what skimpy clothing did to a man like him. And you weren’t going to think too hard about why this was probably the stupidest idea you’d had in a while.

Because who would voluntarily wear less clothes when they could just put on three more layers to prove a point? You, apparently.

So you dug out the shorts you hadn’t worn since sophomore year. The ones that left half your ass out and the tank top that made your boobs look obscene. All to "prove a point."

Satoru was at the kitchen island when you walked in, like every morning.

You leaned against the counter, grabbed your yogurt from the fridge, and started eating your probiotic-balanced breakfast, like every morning.

He was still on his phone. Andou were starting to think the plan had lowkey a flaw. Mainly the part where he wasn’t even looking at you when he stood up and walked over to the sink to put his mug away.

He reached past you. But the mug hit the bottom of the sink with a loud clang as he stood frozen and way too close. Staring at you with his mouth slightly open, ears going pink in real time as the color crept up from his jaw. He was looking at you exactly how you’d hoped he would… and now that it was actually happening, your stomach did a stupid little flip.

You went to put the spoon back in your mouth. But your hand missed and the spoonful of Activia went down your chin, down your neck, and disappeared between your tits.

Satoru’s eyes followed it the whooole way. You felt your nipples tighten under the thin fabric as he stared. Then his gaze dragged back up, up, slow, before dropping to what you were wearing.

When he finally looked at your face again, his ears weren’t just pink anymore. They were red.

“Uh. Y-you have yogurt. On your—” He gestured vaguely at your chest. “—on your b-boobs.”

You stared at him, he stared back — at your face, at your chest, at your legs, everywhere.

“Yeah,” you said. “I noticed, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed a paper towel and dragged it slowly down your neck, then slipped your other arm under your boobs to lift them higher, making the cleanup easier for you and significantly harder for him. You could tell by the way he was squirming.

He swallowed. A literally loud, audible gulp in the quiet kitchen. His Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape.

“Right. G-good — you cleaned it up. I-it was very messy,” he managed to get out, voice a full octave lower and cracking at the end. His eyes were half-lidded, ears still burning red.

Then he fled, turning so fast he clipped his hip on the doorframe and didn’t even react to the pain before disappearing down the hallway.

You felt victorious. You’d fried his alpha-male-rotted brain. You’d proven your point. You were the apex predator of this apartment!

But then you took a breath and noticed your hands were shaking.

Your nipples were still painfully hard against the thin fabric of your tank top. And there was a warm, insistent ache low in your belly, sending little shockwaves down to your toes.

Wait.

What the fuck.

You looked down at your chest, then at the empty doorway like he might still be there.

Why the hell were you horny?

You were supposed to be the disaster tourist here. You were supposed to be watching the meltdown from a safe distance. Disaster tourists didn’t usually get turned on by the radiation. They didn’t usually want the hazard to come back out of his room, pin them against the counter, and put his stupid big hands on their hips.

You threw the paper towel into the trash harder than necessary. It hit the side and did a pathetic little plop! down to the floor.

You slammed your bedroom door and threw yourself onto the bed, burying your burning face in the pillows. 

The plan had worked perfectly. Even if you had to dig out your vibrator later just to make the weird tingling go away.

It was just a power trip. Just the adrenaline of winning. That’s all it was. Power trips made people horny. It was biology. It was science.

Take that, Satoru!

And oh, he took it.

Across the hallway, Satoru was literally melting into his mattress. A bruise was already forming where he’d slammed into the doorframe. The image of that yogurt dragging down between your tits was now burned into his brain. He was throbbing, and it was fucking pathetic.

He tried jerking off like usual — fist tight, imagining you on your knees, all that jazz — but it wasn’t enough anymore. Hadn’t been for weeks, actually. His hand wasn’t cutting it.

So he reached into the back of his bottom drawer and pulled out the silicone toy he’d bought recently. He was embarrassed, but way too worked up to care. At least now he could pretend it was your tight pussy he was fucking into.

It was a new low. He knew it was a new low. But he did it anyway, eyes squeezed shut as he used the fleshlight, imagining you on top of him, under him, beside him — it didn’t matter. Anything was better than coming on his own just from the memory of yogurt dripping down your flushed skin.

But of course, once the post-nut clarity hit, he took the whole thing the completely wrong way.

Because really, what did you think was going to happen? You thought parading around half-naked in front of a terminally online incel would make him fall to his knees and magically develop self-awareness?

No. Of course not.

He thought you did it on purpose. For him specifically.

And yeah, you did do it on purpose — just not for the reason he thought. You were trying to break his brain. Make a joke out of his worldview! Instead, all you did was make him hard for three days straight and give him a scary amount of hope.

It validated every single pseudo-scientific dating theory he’d ever read. In his mind, you weren’t mocking him. You were submitting to his superior frame. You were “signaling availability.”

You hadn’t broken his incel resolve. You’d accidentally reinforced it. Applause.

And now Satoru believed, with full Reddit-backed, 4chan-backed, and whatever questionable forum-backed certainty, that he had won. He’d played the long game. He’d kept his alpha composure. And now the cute roommate in the tiny gym shorts was finally ready to yield.

And worst of all? He started being creepy on purpose.

Before, the hovering and staring had been unconscious. Or at least giving him the benefit of the doubt. Now he was doing it with intention. It was time to “establish physical dominance” and “break the touch barrier,” according to whatever the fuck forum thread he’d absorbed that week. 

He started finding excuses to be near you — reaching past you for things he didn’t need just to brush his chest against your shoulder, leaving you wrapped in his scent. He’d sit too close on the couch, close enough that you could feel the heat coming off him.

And it was working. You hated that it was working.

Every time his hand brushed yours or his fingers grazed your waist, your skin broke out in goosebumps. You could feel yourself reacting to his nervous little attempts to mark his territory, and it was driving you insane.

You were sitting on the couch eating your well deserved Pad Thai straight out of the takeout box while a true-crime documentary played in the background.

Satoru emerged from his room, did his usual hover-routine like some awkward mating dance, and then sat down right next to you.

Without taking his eyes off the TV, he reached over and placed his hand on your bare thigh.

It was this weird twitchy movement between caress and a customs agent stamping a passport.

His fingers kept flexing like he was fighting the urge to either pull away or drag them higher. You sat frozen, staring down at his hand, silently daring it to move. Then mentally cursing yourself for even letting it happen in the first place.

A rush of heat flooded your chest and cheeks. Your skin burned under his palm and shot straight down between your legs.

Ovulation. It’s just ovulation.

"Satoru," you said slowly. 

He was staring straight ahead at the TV, posture stiff as a board and he was even redder than you. 

“What the hell are you doing?”

He flinched, yanking his hand back into his lap and hunching over. “N-nothing.”

He cleared his throat but didn’t move away. His knee stayed pressed against yours. He took a breath, puffing his chest out as he tried to reclaim his whatever “alpha” frame, then glanced at you as you took a shaky bite of noodles. 

“So,” he started again, voice slipping into that pseudo-intellectual podcast cadence that always made your eye twitch. “I was reading a thread today. About proximity and domestic investment.”

You didn't look at him, listened to the Ted Bundy facts coming from the documentary narrator. Chewed and brushed him off. "Fascinating."

“It actually is,” he continued, completely unbothered. He leaned back, stretching his arm along the back of the couch and caging you in. “Because it highlights the flaw in modern female psychology. Women always say they want a nice guy. Someone who provides stability. Someone who pays his bills on time, remembers to buy toilet paper, and keeps a clean, nice living environment.”

He paused, letting the weight of his own perceived perfection hang in the air. Here we go again.

“But,” Satoru said, turning his head to look at you, eyes locking onto yours like a fucking hard target lock, “when that exact man is sitting right in front of them, offering unwavering loyalty and a high-value domestic partnership, they stay willfully blind. They friendzone him. Tease him. Cycle through low-tier guys from dating apps instead. It’s biologically counterproductive.”

The only sound in the room was the dramatic music coming from the TV now. You dropped your chopsticks into the takeout box, which suddenly felt too heavy in your lap. He was so confident in his entitlement it actually made you sick. It was ruining your fucking appetite.

He thought doing the bare minimum — acting like a decent human being with basic hygiene — earned him loyalty points he could cash in for sex. Like some kind of fucked-up grocery store rewards program.

You turned your body toward him fully, voice eerily quiet.

“Let me get this straight,” you said. “You’re sitting here, in our living room, getting mad at me because your nice-guy vending machine is broken?”

Satoru blinked, his brow furrowing like he genuinely didn’t understand what the problem was.

“I’m stating a statistical—”

“Shut up.”

The words came out sharp enough to cut. You weren’t playing anymore, one more podcast quote and you were going to rip the hair out of his stupidly pretty head.

His mouth snapped shut and he looked genuinely startled. You’d never told him to shut up before — never like that. You’d always just nodded, or rolled your eyes, or tuned him out.

“You think this is a transaction,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You think because you scrub the bathtub and pay your half of the rent on time, you’re earning points? You’re keeping score. You did the bare minimum and now you’re waiting for me to drop to my knees in gratitude like you were providing for me?”

“I am a provider,” he argued, chest puffing out even as his voice lost some of its usual arrogance. “I bring high value—”

“You bring decency at best!” you snapped, throwing your hands up. “Doing your own dishes doesn’t make you a high-value alpha male, Satoru. It makes you an adult. But you don’t actually care about being a good roommate. You’re just dressing your entitlement up as niceness and acting like I owe you something because you haven’t been actively terrible to me.”

“That’s not—” He reached up to adjust his glasses, a nervous habit you’d never seen from him before. “I’m just saying that logically, the optimal choice for you—”

“There is no logic!” you snapped, standing up before you did something stupid like strangle him. “You don’t even like me! You just think you’re owed me because I’m convenient and I live here!”

Satoru flinched and all the color drained from his face. You stood over him, breathing hard, staring down at this gorgeous, six-foot-three idiot who looked up at you like you’d just insulted his favourite fellow alpha male incel entity — which, yeah, you probably had. He looked lost. So freaking stupid. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“But you acted like—” he started, then caught himself, shoulders squaring like he was trying to hold onto his alpha manliness. “You know what, forget it. You’re just proving my point. A guy does everything right, stays consistent, stays present, and the girl just—” he gestured at you with a disbelieving laugh, “—moves the goalposts. We’ve been living together for months. Friends for just as long. I thought if I followed the steps exactly, I’d finally get to— we would— I don’t understand how this is supposed to work, okay?! How is a guy ever supposed to figure it out if the steps are a lie and I haven’t even—”

“Satoru.”

He stopped, his mouth snapped shut and the tips of his ears suddenly burned bright red.

And the realization hit you like a bucket of cold water.Oh my fucking god. You’d suspected it once or twice, but the thought had always flickered and died but now it all clicked into place. He’d never gotten his dick wet.

Your roommate was a six-foot-three virgin who thought turning to men who felt entitled to sex was a reasonable solution to his problems. What an absolute fucking mess. You almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

“You’re an incredibly good-looking guy, Satoru,” you said quietly, sincerely even. “Objectively hot. Get your shit together, touch some grass, and you’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. But until you stop treating women like a math test you’re trying to cheat on, nobody is going to want you.”

You shattered his ego completely. Or maybe, for the first time since puberty, Satoru actually formed a conscious, self-aware thought. Because he kept turning your words over in his head.

Objectively hot.

No one is going to want you.

What?

He tried to find the logical flaws. Tried to insert a counterargument, disprove your female emotional outburst with cold data. He couldn’t find one, not for fucking days.

You were avoiding him completely now, icing him out, not talking to him, not even looking at him. It was driving him insane. You used to search for his eyes, even if it was just to roll them. He’d only just realized how genuine your flustered blinking had been, and now he missed it. Embarrassingly so.

One night he walked into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face, carrying a petty mix of rejection, confusion, and constant, unbearable horniness.

Your pink hair tie was sitting on the edge of the sink.

He told himself he was just going to pick it up and put it in your organizer tray. So he picked it up. It smelled like your stupid, intoxicating strawberry shampoo. He hated it. Hated how the whole bathroom smelled like you after you showered. Hated how your scent followed you everywhere in the apartment, forcing him to breathe you in. The guys on Reddit had warned him about this. Pheromones. Dangerous.

He brought it closer to his face. Just to check. Just in case it wasn’t actually yours. And what happened next stayed strictly between Satoru, the bathroom mirror, and god.

He clutched the sink, bracing himself against it, breathing ragged and humiliatingly loud. He stared down at the pretty pink elastic wrapped tight around the base of his cock as he fucked his fist like he was trying to punish himself, desperately trying to imagine your hands instead of his own.

It worked too well. It scared him.

He came hard, so so hard the hair tie ended up coated in thick, frothy cum.

He carefully nudged the sticky pink tie back onto the edge of the sink, exactly where he’d found it. Then he washed his hands under scalding water like he was trying to burn the shame off his skin and walked out of the bathroom like a man fleeing a crime scene.

Rejuvenated? No.

Good? Not even close.

He just felt like absolute shit.

Get your shit together.

But how?

He picked up his phone, put it down, picked it up again. Again. And again. The fight was still eating him alive. The podcasts told him to take his frustration out on other girls or channel it into dominance and detachment. That’s probably what the current episode would’ve said.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sleep with anyone else. He didn’t want to be aggressive. He just… wanted.

And that was the problem.

For the first time in a long time, the alpha-male bullshit was starting to feel a bit too beta now. He was left with his own feelings like a normal person, and it was awful.

If he was truly a high-value male, he shouldn’t care. He should pivot. Download an app. Find some new, compliant girl to validate his stats. But the thought of calculating the facial harmony of a stranger made his stomach turn. He didn’t want a hypothetical female.

He wanted you.

He wanted you rolling your eyes at him. Laughing at him. Getting annoyed at him. Eating his pasta. Walking around in those mind-melting shorts. He wanted you to drop yogurt on yourself again just so he could lick it off your skin, linger on your neck, and kiss you stupid — the way he’d been fantasizing about since it actually happened.

He needed validation. He needed to be right!

His thumbs moved across the screen before he could stop himself. He ignored his usual echo-chamber subreddits and opened r/AmItheAsshole instead.

r/AmItheAsshole 

AITA for expecting my roommate (F) to reciprocate my (M) romantic advances after I provided optimal domestic value?

Throwaway. This is gonna sound bad but I need actual advice.

I (M) have been living with my roommate (F) for almost a year now. I’m not gonna lie, I’m objectively good-looking and I’ve been carrying a lot in this apartment. I pay my half on time, I keep shit clean, I do the dishes, I even cook sometimes. I thought I was doing everything right.

A few weeks ago she started walking around in these tiny shorts and tank tops. Like, really small. I took it as her signaling that she was open to something. That’s what all the advice says — if a girl starts dressing like that around you, it’s usually because she’s comfortable and maybe interested. So I decided to initiate kino escalation. Nothing crazy at first, just trying to break the touch barrier a bit.

While we were watching something on the couch I put my hand on her thigh. She freaked out. Got really upset and started yelling at me about how I was treating her like a transaction and that I only did nice things because I felt entitled to her. She even said I was basically calling her ran-through for going on dates.

I tried to explain it calmly. Like, statistically, if a high-value guy is right there doing everything right, why would she keep going on dates with random dudes from apps? It just doesn’t make sense. She told me to touch grass and hasn’t really spoken to me since.

I don’t get it. I’ve been consistent, I’ve been present, I’ve been providing a good living situation. I thought that was supposed to count for something. Instead she acted like I was the asshole for expecting anything in return.

AITA?

He hit post. He sat in the dark on his bed, heart pounding like it was trying to escape his chest. He just had to wait, the logical thinkers would show up. They’d validate him with proper, objective analysis. They had to.

Ten minutes later, the notifications started rolling in. So he opened them expecting vindication and instead he walked straight into a digital firing squad.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 308 upvotes

YTA. Holy shit. You did a handful of nice things and you think that means she owes you sex? You sound like an actual sociopath. I’m surprised she didn’t run out screaming. She literally told you to get your shit together. What part of that are you not getting?

u/KentoTheNormalGuy · 291 upvotes

You're not alpha, man. Kino escalation? Are you trying to con her, or actually want her to want you? YTA.

u/NobaraJustice24 · 282 upvotes

YTA.  She can wear whatever the fuck she wants in her own home, you creepy ass weirdo. I hope she breaks the lease and gets a restraining order. 

u/RealityCheckChoso · 156 upvotes

This is the most pathetic thing I’ve read on this site in eleven years. This is straight-up incel fanfiction. Poor girl having to live with someone like you. YTA. Go outside.

u/yuji_8847362 · 124  upvotes

Genuine question, not trying to be an asshole: do you actually like her, or do you just think she owes you because you did some nice things? Those are two very different things, and your post doesn’t seem to understand the difference. YTA, but I hope you figure it out.

u/KingNaoya69 · 231  downvotes

NTA. She’s clearly testing you. The clothes were an invitation. Hold your ground, don’t apologize, and she’ll come around. Women don’t respect men who grovel. If she actually didn’t want you she would’ve moved out already. She’s still there, isn’t she?

Satoru stared at the screen in disbelief. He’d expected validation. Maybe just a few reasonable voices cutting through the noise, acknowledging the statistical validity of his position, maybe even offering some tactical advice.

Instead, he got hit with minus three thousand downvotes, a mod-locked thread, and three DMs telling him to go to therapy.

He thought it would give him clarity. Clear steps. A way to fix this mess. Something actually useful. It just made him feel… nothing. Except for the creeping realization that he’d said something eerily similar to what u/KingNaoya69 had posted. Recently. Maybe even last week.

He threw his glasses off and stared into the middle distance.

What the fuck was he supposed to do?

He had no idea.

The days that followed were miserable. You were giving him the coldest shoulder imaginable and let’s be honest, he deserved it. You were weaponizing the silence, slamming doors, giving short, pointed answers if any. Moving through the apartment like he was just another piece of furniture. Looking through him instead of at him.

He kept going back to the comments on his post, rereading them like he could find a loophole somewhere.

Yes, of course he liked you. But how was he supposed to want nothing from you if he liked you? He wanted your affection. He wanted you to want him back. But wasn’t that also expecting something in return? What the hell was he supposed to do?

Still… the Naoya guy had been weirdly right about one thing. You stayed. You hadn’t moved out. You didn’t even seem like you wanted to. If you hated him that much, why were you still here?

On the nth day, he was sitting on the couch when you came out of your room for water. You glanced at him, even if just for a second. You couldn’t help it, the silent treatment was getting to you too, even if you’d never admit it.

Your eyes were hard to read, but there was something in them. Something expectant. Like you were waiting for him to do something. To fix it. To stop being an idiot so the two of you could move on.

Oh, he thought.

Truly the lightbulb moment of the century.

Oh.

That night he unjoined six subreddits. Unfollowed every podcast except Joe Rogan — because hey, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or was it unteach a new dog old tricks? Didn’t matter. What mattered was that for the first time since he’d discovered the internet, he was pretty sure he’d been an idiot.

And he was going to stop.

He made a plan. Simple. Walk out of his room, find you, and say sorry. Three steps. He’d been a person for over twenty years. He could do three steps. He had this!

You were in the kitchen. You were standing on the flimsy little step stool you needed to reach the top cabinet shelves, stretching up on your tiptoes for the glass Tupperware that Satoru kept putting up there, even though you had told him multiple times not to put it up there because you literally could not reach it.

"Hey," he said from the doorway, trying not to startle you. "Can we—"

You startled anyway, because what other outcome was ever going to happen here.

The stool wobbled under your socks. You gasped, swore something, grabbed for a shelf edge that wasn't there, and fully expected to eat the kitchen floor tiles before officially murdering your roommate from the afterlife.

But Satoru had surprisingly fast reflexes and caught you.

Well… almost.

He lost his balance as your weight shifted, and the two of you went down in a tangle of limbs and terrible timing.  The impact knocked the wind right out of your lungs. You landed sprawled over him, pressed against his chest, his arms secured instinctively around you—

Around your boobs.

You froze. He froze. The entire world seemed to fucking froze.

And as you laid there, from the adrenaline shock of it all probably, his fingers did a little squish!

Huh.

You didn't say anything. You couldn't breathe, let alone speak. You slowly turned your head. His face was right there and so, so close to yours. You panicked and looked into his equally panicked eyes, his poor glasses askew.

He was searching for something in your eyes, his pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the pretty blue. And then, as his chest was still heaving so heavily, his gaze dropped down to your lips.

You were suddenly very aware— Aware of his warm palms right through the thin fabric of your shirt. Aware of the way your tits swelled into his touch. Aware of how his thighs bracketed your hips, and how perfectly you fit against him.

His breath hitched and then his fingers flexed. He made a soft, barely-there sound in the back of his throat and squeezed again — slower this time. Kneading right over your hardened nipples. 

And oh my fucking god, you parted your lips for a soundless gasp, and he huffed into your collarbone as the trance finally broke.

His arms slowly retreated, lazily dragged down your ribs, fingers grazing the soft of your tummy before finally falling away to rest on the floor, which somehow made it all worse.

"I—" His voice came out rough, barely above a whisper.

You scrambled off him like you had been electrocuted.

You sprinted down the hallway and threw yourself into your room, slamming the door behind you. You backed up until you hit something, you didn’t even care what, and slid down to the floor, knees pulled to your chest.

Your heart was pounding soo hard it hurt, your skin was buzzing, and the ghost of his touch was still burning across your chest.

I fucking hate him, you told yourself. He’s a podcast-rotted incel. I hate him.

…Do you?

Because why the fuck had you wanted his hands to stay there? Why had that second squeeze made you want to straddle him right there on the kitchen tiles and fuck him stupid?

You were just touch-starved. That’s all this was. You were projecting onto your terrible roommate because he was being a sleazy little shit.

You grabbed your phone off the nightstand with shaking hands and unlocked it.

Hinge.

Your ol’ friend.

You needed a date. You needed a normal, boring, completely average guy with a decent hairline and zero opinions on hypergamy to save you from whatever the hell had just happened in that kitchen.

You were in your room getting ready for your date, dressed to kill. Short dress, favorite lace panties, because after everything that happened… you were still weirdly, persistently horny? Might as well try to do something about it with someone normal.

Satoru was lingering in the hallway like always, doing his very obvious not-hovering hover.

"Going out?" he asked, clearing his throat, trying to act so aloof and unbothered.

You didn't even look at him properly. "Yeah. I have a date," you said smugly as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. Hair down meant cute, but hair up meant business. And by business, I mean finally attempting to jump on some normal, average, and not-incely dick.

The second the words left your mouth, a wave of jealousy hit him so hard it nearly knocked the air out of his lungs. But he wasn’t even looking at your proud face. No. No. He was staring at the pink hair tie holding your hair up. No. No. NO.

He visibly gulped. His dick went from zero to painfully hard so fast he had to cross his legs just to hide it.

You furrowed your eyebrow at the uncharacteristic lack of response, but wasn’t entirely mad about it either.

"See ya," you chirped, completely oblivious to his internal meltdown, and walked out the front door.

The second the door shut, Satoru basically teleported to his room. He threw himself onto his bed, already fumbling with his pants, desperate to take care of the problem so he could think straight again.

But he spent exactly thirty minutes achieving absolutely nothing. What the fuck.

This had never happened before. Satoru was just staring at his ceiling, sweating, furiously gripping his aching dick, and completely unable to finish. Every time he closed his eyes, he imagined you laughing at some beta joke a 100% mediocre guy had made, while his past-tense cum was proudly sitting in your hair. He was literally too jealous to finish.

But jealous or not, he was still agonizingly hard, his dick standing painfully stiff against his stomach, stubbornly refusing to just calm the fuck down. He let out a frustrated groan. Okay. Fine. No hand? No problem! He reached for the silicone fleshlight, but he hadn't washed it in quite a while, and when he picked it up, a funky smell drifted off it.

Okay, NEVER MIND.

Which left him with only one option.

Today’s the day.

He reached into the back of his bottom drawer again and pulled out a silicone cock ring.

He had bought it right after he absolutely demolished your cute little hair tie. The hair tie. Because what does a normal guy do in that situation? Grovel first? Solve the underlying interpersonal issue? Nah. He goes on r/sex to research why a piece of elastic felt so hella good around his dick!

He hadn’t touched it since. Post-nut clarity had done its job last time. But right now, staring down at his aching, neglected cock and feeling rejected, humiliated, and completely alone… it was time.

Fuck it.

He ripped open the packaging and wrestled the thick silicone down his shaft until it sat snug at the base.

Almost immediately, something felt off. It was tight. Too tight. Not in a good way, just uncomfortable, constricting even. He tried to power through anyway, closing his eyes and stroking like he could force an orgasm out of sheer spite.

Ten minutes passed.

Nothing.

His brain was too far gone, and the pressure was quickly shifting from weird to genuinely concerning.

Fuck this.

He stopped, tried to take it off but it didn’t budge. Satoru blinked. He adjusted his grip and pulled harder. The skin stretched painfully, but the ring stayed exactly where it was.

Oh fuck.

A cold sweat broke out across his forehead. 

Oh fuck, oh fuck.

He scrambled off the bed, grabbed his lube, and squeezed way too much directly onto the ring. He tugged and twisted like his life depended on it.

Nothing. Fucking nothing. It just made his hands uselessly slippery.

Okay, oh fuck. Wasn't lube like supposed to work?! Okay, new plan. Something else, something more slippery, something more oily—

Panic seizing him, he stumbled to the bathroom, dug under the sink, found your baby oil, and slathered it on.

Still stuck.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Different oil! Not enough slipperiness! Trust the process!

So he waddled out of the bathroom, practically sprinting into the kitchen buck naked. He tore open the pantry, grabbing the vegetable oil. 

This has to work.

It did not work.

Ten minutes later, Satoru was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, coated in a slick, highly flammable mixture of lube, Johnson & Johnson baby oil, and Wesson canola oil, panting heavily. 

Dick throbbing, but not the fun kind of throbbing anymore. It was turning a terrifying shade of angry red-purple, the silicone death trap literally suffocating his junior.

It was no longer just uncomfortable, nor just alarmingly stuck. At this point, it was a fucking medical emergency. 

He was so fucked he might be patient zero of mpreg.

But what the hell was he supposed to do?

Call an ambulance?

Absolutely not. 

The thought of a paramedic cutting a sex toy off him with trauma shears while asking for his emergency contact would genuinely kill him on the spot. He would rather die of necrosis.

Call his friends? 

Fuck no.

If any of them found out about this, the screenshots would never die. They’d revoke his alpha card permanently and hold it over his head for the rest of his life.

He stared at his contacts.

There was only one person who could help without turning it into blackmail material or posting it online. The one person who lived in this apartment. The one person who was currently out on a date with some random guy. The person he had a massive, pathetic crush on and who would probably rather rip his dick off than help him.

He hit Call.

You stirred your gin and tonic while your date went on about his fantasy football draft like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. It was a perfectly fine date! The kind of fine that made you wonder why you even bothered.

You were nodding along, even though you had stopped listening roughly four minutes ago. Then, your phone vibrated on the table.

Satoru.

You ignored it. No, actually—you declined it. You smiled sweetly at your date, asked a vague question about tight ends so you would seem like you were actually paying attention, and took a sip of your drink.

Your phone buzzed again. And again. And again.

Annoyed, you held up a finger to the poor guy who was currently rating wide receivers, excused yourself, and off to the bathroom, fully prepared to yell.

“What?” you hissed the second you picked up. “I’m on a date, Satoru. If you locked yourself out—”

"Please come home," he gasped. He didn't even say hello. He didn't sound aloof, and he certainly didn't sound alpha. He actually sounded like he was drawing his final breaths on this earth. "You have to come home. Right now."

"What happened? Did something catch fire? Did someone break in? Are you—"

“I can’t tell you,” he whined, voice high and shaky in a way you’d never heard from him before. “I physically can’t say it out loud. Just— please. Please come home.”

You were ninety percent sure this was some pathetic attempt to ruin your night. Some last-ditch manipulation tactic he’d picked up from a podcast or Reddit thread. But the remaining ten percent made you ditch your date without a second thought and jump into an Uber.

You practically kicked the front door open, your heart hammering. The apartment was completely quiet, and it smelled all wrong…

Like babies and an industrial air fryer?

"Satoru?" you called out, dropping your bag. "Where are you? The apartment better be fucking flooding, or else I swear to God—"

A pained, muffled whimper came from down the hall. His bedroom door was cracked open so you pushed it wide, fully prepared to absolutely tear him a new one for ruining your night.

Satoru was sitting on the edge of his bed, completely naked, perched on a bath towel soaked through with some kind of glistening sludge. He was trembling, sweating, aggressively gripping the mattress. And his dick — very visibly, very aggressively hard — was pointing straight at you.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

You exploded the second you saw him, because an impromptu dick is still an impromptu dick! “Is this some pathetic plan to finally fuck me? You couldn’t even be decent about it! You just called me home so you could sit here with your cock out?!”

You expected some sleazy line. Some smug little smirk. Instead, Satoru looked up at you with wide, tear-filled eyes behind his smudged glasses and let out a broken, wet sob.

"I'm not—" his voice cracked terribly. "I'm stuck."

Huh?

Furrowing your eyebrows, you stopped yelling and your eyes actually dropped down. And then your stomach dropped with them.

Wait. Oh. He was so, so large.

But that wasn’t the problem. His dick was an angry, swollen red-purple, veins bulging like it had its own heartbeat. And at the base was a thick silicone ring, cutting into him so tightly it looked like it might actually pop off.

And all the anger drained out of you in an instant because suddenly, you felt the harsh reality of the literal medical horror you were now a part of. 

"Oh my god. Satoru... what is going on?!"

“Fuck, it hurts— please help me,” he whined as he bounced his leg against the floor like that would somehow fix anything.

You stepped closer, the sheer absurdity of the situation making you drop to your knees between his spread thighs just to get a proper look. 

“Is that… a cock ring?” you asked, voice tight as your eyes dragged over his swollen cock in equal parts horror and fascination.

Satoru nodded frantically, a tear slipping down his cheek and dripping off his jaw.

"Satoru, you know there is a fucking size chart to these things?! You can’t just buy anything with the size of your dick! Are you fucking stupid?!"

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!" he wailed, hands flying up to cover his face in absolute humiliation. "Wait—" He suddenly froze, lowering his hands just enough to look at you. "Did you just say I have a big dick? Wait. Fuck. OUCH. It just fucking hurts! Please, please help me, I've tried everything but it just won't budge! It hurts so much!"

You squinted at the slick mess coating his thighs and soaking into the bath towel and his bed. "Did you try lube?"

 "Yes!" 

"Baby oil?" 

"Yes!" 

"Did you... did you use the cooking oil from the kitchen?!"

 "YES! FUCK!" he sobbed into his hands again.

"Why did you even put it on?!" you yelled back, genuinely baffled by his astronomical stupidity.

“I was horny, what else?!” he cried and shook his hands. “You left with the cum tie in your hair—”

“THE WHAT?!”

Your hands froze in the air. Your brain forcefully restarted about three times trying to process the sequence of syllables he had just screamed back at you.

The cum tie.

You suddenly felt the gentle pull of the pink elastic holding up your ponytail. The one that was your favorite. The one you had idly wondered before why it was suddenly so... crusty.

"You..." you whispered, a cold wave of fresh nausea washing over you. "You did what to my hair tie?"

“I didn’t mean to!” he sobbed and sobbed, face red and streaked with tears. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I used it, and then you put it in your hair to go out with the guy and it made me crazy so I put the ring on!”

Your hand twitched toward your ponytail. You were going to rip it out, burn it ritually, shave your head and then fucking murder him. A jury would probably let you off in seconds.

But then you looked down again. His dick might actually pop! like a grease-filled water balloon. There was simply no time.

You took a deep, slightly deranged breath and shoved every horrifying thought into a box for later. You could have a full meltdown about having his reproductive fluids in your hair as an accessory after you made sure his dick didn’t fall off.

You aggressively ignored his stare, locking your eyes entirely on the crisis. "Okay. Okay, I've got this. This is a medical emergency."

Your mind started racing. You couldn't cut it off without risking severing something vital, you certainly weren’t a doctor, and the swelling was so so severe to just pull the ring back over the ridge. You knelt there, suddenly arriving at a horrifying conclusion that you were going to need a serious moment to accept.

Because there was only one way to get it off… And the only way to get it off was to get rid of the erection.

You had to make him cum.

“Okay,” you muttered. Then again. And again. Like repeating it would make it feel less insane. “W-we just need to… get it down.”

You bit your lip, giving yourself the quickest, most productive, and most threatening internal TED Talk in human history. Your hands twitched, but you finally reached out and wrapped them around his oil-slicked shaft.

“AGH— FUCK— NO!” Satoru immediately jerked back like you’d stabbed him, slamming against the mattress.

"What the hell?! I barely touched it!"

“The skin’s too tight!” he cried out, practically hyperventilating. “It feels like a razor blade— you can’t use your hands, it hurts too much!”

You tried again anyway, slower this time, gripping him carefully. The skin was burning hot, painfully stretched over the trapped blood. You gave one experimental stroke.

“No— no no no, please stop—” His voice broke into a real whimper as fresh tears spilled down his face. He pushed at your shoulders, legs literally shaking. “Please, I can’t— it hurts so fucking bad—”

You yanked your hands back, heart pounding as your own panic officially set in. "THEN WHAT ELSE?!"

“I DON’T KNOW! I thought you might know!”

"HOW SHOULD I KNOW?!"

A beat of deafening silence fell over the grease-scented bedroom. You looked at him. Then down at the problem between his legs.

Wait—

Your brain scrambled for literally any other fucking solution. Ice? Cutting it completely off? Calling 911 and collectively dying of embarrassment on the spot?

Nothing. 

There was nothing else.

God fucking help you. You might as well die from the cringe right here on the floor.

You stared down at his lengthy cock again. It was a pathetic mix of pre-cum against his oil-slicked stomach. Satoru was breathing in short, panicked gasps, tears still tracking down his flushed cheeks, glasses fogged and crooked, looking totally helpless.

“No,” you whispered to the empty space between his thighs, stomach twisting with reluctant acceptance. Coming to terms with your own fate. Girl, it’s your fault. Your fate had been sealed the second you decided to find a roommate on Reddit. “No, no, no.”

“What?” Satoru cried through his teeth, barely audible. “What ‘no’?”

If your hands were completely off the table…

A wave of heat flooded your face and dropped straight into your belly. Surely from disgust. Trust.

You shifted forward on your knees, your dress dragging through the oily mess on the floor. The fabric was already ruined and sticking to your skin. You braced one hand on his trembling thigh, leaned in, and took the swollen head of his cock into your mouth.

The taste was vile as hell.

Canola oil, baby oil, lube, and the bitter salt of his pre-cum all hit your tongue at once. You made a muffled, disgusted sound around him as your lips stretched and you sank down. The mixture mixed with your saliva and slid down your throat as he pushed deeper than you expected.

Satoru’s entire body jolted as the mushroomy head hit the back of your mouth.

“Whoa— oh my fucking god—” His voice cracked into a broken, high moan. His stomach flexed like he was trying not to fold in half. Both of his hands flew to your hair, oily fingers catching in your ponytail, clutching without quite pushing or pulling. I mean, you already had cum in your hair anyway. What was a little more oil and lube?

His hips twitched. His thighs trembled under your hand. He clearly had no idea what to do with himself.

You started moving, and it was messy from the first second.

Everything was slippery. Your lips kept sliding, saliva mixing with the grease until it dripped down his shaft in shiny, frothy strings. You had to suck harder just to keep any kind of rhythm, cheeks hollowing, tongue working in messy circles under the head every time you pulled up. The wet sounds filled the room — slick sucking, soft gagging when you took him too deep, his broken little whimpers.

You hated the taste.You hated how your knees already ached against the hard floor. You hated that your dress was ruined, soaked through and sticking to your skin. And you hated the way he was looking down at you — in pain, in complete disbelief that you were actually sucking him off. And what you really hated the most was that you were looking up at him while you mouth was licking him up and your body was already starting to betray you.

Tingly heat was spreading low in your belly. Every throb along his length, every broken moan that slipped out of him, made you wetter. You weren’t supposed to be horny! You should’ve been so so disgusted. But the scent of him, the taste of his pre-cum coating your tongue, made your pussy clench around nothing. Your nipples were hard, rubbing against the inside of your dress. Your cunt felt hot and slick — whether from your own arousal or the oily sludge on the floor, you genuinely couldn’t tell anymore.

You bobbed deeper, taking him until your nose brushed the base and the ring dug into your skin, then pulled back with a wet gasp. A thick and slimy string of saliva and oil connected your lips to his cock before it broke.

Satoru was staring down at you like you’d personally broken his brain.

His chest was heaving. Tears were still leaking from the corners of his eyes — pain, pleasure, or the sheer absurdity of the situation, it didn’t matter. His mouth hung open, glasses sliding down his nose.

Then his hazy eyes dropped to your chest.

His gaze followed the way your dress had slipped lower during all the movement. Your tits were threatening to spill out completely. He made a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

His hands left your hair and reached down. Big, warm palms cupped your breasts through the thin fabric first almost carefully. But then he yanked the neckline down hard, dragging the fabric under your arms, practically rrrrripping it open, until your tits spilled free.

A fresh tear tracked down his cheek as he stared at them like they were something holy.

“Holy fuck— your tits—” he breathed, cupping them fully. His thumbs brushed over your hard nipples before he started kneading with desperate, greedy hands. Squeezing, lifting, rolling the soft flesh between his fingers exactly like he had in the kitchen — except this time there was nothing holding him back, because you certainly wouldn’t make him stop. 

The moan you let out around his cock was involuntary and absolutely nobody’s business, alright? Your teeth grazed his sensitive skin and the vibration, combined with the impromptu bite, made his hips jerk violently. He let out a breathless gasp, hands tightening on your boobs almost painfully before he loosened his grip again, thumbs flicking over your nipples in a way that sent sparks straight between your legs.

The lace of your panties was useless now, clinging to your soaked pussy lips.

But the dress had become a real problem, at least that’s what you were telling yourself. It was restricting your movement, getting in the way every time you tried to take him deeper. It was uncomfortable as hell, which was actually true.

You pulled off his cock with a wet pop!, lips shiny and swollen.

Fuck this dress. And probably him too.

You sat back on your heels and yanked it over your head, kicking it away. Now you were kneeling in nothing but your ruined lace panties — the ones you’d specifically worn because you were hoping to get laid tonight.

Well. You weren’t entirely wrong, now were you?

Satoru made a sound like he’d been punched in the gut. His wildest dream had just come true in the most deranged way possible.

You leaned back in and took him into your mouth again, sucking with more purpose now. One hand stayed wrapped around the base near the ring while your other hand stroked his thigh and lower stomach — anywhere to try and soothe him.

His clammy hands were right back on your bare tits, rolling them between his fingers like he was trying to memorize their exact shape. You moaned around him because it felt so fucking good. Unfairly good.

The taste was still awful. The room still reeked of canola oil. Satoru was still quietly crying above you — overwhelmed, terrified, and so turned on he could barely think straight. But the way he was touching you, the way he was falling apart in your mouth…

You were dripping straight through the lace right onto his fucking floor.

One of your hands snaked down your body. You pushed your panties aside and started rubbing desperate circles over your poor clit while you kept sucking him.

What a development. 

Righteous ideologies and all. Now you were naked on the floor of your incel roommate’s bedroom, sucking his cock while fingering yourself. Truly the most progressive way to handle this type of man.

Your pussy felt hot and aching. Your fingers slid through your own slick, making your hips twitch and another moan vibrate around his dick.

Satoru’s breathing sounded like a kettle about to boil over. His hands kept slipping on your oily skin, smearing the mess across your chest and shoulders. He was trapped in the most surreal, humiliating, perfect moment of his life — your mouth on him, you naked and touching yourself while the whole room smelled like a deep fryer.

He was half-sobbing, half-moaning.

“You’re— nghh— you’re actually getting off while—” His voice cracked as he looked down at you. You glanced up through your lashes, a little scowl on your flushed face, fingers still working between your legs.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed anymore. The absurdity had burned straight through your shame. You were horny. Stupidly, painfully horny. It was all too much and not enough at the same time.

Filthy sounds filled the room. He was crying. You were crying. Sweat was mixing with the oily mess coating your skin. You could taste your own tears mixed with the mess on his cock as they slid down your face. One of his hands was tangled in your ponytail, greasing it up nice and disgusting.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he choked out, voice hoarse. “I can’t— ngh— I can’t believe this is real—”

You pulled off just enough to breathe. “Shut up and let me finish this,” you muttered, then sank back down, taking him as deep as the ring would allow.

His other hand relocated to your shoulder. Then his dick throbbed hard against your tongue. Swelling, twitching and you knew he was about to blow.

You started to pull back, but his hands moved faster. One fisted tighter in your hair, the other gripped your shoulder hard. He held you in place. Rough. Desperate. But he didn’t mean to!

You made a surprised, muffled sound around him as his hips jerked.

“W-wait—fuck—I’m—!” he gasped, betrayed by his own body.

You felt the first big pulse against your tongue.

You manage to wrench your head back at the last second because there was no way in hell you were swallowing a mixture of cum and baby oil — popping off just in time. But it was too late to get completely clear.

Satoru came hard.

The first thick rope hit you across the cheek and lips. The next few painted messy white stripes across your chin, your chest, and down your neck. It kept cooooming in hot, twitchy pulses until he’d almost emptied his aching balls.

And suddenly you were back in the kitchen. Only this time it wasn’t a freaking Activia dripping down your tits. It was him.

You stumbled backward onto your ass, cum cooling on your skin as he finally let go of you. You wiped the back of your hand across your cheek, smearing it further. He stared down at you like he’d died and gone to heaven — you, sprawled on his floor, covered in his cum, panties twisted half-off your hips, your blushing cunt smiling up right at him and your panicked eyes unblinking.

Holy fucking nirvana, right there.

You felt disgusting. You felt filthy. And somehow, you were still throbbing between your legs.

“Fuck— shit, fuck, fuck!” Satoru cursed, trying to stand up too fast. He slipped on the oily towel and nearly ate shit before catching himself on the edge of the bed. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you there, I just— it was too much, I panicked—”

He stumbled toward you on shaky legs, one hand reaching out like he was going to help you up, the other still hovering near his softening cock.

“Satoru,” you said, voice low. “Pull it off.”

He froze for half a second, then looked down.

And it was finally, finally softening. The angry red-purple was fading. The skin wasn’t stretched as tight anymore and there was a very small, very dangerous window before he’d be hard again and back in square one.

His eyes lit up with desperate hope. He grabbed the cock ring with both hands and yanked.

The sound that tore out of him was somewhere between a sob and a scream. It was violent, painful, and made you cringe so fucking badly. The ring caught on the ridge for one horrible second before it finally slipped off with a wet smack and skidded across the floor somewhere.

For a moment, Satoru just knelt there, breathing hard through the fading pain. Fresh tears tracked down his flushed face as the relief finally hit him.

Then he looked at you, at the mess he’d made across your pretty face and chest. At the absolute state of the room. At everything.

“I’m the worst,” he whispered. “I know I’m the worst. You should kick me out. You should call the cops. I didn’t mean to make it worse. You probably hate me—”

Satoru looked like he was about to start ugly crying for real. His shoulders were shaking as he braced himself for you to slap him.

And look — you wanted to. You wanted to go back in time so you would’ve never answered that fucking Reddit post, never answered his call, never come home tonight. Or maybe… go back just a little bit. To when your tongue was sliding over his frenulum and you’d never been so turned on in your life.

Either way, you weren’t sure anymore. Your brain was more scrambled than the eggs you’d had for breakfast.

So instead of slapping him, you surged forward, grabbed his face with both of your hands, smearing his cum and your own arousal all over his jawline and kissed him hard enough to shut him up.

At first he stayed completely frozen, too stunned to speak, or like… kiss you back that you were kissing him instead of murdering him on the spot. You nudged your tongue against his lips, urging him to kiss you back, because the last thing you needed right now was sucking your incel roommate off and then having him refuse to kiss you afterward. That would’ve been a new low. Truly historic.

But then he let out a shaky breath and kissed you back.

He kissed you desperately, messily, like he was trying to crawl inside your mouth. Saliva, cum, tears, and oil all mixed together as your tongues slid against each other. Teeth clicked. His hands came up to grab your waist, pulling you closer until your chest pressed against his own. He whimpered needily into your mouth and tangled his tongue with yours like he was starving for it.

His glasses got knocked even more crooked.

When you finally pulled back to breathe, you reached down and started yanking your ruined lace panties off. They were twisted around your thighs and sticking to your skin from all the mess.

Satoru, still breathing hard and clearly trying to regain some sense of manly control, decided this was THE moment, HIS moment to be useful.

“Here— let me help,” he muttered, reaching down with both hands.

The two of you fumbled together in some weird horny trance, his fingers sliding against your thigh as he tried to tug the lace down your leg.

But his hand slid right off your slick skin and he lost his balance completely. With a startled gasp! he pitched forward and crashed down right on top of you, pinning you to the floor.

His full weight pressed you into the cold hardwood. Chest to chest, hips slotted between your thighs. The kisses making him hard again, dick now twitching insistently against your tummy.

Then Satoru lifted his head from the crook of your neck and looked down at you. His hair was a mess, but there was something almost determined in his expression now.

“I’ve got it,” he said. Yeah. He definitely  got this. He’d seen the porn. He’d read the r/sex threads. He was a man, the man! He knew exactly what he was supposed to do. Fluent in the dickology! Show you what a high-value male can do. You'll respect it. You’ll want it!

You stared up at him and raised one eyebrow.“…Are you sure?”

He looked faintly offended, but reached between your bodies anyway, grabbed his cock, and lined himself up against your slick folds. The blunt head nudged against your entrance before he pushed in with one unsteady thrust and you were honestly surprised he found your hole on a first try.

The stretch was intense. His cock bullied its way into your tight cunt, the sudden fullness making your back arch slightly off the floor. And it made you think that maybe… just maybe he’s a virgin incel but he somehow actually knows how to fuck?

Satoru made a choked sound above you. He braced his hands on either side of your head and started moving, a little too fast, a little too rough, like he was following some mental checklist of “how alpha males fuck” or something. 

His hips snapped forward, rolling against yours. On a few of his clumsy thrusts, the sharp angle of his hipbone dragged right across your swollen clit.

A spark of pleasure shot right through you, made your breath hitch and his dick catch inside of you. Your fingers scratched on his shoulders and for a second you were hopeful, hopeful that perhaps incels were just involuntarily celibate men with a dick game like this.

It died almost instantly. His rhythm fell apart just as the plushy walls of your pussy fully enveloped him fully in the slick warmth. His movement turned erratic as his hips started stuttering.

“I—fuck—I can’t—ngh—!”

So… He lasted exactly forty-five seconds.

With a humiliated groan he slammed into your cervix one last time and came haard, painting your walls in thick, sticky white. His wobbly arms gave out again and he collapsed on top of you not very gracefully, face buried right back into your neck as he rode out the pathetic orgasm. He was breathing hard, the sound mixing with the wet squelching of oil, cum, and sweat between your bodies every time either of you shifted.

You stared sideways at the messy white strands of his hair currently tickling your pulse point, feeling his cum slowly leaking out around his softening cock. The frustration burning hot alongside with the ghost ache right in between legs.

If he had just let you ride him instead. Ugh.

“…Really?” you said flatly.

Satoru, mortified, made a small devastated noise into your neck and laced his fingers with yours like that would somehow make it better.

You hadn’t come from the fingering earlier. You definitely hadn’t come from his forty-five-second marathon. 

You shoved at his shoulder.

“Satoru.”

He made a small, satisfied noise.

“Satoru. Did you just cum inside me?”

His eyes flew open. The bliss drained from his face instantly. He slowly nodded, guilty, not knowing if he should be terrified or glad.

You pushed him off you. He rolled onto his back with a wet squelch. You sat up, cum and oil smeared across your skin, and glared down at him.

“You ruined my date,” you said, voice low. “You were stupid enough to trap your own dick in a death trap and made me come home to deal with it. You came all over me without letting me cum, and then you creampied me in under a minute.”

He opened his mouth, “I was just claiming what’s mine—”ready to say something even more stupid.

You cut him off, because you were not listening to that right now and ever fucking again. “Don’t. I swear to god, if you say one more word of that pseudo-alpha, podcast-bro bullshit right now, I can promise you this will be the first and last time you ever have your dick in any pussy. Ever.”

He froze.

You leaned in, eyes narrowed, pussy suddenly drying up at high speed.

“I’m serious, Satoru. All that ‘high-value male,’ ‘she’ll respect dominance,’ ‘women secretly want to be put in their place’ garbage? It’s not cute. It’s not hot. It’s not working. It makes you sound like a loser. You’re only lucky that I’m stupid enough to actually fucking like you.”

And Satoru deadass had nothing to say, because it didn’t make sense, yet it made all the sense. And in the middle of the gears grinding he blinked up at you because… did you just tell him you like him?

Before he could grab your chin and kiss you stupid again, you pointed between your legs.

“Since you made this mess, you’re going to clean it up. Now.”

The color drained from his face as he stared at you. “Y-you want me to eat out my cum?”

“Did I stutter?”

He was too stunned and properly terrified to argue. He knew that if he didn’t get his shit together right now, this really might be the first and last time he ever saw pussy in real life. So he scrambled down between your thighs without another word.

He’s going to do it for the love of the game. Can’t be that bad, right?

He gulped as he nestled between your soft thighs, eyeing your tight little hole as a little trail of his cum mixed with your frothy slick leaked onto the floor below you. And it was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

The reluctant pout on his face made it clear he was weighing eating his own cum against the very real possibility of never getting to fuck you again, so you made it easier for him. You grabbed a fistful of his messy white hair and yanked his face straight against your pussy. His nose immediately buried right between your wet folds, tickling the sensitive flesh.

And maybe he was currently terrified of you, or it was the fact that he finally smelled your sex up close — either way, he was now desperate to please you.

The first drag of his tongue through your folds was experimental, almost cautious. He did it again, licking with too much pressure and in all the wrong places, clearly thinking he was doing something impressive, missing your clit. Again. And again. And again.

For fuck’s sake, you lasted maybe fifteen seconds. You reached down, grabbed his silky hair again, and yanked his head up to adjust him.

He furrowed his brows at you, confused and a little offended, like he was about to argue — until his tongue accidentally flicked right over your clit.

His eyes widened slightly. He did it again, slower this time. A testing little flick. Eyes wide, as if asking what the hell just happened, feeling the little knob jumping.

You let out a shaky moan, fingers tightening in his hair.

“That’s my clit, Satoru.”

His eyes darkened and he dove back in with completely different energy. Okay, he knew where your cute little clit was. Now onto figuring out how to make you come on his tongue. 

He started with the licking, up and down, until he pushed into your leaking hole. He almost immediately tasted his own cum, still warm, thick, and disgustingly bitter against your sweet pussy juices, and he made a guttural sound right against you.

He should have been disgusted, appalled, mortified through his militant incel brain. But why did it taste so wrong, it tasted so so right?

Eating himself right out of you — it was so pathetic, so raw, so hot. And you couldn’t fucking believe you actually made him do it.

Your pussy fluttered and he dove in like a man possessed.

A desperate whine vibrated against your clit as he started licking in earnest. Messy, unrestrained, starving. He was slurping loudly, tongue pushing deep to get more of the mixture, swallowing it down like he couldn’t get enough. Every time he tasted more of himself leaking out of you, another broken moan escaped him.

His hands gripped your thighs haaard, holding you open as he buried his face deeper. He was whining and whimpering into your cunt like tasting his own cum inside you had flipped some primal, pathetic switch in his brain neither of you even knew existed.

“Fuck— you taste so good— I taste so good on you—” Every few seconds he would pull back just enough to breathe, drooling, and mutter broken little things against your skin. And you were once again left wondering where all the skill came from.

Then he’d dive right back in, tongue flicking over your clit before dragging down to lap at your hole again, like he was trying to clean you out and make you messy all over again at the same time.

It was deranged. It was filthy. And it was fucking working.

Your hand fisted in his hair, gripping tight. He moaned loudly at the rough treatment, the sound muffled against your pussy as his tongue circled your clit, biting then sucking on it, then flattening to drag it through your folds like he was trying to devour you whole.

You were gushing at this point, and not a drop ever spilled on the floor as he slurped you like his favourite boba flavour. His touch spread across your entire body as the orgasm built quickly after getting edged the entire evening to fucking oblivion.

“‘Toru—” you cried, thighs starting to tremble around his head. And he bit down gently on your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs on instinct. Look, it’s not like you did it on purpose — who the fuck would want to close up shop when business was this good?

He kitten-licked your poor clit, sending sparks right to your lower belly. Your back arched off the floor as his hand snaked up at the right damn time to flick your nipple.

Oh.

“Holy— ngh— fuck, ‘Toru—!” you screamed and came all over his poor face, thighs clamping around his head as you tried to suffocate him with your spasming pussy. You shook like you’d been electrocuted and he kept licking and licking, to the point you weren’t sure if you came again or if it was just one big orgasm. He wanted to taste every damn second of you falling apart because of him, for him.

His face was a mess. Half of it was shiny and wet with your slick, lips prettily swollen. He’d thrown his glasses somewhere on the floor in the middle of it. His pupils were practically heart-shaped, and he looked so wrecked it was beautiful.

He was so cum-drunk he only stared up at you with his mouth open, resting his cheek against your inner thigh, waiting.

And your eyes might’ve been heart-shaped too, because the sight of him made you throb all over again.

“Fuck,” you almost moaned, reaching down to grab his shoulders. “Come here.”

Satoru didn’t need to be told twice. He crawled up your body like he was starving for it, for you. He crashed his lips against yours and the kiss was fucking messy. You could taste yourself on him as he smeared your slick across your chin, tongues sliding sloppily against each other like you were trying to devour one another.

His hands found your waist. He shifted his weight and rolled the two of you until his back was against the bed and you were straddling him in his lap.

You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him. His chest was heaving. And he was looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

Everything was still disgustingly sticky, but the way he looked at you made your heart go thump thump thump in a way it never had before. So you reached down, wrapped your hand around his cock, and sank down onto him in one slow, slick motion.

Satoru’s head tipped back against the bed with a broken groan that made the muscles in his neck jump. His hands immediately gripped your hips hard, fingers digging into your ass like he needed to anchor himself.

“Fuuck—” he slurred, voice sooo dazed. “Oh my god— you’re so warm— so fucking tight—tighter—”

You started moving, rolling your hips in frantic circles. Every time you sank down, you could feel the tip kissing your cervix, nudging right up against the entrance of your womb as he completely bottomed out.

It didn’t take long before his hands tightened on your ass and he started helping you. He pulled you down onto him faster, guiding your hips with desperate hands while lifting his own to meet you halfway.

“Shit— just like that,” he whimpered, kissing all over your jaw as his tip kissed your poor cervix again and again and again. “Ngh— you’re milking me so good—”

He was completely gone. Eyes glassy, mouth open, babbling whatever came to his mind as you rode him. And every time you clenched around him, another broken sound slipped out of him.

His mouth searched for yours again, licking into the corners of your lips before kissing you deep. You slipped two fingers into his mouth and he immediately sucked on them, tongue rolling around your fingers with a needy moan that made your pussy flutter and squeeze around him even harder. Your swollen clit dragged over his lap and lower stomach with every roll, his happy trail tickling your sensitive folds and sending sparks up your spine.

Satoru whined around your fingers, hips twitching up helplessly.

One of his hands stayed on your hip while the other slid up and wrapped around your neck. His thumb brushed along the side of your throat as he started moving you faster, pulling you down onto his cock with more urgency. The wet slap of skin on skin loud, filling the room.

“I’m so close,” he warned desperately against your lips. “Fuck— I’m gonna cum— you feel too good—”

His hand squeezed, holding you in place as he helped you bounce on him. Every time you sank down, he lifted his hips to meet you, fucking up into you until your jaw rattled. He was panting hard, forehead pressed against yours, completely pussy-drunk.

Satoru came with a broken, drawn-out moan, hips jerking up into you as he spilled deep inside. He held you down against him, grinding up as he pumped his cum into you like he was unconsciously trying to fuck it into your stomach. His hand on your neck tightened just enough to pin you down against him while he trembled through it.

Both of you were breathing hard. He held you close and kissed the side of your head as he hugged you.

“D-did you cum?” he mumbled against your skin, still dazed and half out of it.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, deadpan.

“WHAT?”

He blinked up at you, still glassy-eyed and fucked-out. “You squeezed me so hard I thought you did! Okay then— cum then!”

You stared at him for a second, somewhere between offended, frustrated, and fond, before letting out a short laugh.

“You’re actually so fucking stupid.”

You were still softly rolling your hips, using his softening cock like a dildo while you were still determined to cum again. Satoru just watched you, half-intently, half blissed-out, still breathing hard, feeling his cum escaping your pussy and pooling in his lap. After a moment, one of his hands slid down between your bodies. His fingers found your clit easily this time and started rubbing you.

“Fuck— you’re still so wet,” he mumbled, eyes locked on where you were grinding against him. “Keep going… I’ve got you.”

So you kept moving on his semi-hard cock while he fingered you, the combination making your thighs shake. Your breath started hitching and Satoru was watching your face closely now, still drunk but trying to focus.

When your mouth fell open so prettily and your eyes fluttered as he just hit that spot inside you with the angle of his cock, his other hand moved to your hip almost automatically. He gripped you and started moving you himself again, guiding you in short, deliberate rolls so his cock and his fingers kept pressing just right against that same sensitive spot from both sides.

“There?” he asked, voice low and rough. “Right there?”

You could only nod, a broken whimper slipping out of you as you started tipping forward, head on his sweaty shoulder until your thighs were trembling hard and you felt like a jelly.

You came with a sharp, shaky moan, clenching around his soft cock as the overstimulating orgasm tingled through you. Satoru held you through it, still moving you gently and praising you so nicely until you completely slumped forward against his chest.

He hugged you tight, face buried in your neck.

And you stayed slumped against Satoru’s chest for a long minute, both of you just breathing each other in. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, and reality slowly started to creep back in.

The room was in fucking ruin. You were both coated in a sticky mess, the mattress behind you was most likely ruined, and the floor was dangerously slippery. It smelled like greasy sex.

“Well,” you said.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly.

You slowly peeled yourself off his chest, shivering as the cool air hit your slick, overheated skin. 

You looked down at him and he still looked completely fucked-out, and you decided you could get used to that look. As you stretched, you felt his cum trailing down your inner thighs. Satoru’s eyes followed it from the front row, his spent dick giving a weak twitch at the sight. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. You paused, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “…Wanna join?”

Satoru’s heart practically stopped. His eyes widened and for a second he looked like he was going to follow you like a lost, oily puppy. Dream fucking come true. But then he glanced around at the absolute state of his bedroom and reality hit him again.

“I’ll, uh…” He cleared his throat. “I’ll clean this up a bit first. You go ahead.”

You pouted but gave him a soft, understanding nod. “Don’t take too long, ‘Toru.”

You grabbed one of his random t-shirts that smelled like him from the floor and padded down the hallway toward the bathroom.

Left alone on the floor, Satoru stared at the opposite wall for a long time. He was deadass completely re-evaluating his entire existence.

He had just experienced the most surreal, life-changing two hours of his life, and the only thing he knew for certain was that he was completely whipped for you. For once, he didn’t care what his old incel education had to say about it. Which was fucking new and so so refreshing.

He reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and wiped a smear of baby oil off the screen before opening Reddit. 

r/relationship_advice

I (M) think I’m in love with my roommate (F) and I might have just completely fucked everything up in the most humiliating way possible

Throwaway because if she ever sees this she will murder me for real now.

I’ve been living with this girl for almost a year. She’s my roommate. For the longest time I thought I had everything figured out. I believed that if I just kept doing enough, she’d eventually see me as a potential mate. She didn’t, obviously.

Tonight I did something so fucking stupid I still can’t believe I’m typing this. I got a cock ring stuck on my dick. I panicked and called her while she was on a date and basically begged her to come home. She helped me. She got it off. And then… something else happened. Something I didn’t expect at all. And now she’s in the shower and I feel like I fucked up our friendship or whatever he had between each other beyond repair. My entire worldview feels kinda off.

I think I’m in love with her. I’ve been a terrible roommate. I’ve been a terrible person tbh. I don’t know what we are now. I don’t even know if I have the right to ask. But I think I love her. And I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do.

Please help. And be nice this time, pls.

u/GrassToucherGeto · 183 upvotes

Is this the same guy who posted that viral “AITA for expecting my roommate to fuck me because I did the dishes” thread a few weeks ago?

u/KingNaoya69 · 56 upvotes

You fucked her? Good shit bro. Don’t fuck it up this time.

Satoru looked up the second you returned, now wearing his t-shirt, your hair still damp and smelling like strawberries again. Something in his chest went soft at the sight of you. You looked so prettily blissed-out, eyes cutely half-lidded, his t-shirt fitting you so so nicely, leaning against the doorframe and he couldn’t quite believe you were actually fucking real.

He was still sitting on the floor, holding a bottle of kitchen cleaner in one hand and a roll of paper towels in the other, and having no fucking idea what he was doing. Which, to be fair, he kinda did because what the hell do you even do with a room soaked in oil?

You sighed and gave him a soft, tired look. 

“‘Toru,” you said gently. “You’re not going to be able to clean this mess up right now. Just go wash up.” You paused, biting your lip. “Let’s just sleep in my room tonight, alright?”

He blinked up at you, panicked and hopeful all at once. Did you just say sleep in your bed? Him in your bed?

You tilted your head, giving him the softest smile you’d given him yet. And that was all it took. He for sure didn’t need to be told twice. If you insist, m’lady and tips his fedora confused. He dropped the cleaner without a second thought and basically sprinted down the hall.

He took the fastest, most aggressive shower of his entire life, scrubbing the residual oil and shame and probably a layer or two of his skin like he was trying to erase the last few hours.

When he finally crept into your bedroom, the lights were already off and you were in bed. He climbed in beside you and the sheets smelled like you. It was warm, it was safe and it kinda made the anxiety in his chest go away for now.

You shifted over without opening your eyes, throwing an arm across his chest and tucking your face into the crook of his neck, planting a little kiss over his pulse point. You fell asleep almost instantly.

Satoru lay there staring up at the dark ceiling, gently nuzzling the top of your head with his cheek still not believing this is the reality now. But an overwhelming sense of peace settled over him.

Carefully, so as not to wake you, he reached for his phone one last time.

He opened Reddit and went back to his post. The comments had already blown up again. Some people calling the story fake, others demanding more details about the cock ring, a few calling him a simp.

Satoru smiled to himself. 

He typed out one final edit.

Update: Nvm, she’s tucked into my side. Take this as a PSA to all the other incels out there. Mods, please flag this as SOLVED.

now there’s a giant pizza in the middle of the table that you’ve barely touched, while satoru’s already halfway through his third slice. rio keeps smiling and saying things like, “satoru told me you guys have been friends forever, that’s so cute,” in a sweet voice that makes you want to crawl under the table and disappear.

“oh, has he?” you mutter, picking at the crust of your pizza. “we actually met because he stole the last muffin in the cafeteria during orientation week.”

“he does that,” rio laughs, resting her hand on satoru’s arm again. “he stole my parking spot the day we met.”

“of course he did,” you say, forcing a little smile. “very satoru. but really it worked out fine, because satoru’s lactose intolerant, and i’m pretty sure that muffin from orientation ruined the rest of his day. so, don’t let him anywhere near your tiramisu later unless you want to spend the movie listening to him complain.”

“wait, you’re lactose intolerant?” rio asks, turning to satoru.

“she’s making it sound way worse than it was,” satoru says, stealing another bite of your pizza. “i’m not that lactose intolerant. i had, like, one bad night. one time. and she’s never let me live it down.”

“you cried,” you deadpan. “and texted me at two in the morning saying you were dying.”

“i said i felt like i was dying.”

“you sent me a picture.”

“i absolutely did not—”

“you were on the floor, satoru,” you cut in, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead in an overdramatic impression. “‘i’m on the floor. i think this is it. tell my story.’”

rio lets out a slightly nervous laugh, unsure if she’s allowed to find this funny. suguru, however, laughs beside you.

“he’s always been a little dramatic,” suguru agrees.

satoru turns to rio, propping his chin on his hand. “don’t listen to her. she’s just trying to change the subject because she talks in her sleep.”

“i do not.”

“you absolutely do.”

“i don’t!”

suguru smiles into his drink. “that’s kinda cute, actually.”

“you’d think so until you actually hear her,” satoru says, pointing at you. “remember that camping trip last summer? i woke up in the middle of the night thinking someone was outside the tent but turns out she was just talking in her sleep and drooling all over her sleeping bag.”

“oh, you mean the trip where you woke up clutching a flashlight like your life depended on it because you were scared of some birds?” you fire back. “you mean that trip?”

suguru snorts. “he was scared of birds?”

“oh, he was terrified,” you say, glancing at rio. “milk and birds are very sensitive topics for satoru.”

“says the girl who still sleeps with a teddy bear every night.”

rio covers her mouth, failing to hide her laugh. “you still sleep with a teddy bear?”

“yeah, and it only has one eye,” satoru adds.

“it has both eyes!”

“one of them is a button.”

“because i had to sew it back on after you kicked him off the bed!”

“it was an accident!”

“sure. an accident. you’ve never liked him in the first place.”

“i don’t hate him! didn’t i apologize to the bear? you made me apologize to him!”

“because you ripped his eye off!”

the table goes quiet for a beat. not the comfortable kind. the kind where you suddenly notice the clatter of the kitchen somewhere behind you and the scrape of someone’s chair two tables over. 

rio and suguru exchange a look across the table.

“…you guys have a lot of history,” rio says carefully.

“we really don’t,” you say at the exact same time satoru says, “we really do,” and you both look at each other for a second.

“seriously?” you mutter.

“what?” he replies, all innocent.

the table falls into an excruciating silence. suguru suddenly seems deeply fascinated in the condensation running down the side of his glass, while rio suddenly finds the floor very interesting.

finally, rio clears her throat. “i’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

“i’ll walk with you,” suguru says way too fast, already sliding out of the booth. he shoots satoru a very clear fix this look before the two of them disappear toward the front of the restaurant.

the second they’re gone, you turn on satoru. he reaches across the table and casually steals another slice of your pizza.

“what are you doing?”

“eating pizza,” he answers with his mouth full.

“satoru.”

“mhmm?” he leans back, one arm draped along the top of the booth, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who’s supposedly here on a date with someone else.

“you’re doing this on purpose.”

“doing what?”

“you brought up the teddy bear.”

“you said that i’m scared of birds.”

“because you brought up the sleep talking!”

“because you started with the lactose intolerance!”

“because you stole my muffin three years ago!”

“which,” he says, pointing the crust at you, “was clearly the best decision i’ve ever made.”

you let out a laugh. “what is your mission here? to embarrass me in front of suguru?”

“oh please. like i have nothing better to do.” he takes another bite. “what about you? telling rio i cried on the bathroom floor?”

“you did cry on the bathroom floor.”

“i was in pain!”

“you texted me i think this is how i go.”

“i thought it was!”

“you also asked me to clear your search history.”

he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “can you please stop bringing that up?”

“never.”

he sighs, then takes another bite of your pizza. “anyway… what’s with you tonight?”

“what’s with me?”

“yeah. you’ve been taking shots at me all night. i thought i was doing you a favor setting you up with suguru.”

you let out a bitter laugh. “who even is rio? do you even know her last name?”

“of course i do,” he says, pausing for half a second. “it’s a very pretty name.”

“oh really?”

“yeah. way prettier than yours.”

“so what is it then?”

“that’s not the point.”

“wow.” you shake your head. “you’re on a date with a girl whose last name you don’t even know.”

“why do you care? you’re here with suguru.” he watches you and then that dangerous grin spreads across his lips. you already hate that grin. “oh my god.” 

“what?”

“you’re jealous.”

“i am not jealous.”

“you absolutely are.” he leans in, lowering his voice, the noise of the restaurant suddenly feeling very far away. “wanna know a secret?” before you can stop yourself, you lean in a little too. his smile only gets wider. “i think i’m into it… seeing you all worked up over me.”

“i am not worked up.”

“your ears are red.”

“it’s warm in here.”

“it’s really not.”

“satoru—”

“you could just say it, you know,” he says, and the teasing falls away a little. “instead of doing all this. you could just tell me.”

“tell you what?”

he opens his mouth—

“got ‘em!” suguru’s voice cuts through the moment like a bucket of ice water. he slides back into the booth beside you, way too cheerful. “movie tickets secured. four seats, back row. there’s an aisle in between, but it should be fine.”

you quickly look down at your glass, tracing patterns in the condensation. across from you, satoru leans back against the booth like nothing happened.

suguru glances between the two of you. “…you guys good?”

“great,” you say.

“perfect,” satoru says at the exact same time.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

the theater is already mostly full by the time you make it inside. the four of you walk down the aisle with popcorn and drinks in hand. you go in first on purpose. your plan is simple: you, suguru, aisle, rio, and then satoru. because that is how a double date is supposed to work, and it would put a very sensible amount of distance between you and satoru for the next two hours.

suguru starts to follow you in. and then satoru steps around him, drops into the seat right beside you, swings his long legs out, and settles in like he’s been there the whole night.

suguru blinks at him. satoru looks up at him and says nothing and does not move even an inch. there’s a long pause. then suguru sighs like he has decided this particular hill is not worth dying on tonight, and slides into the next seat over. rio settles beside him. 

you stare at suguru. he gives you a helpless shrug that very clearly says this one’s on you.

you turn to satoru. “you’re sitting next to me.”

“yeah,” he says. “that’s usually how sitting works.”

“that’s not how a double date works, satoru.”

“i don’t know. seems fine to me.” he glances down at your empty hands. “where’s your popcorn?”

“i was going to share with suguru before you decided i was not going to sit next to him.”

“oh.” he doesn’t look sorry at all. he simply holds his bucket out toward you. “here.”

you stare at the popcorn. then at him. he raises his eyebrows, waiting like this is a completely reasonable solution to the problem he created.

you take the popcorn. because you’re not arguing anymore, and also because you’re a little hungry.

“there you go,” he says.

the movie’s only been on for about twenty minutes when you reach into the tub and your fingers brush directly against his. his hand is already in there, waiting, not even pretending to be subtle.

you pull back quickly. “sorry.”

you wait a minute and try again. his hand is still right there.

“you’re doing that on purpose.”

“doing what?” he asks.

“putting your hand exactly where i’m about to put mine.”

“i’m just eating popcorn.” he tilts the tub toward you. “here. plenty of room. go ahead.”

you stare at him. he stares back, the picture of pure innocence. 

you wait. you watch him pull his hand back, rest it on his knee. you count to ten in your head, then reach in again—

his hand dives in at the exact same moment, fingers bumping into yours. he makes a small, thoughtful hum like oh, what a coincidence.

“satoru—”

“hm?” he’s already popping the stolen popcorn into his mouth, eyes glued to the screen.

you turn back to the movie, arms crossed. fine. you are a grown adult. you can ignore him. you don’t even want popcorn anymore. you’re just going to sit here like a mature, unbothered adult and watch the film.

you last exactly three minutes.

this time when you reach in, his hand catches yours completely. warm fingers curl loosely around your entire hand inside the tub. he doesn’t even pretend it’s an accident.

you freeze.

the movie keeps playing. someone says something dramatic on screen. you have no idea what.

“satoru,” you whisper.

“yeah?”

“let go.”

“i’m not doing anything.”

“you are holding my hand.”

“our hands happen to be in the same place, yeah.” he tilts his head toward the screen. “good movie, by the way. you should watch it.”

“i hate you,” you whisper.

“no you don’t,” he replies softly. his thumb slowly strokes across the back of your hand—warm, slow, and so deliberately gentle it makes your breath catch.

you keep staring straight ahead, heart hammering against your ribs. something explodes on the screen. someone wins something. you have completely lost the plot. the only thing you can focus on is satoru’s hand curled warmly around yours inside the nearly empty popcorn tub, his thumb lazily tracing the side of your palm like he has all the time in the world.

you are gripping a mostly empty container in a crowded theater, desperately trying to look like a normal person watching a movie and not someone on the verge of a complete breakdown.

then he shifts in his seat.

the tub in his lap tilts slightly, and suddenly you feel it—hot, hard, and unmistakably pressed against the back of your fingers through the thin cardboard. 

your face burns.

satoru’s free hand grips the armrest a little too hard. you catch it from the corner of your eye. he tries to play it cool, but you feel the way he subtly adjusts his hips, trying (and failing) to ease the pressure without drawing attention. the movement only makes it worse. the thick outline drags heavier against your knuckles.

your face burns hotter. you don’t dare move. not even to pull your hand away. the theater is dark, but it suddenly feels blindingly bright, like every single person around you can sense exactly what’s happening under that stupid popcorn tub.

you should yank your hand back. you should. but then your fingers move—accidentally, of course—pressing more firmly against the thick shape of him. he’s so hard it makes your stomach flip. 

for a second he’s completely still, then he lets out a shaky exhale that sounds suspiciously like a laugh he’s trying to choke down. “fuck… you’re really gonna do this to me right here?” he whispers. 

his fingers tighten around yours, the ones still laced together. then, without warning, he pushes your intertwined hands down harder against his cock. the move is bold. greedy. he rocks his hips up just enough to grind the heavy length against your palm, letting you feel every inch of how badly he’s losing it.

he bites down on his lip, head tipping back against the seat. his breathing is no longer steady. neither is yours. he guides you again, pressing your palm down harder, encouraging you to rub along his full length from base to tip.

you’re pretty sure you’re two seconds away from actually dying in this theater seat. “satoru… we can’t do this here.” the words come out weak, almost breathless. even you don’t fully believe them.

“why not,” he whispers right against your ear, lips brushing your skin. “been so fucking hard for you the whole evening… you have no idea what you’ve been doing to me.”

your pulse is racing. you swallow hard, eyes darting toward the rows around you. “someone will see,” you whisper.

satoru doesn’t even hesitate. with his free hand, he reaches behind his neck and tugs off his oversized black sweater. the thin white t-shirt underneath rides up, flashing a tempting strip of toned, pale skin and his lower abs before it settles back down and then he drapes the sweater over his lap.

he grabs your hand again—still intertwined with his—and guides it right back under the soft black material. he presses your palm firmly against the burning outline of his cock.

“better?” he murmurs, lips brushing your temple, voice teasing even as it trembles with need. “no one can see now… so touch me. please… i’m dying for it.”

this is a horrible idea.

the thought screams in your head as your fingers stayed glued to his cock under the heavy fabric of his sweater. the movie is still playing, some loud action scene flashing across the screen, but all you can focus on is the very real possibility that this entire theater is about to call the police. or worse… that suguru and rio, who are sitting just two seats over to your left, might glance over at any second and see exactly what’s happening under that black sweater.

“satoru, this is insane. suguru and rio are right there—”

he doesn’t let you finish. his hand tightens over yours, guiding you again, pressing your palm fully against his throbbing cock and dragging it slowly up and down his length. the heat under the sweater is ridiculous. he’s impossibly hard, twitching every time your fingers move.

“should i touch you instead?” he whispers, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “but you have to keep quiet for me.”

the suggestion sends a fresh wave of heat through you. you know you should say no. you know this is risky and stupid and completely insane… but the thought of touching him again makes your mouth go dry.

instead of pulling away, your fingers curl tighter around him.

satoru lets out a shaky exhale as he guides your hand lower, helping you cup the heavy, throbbing base of his cock. your face burns, but you don’t stop. you want this. even if your heart is racing like it’s trying to escape your chest.

under the thick cover of his sweater, you start to stroke him slowly, feeling the full, heavy length of his cock twitch against your palm. satoru’s head tips back again, eyes closed as he bites down on his lip to stay quiet.

he shifts lower in his seat, hips tilting toward you. with one hand, he unbuckles his belt and pops the button of his jeans open, then tugs the zipper down just enough. 

the moment your fingers wrap around him, skin to skin, satoru’s whole body tenses. he’s burning hot, velvet-smooth, and achingly hard. thick enough that your fingers don’t quite meet as you curl them around his shaft. you feel him throb in your grip, a bead of wetness already smearing against your palm.

you’ve drawn him before—multiple times, in secret, late at night when your mind wouldn’t stop thinking about him, you drawn him in his dorm room, in class. you knew the shape. the length. the way the head flared. but this… this is completely different.

he feels impossibly hot in your palm, almost feverish. the skin is silky-smooth and velvet-soft over steel-hard thickness. he’s even bigger than you imagined when your pencil was moving across the page. your fingers don’t quite close all the way around him, and the weight of his heavy cock resting in your grip makes your thighs press together.

you feel the prominent vein running along the underside pulsing against your fingers as you stroke him slowly. every throb makes him twitch in your hand, jumping slightly like he’s overly sensitive. the head is slick already—smooth, swollen, and leaking steadily. when your thumb brushes over it, you smear the warm, slippery pre-cum across the tip, and satoru’s breath stutters hard.

“shit…” he hisses quietly, head falling forward. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted your hand on me like this.”

every slow stroke makes him leak more, coating your fingers and making the glide smoother and wetter. you keep stroking him under the sweater, a little bolder now. your fingers slide up and down his thick length, twisting slightly around the head on every upstroke just the way he seems to like. the slick sound of your hand moving over his pre-cum-coated cock is muffled by the sweater and the loud movie, but it still feels dangerously loud to you.

satoru’s breathing is ragged against your ear. every time you squeeze a little tighter or brush your thumb across the sensitive underside of his head, his cock twitches hard in your grip and he lets out a choked sound.

all the while, your mind is spiraling. you can’t stop imagining how this dick would feel inside you. you picture it stretching you open, that heavy, blunt head pushing past your entrance, forcing you to take every inch while he whispers filthy things against your neck. 

you imagine the way he’d throb deep inside you, the drag of those veins against your walls, the way he’d bottom out and grind against that spot that makes your back arch. you’d probably cry. you’d probably beg. 

your mind is spiraling out of control.

you can’t stop imagining dropping your head into his lap right here, right now. you want to take him into your mouth so badly, to taste him and feel that thick cock sliding over your tongue as you sink down until he hits the back of your throat. you want him to grip your hair and push deeper, fucking your throat while he tries desperately not to moan loud enough for the whole theater to hear.

the fantasy makes you clench around nothing. your hand moves a little faster, slicker, tighter.

“fuck, just like that—” he groans under his breath, barely keeping his voice down. “you’re gonna make me cum if you keep—ah—squeezing me like that…”

he’s panting now, body tense and trembling as you work him closer and closer under the cover of his sweater. it doesn’t take long. a few more firm strokes and then his teeth sink hard into his bottom lip, muffling the groan that tries to escape.

“fuck—i’m—”

thick, hot ropes of cum spill over your fingers, pulse after pulse, messy and endless, flooding your palm and dripping down between your fingers. satoru’s cock twitches in your grip with every spurt, leaking more and more hot cum and quickly soaking into the front of his boxers until the fabric is warm and drenched.

when it finally starts to slow, your hand is dripping with his cum. some of it has even leaked down onto his balls and the waistband of his boxers, making everything under the sweater a complete mess.

“…shit. look what you did to me.” a soft, dazed chuckle escapes him. “made such a fucking mess.”

satoru slumps in his seat for a moment, still catching his breath, his cock softening but still twitching. he lets your fingers run over his softening cock—slow, gentle strokes along the slick, sensitive length. even soft, he feels heavy and warm in your hand, the skin slippery with his own release.

then he turns his head, lips brushing your ear again. “let me return the favor.” and then he catches your wrist and brings your cum-covered hand to his mouth. his lips part, and he slowly sucks your fingers in, tongue gliding over them as he licks his own release off your skin. eyes on you as he watches your reaction.

the theater suddenly feels ten degrees hotter.

when he pulls back, a string of saliva and cum connects his bottom lip to your fingertip for a second before it breaks. he glances down at his own messy hands, the evidence of what you did to him still dripping slowly over his fingers.

“you on birth control?” he asks.

you shake your head, cheeks burning. “no…”

“okay,” he says, clearly running through his options. “bathroom?”

you freeze not sure what he suggests for a second. satoru leans in closer and presses a soft kiss just below your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“let me take care of you. i can still make you cum on my tongue.”

your brain goes blank. before you can even spiral further, before you can decide between dying of shame or dragging him out of the theater yourself, the credits start rolling across the screen and the lights begin to slowly brighten.

before you can spiral into a full panic attack or seriously consider dragging satoru out by the collar, the credits start rolling and the theater lights begin to slowly brighten like a cruel spotlight on your sins.

“fuck,” satoru mutters beside you, quickly stuffing himself back together. “the movie’s over already?”

oh my god.

you just jerked off your best friend in the middle of a double date. in a movie theater. while suguru and rio were sitting two seats away. what would your grandma think of you? you are going straight to hell. there’s no coming back from this. they’re probably already reserving your seat next to the guy who invented pineapple on pizza.

suguru stands up on the other side of the aisle and looks over at you with a casual smile. “great movie, right?”

you don’t remember a single second of it.

“yeah! super… space-y.” you’re on your feet before your brain even gives the order, clutching your bag to your chest. “it’s really hot in here, right? i’m gonna head out first—”

suguru’s hand gently catches your wrist. “hey, you good?”

“totally! one hundred percent. never better.” you nod way too many times, smiling so wide it hurts.

he glances down at your hand—the one still glistening with the evidence of your crime—and his brow furrows slightly.

“you’re… sweating?”

your soul leaves your body.

“the movie was really unnerving,” you ramble, the words tumbling out in pure panic. “very tense. lot of, um, stakes.”

suguru blinks. the movie was really not that unnerving. but before he can point that out, you pull your wrist free and continue your desperate escape, squeezing past the last few people in the row like a criminal fleeing the scene.

︵︵︵ ๑ ♡ ๑ ︵︵︵

you’re pacing a small circle outside the theater entrance, arms wrapped around yourself and your brain is going about a thousand miles an hour. your hands are still sticky. gross. warm. you can literally feel satoru’s cum drying between your fingers and it’s making you lose your mind even faster.

okay. okay okay okay. what the fuck was that. what just happened in there.

when did agreeing to this stupid double date turn into fighting over the popcorn tub only for satoru’s thick hard cock to suddenly be right there pressing against your fingers and then he was guiding your hand around him and you were actually jerking him off in the middle of the theater and he came so much all over your fingers and then he licked his own cum off your skin like it was the most normal thing in the world and—

this was supposed to be a double date.

a normal, safe, four-person group thing. you, suguru, satoru, and whoever the girl was he was supposed to bring. instead you ended up jerking your best friend off in the dark while your other friends sat two seats away completely clueless. 

you’re a horrible person. 

you’re a menace. 

you’re never showing your face in public again.

your face feels like it’s on fire. your thighs keep pressing together because you’re still stupidly wet from everything that happened and that only makes you spiral harder.

what is happening with satoru.

why did he want to sit right next to you. why is he always orbiting you like this and making your life ten times more complicated than it needs to be. didn’t he bring a girl he was supposedly into? then why the hell did he spend the entire movie glued to your side like he couldn’t breathe without touching you. why did he sound so desperate when he whispered please like that. why did he look at you with those stupid pretty eyes right after he came all over your hand like he was two seconds away from dragging you into the nearest bathroom and dropping to his knees to return the favor right there on the dirty floor.

you’re so fucked. you’re actually so fucked.

“hey.”

you jump so hard you nearly drop your bag. satoru is right beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets, hair slightly messy from the wind.

“what are you doing out here, it’s freezing.” without waiting for an answer he’s already tugging his black sweater off over his head and holding it out to you.

“i don’t need it,” you say.

“you’re literally shivering.”

“i’m fine.”

“take the sweater.” he doesn’t even argue. he steps closer and drapes it over your shoulders himself. it’s still warm from his body and it smells like him—clean, a little sweet, dangerously comforting. you hate how much you notice.

you clear your throat, trying to pull yourself together. “where’s suguru? and rio?”

satoru shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “they left.”

“left? like… together?”

“yeah. i think they like each other.” he glances at you sideways, a small smile tugging at his lips. “looks like we both got ditched by our dates. tragic.”

“oh,” you mumble. then, because you feel like you have to, “i’m sorry about your date.”

“what date.”

“rio? the girl you brought?”

“i didn’t even know her last name,” he says with zero shame. “met her at the vending machine outside the athletic building a few days ago, asked if she wanted to come. that was the whole thing.”

you stare at him. “satoru.”

“what?”

“you brought a literal stranger to a double date and now she left with suguru.”

he rocks back on his heels, grinning like none of this bothers him in the slightest. “i mean, good for them. sounds like they’re having a much better night than i was—sitting there for two hours trying not to lose my mind next to the girl i actually like.”

you blink. “…the girl you like?”

satoru rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking a little shy for once. 

“yeah,” he says, quieter this time. “i like you. like… a lot. have for a while now.” he lets out a soft laugh. “if you didn’t already figure it out from the whole ‘coming in two seconds the second you touched me’ thing… well. now you know.”

he steps closer, those bright blue eyes locked on yours. your heart races.

“and i think you like me too,” he adds, voice softer now.

you clutch the front of his sweater, mind still reeling.

“satoru…”

he tilts his head and watches you carefully. “i really want to kiss you right now,” he says, “but we’re standing in a shady movie theater parking lot and two people over there are staring at us. plus you made me cum before i even kissed you, which feels kinda backwards and ungentlemanly… so instead, i’m gonna ask you something.”

your heart races so hard you can barely breathe.

“what?” you whisper.

satoru smiles.

“will you go out on a real date with me? a proper one. just us. no strangers or best friends two seats over, and definitely with the right order of events this time.” his grin turns wicked. “talking… then kissing… then making you cum.”

“oh my god, satoru, stop,” you groan, covering your burning face with both hands. his words shoot straight between your legs and you hate how much you like it.

he laughs—that bright, carefree sound you’ve always been weak for—and gently pulls your hands down from your face.

“can’t help it. you do this to me.” his thumbs moves softly over your knuckles. “but i’m serious. let me do this right. one date. just you and me. no running away this time.” 

he leans in closer, voice dropping into that low, dangerous tone again.

“and then… i can finally kiss you. taste you. make you feel as good as you made me feel in that theater.”

you bite your lip. “…okay,” you say softly, a shy smile breaking through. “yes. i’ll go on a proper date with you.”

satoru’s whole face lights up. he steps closer, cups the side of your face with one warm hand, and presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. then he tilts his head and whispers right against your ear, “good. because once i finally get you alone, i’m gonna bury my face between your thighs and eat that pretty pussy until you’re shaking and crying my name. gonna make up for coming so fast earlier… and then fuck you slow and deep like i’ve been fantasizing about for way too long.”

you shiver, a tiny helpless sound slipping out. he pulls back with a satisfied smirk.

“alright,” he says, pulling out his phone like he didn’t just melt your brain. “i’m calling us an uber. our original driver apparently left with my fake date.”

he winks at you, tapping on his screen, while you stand there, face burning and legs barely working, on ther verge of passing out right here on the sidewalk like a victorian maiden who saw an ankle.

⌗ navigation　previous　·　masterlist　·　next

◞　author’s notes well… that escalated quickly lmaooo. i didn’t initially plan to write smut with this one but oh well, satoru wants what he wants or something like that. anywayyyy thank you so much for reading!! this story is a mess but i’m having way too much fun writing it. see you in the next chapter 🥰🥰

shoko and utahime hum, ready to hear your story.

"so yuji made me do this prank call on sukuna, i don't know where he got this idea from maybe from a youtube video or his friends whatever, but yuji wanted me to call sukuna to say something stupid, like to say goodnight randomly to him right?"

the women at the table nod, listening along to you.

"and so i did it and-"

"wait you did it?" utahime interrupts with shock.

"yuji wouldn't stop going on about so i just thought 'fuck it' and, well i thought sukuna would understand that i wasn't serious about it but..." you trail off.

"but?" shoko chimes in.

"and then the next time we saw each other in person he was like weird-"

"a good weird or a bad weird?" utahime asks.

"i don't know, but like- he told me that i could call him anytime and to remember that. i don't know if he was serious but i can't stop thinking about it."

the reactions of the girls aren't surprising but they do raise a brow. they pause to take a sip of their drinks, collecting their thoughts and judgements. you shuffle awkwardly in your seat trying to regulate yourself in front of them.

utahime finally lets out a sigh, "oh i think he wants you back."

"what?" and almost immediately you can feel your face burn up just at the thought of sukuna still having feelings for you.

utahime nods, "trust me girl, you gave him a small opening and he's going for it."

"but it was a joke, i only called him because of yuji- without that i wouldn't have any motive to call him."

"but that's why he's going for it. who knows when his next chance to stir you up will be." shoko murmers.

your shoulders drop, your gut feeling anxiety from this conversation. "it's been years since we've been together..."

"so you don't want him back?" shoko questions.

"god no."

"are you 100% on that?" utahime asks, and at this point it feels like you're being interrogated by these two.

"yes?" your tone betrays you, not feeling confident in your answer.

"you have no feelings whatsoever for him?" shoko strikes again, asking for clarification.

a pause follows her question and there's no immediate answer that comes from you. the two women stare at you, expectant for an answer that you can't confidently give which tells them all that they need to know.

"i don't know." you finally admit, staring down at your lap. "i don't know if he's just playing and teasing me or if he's being serious."

utahime reaches out to you, placing a hand on your knee. "to me, it sounds like he's starting to win you back or at least he's introducing the idea. at the end of the day the heart wants what it wants."

shoko speaks up, fingers picking at her pack of cigarettes " all i do know is that you look like you want to pick up that phone and call him. you better do that soon girl."

/

you return back to a quiet house with yuji being at sukuna's for the weekend. you make a mental reminder to pick up after yuji's toys and clothes scattered everywhere but you'll do that tomorrow.

you're not completely drunk but you would be lying if you didn't admit that the alcohol has you tipsy. and when tipsy suddenly all decisions get the green light from your brain.

your first immediate thought is to head to the couch and pull out your phone, thumb clicking on the contacts app.

scrolling through your alphabetical list of names you reach 's' and your eyes search for sukuna. you know you really shouldn't but the devil on your shoulder - which is the alcohol - keeps prompting you to continue.

'call him. call him. call him. he'll pick up, watch. watch. call him.'

with your heart in your throat, your thumb immediately presses on the phone icon and before you know it the line is ringing. placing the phone on speaker, you bite down on your bottom lip in anxiety.

for a moment you think he won't pick up. for a moment you think you're a fool for even trying. for a moment you think you'll wake up with all this regret and the embarrassment that he'll have a notification saying 'missed call' from you. for a moment-

he picks up.

there's a shuffle for a split second before you hear his voice. it's low and raspy, his tone evident of the late hour that you're calling him.

"that was fast." he says and again you're confident that there is a smirk right there on sukuna ryomen's lips.

for a moment you're almost afraid to respond but the alcohol keeps you talking. "what was?"

"you calling me." sukuna sounds like he's been by his phone all evening waiting for you to call. his tone is expectant and unfortunately a little teasing.

"i just wanted to check up on yuji." you spill out, thinking about an excuse, any excuse.

sukuna lets out a pitiful sigh, "just missed him. he's sleeping. he's been fine though."

unbeknownst to you, yuji is wide awake in his room probably playing video games or watching cartoons. fortunately for him there's no real bedtime when it comes to staying at his dad's house.

"how was your girls night?" sukuna asks, "did you drink much?"

"good." you say, raising a brow. "and not a lot."

"that's good." he murmurs, "now you can't say calling me was a mistake and that you were drunk out of your mind."

"i mean, you did offer me to call you."

"i didn't think you would take me seriously."

"you were right in thinking that."

"but you still called."

"yeah, for yuji." you correct.

"but you're still on the line."

"oh, so you want me to go?" you tease and it's obvious bait but he takes it.

"no. talk to me." his tone is firm and sultry, enough to make you giddy, enough to put a smile on your face that you keep trying to hide with your hands.

"about what?"

"anything, enlighten me."

so you begin telling a new and updated story about that one co-worker at your job that seems to cause nothing but headaches. sukuna remembers your stories from your marriage, how you would come to bed some nights just ranting about them.

and before you know it an hour has passed and the two of you are still talking. well it's mostly you doing the talking because you're tipsy and your mouth can't stop running but sukuna throws in little hmms and grunts here and there to show that he's listening.

sukuna's raspy voice is almost enough to send you sleep and it deeply reminds you of the past and how it used to be, how you were feeling those vibrations physically as you laid on his chest telling him about your day.

but now you're doing it over the phone and your entire body gets overtaken by feeling of nostalgia, a small part of you wishing that you were on his chest talking about everything and anything.

your rambling comes to an abrupt end due to your emotions and your voice is a little quieter. "are you still listening?"

"course'" he says, and he lets out a breath before speaking again. "but i gotta go soon, the baseball game's early tomorrow."

"right, sorry, sorry, i'll let you go to bed." you internally curse yourself for getting a little too ahead of yourself.

there's an awkward pause before sukuna speaks again.

"you should come tomorrow. i'll buy you a ticket."

you freeze, "uhhhh i-" on defence your mind immediately searches for an excuse, "i'm busy..."

"doing what?"

"things." you lie knowing the only thing you have to do is clean up the house.

"hmmm things." sukuna says, his tone is evident that he doesn't believe you. there's another pause before he speaks and just when you think you've avoided anymore contact with sukuna his next sentence is enough to give you whiplash.

"well, if you're busy tomorrow then maybe some other time this week we could- uh- go for drinks or something..." if you were more sober you'd pay more attention to how nervous sukuna sounds right now, finally spitting out his words.

"drinks?" you repeat.

"casual. parent to parent. talk about yuji's behaviour or whatever."

"right, as if it's something that you couldn't tell me right now? you just told me he was fine."

"should definitely be said in person. i can get jin to watch him in the meantime."

"are you sure?" you ask, immediately suspicious.

"positive."

even though you know you shouldn't agree to this and the sober you in the morning will regret your response you can't help but agree to sukuna's plans. you know what he's trying to do and you can't help but fall for it. there's a long pause before you speak again.

"alright then. text me the details. goodnight sukuna."

"goodnight baby."

and before you could even reprimand him for calling you baby when he shouldn't be, he's hung up the phone. smooth fucker, you think to yourself but deep down in the pit of your stomach you feel giddy as a teenager.

"i need to pull myself together." you mutter to yourself, gathering up the energy to finally go to bed. throughout your bedtime routine you can't help but reminisce on your conversation with sukuna, you spent an hour on the phone talking to your ex-husband that you previously wouldn't spend ten minutes minutes talking to.

your thoughts, even whilst tipsy confuse you. you get a rush of adrenaline to keep the giddy feeling going.

and that's when you remember the box.

in the closet, sits a box in the top corner that you've been ignoring for years. today out of all days, this tipsy version of you chooses to go down memory lane. it's a small box, previously used for yuji's old school shoes but now it holds the sentimental things of your previous marriage that you didn't have the heart to throw away.

a few photographs. a letter. but the most important of them all, your wedding ring.

you hold up the ring in the light and it still glistens like brand new. at that moment everything comes back to you - all the worst memories that your ring has witnessed. arguments and fights and spilled tears.

it's a miracle that you and sukuna get along as exes despite the past as you know other divorced couples wouldn't have the same privileges.

as you place the ring back and close the box, you remind yourself of the person that you are now not the person that you were back then.

you won't ruin this current dynamic because of the slight chance of old feelings. you won't do that to yourself.

and most importantly, you won't do that to yuji.

you can't go back.

a/n: thank you for reading!!! part 4 i expect to dive into sukuna's pov more before their 'meet-up' and sneak peek into their backstory!

taglist 1/2: @strbrysherriez @pinkpookiebear @ryomensrealestrider @rllyobsessedgirlie @p3talswayingindesun

@satorugirlie @your-nightmaredoll @b-bitter @megxmixtm @sukunastrash

@linearrr @iluvmywives @5seos @cupidiylvia @sterzin

@norahlolzz @brethebomb2 @megumiandyou @hyeon3y @pawwwginaaa

@madibookmarks @prettypinkvenom @ineffabl-y @riikisworld @avaawritess

@harryitadori @elrashomacuin @seedlessgrapesyummy @bettaasposts @iamarealmicrowave

@mangourhearts @wien-tersnow @evii24 @kriitee @silversteinn

@grrrlidk @duckie3801 @sevikasblackgf @bam-boozledx

number 1. forward. the one they call the king on the court.

ryomen sukuna.

the lights in the arena buzz overhead, harsh and bright, casting long shadows across the polished court. the crowd was the loudest. it's mostly home fans, but you see a few pockets of visiting supporters chanting his name like it's a curse and a prayer at once.

he's everywhere tonight. pink hair slick with sweat, tied back loose so strands fall into his eyes when he drives. black ink crawling up his arms and neck, visible under the sleeveless jersey—his team's colors, white and black. muscles flex with every cut, every pivot, every brutal screen he sets that sends opponents stumbling. it makes you wonder, when exactly did he get so hot?

you knew sukuna from childhood.

back then he was just 'kuna, the scrawny little terror kid with knobby knees, always covered in dirt from head to toe after he'd rolled in mud for fun. his pink hair always looked wild and unbrushed, sticking up in every direction after he'd climb trees or chase stray dogs through empty lots. clothes torn at the hems, knees perpetually scraped, hands grubby from digging in the dirt.

he'd show up at your door smelling like grass and sweat and whatever weird snack he'd scavenged. one time it was a half-eaten candy bar from the sidewalk, another time apples nicked from someone's yard... he would be grinning with those too-sharp baby teeth, offering you the grossest half like it was a gift.

"dummy, play with me! i got this for ya."

he was messy in every sense possible. his room a disaster of comic books, action figures, and mystery stains. he had a temper too, quick to flare if anyone looked at you wrong. he'd punch a kid twice his size once for tugging your braid too hard. according to him only he gets to make fun of you.

sukuna would always get you into trouble—from sneaking into abandoned houses to racing bikes down hills without helmets, coming home bruised and laughing.

but he was your mess. the one who'd shove bullies away, share his stolen snacks even when he was starving, sit with you on the curb after dark when your parents fought.

he once was everything.

then came the day his dad got a job offer away. moving trucks rolled up one summer morning while you were still asleep. he gave no warning or goodbye. you ran to his house barefoot, heart in your throat, only to find the front door already locked. you stood there staring at the for-sale sign until your mom dragged you home.

he didn't communicate either. no calls, no nothing.

weeks turned to months, months to years. you stopped looking for pink hair in crowds, stopped expecting that familiar "dummy" yelled from across the street. life moved on. you moved on.

or so you thought.

now here he is... the scrawny kid who once tripped over his own feet is gone. replaced by broad shoulders, veined forearms, jaw sharper now, shadowed with stubble he probably doesn't bother shaving during the season. the tattoos started showing up in high school pics you glimpsed online once—black lines creeping up his arms first, then his neck, chest, probably more hidden under the fabric.

you're sitting a few rows up with your friend and she leans over during a timeout, "isn't he so hot?"

you almost choke on your drink but your eyes dart to him again.

"...yeah. he is."

she grins like you just confessed something juicy. "told you... i wouuuld risk everything for him."

you hum noncommittally, looking back at the court.

when the game ends, his team wins comfortably. the visiting fans cheer while everyone else heads for the exits. your friend stands up, already zipping her jacket.

"okay i'm ready to bounce. you coming?"

"go ahead, i need to use the bathroom real quick. i'll catch up at the car."

she gives you a side-eye. "you sure? don't get stuck in line."

"i'll be fine. text me when you're there."

she shrugs and heads off with the crowd. you wait until the section is mostly empty, then stand and make your way to the concourse. the bathroom is quick, cold water on your face trying to shake off the weird mix of nostalgia and nerves. you step back out into the hallway, heading for the main exit doors.

and stop short.

sukuna's there.

leaning against the frame of the exit like he's got nowhere better to be. still in his game uniform, a towel draped over one shoulder with his arms crossed.

he looks up the second you appear.

that slow smirk curls his mouth.

"knew it was you." his voice is low probably from four quarters of shouting.

you swallow. "how'd you even—"

"i saw you third quarter," he pushes off the doorframe, takes a step closer. "you came to watch me?"

you cross your arms, trying to look steadier than you feel. "i came to watch the game."

he snorts. "how cold... bummer i'm disappointed."

you glare at him as people are still trickling past, it feels like the hallway narrowed to just the two of you.

"you look different," you say quietly.

"yeah?" he tilts his head, eyes flicking over you. "you don't though, still bite your lip when you're nervous."

you stop doing it instantly which makes him smirk.

"it's been a while."

you exhale, "yea it has."

he scratches the back of his neck, glancing down the hall toward the locker room. "look. i smell like ass and i need to shower. wait for me? players' exit is right around the corner—black doors by the loading dock. five, maybe ten minutes. i'll change fast."

"my friend's waiting in the parking lot."

"tell her you ran into someone or don't, your call." he steps closer again. "but don't leave."

his eyes hold yours like he's begging for you to say yes.

"...okay."

"ten minutes," he repeats. "don't make me come looking."

he disappears down the corridor toward the locker room, the black doors swing shut behind him, leaving you alone in the hallway with the faint hum of the arena’s ventilation.

you pull your phone out fast to text your friend.

hey i’m actually gonna stay a bit longer. ran into an old friend from back home. catching up real quick.

the reply comes in seconds.

OLD FRIEND??? who tf is this and why am i just hearing about it now

you bite back a laugh, typing one-handed while you start walking slowly toward the loading dock side.

you pocket the phone after the convo, and keep walking. you find the black double doors easily, a faded “authorized personnel only” sticker half-peeled off. you lean against the wall next to them.

the minutes drag. you check your phone twice. seven minutes... nine.

then the door bangs open.

sukuna steps out fresh shower. damp pink hair pushed back messy, black hoodie zipped halfway over a plain white tee, gray sweats slung low on his hips. he’s carrying a black duffel over one shoulder, tattoos peeking at the collar and cuffs.

he looks annoyingly good.

“you actually waited.”

"your ass told me to wait."

"yeah i did and you actually listened." he teases, his eyes flicking down to your lips for half a second before meeting yours again. "that's new. used to take three dares and a threat before you'd do anything i said."

you huff a small laugh, "maybe ten years ago 'kuna."

"'kuna" he leans one shoulder against the wall beside you, echoing his own nickname. "missed that, i missed you."

you freeze up, he's not subtle.

"i sure hope you missed me too, sweetheart."

"keep dreaming."

"i have been." he pushes off the wall. "c'mon we're not staying here. my car's out back."

you follow him through the loading dock doors into the night. the lot is mostly empty now, just a few staff cars and his matte black jeep. he unlocks it, tosses the duffel in the back, then opens the passenger door for you without a word.

you slide in. the leather's still warm from the heater he must've left on. he drops into the driver's seat after you.

"you hungry?"

"starving."

he nods once and pulls the jeep out, headlights sweeping the empty lot before hitting the dark street.

settling feels easy, it's like you never separated in the first place. it's so comfortable.

you watch the city lights slide over his profile. your thighs press together without thinking. ten years gone and somehow you still get a weird feeling whenever you stare at him.

he keeps one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.

"there's this place five minutes from here," he says after a minute. "pretty sure it's open all night. the burgers are kinda greasy but the fries are actually decent, you down?"

"im down for anything."

he pulls into the small lot. there's a faded red sign buzzing "open 24 hrs," two trucks parked crooked, windows glowing yellow. inside it's warm, the waitress waves you to a back booth without a word.

you slide in across from him.

after choosing from the menu, he orders two double cheeseburgers, extra fries, onion rings, two black coffees. when the food lands he pushes the basket of fries your way first.

"still steal the crispy ones?" he asks, already taking a massive bite.

you snag the crunchiest one. "you always let me take your food."

"someone's gotta keep you fed." he chews, eyes flicking over your face. "you look good, really good. different but same."

you feel the heat crawl up your neck. "you too. the tattoos... when did you even start those?"

he glances down at his forearm, "uh, high school? got the first one the week i turned sixteen...thought it'd make me look hard. hid them for a few years after that till i got a bit older and stopped giving a fuck what anyone thought." he continues, "now they're just part of the package."

you watch the way his forearm moves when he reaches for another fry, veins standing out, tattoos stark under the fluorescent light. your stomach does something stupid again.

that simple innocent action did something to you.

face to face with him really feels different. you remember the scrawny kid again. the one with dirt under his nails; now those same hands are bigger, rougher, and the thought of them on you possibly after this makes your pulse throb between your legs. you shift in the booth, trying to play it cool, but your leggings suddenly feels too tight and your skin too warm.

"they suit you," you manage to say, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

he smirks, catching the way your eyes linger. "yeah? you staring at them or at me?"

"shut up and eat your burger." you give him a glare which he laughs at.

you eat in comfortable quiet for a while, stealing glances at each other over the table. every time he licks salt off his thumb your mind flashes to what that mouth could do somewhere else. every time his tongue darts out to catch a drop of ketchup you feel it low in your belly. you keep replaying the way he looked at you in the hallway—like he already knew exactly how this night was going to end.

you also know that you shouldn't get your hopes up too high. this might just be a regular catching up thing. you're not entirely sure what sukuna is like now so you shouldn't be too careless.

he finishes first leaning his back against the booth, watching you again.

"you eat slow."

"well stop watching me."

"i'm not," he says trying hard to sound innocent. "im just looking in front of me?"

you flip him off as you finish the last onion ring, push the basket away. he pays with cash then stands, offering his hand.

you don't question it, wanting to know how touching him feels like again. his palm is warm and rough, he doesn't let go until you're back at the jeep.

sukuna opens your door, waits for you to slide in, then closes it gently.

you watch him round to the driver's side, he starts the engine asking for your address. the drive to your place is quiet except when he hands you his phone so you can save your number. eventually his hand finds your thigh halfway there, his thumb stroking slow circles, inching higher until you're shifting in the seat.

when he parks in front of your building but he doesn't kill the engine right away. you guys sit there, his hand still on your thigh, staring straight ahead.

"this is you," he says quietly.

you nod. "yeah."

he exhales slow. "get some sleep. text me tomorrow."

it's over again... he's leaving again.

even a proper goodbye from him doesn't feel good.

now is the time to be brave.

so you lean over to kiss him, a soft and lingering kiss just enough for him to remember you after tonight.

"night, 'kuna."

sukuna's dumbfounded watching you walk away. the sweet girl he knew would've never dared to initiate.

when you step inside, the apartment is dark and quiet. you kick off your shoes, drop your keys on the counter, head toward your bedroom. you smile to yourself still tasting him on your tongue.

you make it three steps inside when the knock comes.

impatient knocks.

you open the door.

he’s there—sukuna's outside your door. hoodie half-zipped, hood pushed back so his pink hair sticks up in every direction. there’s a flush high on his cheekbones, breathing a little too quick, like he ran the stairs.

his eyes are dark, almost black in the hallway light, pupils blown wide. he looks wrecked and desperate.

“couldn’t leave,” he says. “couldn’t walk away again."

you grab the front of his hoodie, yank him inside hard enough his shoulder bumps the doorframe.

he crowds you against the wall so fast your back hits with a soft thud. his mouth crashes into yours, his tongue pushing in like he’s been starving for it. your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping through fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space left.

he groans low when you bite his bottom lip. one big hand slides up under your shirt, the other cups the back of your neck. you feel his hips roll forward, his thick length already straining against the sweats, pressing right between your legs through your leggings.

“fuck,” he mutters, lips moving to your jaw. “been hard since i saw you... couldn’t focus on the fucking game.” he continues, “saw you in the stands and all i could think about was bending you over the railing, fucking you right there while the crowd screamed my name.”

“you’re disgusting if that's true.”

“yeah?” he bites the spot under your ear. “then why’re you grinding on me like you want it?”

you don't answer him, you don't need to. sukuna already knows how right he is. you want him bad.

you shove at his hoodie. he yanks it off one-handed, white tee following so fast. now you see all his tattoos—black and jagged across his chest, ribs, curling down his arms. he looks carved, dangerous, and the sight alone makes your cunt clench around nothing.

“bedroom 'kuna."

he doesn’t argue. he scoops you up, your thighs hooked over his hips. he carries you like you weigh nothing, only to drop you on the mattress when you reach the bedroom.

you’re already kicking your shoes off. he pulls your leggings and underwear down in one rough pull.

then he grabs your ankles, yanks you to the edge of the bed so your ass is right at the corner. spreading your thighs wide with rough hands as holds them open. he stares at you long enough you feel exposed.

“lemme see,” he hurries. “lemme see what i’ve been missing all these years.”

he drops to his knees between your legs. he leans in and drags his tongue up your slit, tasting every inch from bottom to top. you gasp, not expecting him to start so quick.

he groans against you like you’re the best thing he’s ever put in his mouth.

“shit,” he breathes, lips brushing your clit. “taste even better than i remembered dreaming about. sweet little cunt...been starving for this.”

"y-you dreamt of me?"

“yeah,” he says almost embarrassed but not quite. “saw one of your posts online maybe… a year ago? i couldn't stop looking at one of your pictures,” he drags his tongue over your clit again watching you shudder. “couldn’t find a way to message you without looking like a fucking creep. didn’t know if you even wanted to hear from me."

he continues, "but i couldn’t stop thinking about you after that. jerked off to that one picture more times than i’m proud of. kept checking your profile like a stalker, hoping you’d post something new. but my girl's so quiet so nothing ever came. so yeah… i dreamt about you. a lot.”

he dives back in before you can respond—tongue pushing inside you now, fucking you with it while his thumb rubs messy circles over your clit. you cry out while he groans again like he’s the one getting off.

“should’ve reached out,” he mutters between licks. “should’ve slid into your dms but i was a coward...not anymore.”

he spits on your clit, he watches it drip down then shoves two thick fingers inside you.

"s-shit! oh my goood."

“gonna make up for lost time,” he rasps. “gonna eat this pussy till you’re crying, then fuck you till you can’t walk. gonna fill you up so many times you’ll be leaking me for days.”

he curls his fingers inside you, pressing right against that spot that makes your hips jerk off the bed. his mouth stays locked on your clit, sucking hard now. all happening as he watches your face the whole time. your thighs start shaking around his ears, one hand fisted in his hair, the other clawing at the sheets like they'll save you.

"kuna f-fuck...i'm—"

he doesn't stop, if anything he goes harder. your back bows, breath punching out in short, broken gasps until the orgasm hits. you come on his tongue and fingers, it's both sloppy and greedy, not stopping until you're whimpering and trying to push his head away from oversensitivity.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and climbs up your body slow, caging you under him. his cock is straining against the gray sweats, a dark wet spot already soaking through where the head leaks. he kisses you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan into his mouth without shame.

"need to be inside you," he says against your lips. "been thinking about this too fucking long."

you nod, breathless. "got condom in that drawer."

he leans over, yanks the drawer open, rummages for a second and comes up with a foil packet. he pauses, eyebrows lifting as he looks back at you.

"you keep these around?"

your face heats. "yeah. just… in case, you know."

he tears the wrapper with his teeth, rolling the condom down his length slow while he watches your face. "just in case what? you actively fucking anybody right now?"

"no," you say quickly. too quickly maybe. "haven't in a while."

"are you?" this time you ask.

"no," his smirks, "after this i am." he strokes himself as he continues to look at you. "because after tonight nobody else is touching this pussy, understood?"

you swallow hard, nodding.

he strokes himself once more through the condom. he’s long—longer than you expected. he kneels between your spread legs again, his blunt head nudges your slick folds, parting you just enough to feel the stretch begin.

“eyes on me,” he orders.

he pushes in slow letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper. your lips part on a silent gasp... the burn your feeling is exquisite, bordering on too much. halfway in he pauses, breathing through his nose like he’s fighting for control.

“fuck… so tight,” he moans. “gonna ruin me, aren’t you?”

you can’t form words yet, just a shaky whimper. your nails dig into his biceps, leaving crescent marks on inked skin.

he rolls his hips experimentally, grinding the base against your clit when he's all the way in. the pressure makes your back arch, a broken sound slipping out. he stays there letting you feel how deep he is—how completely he’s claiming the space inside you.

"so full 'kuna! so fuuull."

then he starts to move.

punishing thrusts that make the headboard knock against the wall. the rhythm is brutal from the start. he doesn't care for gentleness—every snap of his hips jolts your body forward, breasts bouncing under your thin shirt that he still hasn’t bothered to take off.

“look at you taking it,” he growls. “so proud of my girl."

he hooks one of your legs over his elbow, opening you wider so it's easier for both you and him. your eyes roll back, you can’t help it.

“that’s the spot, yeah? gonna make you come again... g-gonna make you soak my cock while i’m balls deep.”

your hands scramble for help—he hisses at the sting when you scratch his skin but fucks you harder for it, like the pain flips a switch.

“harder,” you manage to gasp, surprising even yourself.

his laugh is breathless. “greedy little thing.”

he shifts his weight, plants one knee on the mattress for leverage, and drives into you with punishing force. the bed creaks dangerously; something on your nightstand rattles. you don’t care. all you can feel is him stretching you open over and over until your mind blanks out.

he leans down, mouth crashing against yours in a open-mouthed kiss. messy as your tongues slide together, sharing the taste of sweat and sex and earlier orgasms. when he pulls back just enough to speak, his lips brush yours with every word.

“gonna come inside this condom so fucking hard,” he pants. “then next time—next time i’m doing it raw. gonna pump you full till it’s dripping out, mark you from the inside so you remember who owns this pussy.”

"b-but i already know."

"not enoughhh... shit cum baby, fuck!"

your orgasm reaches when he suddenly goes faster, your whole body giving in around him. walls fluttering and milking him so tight he curses through gritted teeth. your cry is muffled against his shoulder as you bite down, hard enough to leave teeth marks.

he doesn’t stop though. continues to thrusts without slowing down, chasing his own release. until his rhythm stutters, hips slamming erratically.

“fuckfuckfuck! take it—”

you feel him throb inside the condom filling it while his fingers dig bruises into your hips, holding you flush against him like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

for long seconds neither of you moves. the faint smell of sex and his soap hanging heavy in the air.

finally he eases out slow, both of you hissing at the loss. he ties off the condom and tosses it, then collapses half on top of you, heavy and warm. one arm snakes around your waist, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

his lips brush your temple, surprisingly soft after everything.

“go again?”

“no,” you rasp, voice hoarse from all the crying out you’ve done. “i’m tired, ‘kuna.”

the arm around your waist loosens for you to breathe easier. he shifts his weight, rolling mostly onto his back so you’re no longer pinned, though he keeps one hand splayed possessively over your hip.

“yeah? fair. you took it like a fucking champ.”

“can’t believe i had sex with the king of the court.” the words slip out sleepy and half-teasing, muffled against his chest. you feel the low rumble of his laugh start before you even finish the sentence.

you peek up through your lashes. his eyes narrow, the same look he used to give you when you’d call him out for cheating at street basketball as kids.

“never call me that,” he says.

you blink, innocent. “what? it’s true. they literally chant it. there are signs, jerseys, fan accounts. i saw one girl with your face tattooed on her—”

he cuts you off by rolling fast, sudden enough that you squeak, pinning you under him in one fluid motion.

“say it again,” he dares, voice dropping to that dangerous purr he saves for when he’s about to do something mean in the sweetest way. “go on. call me king of that shit one more time.”

you bite your lip to keep from grinning, but it’s useless. “king—”

he attacks.

fingers dig into your sides without mercy, tickling you ruthless. the spots he’s known since you were nine, the ones that make you fold instantly. you shriek, twisting under him, legs kicking uselessly as laughter punches out of you in helpless bursts.

“s-stop kuna... fuck—mercy!”

“nah,” he growls against your neck. “you don’t get to call me some arena nickname after i just fucked you stupid. that’s not my name to you.”

his hands move higher, under your ribs, relentless. you’re gasping, tears pricking your eyes from laughing so hard, trying and failing to shove his wrists away.

“okayokayokay," you surrender. "‘kunaaaa i'm gonna pee!”

he finally eases up after that, his palms flatten over your ribs, holding you down without tickling.

“better,” he mutters. “you call me ‘kuna but never that other shit. that’s for them, not you.”

“possessive much?”

“damn right.”

“fine,” you whisper. “no more king. just my ‘kuna.”