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It’s been three dreadful years since you got this job. Same boring routine. Your alarm, panging heavily. Screeching. 05:37. An oddly specific time but nonetheless. Your front flat on the bed. Head buried in the satin pillow. An arm underneath it. Your eyes groggy, crust filled, you raise one arm above your laying body and smack the sounding thing, hard. It stops.

You need exactly twenty three minutes to yourself in the morning before you begin your day. Twenty three minutes of silence. You turn over. Back now against the ruffled sheets.

Staring at the ceiling above you. Your curtains slightly ajar, a distant car engine coming to life. The headlights, illuminating. Small patterns of light reflect onto your ceiling. Various shapes.

Lifting a hand into the air slowly, you’re tracing the patterns you see. Index finger pointed, swirling circles, rectangles. A sharp edge, you trace out. Your arm, stretching further away from you.

05:43

You glance at the alarm clock. Bright red font staring back at you. You restlessly bring your arm back down, it lands in a small plop. You close your eyes briefly, a heavy sigh leaving your lips.

You grab your phone by your bedside. Tapping the screen, 05:45. You scroll through your socials, emails and skim read your schedule on your calendar.

Minutes go by as the time finally reads 06:00. You reluctantly sit up, legs hanging off the edge of the mattress. Hands planted on either side of it, you push yourself up with a small grunt. You enter your bathroom, marble dark green tiled walls and a few small plant pots decorated the room.

A red toothbrush in a white mug next to your small sink. You brush your teeth and shower all under thirty minutes. You find a professional business-casual outfit in your closet. A yellow cashmere sweater, paired with indigo straight legged jeans and red bowl of repettos. You grab your wired headphones and your bag, keys already in hand, and head out. A soft tune playing in your ears.

You check your phone, April 5th. 06:50. The weather’s less cold today. The sun rising, a hue of golden skulked behind chalky clouds. A warm easy breeze brushing your cheeks.

Fourteen minutes.

You needed to get the train at exactly four minutes past seven in the morning.

You make it to the station with four minutes to spear. You love walking, such an easy way to get your blood flowing.

The station’s platform buzzed with restless hums of commuters. Swarmed with people. Fatigued faces, sagged shoulders. A heaviness in the air. Yet you were tuned out, bouncing quietly to the rhythm in your ear. You didn’t let the heaviness get to you. You already know you have a long day ahead of you. Can’t do anything about it.

One silver carriage after another rolls in. Tires screeching every few seconds. It halts. The doors slowly opening, a horde of people rushing out, whilst people barge past others trying to rush in, you included. It’s tightly packed. Stuffy air. Poor air conditioning. Blocked in every direction. Bags brushing against people’s backs. Bumping at every jolt of the train. The train jerks at a curve, sending you swaying. Your body failing to catch up with the sudden movement. Your body bends, face pressing up into someone’s swole chest. The train lurches again, he catches you. Beefy arms locking around your waist.

“I’m soo sorry. The train— I didn’t mean to.” You plead. Your eyes haven’t reached his yet, too embarrassed to look.

“You okay?” A deep rumble.

Baritone. Throaty.

You finally look up at him nervously, eyes widening slightly.

He’s handsome. Very handsome. Nearly a whole foot taller than you. His neck tilted downward, fully focused on you. Black hair, a messy wolf cut, almost blue in the train light, frame his eyes. They’re sharp, you notice. Grey with hints of green as they stared back into yours. Intense. Glasses framed perfectly on his nose. Black briefcase over a shoulder. A white t-shirt underneath a navy blue sweat, folded at the midpoint of his forearm, exposing angry veins following up to his massive hands. He could kill me in one punch, you think.

Dark gray slacks, your eyes trailing further down to his black oxford patent shoes.

His arm is still caged at your waist, holding you upright. Wait. You’ve seen him before. Where? At the park? Wait no. This is your coworker. What’s his name again?

T…to…Zen…

You’re trying to remember, still staring at him, unanswering.

“It’s Toji. We’re colleagues."

Ah Toji. That’s it.

“O—oh yeah. I totally remembered.” A slight forced laugh leaving you.

The train bumps again. You accidentally grab at his bicep. Meaty. Thick bicep. He’s so big you think. You’d never noticed Toji. At all actually. But he’s noticed you.

“Sorry again.” You look down, uncomfortable.

“Hold onto me yeah?” Velvety voice. He’s pulling you tighter against him. Your chest flushed against his rigid one. Fuck, how is he so big?

You give a tiny nod, eyes focused on the ground. He grunts in response. Odd. Paying no mind to it, you pull out your phone, needing any distraction. Reviewing your calendar. A full busy day, your phone reads. With it all ending by 6pm. You sigh mentally. You click a few tasks, scrolling on your phone checking the details.

‘Type up a project, send it off to your boss by the end of the day.’ Emails upon emails flooding yours. Constantly responding to them. Lunch break. The same restaurant. Same sandwich. Lettuce, cheese, chicken breast.

All the while, there’s Toji. Fighting your scent. He’s staring at the top of your head. Thoughts overpowering him. The smell of your perfume, so enticing, so inviting. Screaming in his nose. Vanilla with a hint of strawberry. He gives in and breathes you in slow. Quiet. Face nearly pressing into your head. Eyes closing. A flush of pink rushing to his cheeks. A bulge forming slightly in his trousers. Shiiit.

You’re still holding onto his bicep. It felt like the muscle was bursting out. He dwarfed you. His large body shielding, hiding you from everyone else. You couldn’t see over his shoulder even if you tried.

The train still moving, tired groans of its wheels are heard every few minutes.

-

The train slowed with a long screech. Its wheels grinding against the rails. It stops. The doors opened with a sluggish spread. People barging past each other trying to get out. You’re unfocused, not really there. Toji’s large arms guiding you out. Your chest to his front, your feet backing away. His forward. Both stumbling out. He’s holding you tight, the warmth radiating off of him. He’s so close. His musky, sandalwood perfume digging in your nose. You can’t help but inhale.

You both make it out onto the platform. Still clutched onto each other. Your eyes reach his, he’s already looking.

“Thank you Toji.” Face flushing in a deeper colour, he’s making you so shy.

His heart stutters. A small pink on the surface of his face. He swallows the lump in his throat before answering.

“‘S no problem.”

The two of you exit the station in silence. Both side by side, he’s slowing his steps matching your pace. Hands in his pockets. Grounded, confident strides of his long legs next to yours. A heavy walk. Small tilts of his hips from every step.

-

Eventually you make it to the office doors.

Both heavily greeted by your lively boss.

“Ahh! It’s nice to see you two come in together.” Strangely bubbly. Especially with how early it is in the morning. Just twenty minutes after seven. Messy glasses, hair in flying strands. A bright red cardigan with a white shirt underneath. Grey pants and black dr martens.

She reminds you of your old art teacher from college.

You give her a small smile anyway, nodding.

“Why specifically.. us two?” You ask all confused.

Your boss glances at Toji, wiggling her brows. You narrow your eyes at her, then between the two. You pause at Toji, nervously staring at him. He’s glaring at your boss. A minute of silence follows. Just eyes fighting over.

Toji quickly barges past you both, his face flushed red. You couldn’t see it though. Only noticed the growing red at the back of his neck. He reaches a hand up to cover it as he scurries away.

“Uh?”

“Alrighty!” Your boss’s sing songy voice cutting you off.

“I’ve got a bunch of stuff for you to do today. I know you can get it allll done before the end of today! Aaand I’ll reward you if you do.” Eyes beaming at yours. She’s paused in a teeth open smile. Hands clasped together. Interlocked. You don’t know why that scares you a bit, but it does.

You crack a smile again, one eye twitching.

-

Lunch time. Finally. You’ve got a headache.

You’re headed to your easy access restaurant. Reciting your order in your head.

The weather’s quite nice today. Soft kisses of a warm breeze wafting through the air land on your cheeks. It’s a two minute walk from the office.

You’ve got your sandwich in a small brown bag, you’re holding it up with two hands. It’s your favourite sandwich, so you hold it with much care. Pacing, making your way back to the office staff room.

You reach the office doors, tapping your lanyard at the speed gates. A light jog now, you’re heading down to the staff room, excited to quench your hunger.

Reaching the door to the staff room, you stretch your arm out aiming for the handle before the door opens and you meet a larger, sturdier body. Same blue sweater, same toned forearms. You look up, eyes beaming.

“Toji!” A soft smile tugging at your lips as you stare.

He grunts in response, nodding his head a little. Hands coming up to push at the bridge of his glasses. Adjusting the already neatly placed thing on his face. Needing to ground himself in your presence. You make him so nervous you don’t even know it.

He steps aside letting you in. You give him a playful wink as thanks. A rush of heat gathers at his cheeks. Fuck. You don’t know how much he likes you. You’ve just got this easiness to you. So soft. Sweet.

You enter the room, seeing a close work friend sitting at one of the tables. You settle down into a chair next to her, chatting your day away.

-

The end of your shift is approaching. You’ve never been happier. You’re sitting at your desk typing away at the keyboard.

“My lovely staff!” Your boss enters the office room in that annoyingly warm sing songy voice.

“Since you’ve all been such wonderful people, I’m rewarding you all! Office dinner!” She shrieks, her voice getting pitchier at every word. You feel a throb at your ear drums. Covering your ears with both hands you’re smiling at her anxiously. There’s one thing you still weren’t used to in all your three years of being here. Your boss’s unpredictable nature.

“An officer dinner sounds nice.”

You hear murmurs across the room, some eager, some anxious, you being one of them.

-

The long awaited office dinner. You’re seated beside your close friend around a circular table, giggling at something she’s said. Other staff gathered around. You can’t really register it though you’ve had a few drinks and they’re starting to take effect. You’re swaying side to side, a hearty smile etched on your face. You’re staring at your friend so lovingly. You love friendships. There’s something much deeper about friendships than anything else.

You hear another one of your colleagues talk about their sexual history. The alcohol punching it out of them. With another tipsy giggle, you lean in towards your friend, ushering her closer with a beckon of your hand. A nearly empty glass of wine in the other.

You whisper in her ear. Giggling.

“You know I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

You rise back up, staring with a drunken smile. It’s as if she’s forced into sobriety when she hears you. Face contorting into something that looks like surprise. Before she responds, she notices a certain someone. How they’ve been struggling to keep their eyes off of you. Dull green ones.

Instead, she grabs a spoon and taps in against her empty glass, a chime following. The room has her attention.

“Who wants a round of spin the bottle?” She suggests. A smirk playing on her lips.

“We’re too old for—”

“Yes! Sounds perfect.” Your boss cuts in. Her word being final.

Your boss grabs an empty beer bottle, facing it flat on the table and spins.

It unexpectedly lands on a certain dark haired male. That so happens to have a very sizeable frame.

“Mr Zenin!” She gleams. There’s a panicked look on his face, you chuckle to yourself quietly. Seems like he’s also not used to her antics.

“Aaaand…”

Spinning the bottle again. Your boss is seated near you, hands clasped together. Almost as if she knows who it’s landing on. Like she’s orchestrated something. It spins for a good long twenty seconds before landing perfectly in your direction. What a coincidence.

She yells your name excitedly. And you’re stunned in your seat. Frozen. You look to your friend whispering a quick

“What do I do?”

Before you glance over at Toji’s face and he’s… red. Very red. You look slightly concerned. Brows squinted. Mouthing a

‘You ok?’

He just nods quickly. Eyes leaving yours briefly, dancing around the room.

“Well?” Your boss is still giving that creepy wide smile.

“Well what..” you ask wearily. Clutching at the hem of your shirt.

“Well, head on out to an empty room! Both of ya.” She gestures her hands to the door, clapping, and Toji’s already up on his feet. This is the quickest you’ve ever seen him move. Practically speed walking to the door, exiting first. Small snickers are heard throughout the room.

“He’s so obvious.”

You just glance over everyone, still confused. With one final glance at your boss, you follow along. Leaving the room.

You find Toji against a nearby wall. Hands digging in his pockets. Shifting from one foot to the other.

“Toji?” You call out. His face turned over to you. Heart beating out his chest. Can she hear it? He wonders. He’s waited for such an opportunity like this, trying so hard not to fuck it up.

“..should we find a room?” His voice is so quiet. It’s as if he’s making an effort to look less intimidating than he already does. Why would you be scared though? He’s so nice. If looks could kill though.

“Yeah.” A reassuring smile shaping on your lips.

The both of you find an empty room, far away from your main building. No person nearby. No noise. Just extreme quietness.

You feel the alcohol setting in even more now. A slight dizziness forming. Possibly for him too, he’s had a few shots of whisky.

Your mind drifts back to what you said a few minutes ago.

‘Never kissed anyone before’

Toji seems like an understanding person under all that scruff. He could probably give you advice. He’s attractive. Very evidently. Your eyes rake over him. A slow once-over. Settling on his biceps for a second longer. God they’re so big. He’s so big. He probably has experience, you conclude. Definitely. He could help you. You muster up the courage and blurt it out.

“Toji! You know..” you pause, eyes looking at the ground before meeting his again. “I’ve never kissed anyone before… or done— you know what nevermind.” A huge wave of second hand embarrassment erupting. Hearing it out loud. Again. It sounds worse than it did earlier. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. What possessed you to say that you think. Mentally slapping yourself a good few times. Eyes scrunching closed in disgust. Crows feet forming at how hard you’re pressing your lids together.

It’s as if the gates of heaven had opened and invited Toji Zenin directly. As vip. He sucks in a breath you don’t notice. Heart stuttering in his firm chest.

You’re looking away, all shy. Turning around full so your back is facing him now. You wish you could erase this memory, wipe it clean off the face of earth.

I should’ve never drank— Oh god, what if he tells everyone— you’re brain spiralling.

You hear heavy thuds, he’s slowly approaching you. Close enough to your back that you feel his warmth. Only slightly, but giving you room to object.

“Would you like me to… teach you?” He asks you, voice deeper than it usually is.

You spin back around shocked that he’s not disgusted by your admission. A small smile forming on your lips in genuine delight, you look up at him and nod twice. The alcohol fully in control of you both now. Hazey eyes, shining at him. He raises a hand up to your face. Slowly. Giving you time to say otherwise. You don’t reject it. He places a thumb at your chin, rubbing softly. Your jaw too. Tilting your gaze at him. Caressing you.

Before dipping his head low, huge body caging yours. He parts his lips slightly. His grey eyes half lidded. Intensely staring into your glazed ones.

His other hand finds your face. Propping up your head in both big hands, making you look so much smaller, he always did, he steps closer. Contracted biceps bulging in his shirt. Fingers travelling up your face, thumbs at the apples of your cheek.

“Open your mouth a bit…” he whispers, lowering a thumb, glazing over your glossy bottom lip.

“Yeah jus’ like that.”

Fuck he sounds so hot right now. Is it the alcohol? It’s definitely the alcohol.

You’re staring up at him. Blinking slow. Eyes all doey.

He pushes his thumb in. Delicately. Pushing at your wet muscle. Circling. His own tongue stutters out a little, in awe. Mimicking almost, as if he can’t fathom that you’re actually letting him put his thumb in your mouth. You hollow your cheeks and suck.

Slurp.

Your eyes close, shutting softly.

“Mnh.” That does it.

He removes his thumb, resting it on your bottom lip. Stares at the glistening thing. His eyes, heavy. He inches his face closer. His warm breath wafting over your face. Your mouth.

A gentle, chaste roll of his lips on yours. Slow. Open mouthed.

Chu.

Eyes closing at the feel. He pulls away just a bit. Low eyes boring into you. He’s still close enough that you’re breathing his air. You’re dazed. Panting unhurried deep breaths. Every exhale fanning his lips. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip slowly. Nearly touching yours. His eyes gloss over your wet mouth.

He leans in again. Eyes closing. Pulling your lips against his. Still unrushed. Angling closer. Noses brushing at every twist of his head. Deepening this kiss. His tongue wetting your lower lip. Asking. Pleading.

“Let me in.” Heavy pants in between kisses.

You open your mouth with a tiny moan, welcoming, enveloping his thick tongue. He’s bigger everywhere. So much bigger than you. You love it. He’s rolling his tongue against yours now, tracing the crevices of your mouth. Swallowing you. Tongues tangled. Moaning into you.

“Mmph!” Sultry groans leaving his mouth. Trapping your lower lip between his teeth. Sucking softly.

“Hn!”

You never knew kissing could be like this. Feel like this. You feel a pool of warmth settle at your lower belly. Butterflies. You push into him further. Tongues flat against each other. Sucking. Teeth clashing.

You’re grinding against each other now. His hands, wandering down your back, gripping your ass.

Your hips give an experimental thrust. An elongated roll. Holding it for an extra second. Mid kiss, you feel something rigid. Taut. Quite long too. You pull away just a little.

A gasp leaves you. You’re not too sure if it's pleasure or shock. Definitely both. You glance down at the hard thing. It looks painful, almost. Huge dent protruding at his lower clothes. A hefty thing he is. Couldn’t possibly be a normal size. You’re zoned out at the sight of him, he nudges a meaty thigh between your legs. Pulling your lower body closer to his. Veiny hands fixed at your hips. Rolling your clothed pussy against the solid muscle, he flexes.

“Unh!”

You’re moaning into his mouth. Hot breaths mixing. Eyes dilated. Fluttering.

“T—Toji!” You tried to pull away, voice trembling.

“Wanna stop?” He whispers with a shaky exhale. Low grey eyes piercing yours.

He hasn’t stopped moving you on his body. Gyrating hips in firm hands. You attempt to respond. But you whimper instead. He takes that as your answer. Entranced at how good it feels on his thigh. Throbbing pulses of your pussy every few beats. You’re aching. Craving more. Is this a normal thing that happens during sex? You don’t know. But you love it.

“I’m gonna pick you up okay?”

You give a few rushed nods, flushed face, parted wet lips brushing his.

Lifting you easily with one of his massive arms, he locks your legs around his toned waist. Flexed arms firm around your body. Caging you. Pulling you in so your clothed pussy’s face first against his bulge.

He’s grinding you down harder. Longer. Your clit catching at the large bump. He’s moving into you. Slow rolls of his.

“Angh!” Eyes shut. Lips caught in your teeth. They’re trembling. Poor attempts of you stifling your sounds. You hide your face into the crook of his neck.

“That good huh?” His voice all rugged. He’s feeling this as much as you. Hot breaths fanning your ear. You can’t reply.

You’re clutching at his tricep. Shoulders, his neck. A deep feeling settling in your lower belly. A build up. It's tight. Severe almost.

“You gotta say it.”

“Toj— hn! I don’t angh! Something’s—”

A few more rolls of your clothed pussy on him and you’re shuddering. Thighs shaking vigorously, eyes spinning. A silent cry leaving you. You’re cumming, hard. Nails gnawing at his shirt.

“F—fuckk!” Heavy heaves of your breath against his flushed neck.

“Breathe… breathe for me..that’s it.”

Beats pass. He helps you down from your high. You look ruined. Face stained in aftershocks of pleasure. You’re so fucking beautiful he’s barely holding on.

“I didn’t think it could be like that.” You breathlessly say. Staring at him.

“There’s still a lot more to learn…” His eyes dance around you before continuing.

“Let me take you home?”

-

Stumbling into your apartment, you’re pressed tightly against each other. Lips in a tangle of wet opened mouth kisses, your hands scratching at his back, forcing him impossibly closer to you. His face pinked in pleasure, harsh breaths strangling out airing your face.

Your apartment keys tumbling out your hands in a single swift motion, clattering against the floor. He’s all over you. Broad hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. Hoisting the thing above, now off of you. Your arms coming up with his before locking around his neck. Lace black bra on full display. His hungry gaze drifted to them, lingering. The curve of your breasts. The fullness. The way your nipples poked through the fabric. Awe didn’t begin to cover the way he ogled at your tits. The way he looked at them was deeper, almost reverent.

Obsessive.

You’ve both found the nearest wall, your sweat filled back pressing into it. Lifting ever so often with how your chest chases after him. He brings a hand to one of them, squeezing just right. Enough to cause pressure, but not enough to elicit pain from you. Can’t do that. He wouldn’t dream of it. You’re so precious to him, so perfect. Can’t ruin you just yet. He claws at your top pulling down in one swift tug. Tits spilling out in a perfect motion, as though flowers were breaking through their petals. You bloomed. He’s quick to grab hold of one of them, large hands swallowing it whole. The raw feeling now. You’re so warm. So pliable in his hands. He gives another experimental knead. Playing with you. Testing it.

Your pebbled nipple, glossing over his palm. You can’t fight the sound that leaves you. A soft mewl.

“Hnntoji!”

Back arching into it, needing more. Eyes unfocusing, you head slightly lulled back. A soft thud on the wall.

“Eyes on me.”

His free hand grips the back of your neck, pulling your face flush against his. Lips meeting in a hurried passionate kiss. Tongues entwining. Wet sounds of your lips filled the void.

“Mnnchu— Toji..I want more.”

“Yeah you want more?” He says in an almost whisper. Hot breath ghosting over your lips. You’re nodding pathetically, he can’t help but find it adorable. He snickers a bit.

“Tell me hm? Tell me sweet girl.” Eager eyes searching yours.

“I.. I need your fingers.” The words leave your lips so quietly, like a fragile thread of sound, barely audible. He catches them anyway. So focused on your every move. Watching your wet lips, a sensual glint in his eyes.

“Need to hear you baby.” He teases, a small smirk fighting his lips. You’re throbbing at the nicknames. Sounding so easy off his tongue.

“Your fingers… ‘need them.” Your eyes snap close in shame, a silent surrender. Cheeks deepened in colour, prominent. Lips quivering in small unnoticed waves.

“Yeah? Where d’ya want me?” Another taunt.

“..Inside.” You hesitate. An eye peeking open at him. Waiting. Hoping he doesn’t tease you some more.

“Hnnfuck yeah ya do.” With a groan, he brings his hands further down your body. Hurried tugs of your jeans and you’re left in your underpants only. Matching black with your bra, beautiful lace patterns on the top. His greedy eyes peer down at them. Sucking in a slow breath, his fingers tremble over them. As if he’s too scared to go any further. He’s not scared though. Far from it. He trails his index and middle down your shuddering stomach, passing your belly button, down to the top of your panties. Slowly hooking them into it, he’s dragging it down, past your sweaty thighs until it falls on its own.

A hand by the bottom of your thighs, he’s trailing it up, brushing against it. You’re waiting with a bated breath. Finally reaching your mound. Softly trimmed hairs sweep against his rigid fingers. He bites back a groan. You’re just there, eyes blown, helplessly waiting for him to keep going.

He has to fight his eyes away from your pussy.

“Gonna show me where your room is?” Haggard voice. So clearly affected by you.

“Y—yeah.”

He hauls you up into him, bulging biceps, your legs wrapped around his trimmed waist, arms around his neck, your face buried into it. Heavy thuds on the ground, he’s walking slowly. Almost too slow. Certain, assured that he’s going to have you. No arguments. Just measured steps as you lift your face off of him just a tad, timidly pointing to where your room is. He gives a small pat on your ass as thanks. It ripples under his massive hand.

Toji finds your bed, lowers you onto it so delicately as if you were something so fragile. His knees digging into the sheets. Shoes off. Still fully clothed while you lay bare for him. Large hands cradling your face, stroking softly. The look he’s giving you, so loving. Blushing cheeks, slightly ajar mouth. Hot puffs of air leaving every exhale. You’re giving him an equal stare. Dazed. Scared almost. Needy. His knuckles, brushing your heated cheeks. He felt the warmth. Knows how much you want this, just as bad as he does.

He’s leisurely taking his time with you. Running his hands from your cheeks to your neck. He lingers there. Giving you a soft squeeze, testing your limits. You don’t fight back. Can’t fight back.

The orgasm you had earlier, still fogging your brain. His thumb brushes the front of your neck before he continues down. To the valley between your breasts, your belly, to your lower belly. He points an index below your belly button still touching your soft skin.

“Gonna be in there soon.” He whispers. His voice, so quiet it sounds like awe. You just stare at him, a bit confused. Head tilting a little. Slightly squinted brows. Then your eyes follow down to where his finger touches you. Blinking softly. He chuckles at your unfocused gaze. You don’t understand. Not yet.

He continues drifting his fingers down, meeting your hairs. Your hips stutter only just a bit. He marvels at the movement. So sensitive. He brings his other hand down, pushing your thighs away from each other. Revealing a soaked you. Glistening pussy on display, your clit fairly protruding out, throbbing under his devoted eyes.

“Fuck me..” He murmurs. Breath hitching at the sight of you, all wet, all for him. You try to hide from him. Head turning to the side, digging into your pillow, face tucked into your elbows. You can’t see him now. He doesn’t mind.

Toji lowers his face, lining his mouth to your pussy. Deep heavy breaths escaping his lips, fanning your clit.

“Angh!” You jolt your hips. Pressing your face closer into your elbow. He darts his low eyes at your hidden face. Blows a cold, long breath on your clit.

“Hnn!” You’re mewling, voice muffled in your arms.

“Can you look at me..please.” His voice partly whiney.

You don’t want to. Too shy, too embarrassed to let him see you like this. It was all fun and games before. But it’s becoming too real. He blows at your clit once more. A tremor running through you, your lower body mainly. Small involuntary movements. You move an arm just above your eyes, you can see him a bit. He can see you too. The dilation of your eyes, the fuzzy look of it. The heaving of your chest, just enough that your tits bounce every inhale. It’s all too much for him. He shouldn’t have asked.

Once your eyes are on his, he moves. Closer now. Just a hair away from your weeping pussy. He juts a wet tongue out, pushing past his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, curling the muscle against your clit. The moment you feel it, you whine. Teeth pulling at your lower lip. Not over his clothes, not over your clothes. His tongue. The raw thing.

He gives another slow curl, this time staring lower. Near your opening. Sliding upwards, meeting your clit before blowing. Cold. Shuddering, you try to close your thighs, locking his head in place. He’s quicker. Grabbing below your thighs, hiking them up on his broad wide shoulders.

“You’re okay. Hm?” He assures you before continuing.

He’s way stronger than you, you couldn’t fight back if you tried. He dives in again, sucking hard all of a sudden.

Slurrrp

Your heads lulled back, the front of your neck on full display. Holding in whines, that barely leave your lips. Arms still above you.

He brings his mouth off of your clit and blows again. Another wave of cold air gliding on your pussy.

“Fuck!” You moan out. Loud. You bring an arm down, your hand finding his hair, tugging him into you. He lets you. Forcing his face into your pussy.

Sucking, slurping. Full French kisses on your pussy. Tongue jutting out before sliding between your slit, not entering you yet, just parting you. It slides from the entrance of your hole up to your clit. He waits there, sucking the aching muscle into his mouth. Hollow pink cheeks. His eyes closed in pleasure. Admiration. His crush, letting him eat her out. He’s dreamed of this.

He teases his tongue, gliding lower, circling back up to your clit then lower again. You’re shaking violently, eyes tight shut, mouth hanging open. The sounds you tried so hard to fight back leaving you so easily now.

His tongue circles your hole. Pushing in slowly.

“Toji!” You mewl out to him. He knows you’re getting close.

He hums into you. You cry out. Back lifting. He removes his wet mouth again, an inch of distance from him and your pussy. He blows. A familiar coldness on your clit. Quivering hips, bucking into the coolness. Chasing that feeling. You’re crying now. Tears rolling down your cheeks, staining the sheets.

An abrupt orgasm ripping through you, a fast build up pooling at your stomach that you couldn’t realise quickly.

You’re shaking so much now, whining so much, thighs jutting beside him. Your chest heaving vigorously, tits swaying. He doesn’t stop.

Tongue plunging back in. Bringing a rough thumb to your clit. Circling it. You attempt to run away. Hips bucking the opposite direction. He uses his free hand and grounds you. Digging you into him, the bed. You can barely move. Just violent trembles as he eats your pussy.

“Insi— hngh!”

He fucks his way inside your pussy. Tongue delving in, whilst keeping harsh circles of his thumb on your clit. Fuck it’s all too much for you. No one’s ever done this before. He’s gonna ruin anyone else for you.

Shlck shlck

Wet noises of your pussy filling the room. He’s groaning into you. Deep baritone noises buried in your cunt. Your arms are everywhere now. Gripping the sheets below, your pillow above.

“Toooo much! Ugh!” Moaning loud. Your face twisting, burying the noises into your pillow.

He’s locked you in place. Moving is so much harder now. Meaty biceps flexing at every thrum of your clit. Your juices, his saliva drooling out the corners of his lips. He’s so into it. Engrossed. Eyes still closed, just feeling you. He’s overwhelming you. Pushing your body past limits you didn’t know you had.

You’re nearly there again. But it’s slightly different this time? It feels warmer. Wetter almost? You can’t really tell but you know it’s different.

“Toji! I think— hck! It’s ouhfuck!” Your voice pitches higher and higher, need tightening it, edged with a hint of fear.

He doesn’t stop. Still tongue fucking your pussy, pushing as deep as it can go. Thumb circling against your clit, harder, faster. It’s all too much. Your back’s arched in a gracious bow, hips lifted, legs falling on and off his shoulders. Tears clogging your vision. You can’t see him. The build up coiling so perfectly you can’t hold it in.

It’s everywhere, your juices spraying out, covering his face. Squirting all over. Pink cheeks stained in wetness. His glasses, fully fogged now wet.

“That’s it baby, let go f’r me.. mhmm soo good f’r me.” Thumb under your clit, pushing it higher, letting more of your juices out. He’s kissing your shakes thighs, wet open-mouthed. Sucking slightly. Trailing the kissing up to your knees, while humming praises at you.

Your wailing, sobbing. Breathing turns uneven, your chest stuttering at every tremble. Tits following along.

He sits up on his knees, bringing a wet hand removing his stained glasses, to the hem of his shirt, lifting it in one quick tug. Then his t-shirt underneath. Unbuttoning. Top to bottom. His low eyes still fixed on your quivering state. You roll your tired head upright, facing him. Watching. Chest falling softer now.

Sculpted, taut contours of his abdomen come into view, hard, rock-like muscles that look engraved. The t-shirt falls past his arms, beefy veiny biceps, strong forearms flexing as he removes it fully. You’re in awe. You knew Toji was strong but nothing like this. Sharp deep lines of his abdomen, the ease of his movements. You can’t take your eyes off.

He lowers his hands to his belt, unraveling the thing easily. He steps off of your bed for a second. Your eyes follow him. He’s dragging his slacks down. Two hard tugs and it pools at his ankles, he steps out of it. Dark hairs littered at his lower hard stomach.

You see the meaty indent of his boxers. Bulging, thick muscle fighting against the fabric, pushing at it. It’s so big. Much bigger than you thought. It throbs under your stare.

He’s put you under a spell. You see his hands come to the top of his boxers, his thumb hooking under, disappearing into his boxers. Your gasp goes unnoticed. Lips parted, eagerly waiting to see the rest of him. His thumb pulls down, fully exposing himself. You finally see it. Angry reddish tip, nearly purple, beady clear drops of precum leaking through, falling from the head nearing the base. Thick, girthy, too long. Distended veins running up the sides, a prominent one running up the top of his shaft. Heavy hanging balls, darker than the rest of him. It’s fucking huge. Full eight inches of raw cock. Your eyes almost pop out. Fully in disbelief of that fitting inside. It can’t possibly fit.

He hauls the boxer until it falls to his feet, steps out of it and onto the bed again. Knees digging back into the sheets. A weighted dent on the bed. Pure muscle. You haven’t stopped staring at it, nearly drooling, he’s eating up your reaction. Chuckling. Body vibrating at the rumble. You’re still in a daze, he’s gripping your hips, both hands, pulling you closer so your thighs rest atop his. Feet hanging off the side. He grabs the weapon in between his legs. Gives a few slow pumps of his fist. Squeezing at the tip, moaning low. You throb at the sound, shifting a little. Fingers tightly grasping the sheets below.

He lowers it, lining it with your clit, rubbing around it, circling it. Realll slow. Pushing into it, past it til the tips catches your hairs. He grunts at the feel. Heavy breath puffing out his nose. Brows knitted. You hiccup a broken moan. Lips parted. Wet.

He rubs it further into your hairs again, biting his lower lip before bringing it to your sopping hole. Both sodden. Hot.

A slow push of his hips, he’s entering. The tip stretching your virgin hole. Plush, mushroomed. He halts. The pressure, too fucking tight. He’ll work you open. Has to. He retracts his hips, turns you over so your back is against his chest. You're both laying on your side. It feels too intimate this way. He’s hugging your body so close to his. Spooning you. Not letting you go. A hand wrapped around your waist. The other, fondling your tits.

“Gonna take you this way.” His voice rumbles in your ear, he gives a steady long stripe of his tongue against it. A throaty groan leaving him. You wiggle on him, whining. Your ass bumping his cock every few turns.

He reaches a hand down to his cock, bringing it to your hole once again. Pushing in heavily. Tip nudging further. A few inches getting in. A quarter way. He brings his free arm up, covering your neck, your teeth gnawing at his swollen bicep, his forearm. Tears springing at the edges of your eyes. Wetting your lashes again.

“Hnngh!” You whinge out. Inaudible words pouring out.

“I know baby, I know.. I know it’s too big.” He encourages you, voice rough, laced in pleasure.

Another few inches forcing their way in.

“Toji! F—fuck!”

“Shh. I’ve got you.” He reassures.

He’s easing in slow. A couple more now. Your pussy sucking him in so well. Soo good. He’s nearly at the base. He abruptly stops. The wet heat of your cunt trapping him in place. Clinging onto him. He might cum if you move. He digs his face into your hair, breathing in deep, eyes fluttering. An unhurried push of his hips and he’s all in. Burly inches of his cock stretching you so deep. Your eyes are rolled back from the feel.

It’s not that it hurts. It did. But it was that uncomfortable stretch. The fullness of his cock edging deeper. An unfamiliar feeling yet, you felt completely whole.

Fully sheathed inside you. You feel it throbbing, every rigid vein, every pulse. Pressing at your cervix. Bruising.

“Fuck, ‘got a deep cunt— nghhfuck.”

“Toji.. please— something! Do something!” You cry into his elbow. Voice muffled. It hurts. An aching sensation. You feel little throbs of his cock hitting places you’ve never reached before. Never felt before. And he’s soo deep. Way too deep.

With a husky groan, he retreats his hips back and steadily rocks into you. Long, deep strokes thumping at your cervix. Balls hammering, his strong hips flush against your ass. Rippling with every thrust. The tip of his stiff cock, gliding through you, bumping your g-spot. You feel it once. Twice. Then you're smacking at his hip, arm reaching behind you. Pleading with him to let you go. It’s too good. You can’t take it.

“Ffuck off. Hnn!” Moaning, fussing into his flexed bicep. Wet eyes. You’re urging your shaky hips away. Scrambling forward, desperate.

“You want me to fuck off?” He sneers back at you. Laughing into the spot behind your ear. Breath fanning it.

“N—no. I don’t knoww.” You weep, sniffling. Tears pouring down his forearm.

“You don’t know?” He’s snickering.

His pace quickens. Deep fast strokes, you feel it in your throat. Your gaze turns unfocused, eyes forced back. Your nose buried in his arm, hot breaths leaving your soppy lips. You’re kissing his arm. Biting. Marking him. Grounding yourself as he plummets your insides. Turning you to a putty mess. You’re gone. So far gone. He’s snaking a hand up, pinching your nipples, rolling the buds in his fingers. You’re wailing loud. Juddering.

A familiar torrid ache forming at your lower belly.

“O—oh my godhnn!” It doesn’t even settle in your belly. Wrenching out of you intensely. So incredibly. You couldn’t hold it in even if you tried. Too sensitive.

“Yeah? ‘You cumming again?” Teasing you. Low voice gone breathy.

“Nghh!” With a groan, you’re coming down. Tits bouncing, your body so very warm. He’s helping you through it. Slower strokes. Still bumping your spot. You whimper.

“Nghstopp!” Crying out, begging. A hand clutching at his, scratching. The other, clasping at the wet sheets. Smudged with the mixture of sweat and cum.

He doesn’t stop. Instead, he hauls his burly body, shifting his weight so he’s fully on top of you. His face, closer to you. Near your left ear. You’re crushed underneath him. Belly flat on the bed. He’s locking an arm around your neck once again, bringing the hand on that arm to your face, covering it. You can’t move, at all. He’s clamped your lower body in place. His other arm, steady beside you. Contorted. Tensed. His veins are more prominent like this.

Wet lashes brushing your cheeks, your mouth now muffled in his larger hand.

“Mhhhhn!” You try to kick your legs, but it can only fold at the knee. Your claves touching the back of your thighs. You can’t move your thighs. Can’t part them. His hefty body won’t allow you.

He does a lengthy grind into you. His happy trail flushed at your ass. He hasn’t pulled out the entire time, not giving you an ounce of space.

He keeps at it. Deep grinds, his tip knocking at your cervix. Pressed so heavy against it. Stretching you impossibly further.

Haggard breaths, uneven moans brush at your ear. He’s getting closer now. Hips stuttering in broken circles.

You’re completely out of it. Dumbed. Fully. Can’t think of anything but the feel of his cock so far deep in your pussy. The veins. The bumps. And god you’re so sensitive. Another quickening build up of warmth steadily rising in your stomach.

“Fuckfuckfuck—”

Another few irregular rolls of his hips and he’s cumming. White thick hot beads of cum discharging into you. He won’t stop moving. Pushing it as deep as it can go, making sure you don’t spill a drop.

You’re numb. Body limp under him. Arms flat at your sides. Eyes fully rolled back, coarse hot air puffing past your lips.

He’s grunting atop of you. Moaning low, still feeling the white hot pleasure of his cum, your pussy. Especially your pussy.

He brings an arm up, rough hands palming, rubbing your back in slow gentle movements.

“From now on, just let me teach you everything, yeah?”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

A/n: lawdfddd I need him so bad bruh. Also this isn’t proofread.

@toj1sleftnut <33

Don’t transcribe or translate into anything else. Thank ya <3

You followed their gazes to the far end of the room. 

Bingo.

Sitting there was a girl with choppy brown hair. One would say, completely locked the fuck in. Dead-eyed and dragging a glittery pink marker across a cross-section of a human spleen, head bobbing slightly to whatever was blasting through her overhead headphones.

And then you looked past her. 

Oh. OH.

Someone had built a freaking barricade out of heavy spine-broken physics textbooks and buried behind all that was a man who looked like he hadn't seen direct sunlight since he hit puberty.

Hunched over a laptop that looked like it was actively fighting for its own life. Cooling fans screaming for mercy. And plugged into it was a keyboard that was taking up almost half the desk. Huh?

…So that was the noise.

The keys had those specific tactile switches created with one purpose and one only of making everyone within like a fifty-foot radius contemplate a violent felony.

He looked... lived in. And that's, like, putting it very, very PR friendly.

His white hair was sticking up on the left side, matted down on the right as if he'd been running his hand through it the whole day.

"Satoru," Suguru's voice cut through the clicking. It came out really tight, really low. Like he was trying very hard not to make a scene while absolutely making one. "I explicitly told you to stop bringing the damn keyboard to school."

Click click click click click.

But at that, the girl finally looked up. One headphone sliding off and one lazy wave in your direction.

"Oh, hey," she rasped out. "You brought reinforcements." She then gave you a look. Then softer, almost conspiratorial. "I'm Shoko, by the way." A pause as she looked at the nerd. "Please ignore him. He's always like that."

Satoru didn't look up, didn't pause, didn't even flinch. He just reached out blindly, shoved a stack of Quantum Field Theory textbooks a few inches to the left to clear his sightline, and kept on typing.

Click click click click click.

"Look." He finally spoke, eyes still glued to his screen, not even a flicker toward any of you. "I've been going through this logic loop for an hour. I'm finally in the middle of it. If I look away now I will lose the thread n' have to start over from line one." A pause. "Please leave me alone."

Suguru looked like he wanted to dissolve directly into the ugly library floor. You could literally hear him internally asking the universe or whatever deity why his best friend was still like this at twenty-one. He'd grown out of this phase at sixteen. Sixteen. So why hadn't Satoru? 

Shoko just rolled her eyes and went back to studying. But you— 

Oh god. You just stared at the mess on his side of the desk, the Great Wall of textbooks, the greasy-ass pizza stain sitting dead center on his chest. And your brain just basically cheered the fuck on. 

You need this man. 

It was a sickness at this point. It wasn't like you had a great track record to begin with either. You'd basically YOLOed your way through college and your taste in men had always been, let's say, questionable too. And yes, you liked them a little pathetic., a little weird, nerdy in that specific way most people just didn't get. But this was a new low even for you. He looked like a raccoon that had raided a Best Buy and for some reason your ovaries were doing a very enthusiastic standing ovation.

You stepped forward, bypassing the do not engage aura radiating off Suguru, and leaned your hip against the edge of the table.

"Two Monsters before noon?" you grinned down at the two cans standing next to his laptop. "Isn't that, like, an excessive amount of caffeine?"

Click click cli—  

It stopped.

Satoru pushed his glasses up his nose and looked at you. There was no shame in his expression whatsoever. It was just the annoyed, arrogant glare of a genius who had been interrupted by a mere mortal.

"Caffeine has a half-life of roughly five hours," he said like you were the stupid one for asking.

"I timed the consumption to overlap for best performance." A pause as he shrugged. "I'm not addicted. It's just a well-thought-out fuel strategy."

You blinked at him. What does that even mean?

Like genuinely. What. Lmfao. He talked like those grotesquely self-assured nerds you'd only ever encountered online. The ones you always assumed couldn't exist in real life.

"And the keyboard?" you gestured to the loud glowing monstrosity. "You really carry around a whole external keyboard everywhere? It sounds like you're firing a shotgun—"

"This is a custom board with Cherry MX Blue switches." His tone could've curdled milk. He looked genuinely offended.

"Do you have any idea what the travel distance on a standard laptop key is?" A pause that really let that question sit there. "It's complete garbage. Complete garbage. No actuation point whatsoever."

"We're in the library," you rolled your eyes. "People are trying to study. Or sleep." You jerked your head. "Look at your friend—"

He glanced over at Shoko. And she chose that exact moment to look up from her textbook. The look she gave him was kinda hard to describe. It sat somewhere between a death glare and a promise of future violence.

"Shoko's fine," Satoru said, shrugging it off completely. "That's why she brought the headphones. She adapts." A beat. "And I am trying to code. If I use the laptop keyboard my WPM drops by twelve percent," he said it like he was reporting a fatality. "Which is like an unacceptable efficiency loss."

"WPM?" you repeated. WPM. It sounded completely ridiculous coming out of his mouth and somehow even stupider out of yours.

"Words per minute," Suguru jumped in, not even bothering looking up from his notebook. "He tracks it, he has a spreadsheet for it. But please, do not ask about it. He'll talk for twenty minutes minimum about finger-travel distance and none of us will get anything done."

Again… What.

You let the silence sit there. For the purposeful awkward grand effect.

"Sure."

Satoru's fingers twitched. Just kind of... hovered over the keyboard, waiting. He clearly expected for you to be more impressed. He was awaiting maybe a little gasp of awe, or at least some sort of acknowledgment of his hyper-optimized little hobby. Anything, if we’re being honest.

But when absolutely nothing came his eyes narrowed behind his smudged glasses.

"What?"

"Nothing—" You leaned a little further into his space, hip grazing the stack of textbooks beside him. "It's just a lot of big words for a guy with visible crumb-crust on his spacebar."

Satoru's hands jerked and hovered mid-air like he genuinely believed he could erase the evidence through sheer willpower alone.

But you didn't just stop there. Oh no no.  You then lowered your gaze to his chest and stared at the disgusting sauce stain with a silent disdain. Long enough to make it weird. Longer than that, actually. Just really committing to the bit at that point.Then looked back up at him with eyes full of pity. 

And being this close you caught a whiff of him. He smelled like sweet soda and lived-in musk. The specific scent of a man who probably treated showering as more of a when-i-remember-to activity.

It should have been a red flag. Genuinely. A full sensory alarm system going off. But god fucking help you. It was masculine enough to make your pulse skip and it had absolutely no business being that effective—

"The—the stain is simply sustenance residue," he blurted out. "Pizza rolls."

His voice pitched up much higher than before, waving a hand to dismiss it. But the movement was jerky and uncoordinated, panicked,  and caught one of the empty cans on the edge of the desk.

The hollow clatter clatter echo rang through the whole floor like a gunshot. Every head within a twenty-foot radius snapped up again. And the people already looked pissed off as hell.

Satoru froze, the hand still in the air, eyes on the fallen can. 

"And before you even ask—" he pushed on immediately, the words tumbling out in an avalanche to cover the noise. "No. I am not changing." A shallow breath. "This hoodie is currently at its peak comfort level. It is nicely broken in and the fabric tension is exactly where it needs to be for full range of motion," his voice was picking up speed, getting away from him slightly. "Washing it right now would disrupt the structural integrity of the cotton and honestly— It's inefficient to use so much water and detergent so I'm basically saving the planet by not—"

He abruptly shut up, realizing he was rambling off. Chest going a little too fast and the tips of his ears going red and then his neck and then his cheeks, the blush spreading very fast.

And you were still just standing there just smirking down at him with that stupid smirk on your pretty face. And somewhere in the two seconds of silence that followed, the full awareness of the situation caught up to him—

You aka an objectively hot girl standing very close to him. Like, actually close. Purposefully close. Close in a way that was making it extremely difficult to remember what intelligent words were.

Your thighs were barely a foot from his arm and your perfume was doing something genuinely criminal to his ability to think straight.

Focus, his brain suggested helplessly. But alas, his brain was ignored.

Most women didn't voluntarily talk to Satoru. No no. His mom did. Grandma too. Shoko did too, though sometimes involuntarily, but technically she didn’t really count. He'd witnessed her aggressive My Chemical Romance phase, her brief and deeply unsettling taxidermy hobby, and basically every embarrassing era of her life since middle school. She was less a woman and more of a biological thing at this point. Like a fungus he'd developed immunity to.

So now understand, you were a system error. His game was non-existent. Hell, it was deep in the negatives. He mostly communicated in comic book references and spent his free time studying or farming loot in World of Warcraft.

The closest he'd ever come to actual dating was when he thought he was flirting with a cute e-girl on Discord. Only for her to turn out to be a middle-aged man named Gerald.

And yet here you were. Someone half the campus was probably actively tripping over themselves to look at. Wasting your premium time bullying him about things no one in his life had cared about in years.

"...Stop looking at me like that," he muttered.

He moved to turn back to his screen, but his gaze faltered.

His eyes slid down, tracking the line of your legs, the very short skirt you were wearing, the way the sharp edge of the desk was digging into the soft squishy flesh where you were pressed against it.

Look. You cannot blame a man for having a thing for thighs, okay? It's not a character flaw. It's just biology. 

His jaw tightened. Face and ears blooming red pro max, much more than before.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

He then had a few very awkward seconds of him having a staring contest with your legs. Jaw hanging open style staring contest.. 

He would swear on his life it was one second. Maaaybe two at the absolute maximum.

It was ten. You counted. You could practically hear the Windows XP shutdown noise playing on a loop somewhere behind his eyes.

He finally scrambled to recover whatever was left of his dignity and snapped his eyes back to the laptop with a literal neck-breaking jerk.

"Now," he grumbled, eyes locked back onto his wall of code. "Unless you have a degree in computational physics—" a pause that really let that land, because of course he couldn’t help himself to be at least a little condescending. "—you're obstructing my view of the compile bar." Another beat.

"Move."

You should've been offended. You would've been offended. Only if his eyes hadn't snagged back on your legs approximately every five seconds like he physically couldn't stop himself.

Noted for future reference.

Suguru had both hands over his face in absolute defeat. Shoko, on the other hand— Clicked her marker shut, leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and just watched Satoru's erratic typing.

The keys clicking with the rhythm of a man whose heart rate was currently sitting at a minimum of 120 BPM and climbing.

She looked at his beet-red face, then at your smug smile, and a wicked grin spread across her face like a slow sunrise of pure evil.

"Nice meeting you," Shoko purred, keeping her eyes on you, acknowledging a fellow apex predator when she saw one. "I think you're going to fit in here just fine."

Hm. You sat down next to him and opened your laptop. And somewhere to your left, the compile bar of Satoru's self-control sat frozen at 99%.

Buffering. Buffering. Buffering— And completely unable to load. Just a few feet from the source of the fatal error.

You decided right then and there, you were going to absolutely ruin this man.

It only took a few weeks and the library dates were officially declared a thing of the past. A string of "accidental" study sessions and Suguru's desperate need for a buffer, and somehow you'd gone from intruder to full-blown invasive species.

And sure enough, you and Shoko were a match made in hell. Inseparable within the first two weeks. You two were trading clothes, stealing each other's food, spending hours ignoring the boys to talk about people they'd never met.

But the truth was you weren't just there for Shoko, or for Suguru, or for the free study space and occasional snacks. You were there because against your better judgment, against any fight and flight instinct you had, you actually liked the tall weirdo who couldn't hold eye contact for more than three seconds even when you were just asking how his day was.

You liked the way he laughed and the way his glasses were always sitting slightly crooked on his face and he way he— Okay, enough. We get it, girl.  You were trying, in your own way, to get closer to him.

Meanwhile, Satoru was completely, impressively blind to all of it. In his genius brain he had crunched the numbers and landed on one devastating conclusion. He'd been for sure friendzoned.

He convinced himself you only tolerated him because he was Shoko's roommate and a convenient Statistics tutor. That your friendliness was just a social obligation tax you paid to hang out in his apartment. That you weren't there for him specifically —

It was two weeks before midterms and their apartment smelled like cheap takeout and nail polish.

You were on your stomach on the floor, legs kicking idly in the air, frowning at a probability distribution chart. Satoru was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, supposedly helping. But he was mostly just clicking a pen and staring at the side of your neck.

"Soo," you started, chewing on the end of your pencil. "I watched that sci-fi movie you talked about — the one with the time dilation?" A pause. "It was actually pretty cool."

You looked up at him smiling. Satoru stiffened immediately.

Oh god. Small talk. You were engaging in small talk. Do NOT make it weird. Do NOT make it weird. Do NOT—

"Yes," Satoru said a beat too late. "The cinematography is... alright. The physics were derivative. I've seen worse I guess..."

He turned back to his notebook. ...Aand he made it weird.

You sighed and shifted your weight, arching your back slightly to stretch.

Roll— 

Your highlighter skittered right off the edge of your notebook, across the floor, and came to a stop directly under the sofa.

"Ugh," you groaned.

Shoko had claimed that entire sofa. Legs stretched out, wet red polish on her toes and a massive medical textbook balanced on her knees. 

"Don't touch the paint," she warned, not looking up. "You smudge, you die."

"I know, I know—"

And okay, here was the situation. You couldn't reach blindly. The only way around Shoko's wet toenails without sending the textbook flying was to get up on your knees and Satoru was sitting directly behind you…

So, when you twisted your torso and arched your back to swoop your hand underneath the frame— You miiight have angled yourself just so. Or maybe it was just physics. Who could say.

The movement caused your shirt to ride up a little. It exposed the curve of your lower back while your yoga pants did exactly what yoga pants were engineered to do, right in front of him, at this specific cheeky (literally) angle.

Thud. 

He dropped his pen, making a noise that weirdly sounded like a strangled moan? His eyes went wide, pupils blown. And then his survival instincts kicked in approximately three seconds too late.

"I just remembered—!" He scrambled upright, voice cracking a full octave on the way up. "I totally forgot to download the expansion patch—"

He was backing toward the hallway, gesturing wildly at absolutely nothing. "There's a raid tonight and if I don't update the client right now I'll miss the login window entirely and—"

"What?" You sat back on your heels. "But 'Toru, you were helping me study?"

'Toru.

He'd never— You'd never called him that before. The nickname hit him like a physical slap across the face. It was friendly, casual and completely devastating. And how exactly was he supposed to act normal when you were just. Like this?! 

"Tutoring... can wait!" he yelped, heel hitting the baseboard. "My guild needs me! Bye!"

His bedroom door did a loud slam!, and the lock clicked instantly. 

Then, you heard the muffled opening notes of California Girls seeped through the door. 

"Is he okay?" You frowned at the door, pouting slightly. "He keeps just disappearing like that. Does he hate me?"

"He doesn't hate you," Suguru sighed, looking at you with the exhaustion of a single father of two. "He's just... over-calculating." A beat. "Honestly? You should just tell him you like him. His genius brain won't figure it out for the life of him. He needs the answer key.”

You just stared at the door listening to the muffled bass of Katy Perry bleeding through the wood.

The answer key, huh?

Things went from awkward to chaotic just a few days later. It was around 2 AM. You and Shoko were in the kitchen, both of you completely high out of your minds from the brownies you two had baked earlier. 

The munchies arrived. "I need snacks," you announced, swaying slightly. "If I don't eat something yummy in the next five minutes my organs will shut down."

Shoko was already rummaging through the pantry. "We're out."

But then her eyes lit up. "Wait—" She turned around with a look that meant absolutely nothing good. "Satoru has snacks. He only hides them in his room because he's a stingy goblin."

So without another word you wobbled down the hall together. Shoko didn't even bother knocking. The door swung wide and you barged straight past the hand-written Forbidden Zone sign.

This was your first time here and it was exactly what you'd expected and somehow also more. Full shut-in sanctuary. Blackout curtains pulled tight, like five thousand dollars worth of setup glowing neon blue, LED strips lining the ceiling like a gamer's idea of moody lighting.

Satoru was in his chair, headphones on, smashing his keyboard. He spun around, eyes going wide at the sudden intrusion. 

You scanned the room. For a man who seemed to live primarily in stained oversized t-shirts and barely-contained social anxiety, it was actually pretty orderly. Surprisingly orderly. More, like, suspiciously orderly.

Well, except for the shelf right next to his bed. That seemed to be its own disaster zone. We’re talking textbooks, dog-eared manga, a suspicious surplus of crumpled tissues, and a stray Goku figure that looked like it was fighting for its life against the clutter—

But buried right in the middle of all that crap— There. Your eyes landed on the prize. A red Pringles can.

Now. Maybe it was the weed haze. Maybe you were just being an idiot as per usual. But you didn't even stop to wonder why a lone can of chips was sitting there. Right next to a pile of tissues and a bed— You just wanted the carbohydrates. Simple as that. 

"BINGO," you shouted.

Satoru's head snapped to where you were looking and he swore his soul left his body. He launched himself from his chair and scramble scramble scrambled over the mattress.

But unfortunately for him, you were faster. You snatched the can off the shelf triumphantly and held it over your head like a trophy.

"Gotcha! Hand over the chips, 'Toru." A grin. "I'm eating the whole can right now—"

"—DO NOT OPEN THAT!"

His big hands clamped over yours before you could even process the words, pinning the can shut. But the momentum sent both of you tumbling backward straight onto his unmade bed.

And suddenly you were flat on your back and Satoru was hovering directly over you. Straddling your hips to pin you down, face inches from yours, wild-eyed and breathing like he'd just run a sprint and marathon all in one and also possibly seen a ghost.

Both hands gripping yours so tight his knuckles were white. Holding that tube like his entire life, his entire future, depended on it.

"Drop it," he wheezed. Cheeks flushing even through the annoying blue LED light. "You can't open that—!"

You blinked up at him, completely stunned. Because what the fuck was happening. His chest was heaving, his hair was tickling your forehead, and he was… very very heavy.

"I don't care!" you laughed. The brownie fog making the whole thing feel like a fever dream. You wiggled under him, trying to get your hands free. "Gimme the salt—!"

Salt—

The word hit him like a flashbang. His brain took it and sprinted straight into the gutter. He was suddenly very aware of the specific white gooey reality of what usually happened inside that can. The taste of it. The—

You want the salt. Oh my god. OH NO.

His heart was hammering so hard against his ribs he was convinced you could feel it through your own chest.

I'm the grossest man alive, he thought, his face burning up like a furnace. I'm thinking about you eating —

"HELL NO!" he screamed.

"'Toru. Are you seriously wrestling me over potato chips?"

He finally looked down at you. Knees bracketing your waist, your wrists pinned to his chest with the can between you like a hostage situation. And then the horrible realization arrived that if you struggled even a little bit, the lid might pop off and reveal the unholy sponge-and-glove contraption hidden inside. 

The fact that the prettiest girl he'd ever seen in real life was currently lying on his bed with him on top of her hadn't even fully registered yet. His entire brain was running one single mission. Make sure you do not find out that he was a certified grade-A gooner who had used this exact... thing while thinking about you... Literally just yesterday. 

"They're — they're stale!" he stammered, sweat already forming at his hairline. His grip didn't loosen, if anything it tightened. And somehow you wondered where the hell all that sudden strength came from. 

"The sodium levels are freaking lethal. I am literally saving your life right now—!"

Meanwhile, Shoko, leaning against the doorframe, did a quiet sweep of the room. Her eyes followed the can, the shelf with absolutely no other snacks on it, and Satoru practically vibrating with terror on top of you.

She put it together immediately, because it didn't take a genius to figure out why a known virgin would throw his entire body over a Pringles can like it contained state secrets. She then started cackling this deep wheezing laugh that made Satoru flinch like he'd been physically struck. So you took your shot and writhed, but it only made him yelp instantly.

He ripped the can entirely from your hands, and scrambled backward off the bed like a scorched cat. Clutching the red tube to his chest, curling into a ball in the corner of the room.

"Get out!" he squeaked. His face the color of a literal stop sign. "You high hooligans!"

You sat up slowly on his messy duvet, hair tousled, face flushed and heart beating a little too fast from the impromptu wrestling match and also possibly from being pinned under him for thirty seconds but that was neither here nor there.

Your eyes did a lap around the room too — Shoko, smirking in the doorframe like she'd just witnessed the best thing that had ever happened to her, Satoru, trembling in the corner like a man on trial for crimes he was absolutely guilty of.

And then you realized, you had never, not once, in your entire time knowing this man, seen him eat a single chip.

Oh.

"Oh."

Satoru practically sobbed. The Pringles went behind his back, eyes fixed on the floor and literally praying for a meteor to strike the apartment building immediately. Please.

You and Satoru were sitting on a concrete bench in the middle of the quad. It was Result Day. Neither of you mentioned the Pringles can incident ever again, only because Satoru had spent the intervening days pretending not to exist and incinerating the thing in the dumpster out back. 

And you did feel bad for him. You'd nearly had to physically restrain Shoko from bringing it up approximately forty-seven times. I mean, an adult guy shouldn't get bullied for being... innovative with the way he pleasured himself, right? That felt like a basic human right. And you were going to stand firm on that.

He looked like absolute, unmitigated garbage though. Wrinkled shirt that said I Paused My Game To Be Here— This man genuinely did not seem to own a single decent t-shirt. Clutching his third Monster of the day like a life support system.

He seemed more stressed about your grades than you were. Squinting aggressively into the distance like he was actively losing a battle against the sun but refusing to surrender.

Your phone buzzed. Mid-term Grades.

Satoru stiffened beside you, and the aluminum can in his hand let out a sharp crinkle of protest. Your heart did a stupid little kick. You opened it and scanned down the list and stopped at Statistics.

C+.

It wasn't a great grade. It wasn't even a good grade. But in the grand scheme of "Cs get degrees"  it was a goddamn miracle. Especially considering this one midterm had made up 50% of your entire grade. Which the fuck?

"I passed!" you shouted, launching yourself off the bench. "Oh my god, I actually passed! I'm not going to fail this goddamn class!"

Satoru, who had been hunched over his knees, nervously biting his thumbnail down to nothing, snapped upright.

One second of pure, unfiltered relief crossed his face, but then his ego kicked back in.

"Naturally," he said, going for a smooth baritone and landing somewhere closer to a sleep-deprived croak. "My teaching methods are flawless. Even with a..." A pause. "...suboptimal student, success was obviously guaranteed. You're welcome."

He looked so smug. So proud of himself. So incredibly roastable that you almost almost let the subtle dig slide.

…okay, or perhaps you didn't.

You grinned and stepped closer, right between his spread knees, while he sat there looking up at you. A simple thank you was far too boring for what you were about to do to this man.

"Aww, look at you being all proud!" you cooed in the exact tone reserved for golden retrievers and small confused animals. You reached out and aggressively ruffled his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp right behind the ear.

"Who's a good tutor? Satoru is a good tutor! Who's my smart boy?"

Satoru froze. He really should have been offended. He knew he should have been offended. But for one long, humiliating second his eyes just closed and he leaned into your hand. Tilting his head against your palm like a cat chasing warmth.

Purr, said his brain probably…?

This man had a high-level understanding of quantum mechanics and he was currently leaning into someone scratching his ears like a freaking pet. 

He felt like a disgrace to his entire bloodline.

But then his CPU rebooted, jerking his head back. His face went a violent shade of red that clashed terribly with his white hair.

"I am not a canine!" he sputtered, batting your hand away. "Stop that patronizing behaviour! People are looking!"

"But you did so good!" you laughed, completely ignoring him. "You helped a girl in need."

Satoru's chest puffed out instantly. His ego took the bait before his brain even had a chance to weigh in.

"Actually," he said, sliding back into that obnoxious condescending lilt he used whenever he was feeling himself. "I didn't just 'help' you. I performed a miracle. I dragged your GPA out of an actual dumpster n' did academic CPR on a brain that was essentially flatlining." A pause for effect. "I'm not a tutor. I'm a secular saint."

He took a prideful swig of his energy drink, already gearing up for a full ten-minute lecture on his own brilliance—

A girl in need.

The phrase did a slow, sticky lap around his skull.

In need of what, exactly?

His mind went places and none of them had anything to do with Statistics. His eyes dropped to where you were standing between his legs. He thought about his bed, with you in it, and mostly about the very specific, very needy noises he'd imagined you making for him, because of him.

His throat went completely dry and he nearly choked on his Monster. Adam's apple bobbing violently as he tried to swallow it down. And I don't mean the gulp.

"I-I mean," he stammered, "the terminology 'in need' is very subjective n' vague as hell! You should be more precise with your descriptors!"

"You're so cute when you're being a nerd," you giggled.

And before he could get another smart-ass word out you went for the kill. Just for the hell of it. You threw your arms around his head and hugged him.

The physics of the hug were... aggressive. You pulled his head forward, and Satoru went completely still. His entire world went dark, soft, and terrifyingly warm. All at once. 

His nose was smashed directly between your tits, glasses getting absolutely destroyed, suddenly inhaling a whole lungful of you.

He sat there stiff as a board. Hands hovering uselessly in the air like he'd genuinely forgotten he had limbs. But then something just gave. He'd been praying for this for months. Months. And in that moment he genuinely believed he might actually be a fucking saint because your chest was somehow even softer than he'd imagined. And he had imagined it a lot.

Do not drool. Do NOT drool. So god help him god if he drools right now—

Trembling slightly, Satoru lowered his hands and tentatively wrapped them around your waist, hugging you back.

Which was, unfortunately for him, his total undoing. The second his hands touched your waist you hummed happily and leaned your whole weight into him.

Because he wasn't the only one who'd been waiting for this. You'd been thinking about making out with him long before he'd even worked up the nerve to call you a friend in his own daydreams. So. Yeah.

You arched your back slightly. Pressing your chest harder into his face, your stomach warm against his lap.

And instantly— He was hard. Completely. Painfully. And motherfucker-immediately.

And because he was wearing those thin worn-out sweatpants, the kind that leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, the kind that were currently leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. There was nowhere to hide the sudden rock-hard problem now throbbing against his waistband.

A single hug. One hug. That's all you'd done and he was— God he really thought he wasn't this pathetic.

He realized that if you shifted even an inch closer you'd feel it. And he was the grossest man on the planet and was actively destroying what little chance he had with someone he was so hopelessly down bad for.

"Satoru," you murmured, your voice right against his ear. "You stopped breathing again."

He started to panic badly. Which led to him launching himself into what could only be described as an emergency self-eject sequence?

He slammed both hands on his knees and threw his upper body backward with enough force to briefly defy gravity. Which would've been fine. Except he was sitting on a backless bench and there was absolutely nothing behind him.

He tipped, legs flying up in the air and in that one cursed split second the fabric of his sweatpants pulled tight across his lap.

And you saw it, the distinct and frankly, impressive outline of a very angry erection tenting the grey fabric..

A wide grin spread across your face. A faint stupid blush crept up your own cheeks simultaneously. Because for months you'd been convinced you were the one stuck in the friendzone. Waiting around for a sign that never came, slowly going a little cray cray, genuinely starting to wonder if you'd just made the whole chemistry thing up inside your own head.

He was always so awkward, so seemingly unbothered by your advances, so apparently unaware that you existed as anything other than a study buddy and an occasional source of snacks.

But now. Now. You finally knew. He wasn't indifferent. He was just as obsessed with you as you'd been with him. Maybe more and he'd been silently losing his mind about it this entire time.

Thank fucking god. The relief hit you warm and slow and settled right in your belly like something coming home.

You did feel a little bad for him though. A little. I mean. The poor guy's situation was currently very visible in the middle of the campus and there was absolutely nothing either of you could do about it right now.

But you still felt powerful. You finally felt wanted by this stupid giant of a man.

"What —"

"Shut up!" Immediately. Before you could even finish the word. "I — I just got a cramp!" he yelled, forehead pressing hard into his knees, refusing to look at you, refusing to look at anything. "A really bad one! My leg just— it locked up!I haven't slept n' I'm shaky n' — stop looking at me like that! It's not funny! Just please go away! I'm just gonna lie here for a second." A pause. "The grass is cold. I need the cold." Another pause. "Just begone!"

"Right," you said. Your voice dripping with a brand new, very specific, very dangerous kind of sweetness. "A cramp. Of course."

You knelt down in the grass right next to him. Satoru flinched, curling even tighter. Looking like a pill bug trying to defend itself from a predator. The back of his neck glowing a nasty, bruised red color.

"'Toru," you hummed, leaning right in until your breath was ruffling his fluffy white hair. Oh. You weren't even close to being done. You were going to soak up every single second of this and milk it absolutely dry. 

"You look thirsty. All that muscle tension… Must be dehydrating."

You were still holding your half-finished boba, ice rattling around in the cheap plastic cup like a tiny, cheerful taunt.

"I— I'm fine," he wheezed into his knees. He deadass sounded like he was three seconds away from a full-blown asthma attack. "I got my Monster. Please just go back to the library. Or home. Or literally anywhere but here."

"But your hands are full," you pointed out, eyeing the white-knuckled death grip he had on his own shins. "Here." You held out the cup. "Have a sip of mine."

You didn't wait for him to say yes. You just shoved the cup riiight up to his face and poked the straw directly against his lips.

Satoru's eyes snapped open wide, staring at the straw like it was a loaded gun. Then snapped his gaze back to you.

His brain was literally just dial-up noises right now. He clocked the flush on your cheeks anyway. The way you were looking at him with zero pity, just full of something that made his stomach drop straight through the soil.

Shaking like a goddamn leaf, Satoru finally parted his lips. Let you put the straw in his mouth, absolutely terrified and horny as hell and somehow both at the exact same time.

He took a long drag. You then yanked the cup back before he could finish, popped the straw straight between your own lips and sucked down some boba while holding the most aggressive eye contact known to man. 

"Good boy," you whispered, getting back on your feet.

Satoru let out this pathetic little whimper and buried his face back into his knees. And since you were standing right over him, your shadow swallowed his shaking form completely, his dumb ass just couldn't help himself as his eyes shot up.

And you were wearing that dangerously short little skirt again. The one that was going to send him into cardiac arrest one day. When you shifted your weight the hem flared up just enough, just enough, to give him a straight-up godly view. 

Not just your legs. The full fucking show. The soft curve of your thighs. A dead-on glimpse of the panties he'd only dared to think about in his wildest dreams. 

You leaned down one last time, skirt hiking up even higher. Getting that close made him jolt like he’d licked a car battery.  You reached out and gave his messy white mop the most patronizing little pat imaginable.

"See ya later, 'Toru." A smile that meant absolutely nothing good. "Don't sit out in the sun too long."

You spun on your heel and strutted off toward the library. Heart beating out of your chest on a sick, electric thrill. You didn't even bother looking back as you felt his eyes burning holes into your head as you walked away.

And behind you, Satoru made a decision. He was never standing up again. Ever.

He was going to live in this specific patch of grass until the end of time, the raging boner as a flag of surrender.

He stayed glued to that exact spot for a solid forty-five minutes after you walked away. Just staring at a cloud that deadass looked like a giant thumbs-down. Waiting for his situation to resolve itself so the blood could actually go back to his brain.

The data was conclusive. The facts were staring him right in his stupid face and there was no room for error whatsoever. You — the girl he'd been trying to impress by playing it cool and nonchalant for months — hadn't just caught him rocking a massive stiffy, you had swapped spit with him. …while actively looking at it.

“Good boy,” he whispered to the sky,as if testing the words on his tongue. A fresh violent shiver racked his entire spine.

He had to cover his face with his hands to stop himself from screaming. He was probably the smartest person amongst all the undergrads, he was a Level 80 Paladin, and he was currently being obliterated by two stupid words and a boba straw!

He should be disgusted with himself. He understood quantum superposition and non-Euclidean geometry. He was supposed to be the apex of human evolution. But nah. Apparently millions of years of primate evolution had been instantly overridden by a praise kink he didn't even know he had. 

And this guy was into some weird shit, okay? He had seen the dark corners of the internet. Poor Charles Darwin was probably rolling in his grave.

And the worst part, it was his own damn fault. This absolute clown constantly backed himself into a corner because the second you existed in the same air as him, he physically forgot how to operate as a human being. 

So the days after were an absolute clusterfuck of ungodly blue balls and pure existential dread. Naturally. 

Satoru straight up ceased to function as a man, he became a ghost in his own apartment. Haunting the living spaces, operating purely on energy that was equal parts shame and desire.

He tried to function. He really really tried. He tried to focus on studying, tried to grind for loot in World of Warcraft, tried to do literally anything that wasn't thinking about you. But every time he closed his eyes, the sensory data downloaded itself.

He could still feel the ghost-warmth of your body all up on him. Your arms wrapped around his neck. The god-tier squish of your chest smashing right into his face when you hugged him. Or the way you smelled this up close.

He felt like he was in literal heaven and it was ruining his life—

Stop it, he hissed to himself, glaring at a blank Word doc that had been blank for three hours. Stop thinking about her—

...but you were just so soft. So, so soft.

He vaguely remembered Shoko trying to warn him at some point.

It was some blurry memory from the middle of the week. He’d been lay-sitting on the couch, staring blankly at a turned-off TV, fully dissociating over the specific way your hair had brushed against his cheek. Shoko had been standing over him, holding a bag of ice and ripping a cigarette.

Her mouth had been moving, Satoru knew that much. He could see her lips forming words and everything.

But his audio input had been completely muted because his brain was currently allocating 95% of its RAM to the memory of your thighs.

"...mid-terms..." something something. "...party..." something. "...Friday... people coming over..."

Satoru nodded like an idiot. Threw out a "Yeah, cool" or something, sounding just enough interested to make her stop talking so he could get right back to his ongoing mental simulation of you sitting on his lap.

But he had walked face-first into a total trap, he somehow hadn't computed that "party" meant, like, a literal fucking party. ANd that "people" meant you.

It wasn't until Friday night, when he started hearing giggles through the walls and smelled stuff wafting under his bedroom door, that it all finally clicked.

He wasn't safe. He was so fucked. He'd just greenlit a party in his own home where the literal cause of his humiliating blue balls was going to be the guest of honor.

“I might have made a tactical error,” Satoru whispered to his glowing monitors.

He slumped back in his gaming chair, yanking at his hair, cursing his past self to hell and back and several other things besides. He could have been safe.

He could have been deep in some basement across town right now. Ijichi had literally invited him to a 48-hour raid weekend. And dumbass Satoru had said no because he thought it sounded "socially pathetic." Can you fucking believe it? 

God, what an absolute clown he was. "Pathetic" meant smelling like Cool Ranch Doritos and stale air. Surrounded by a bunch of nerds who were just as terrified of women as he was, playing games until 4AM and never once having to think about the specific way someone's hair smelled.

It was paradise compared to the horny purgatory he was currently trapped in.

You and Shoko were in the kitchen standing by the island. Shoko was holding a plastic tub the size of a toddler, while you dumped in a handle of bottom-shelf vodka.

“Does this need more Hawaiian punch?”

"Fuck no," Shoko deadpanned, letting her cigarette ash drop dangerously close to the tub. She swirled the mixture with a soup ladle. "The goal isn't flavor. It's blackout. If they can taste the fruit, we fucked up."

You nodded like she just didn’t declare something utterly stupid. 

Across the room, Suguru was sprawled on the beanbag. Half-finished joint in one hand, phone in the other as he queued up songs on Spotify.

"’I'm putting on Tame Impala." He blew out a thick cloud toward the smoke detector — the one they'd had taped shut with a sock ever since they moved in.

"We need to establish a baseline vibe before the frat boys Shoko invited ruin the feng shui."

"’Aye, fuck off!" Shoko snapped, ladle pointing in his direction. "I desperately need to come in contact with some hot guys since I am trapped with gremlins twenty-four seven!"

And then there was Satoru hovering in the hallway and clinging to the doorframe. Looking like a man who had just realized he'd walked into a situation he had severely miscalculated.

His eyes went to the joint in Suguru's hand, then to the thing you and Shoko were mixing up.

"I rescinded my objection to the 'gathering,'" he announced, white knuckling the doorframe. His eyes ping-ponged around the room before locking dead onto the coffee table. Sitting there was a massive glass bong that looked like a high school chemistry project from hell.

"But this?" His voice cracked. "This is a blatant violation of the lease. I did not RSVP to a localized drug ring."

"Chill out, bro," Suguru drawled, lazily waving the joint in a vague gesture of reassurance. "It's organic." A long, contemplative drag. "It helps with the... expansion of the mind."

"I don't need my mind expanded—!"

His eyes were darting everywhere. The dirty floor. The ceiling. The soup ladle in Shoko's hand. The coffee table. The bong. The coffee table again.

Anywhere. Everywhere. Except your face.

Because he knew exactly what would happen if he made eye contact with you. He'd remember the way you fit so so nicely against him and the way you'd felt and—

"I need my ping low!" he babbled, frantically grabbing for any nerd-ass excuse that would get him the fuck out of this room. 

"I am literally inhaling second-hand felonies! My reaction time is gonna drop! I have a guild Raid at 10 n' I'm the main tank and if I die, the whole party wipes n' I am not taking the heat for forty digital deaths just so I can stand here and watch you give the entire student body poisoning!"

You just looked at him, the empty handle of the cheap vodka still dangling upside down from your hand.

Normally you would've roasted the absolute shit out of him. Told him to quit being a whiny little narc or something, dragged him in by the hood and shoved a solo cup directly into his hand.

You just stood there watching him vibrate in the doorway like a terrified chihuahua, eyeing the dumb fluffy hair sticking up in three different directions and the sheer panic radiating off him.

Your stomach did this sick little flip and it wasn't even annoyance anymore. It was this stupid bubbly heat that made you feel like a total freak because you couldn't stop thinking about the way he'd looked up at you from the grass. Completely wrecked. Flushed all over. Totally losing his mind just from you getting a little too close.

It was honestly intoxicating and he looked so lost and so gorgeous—

God. You wanted to walk right over there and touch him. Your hands were literally itching to smooth down that tuft of hair, grab him by the jaw, tell him exactly how fucking cute he looked when he was panicking.

But neither Shoko, nor Suguru knew about the little quad incident and you weren't making it weird in front of witnesses, so you let him go. For now.

You set the empty bottle down on the counter. "It's okay, 'Toru," you said softly.

Satoru froze dead mid-rant about packet loss. His head snapped toward you, eyes going wide behind his glasses, looking exactly like a deer in the headlights of a semi-truck, fully bracing for you to tear him a new one just to earn a cheap laugh from Shoko at his expense.

Instead, you just gave him this soft, genuine smile that felt waaay too sweet for a kitchen that currently reeked of weed and rubbing alcohol.

"Go save Azeroth." A pause. "We'll save you a cup if you decide to show up."

Satoru just stared at you. Literally too stunned to speak.

You knew it was called Azeroth? Since when the fuck did you know WoW lore?!

What he didn't know, was that you were so embarrassingly down bad for him that it was genuinely bordering on a literal mental illness. Instead of studying for your actual degree like a normal human being, you'd been spending your free time deep in the trenches of Wikipedia and Reddit practically running FBI-level background checks on every single nerd hyperfixation he'd ever name-dropped. Just so you could casually drop a lore reference and make this supposed genius finally, finally take a fucking hint.

Because you needed him to realize you wanted him to rearrange your guts. But you also knew that if you just walked straight up to this socially inept loser and told him you wanted him to demolish your cervix, he would instantly assume it was a cruel prank, spiral into a full-blown panic attack, and start cursing you out for making fun of him.

And how did you know that? Because you already tried. Bruh.

It happened a few weeks ago when you two were stuck alone at lunch in the cafeteria. Shoko off letting some jock drool all over her, Suguru getting high on the quad with his Psych friends. Just you and Satoru and a golden opportunity.

You figured, fuck it, you’d take Suguru’s advice and just shoot your shot straight up.

Okay, maybe you phrased it in your own unique little way. But the message was clear.

And this dense dumbass looked you dead in the eyes, completely missing the point, shrugged and said, "I know I'm such a good friend, you don't have to tell me that."

Like are you fucking KIDDING me?! Bro had literally friendzoned himself while you were actively trying to suck his dick. So yeah, you had to play the long game.

Now he stood there with his mouth open, Adam's apple bobbing hard and his brain trying to mash up two completely incompatible images. You. Looking hot as hell. Smelling like heaven. Smiling at him. And his crusty little MMO hobby. Does not fucking compute.

He looked insanely relieved you weren't roasting him, but there was this wild flash of confusion in his eyes too. And honestly the sick bastard almost looked disappointed that you weren't begging him to stay, mixed up with a massive wave of attraction just because you'd name-dropped the goddamn continent. 

"Right," he breathed out. "Sure. I will..." A beat. "...I will retreat then."

He gestured vaguely behind him at his bedroom door.

That stupid Forbidden Zone sign still taped to the wood, peeling at the corners and looking even more pathetic than the first time you'd seen it, and his only defense against the fact that he desperately wanted you to touch him again and never, ever stop.

"T-try not to be loud," he said, already backing away. "I gotta focus. And also don't want to be complicit if anyone calls the cops."

He turned on his heel and scurried back into the darkness of his room.  Pooof. 

You stood there staring at that Sharpie-scrawled sign. The messy black letters basically laughing at you from across the hall. That bubbly heat settled into something more frustrating —an ache right between your thighs and the specific disappointment of watching him go. Again.

"He's gonna fold," Shoko declared, wiping her hands on her jeans, eyes already on your love-sick pout like she'd been taking notes. She might be a bitch sometimes, she was a bitch sometimes, but she wanted her two best friends to finally just…. get on with it. The sexual tension was genuinely becoming a public health concern.

"Give him two hours max. He'll get thirsty or jealous. Honestly? Mostly jealous."

Suguru laughed from his beanbag, finally peeling his eyes off his phone. "You really orchestrated this entire social nightmare just to smoke him out of his hole, didn't you." 

"I'm a woman of science, Suguru," Shoko smirked. "I'm just introducing a catalytic agent to a volatile compound. He's going to explode. I only sped up the timeline."

Gotta love women in STEM. 

You grabbed a cup and dunked it straight in. "I hope so," you muttered, and took a long gulp that tasted exactly like cough syrup and mild regret.

"’Cause if he plays World of Warcraft all night, I'm gonna kick his door down myself."

Shoko clinked the soup ladle against your plastic cup.

"That," she smirked, "is Plan B."

And Shoko was right on the fucking money.  Two hours.  That's exactly how long Satoru lasted before his own biology staged a coup against him.

InfiniteVoid_69 was now just running face-first into a pixelated brick wall on loop because Satoru hadn't touched his keyboard in fifteen minutes. Too busy sitting in the RGB glow, listening to the stupid music bleeding through the wall from Suguru's JBL speaker.

He was miserable. Lonely. Horny as hell. He wasn't hiding from the party, obviously he wasn't hiding from the party. He was hiding because his stupid brain was stuck on a loop that refused to stop.

Every time he closed his eyes his twisted mind went straight to the lewd way your lips had wrapped around that straw, the filthy eye contact you'd held while you sucked down your boba. And then, like clockwork, like his brain hated him, the audio file auto-played. 

"Good boy."

Stop it, he hissed, white-knuckling the armrests of his chair until the plastic creaked.

Cease data retrieval. Clear the fucking cache—

But his meat wasn't taking orders from his brain anymore. Just the ghost of your whisper was enough to send a fresh surge of blood rocketing straight south.

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Under the fabric of his sweats, things were starting to wake up again. And by things I mean him getting bricked-up for the sixth time that day alone.

He was an adult man. Not some hormonal teenager who needs to be bonked. But if we're being completely honest, he desperately needed to be bonked. It was actually hysterical how pathetic he was. Like, genuinely hysterical, the kind of thing you'd tell a therapist about and watch them struggle to maintain a neutral expression. 

He was a literal danger to society. If Horny Jail was a real place he'd be in maximum security serving consecutive life sentences without the possibility of parole.

He needed a hard reset. Needed caffeine. Needed to flush his system with enough taurine to kill a small horse and reboot his logic center.

He reached blindly down to his mini-fridge and yanked the handle— 

Nothing. Empty.

"...Fucking hell." He was actually going to have to go out there.

Yanking his hood up over his hair, he took one long, steadying breath.

The mission was simple. Acquire the Monster. Avoid all eye contact. Haul ass back to base. Do not, under any circumstances, perceive the girl.

He cracked the door open. Suguru's shitty indie bass rattling the floorboards, the whole place reeking of weed and Shoko's cheap cigarettes and whatever memory-erasing blackout cocktail you two had cooked up out there.

Head down. Hugging the wall like a little cryptid. Making a beeline straight for the kitchen.

Ninja. He was a ninja. He was a shadow. Nobody was even gonna notice he was—

SLAM.

A hand smacked flat against the fridge door right next to his head. Satoru jumped, the Monster can in his hand nearly getting crushed. And looked down and—

Fuck. It was you. And you looked… dangerous.

You were a solid three cups deep. Cheeks flushed, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, staring at him with this predatory hunger that instantly turned his long legs to jelly.

You'd been stalking his bedroom door all night. Nursing your drink, trying to act all interested in whatever conversations the frat boys Shoko was practically eye-fucking were attempting to have with you.

You didn't care about their gym routines, nor did you care about their crypto. You'd spent two hours staring at that freaking sign and willing it to burn just waiting for the white-haired coward to finally crack. 

And crack he did.

"I—I was just... acquiring electrolytes!" His back hit the fridge. Pupils blown so wide the blue was just a thin ring around nothing. "The party seems... statistically successful! You should be out there, socializing!"

You stepped into his space. Chest to chest. Close enough to feel him stop breathing.

"Sukuna was giving me plenty of attention out there, ya know." A pause that you let sit there. "He asked for my number. He seems pretty direct. Knows exactly what he wants to do to me." You tilted your head. "Unlike someone who's been hiding in his room for days because he's scared of a girl."

Satoru's jaw clenched. Sukuna. God, he hated that guy. His tattoos. His confidence. The fact that he probably never once needed a pep talk in the mirror just to talk to you. 

And Satoru would literally rather drag his freaking balls through a mile of broken glass than let you leave with him tonight.

“I am not scared!” Satoru whined. His voice pitching up so high he sounded like a literal tween hitting puberty. 

“‘Am just practicing social distancing! It’s for health reasons, a highly responsible choice, you know—”

“Liars don't get prizes, ‘Toru.” 

You were done with the talking. Your hand glided down his stomach. Satoru flinched, his breath hitching, but he didn't move away, physically couldn't, mentally couldn't. Trapped between the fridge and the girl who had been haunting his jerk-off sessions for months.

Your palm landed flat at the very top of his thigh. Under the fabric the thick muscle violently twitched. And by the thick muscle I mean his dick.

He wasn’t just a little bricked up. He was actively throbbing right under your hand. His own meat snitching on him real bad. 

"You're so tense, 'Toru—" you cooed, thumb tracing a slow teasing circle across the length. "Is the 'cramp' coming back?" A beat. "Or is it just that you've been thinking about me touching you as much as I've been thinking about you touching me?"

Satoru stared down at you, his face burning up, the realization making him dizzy. 

You. Out of his league. Had been fantasizing. About. Him. Does not compute. DOES NOT COMPUTE.

But hallelujah... I guess? The dense bastard finally clocked it.  Which, of course, just sent him into an immediate spiral of existential dread. Looking like he was five seconds away from physically melting into the kitchen linoleum.

"I—I've gotta go back," he stammered.

His trembling hands hovering uselessly in the air. The Monster sitting somewhere on the counter long forgotten.

God, he wanted to grab you so so bad. Confess everything right there next to the refrigerator magnets. Haul you in by the shoulders and kiss you so so stupid. Even if his virgin ass had absolutely no clue how to do it. He was dying to eat that sparkly pink lip gloss right off your mouth, mostly because he knew exactly how pretty those lips would look wrapped around his dick—

But the unholy sensation of your hand gripping him oh so perfectly was completely overloading his system.

"H-have to hop back on Discord!" he yelled-squeaked, ears literally ringing.

He shoved right past you, nearly wiping out an entire stack of solo cups on his way, and gremlin sprinted down the hallway which was genuinely something to witness. 

You took one last sip of your drink watching his pathetic little virgin retreat and eyeing that stupid Sharpie sign. 

Yeah, no. Fuck that. You weren't letting him lock himself away tonight just to edge to the memory of your hand on his dick. Absolutely not. Not tonight.

Cup down and you took the fuck off. You hit the hallway just as his bedroom door slammed shut, threw your shoulder against the wood before he could even think about turning the lock.

The door flew open and Satoru spun around. Caught dead in the center of his musky bedroom, illuminated by the RGB glow of his PC. Hadn't even made it to his desk. 

"I am busy!" he screeched, backing up with both hands raised like you were literally holding him at gunpoint. "I am—I am currently in a raid! I am logged in — digitally occupied!"

“Your game isn’t even on, Satoru.”

He risked a panicked glance back at his monitors which were doing absolutely nothing but displaying his embarrassing anime waifu wallpapers. 

Realizing his raid excuse had just become an impossibility, he experienced approximately two seconds of genuine internal crisis. Cursing his past self for quitting the game, then immediately thanking his past self for quitting the game, then cursing himself again.

"I use— err — voice commands!" he gasped, delivered it with zero conviction. "It's hands-free gaming! You wouldn't understand the meta!"

Did he think you were stupid. You scoffed and took one step forward. 

Satoru backed up instantly. Heels dragging through the carpet and you kept marching forward until his knees hit the bed and he tipped backward onto the mattress. He tried to scramble away like a cornered prey animal, but got trapped between his pillows and the weight of your gaze.

You crawled right up onto the bed after him, swung a leg over and straddled his lap. Satoru froze fucking stiff.

"You have a boner, Satoru."

"I absolutely do not!" he flinched. "It is— it is a trick of the light! Like an optical illusion! It's the pleats of the pants!"

Okay, that was enough. His sweats didn’t even have any fucking pleats, the hell. 

You grabbed fistfuls of his hoodie, yanked his panicked face up toward yours, his glasses sliding down his nose, and kissed him. Finally.

It was messy, horribly uncoordinated, teeth clashing and noses bumping with a vibration that went straight through Satoru's entire skull. 

Clack. Smack. And everything in between, I guess.

He tasted like soda and sheer terror and you freaking loved it. Satoru had absolutely no idea where to put his anything. Tongue doing just everything and nothing all at once. Lapping at your lower lip, then wrestling with yours, then somewhere completely wrong, then back again, never where it was supposed to be.

Oh, Gojo. You sweet, sweet summer child. Bless him.

But at the exact same time it was hands down the single greatest moment of his entire life. 

You were actually kissing him. His dumb ass was somehow kissing you back. Right there in his bed, with you in his lap, and it wasn't even one of his pathetic little wet dreams.

Real. It was real. Someone should pinch him right now— Or rather not, his skin is too sensitive for that. So please, don’t do that.

He whimpered straight into your mouth. His heart aggressively trying to punch its way out of his chest at Mach 2, knock knock knocking on his ribcage like it wanted out.

His hands finally crashed down onto your hips, almost bruising them. He literally needed to anchor himself so he wouldn’t float away. Cloud 9 was for fucking normies. He was skyrocketing straight past Cloud 11 into a whole new stratosphere.

You pulled back just a little, lips barely grazing the shell of his ear.

"Look at me..." A pause.

"Good boy."

Satoru's eyes snapped open. Blown wide. Swirling with this desperate hungry something that made your stomach flip.

This man looked absolutely drunk off your existence. Addicted and disbelieving and so so gone and you couldn't understand how it had taken you this long to finally just… jump him.

The past weeks had made everything so insanely intense and unbearable and you were done waiting. You rolled your hips down. Grinding right into his crotch and god—

Heavenly.

Your eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed, staring right into his pretty blues while you ground down on him.

And Satoru could swear to god he had never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.

But three measly dry-humps later, and that was it. Satoru gasped straight into your mouth. Mentally on the brink of complete insanity for days, and you just shoved him off the fucking cliff without a parachute. A literal nuke going off in his lower abdomen. 

...And to think he had literally prayed to whatever god would listen that he wouldn't instantly bust a nut in his own pants the very first time he got with a girl.

Oh well. RIP to that dream. 

His entire body shuddered, from shoulders straight down to his trembling knees. He ripped his mouth away from yours with a sloppy gasp, glistening with your spit, starry-eyed, skull smacking back against the headboard.

"Oh, FUCK!” He went limp under you. 

And you felt that jerky little twitch right against your inner thigh, followed by the sudden warm dampness soaking through the fabric and sticking lewdly right to your leg.

Oh.

Satoru dead-eyed stared at the popcorn ceiling. And there goes his only chance with you...

"I..." he whispered. Voice hollow. "...uhh. I'm so sorry—"

Satoru slowly tipped his head down, looked at his own crotch. The wet spot blooming right dead center on the light grey fabric like a declaration of defeat.

His hands came up to cover his flaming face, already drafting his resignation from the honors program in his head, mentally scouting off-the-grid locations where he could fake his own death and live out the rest of his life as a celibate goat herder somewhere with no wifi and certainly no witnesses.

You giggled, softly, fondly. Satoru slowly parted his fingers just enough for one terrified eye to peek through. Fully bracing for the roast of a lifetime. Instead, you were just staring down at him sporting this genuine, goofy-ass smile that made your eyes crinkle up so prettily it actually hurt to look at.

"It's not— it's not how it looks! I swear— it's a margin of error! This shouldn't have happened—!"

You'd have to be a literal stupid stupid to clown on him right now. I mean, fuck, you finally had this nerd right where you wanted him. Pinned directly under you, completely at your mercy.

You leaned back down, took his face in your hand and stroked your thumbs over his sharp cheekbones, soft enough that his hyperventilating stopped.

"Satoru," you whispered. "You're such a dork."

And kissed him again.

The sheer whiplash of it all hit him like a complete system reboot. The pants-ruining shame didn't magically vanish, it was very much still there, but you weren't running away, you weren't laughing at him, you were here.

Forehead resting against his. "Don't you look like you're about to cry. It just means I'm that good." A pause as you looked down where your crotch was literally sticking to his. "But we definitely gotta take these off now."

"Wait—" His voice came out very small as a tiny spark of hope returned. "You're not disgusted?"

And how could you be? Even if a little questionable, the man of your dreams had just come in his pants from one kiss and a little caress. For you. Because of you. …Yeah. A good fucking ego stroke, if you ask me.

"Satoru, please—" you laughed softly, fingers already hooking into the waistband. "Shut the fuck up."

Because you were just getting started—

BAANG.

The bedroom door flew open with enough force to crack the drywall.

"Emergency!" Shoko shouted, stumbling in.

"Girl, there you are —"

She froze mid-step, Her eyes assessed the room. You. Sitting all pretty, straddling her roommate. And then the undeniable pièce de résistance— The nut stain proudly blooming dead center in his crotch. 

Look. She'd expected something to happen between you and Satoru. She'd planned on something happening. But you genuinely cannot buy this kind of premium entertainment.

She nearly choked on her own laugh before she could even get the words out.

"Oh." A sip. "OH."

"So the nerd is finally getting some?" Another sip, slower this time, savoring it. "Fucking took you long enough, Satoru. I honestly thought we were gonna have to bury you in that gaming chair with your V-card perfectly intact."

"GET OUT!" Satoru squealed, frantically grabbing a pillow and smashing it over his lap. "LEAVE! DE-PERCEIVE ME! I AM INVISIBLE!"

"I'd literally love nothing more than to leave you two to your pathetic little goon session n' go bleach my eyes," Shoko rolled her eyes, grabbing your arm in a vice grip that left absolutely no room for negotiation. "But Nanami's dumbass cousin just tried to do a backflip off the fucking balcony, beefed it, n' plummeted straight into the downstairs neighbor's inflatable kiddie pool."

"I was literally in the middle of something—!" you whined, heels digging into the carpet. God, you just wanted to eat him. 

"The neighbor is currently screaming about property damage and wants to call the cops. He's apparently a fucking faculty member—"

"Can't, like, Suguru do something?"

"—Suguru is out there but the loser is losing the freaking fight!" Shoko's grip tightened. "If you don't get out there right now and use your major to convince this boomer that a 200-pound frat boy crushing his pool was actually a high-concept performance art piece about suburban decay, we are all getting expelled!"

She started hauling you out into the hallway like a sack of very horny potatoes.

"Look—" she barked, completely aloof, not even looking back. "You can finish de-pantsing the three second wonder later." A yank. "Right now you need to go gaslight a very angry man into dropping the charges."

And so you were ruthlessly dragged away from the absolute feast you'd just laid out for yourself.

Satoru sat there, glasses crooked and staring at the empty doorway confused. Man really got his reality shattered, rebuilt, and shattered again in the span of approximately five minutes.

And it took another two agonizing fucking hours. Two straight hours of you pulling out every absolute bullshit buzzword in your arsenal. 

"Kinetic community outreach." 

"Suburban decay performance art." 

"Youthful spatial reclamation—" 

Just to gaslight this angry boomer into not calling the actual cops. The universe was sooo conspiring against you getting into Satoru's pants, it was actually crazy.

By the time the three of you dragged your exhausted asses back inside, the party was completely dead.

"I'm going back in," you whispered, already pivoting toward Satoru's room like a horny heat-seeking missile.

"The fuck you are," Shoko's fingers caught your collar with a yank.  "You've had exactly three cups of my amazing drink and just spent two hours aggressively lying to a tenured professor. You're going to pass out mid-stroke, and Satoru's weak-ass cardiovascular system will give out if you so much as breathe on his dick tonight." A beat. "Let the poor nerd chill."

Suguru was slumped against the wall. Fully horizontal on the inside, you could tell. 

"God, I still can't believe that actually happened." He shook his head slowly, staring at nothing. "Poor guy. But she's right— He's probably already convinced himself he needs full witness protection. Give him the night to spiral n' overthink it." A tired little smile. "It'll make him way more compliant tomorrow."

Okay, Suguru, you manipulative little freak. He wasn't wrong, though. But obviously you weren't just going to leave like that. You slipped away for just a second, creeping down the hall, nudging his bedroom door open juuust enough.

His PC was still on, sme random Twitch stream humming quietly to an empty room. Satoru was completely passed out cold, still wearing that stupid oversized black hoodie. The grey sweats were gone though, replaced by a baggy pair of dark navy ones. The ruined ones prolly 100% stuffed into the deepest, darkest corner of his closet waiting to be ceremonially burned, RIP.

He looked so peaceful. His long white lashes casting soft little shadows on his still flushed cheeks, chest rising and falling.  God, he was so fucking pretty when his mouth was shut.

You lingered in the doorway for a second just watching him. Yeah. You were going to absolutely destroy this man tomorrow.

The door clicked shut behind you, soft as you could manage. You'd let his pathetic ass rest. For now.

And when the morning sun was blasting through the kitchen window, Satoru felt worse than anyone who'd actually gotten wasted last night. Sitting at the kitchen island like a horny and depressed gargoyle with the worst moral hangover of his entire life. 

He was staring into a bowl of Froot Loops that had long since dissolved into a toxic pink-and-orange sludge. Spoon hovering mid-air, arm completely frozen and one single pink loop clinging desperately to his bottom lip like it was the last life raft on a sinking ship.

Across from him, Suguru was nursing a mug of tea, mindlessly scrolling his phone and actively fighting a war on two fronts — the hangover and the urge to absolutely lose it straight in Satoru's face.

Then. Shoko's doorknob.

Satoru flinched so hard the spoon dropped. It clattered against the ceramic bowl, sticky pink milk splashing directly onto his hoodie sleeve. White substances really did have a thing for this man's clothes. 

You stepped out first. Freshly showered, moisturized, terrifyingly composed.

Thank god you'd tactically dumped every single toxic concoction Shoko had tried to hand you straight down the bathroom sink after those first three cups. You were running at full 100% capacity and ready to obliterate him.

Satoru's breath hitched like a dying Victorian child. Oh god. The crushing weight of reality dropped onto his brain like a cartoon anvil. Looney tunes sound effect and everything. 

The Witness and The Victim. Emerging from the same room in unison. The jury had deliberated in secret and the verdict was permanent exile! to the shadow realm.

You marched your hot ass straight up to the island and stopped dead right in front of him. Arms crossed, features absolutely unreadable.

The ultimate Comms Major About To Destroy Your Entire Life poker face.

"Satoru."

Your voice was dead level, strictly professional, brutally stripped of a single ounce of warmth.

Satoru forgot how swallowing worked, like the biological mechanism left his body alongside with any backbone. The lone pink loop finally lost its grip on his lip and plop! straight back into the sludge for the grand pathetic effect.

"I've been talking with Shoko," you stated, throwing a glance at the brunette. She was currently posted up against the counter, taking drag out of her vape with aggressively trembling hands. 

"And given the... situation... I think we need to have a private conversation."

The blood evacuated Satoru's face so fast it was almost audible. Whoosh. It's an absolute miracle he didn't pass out face-first into his Froot Loops right then and there.

The realization slammed into his forehead like a flying brick. You two talked and probably not just some casual morning girl-chat either. No no no. This was a full-blown autopsy. A National Transportation Safety Board crash investigation into his ruined dick.

He stared wide-eyed at the two of you standing there — the High Council of the Tribunal of Shame and his brain immediately auto-played the whole thing in high-definition Dolby Surround Sound and all.

You, recounting the "incident" with a cringed-out face.

"Wait, so then he just—?"

Shoko cackling her lungs completely out, brutally dissecting his premature failure like a dead frog in AP Bio.

"Yup. Instantly. Right in the sweatpants."

"Jesus fucking christ."

"I know."

"Fucking pathetic."

"I know."

He gripped his cereal bowl so hard it was a miracle the ceramic didn't just crack straight down the middle. He felt stupid, tiny, like the devs had clocked the bug, flagged it, and were desperately trying to patch him out of existence before the next server update.

The very awkward silence was only cut through Suguru's mug hitting the table.

"I..." Satoru swallowed hard, desperately trying to locate a vocal frequency somewhere in his throat that didn't sound exactly like a suffocating walrus. "Uhh... okay.."

Suguru was watching him. Eyes absolutely brimming with this tragic, brotherly pity that only exists between people who've watched someone humiliate themselves beyond recovery. Satoru broke out into cold clammy sweat instantaneously. Why the fuck is he looking at him like that. Does he know too?! Did you have a goddamned group chat?!

"Be brave, Satoru." Suguru's voice came out low and solemn. He did this slow, incredibly weighted nod as if delivering a terminal diagnosis in a hospice. "Just listen to what she has to say. Try to take it like a man."

Satoru paled so violently his skin basically color-matched his hair. Like a man. Oh god. Basically a bro-code for: please don't start aggressively sobbing until she's at least out of the door.

Shoko blew a long stream of smoke, sunglasses sliding down her nose just enough to flash one bloodshot eye. "Don't worry, Satoru. I told her you're a really fast learner." A drag. "You'll understand exactly what she means immediately."

He wanted to wither into actual dust. She has performance notes. You were literally about to sit him down and hand him a color-coded grading rubric on his premature ejaculation. Bullet points. Works cited page. And probably the number for a therapist he was definitely going to need.

"Right," Satoru choked out.

He somehow forced his body to stand, legs felt like wet cement. Hands shoved deep into his sweats, fingers curled into tight fists just to hide the pathetic shaking happening inside them.

One step. Then another. The longest ten feet of his entire life. The Green Mile of a breakup that wasn’t even a breakup. Dead man walking. Shuffling straight toward his own humiliating execution.

He made a beeline straight for his gaming desk the second the door opened, putting every single inch of physical distance between himself, you, and that godforsaken mattress as mathematically possible.

That bed was a Bermuda Triangle for his virginity and he was absolutely not going anywhere near it now. 

He spun around awkwardly, head ducked, dead-eyes locked on his dumb white socks.

You locked the door behind you.

"Look," he whispered. Two seconds of dead silence and he was already caving. His voice came out completely defeated. "You don't have to... be nice about it. I get it, okay? I'm a total mess. I know I completely ruined the vibe and blew the single chance I had."

He actually sniffed, shoved his slipping glasses up his nose frantically and refused to look at you. His eyes were traitorously starting to burn and he was not, absolutely not, doing that right now.

He felt so insanely pathetic it was bordering on high comedy. Like, he was 100% convinced Shoko was currently folded in half out by the toaster, one hand over her mouth, waiting for you to come back out and join the roast session.

"I can just be your study partner," he mumbled straight to the floorboards. "I'll do all your Stats homework for the rest of the semester. I won't... try to bother you with any of that other stuff ever again. Just, please don't tell me we can't hang out anymore. I really..." His voice snapped. "I really like hanging out with you."

You were absolutely not letting this groveling little monologue go on for one more second. Although, holy hell. He looked so absurdly cute on the verge of literal tears. And honestly you probably would've soaked up this miserable little imagery for at least another thirty seconds if he didn't look like he was three seconds away from a 72-hour psychiatric hold.

You stepped right between his spread legs. Grabbed the hoodie strings and yanked him down.

"Satoru," you paused while he just stared down at you like a stunned fucking mullet, "for the love of god. Calm the fuck down."

He was bent awkwardly at the waist, flaming face hovering mere inches from yours, panting these short terrified little puffs of air straight onto your face."I don't know what you were expecting," you whispered, staring right into his panicked blue eyes. "Shoko was literally just apologizing for cockblocking us."

Satoru blinked, an actual tear escaped the corner of his eye. "...What?"

"I came back, Satoru." Your thumb caught the wetness before it could drip off his chin, brushing it away so gently it almost broke him worse. "Last night. I wanted to finish exactly what we started. But you were already passed out."

He stared at you like a complete idiot, mouth slightly open. You came back? You didn't fake pity and bolt in absolute disgust?  You voluntarily re-entered the Forbidden Zone? Oh my god. Did he just refer to his own bedroom as the Forbidden Zone? That sign gotta go. 

"You... you actually wanted more?" He furrowed his eyebrows, deeply disbelieving. "But it was so... embarrassing."

"It was cute," you corrected, letting this filthy little smirk take over your face. "Messy, yeah. But incredibly fucking hot." You tilted your head. "Made me soo horny, 'Toru."

He blinked because what the fuck did you just say. "...Horny?"

The word fell out of his mouth like it was a completely foreign concept he was actively failing to translate in real time. Sounding it out.

Hor. Ny.

Huh.

His oh-so-brilliant mind was attempting, no, straining to run two completely conflicting programs simultaneously.

Protocol A: Terminal Self-Loathing & Permanent Societal Exile.

Protocol B: The Hottest Fucking Girl On Campus Is Telling Me She Wanna Jump My Bones. S.E.X. I. Repeat. SEX.

The processing friction was practically causing a smoke to come out of his ears. But you were so done waiting for him to catch up. You just wanted to get on with it already. You pulled him flush against you to actually start protocol B in real time.

"You..." He swallowed hard. "you're actually not making fun of me? This isn't some cruel, elaborate sociological experiment Suguru paid you to do? I'm not getting Punk'd right now?"

"Satoru." Your voice came out deadly calm. "If you don't shut the fuck up right now, I am going to physically bite you."

The feral glint in your eyes made it very clear that it in fact wasn’t a threat, it was part of an itinerary. Cartoon heart-eyes and you shoved him backwards. He stumbled like a newborn giraffe discovering it had legs for the very first time, his already terrible coordination completely shot to hell, until the back of his thighs hit the edge of his desk with a thunk! and he scrambled to brace his hands behind him.

Trapped right between his dual-monitor setup and you. Is it weird that he kind of loved that? Getting trapped between his computer and you, specifically? Because he did. He really, really did.

Satoru literally didn't know whether to keep arguing or just haul you against him. So you made the choice for him, you grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him. Not messy this time. Tender. Deep. So completely reassuring it almost hurt.

"Now," you hummed against his mouth, one hand sliding straight down to rest possessively on the waistband of his fresh sweats. 

"I see we went for the tactical wardrobe change." Eyes dragging down. "Black? No... dark navy?" A slow smile. "Trying to hide something?"

"It's a universally slimming color!" he squeaked. "And—and the cotton density is mathematically optimal for the... the temperature of the room!"

"Uh-huh."

You hooked two fingers right under the waistband and pulled. The elastic snapped back against his hips.

"They look comfy," you agreed pleasantly. "But they're currently in my way. And I have a very specific goal for the next few hours that requires you not wearing them."

Satoru's heart was hammering against his ribs so hard. You looked so dead-set it was both equally hot and terrifying. You looked starving. Fully locked and loaded to rip his V-card straight out of his fucking hands with zero hesitation.

Your eyes rolled but your smirk softened. Just slightly, into something that looked almost, dangerously, like fond.

You reached up and threaded your fingers into his white hair. Gave it one commanding little tug that forced his head right back down to yours and left another soft peck against his open mouth.

"If you glitch out again," you whispered right against his lips, "we'll literally just reload the save file, nerd." A beat. "Now." Your fingers found the waistband again. "Shut off your brain and let me get these fucking pants off you."

Satoru didn't even try to fight you this time. In fact he became so aggressively eager to comply that he tried to kick the pants off way too fast. Instantly tripping over his own feet, nearly taking both of you down in a tangled heap.

"Wow," you deadpanned, watching him aggressively boot the sweats across the room. Fwip! straight into the corner. "Graceful."

"Shut up! I am... currently experiencing... severe motor control issues!"

"Bed. Now."

The command completely bypassed his higher brain functions and hijacked his spinal cord directly.  Satoru scrambled onto the bed, knobby knees hitting the duvet. He scurried backward with the urgency of a soldier diving into a trench to dodge an active grenade until his spine thwacked the drywall and he yanked his knees straight to his chest in the most pathetic little defensive crouch you'd ever witnessed in your life.

He looked exactly like a daddy longlegs that had just been swatted with a rolled-up newspaper. Rocking nothing but the hoodie and a pair of boxers that were—

Wait. Wait.

Were those the pixelated slimes.... from Dragon Quest?

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were physically fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. This was it. This was the man you were currently risking your entire reputation for.

It was tragic, beyond pathetic. It was hands down the hottest fucking thing you’d ever seen in your life.

You stopped right at the edge of the mattress. Satoru tracked your approach like you were a raid boss entering his aggro range. Eyes wide, breathing shallow, every muscle in his body coiled like he was genuinely considering his escape routes.

"Hoodie," you ordered, holding out one expectant hand.

Satoru clutched the fabric violently to his chest like you'd just asked him to hand over his firstborn child.

"Hell no! The hoodie stays! It is—it is a tactical safety blanket! It provides important emotional armor!"

"Satoru." You sighed, popping one knee onto the edge of the mattress. "We are absolutely not doing this with you dressed like a goddamn burglar. Take. It. Off."

"I physically can't! My upper body definition is highly suboptimal! I literally haven't set foot in a gym since the mandatory phys-ed requirement of freshman year—"

You were biting your lip so hard it was a miracle it didn't bleed. This fucking nerd. This absolute smooth-brained genius was really about to debate his lack of gains while you were actively trying to throw it back on him.

Okay. Fine. If logic wasn't working, you were going straight for shock and awe. 

"Fine," you hummed, fingers already finding the hem of your own shirt. "If you're gonna be a shy little bitch about it, I'll go first. Make it fair."

Satoru's eyes snapped wide. He realized what was happening approximately two seconds too late to stop you and three seconds too late to prepare his nervous system for the incoming blast.

"WAIT—" he squeaked, hands fluttering uselessly in the air. "Hold on! I—err… my graphics card literally cannot render this yet—!"

You absolutely did not wait. One fluid motion and the top was over your head, getting tossed directly onto the bedside shelf, landing right over the poor Goku figure's head like a little hat.

Satoru's jaw dropped like three inches. Heart-shaped pupils locked on your chest. 

You were standing there. Arms reach away and bathed in the obnoxious rainbow RGB glow of his PC tower, tits out, looking at him like you weren't the one currently causing a cardiac event.

Oh my fucking god. The geometry. The physics engine. The sheer... high-res texture quality.

For ten whole-ass seconds Satoru physically forgot he was a carbon-based life form who required oxygen to survive. Lights on, nobody home. ‘Cause all the blood moved to his fucking dick.

His eyes were blown-out saucers of pure panic desperately trying to render the sudden influx of high-def titty. 

He stared directly at your chest, panicked and looked up at the ceiling, immediately realized that staring at popcorn ceiling was a colossal waste of premium runtime, and aggressively yanked his gaze right back down.

He flushed sick looking crimson and slapped both hands over his own face like a cartoon character. Left his fingers spread wide open though. Obviously. His desperate ass wasn't missing a single frame of this.

“This is way too much!” he wheezed, physically swaying on the bed. “You can’t just rip your shirt off like that! Your boobs are way too pretty for a warningless drop like this!”

Laughing, you grabbed his wrists and ruthlessly yanked his hands away from his face. He put up approximately half a second of useless resistance. Absolutely terrified of the direct line of sight before totally caving and letting you pin his arms down.

"Good boy," you purred, dripping with satisfied smugness, and poked him right dead center in his chest.

Thump thump thump thump thump. His heart was going absolutely feral in there. Like a double-kick drum at a death metal concert. "Now." Another poke. "Hoodie. Off."

Satoru looked at you. Then down at his hoodie.

The entire pre-planned thesis defense regarding his lack of muscle mass poofed the fuck away instantly. Because the alternative was you putting your shirt back on and he absolutely refused to exist in a timeline where the boobs went away.

"Okay," he breathed. "Okay okay. Initiating... un-equip sequence."

He raised his arms and you grabbed the bottom hem and yanked it up before he could reconsider. It got stuck on his head. A muffled pathetic little yelp of protest, before popping clean off with a rush of static electricity. His bright white hair was now sticking straight up in every single direction like a cracked-out mad scientist.

He instantly crossed both arms over his chest and curled in on himself like a shy anime girl.

"Stop looking at me!" he actually whined. "I feel like a lab specimen! You're currently calculating my exact BMI, I can literally see the math happening in your eyes!"

"I'm literally just calculating how many seconds it's going to take to finally get you to shut the fuck up," you said and shoved his wide shoulders back.

Satoru went down, flopping back onto his pillows like a very tall, very compliant ragdoll.

"Boxers."

He didn't even hesitate this time. Hooked his thumbs into the waistband of those stupid pixelated slime boxers and shoved them down his legs, ready to serve you his v-card on a silver platter.

The fabric launched off his foot, arced beautifully through the air, and anded directly on top of his keyboard.

Satoru froze. "My-my custom GMK keycaps..."

You could not have given less of a fuck about his keyboard. Although— Okay, it did make you think. Because thanks to that fuckass keyboard, and a very specific chain of subsequent events, you were currently about to sleep with this hot disaster of a nerd.

Wild. Anyway.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

For a guy who'd actively claimed his body was composed entirely of soft tissue and Monster Energy the sight of him fully, completely exposed was enough to instantly liquify your kneecaps.

He. Was. Gorgeous. Not just cute. Not just boyishly handsome. Unfairly masculine. The long elegant lines of his thighs, the sharp filthy cut of his V-line, the cute little happy trail and the pale smooth expanse of skin glowing like an actual marble statue under the harsh rainbow LED lights.

Your eyes dropped to his lap.

Oh.

That was a dick that had absolutely zero business being attached to a man who owned $400 limited-edition anime figurines. Life sometimes wasn’t fucking fair but you definitely weren’t complaining right now.

Satoru suddenly clocked that you weren't mourning his keyboard. He tracked your gaze slooowly downward. Down, down, down  to his own lap and immediately crab-walk backward. Both hands flying to cover his junk like a terrified Victorian maiden guarding the last scraps of her virtue.

"Arms down," you commanded practically salivating, reaching out to grab his sharp jaw and snapping his burning face back up to yours. "Eyes up here."

Then you stood up, towering over this trembling, giant, pathetic mess of a man.

You grabbed the hem of the ratty sleep shorts Shoko had loaned you and shoved them down.  They hit the floor in a sad little puddle, then the panties followed.

Satoru’s lungs officially filed for unemployment.

He bolted violently upright, shock completely overriding his paralysis, and scrambled backward into the cheap headboard like a cornered raccoon with nowhere left to go, knees knocking awkwardly apart.

His eyes were blown out like massive blue dinner plates of pure terror. Both hands frozen mid-air, fingers curled like he was scrubbing in for open-heart surgery.

Every single pathetic lonely goon session he'd ever had didn't even come close to this.

The sheer 4K ultra-HD reality of you standing there fully, completely, actually naked in his room was something not even Santa could've delivered on his best Christmas. You were so much softer. So infinitely prettier than the pixelated garbage he usually stared at.

Real, his brain supplied, barely functioning. You’re real, and you’re here. Holy motherfucking shit.

"You're..." He wheezed, probably seconds from asthma attack. "You're actually fully naked right now. For me. In my room. This is 100% a simulation. I'm going to wake up in a cold sweat in approximately thirty seconds."

"I'm very fucking real, Satoru," you purred and dropped back onto your knees. Prowled right up over his massive frame, settlingall your weight squarely across his pretty thighs. 

Oh. Oh the skin to skin. So surreal you had to actively swallow down a pathetic little moan before it escaped. Can't let him know the effect he was having on you. Not yet. Not when you were supposed to be the composed one here.

But thank god he folded just as instantly. He just crumbled forward, burying his burning face deep into the crook of your neck. His stupid nose inhaling you in and feeling up your warm and soft skin right up against him. 

"You're soo warm," he mumbled right against your collarbone, ragged hot breath sending a violent shiver straight down your spine. "I can feel your pulse. It's going— it's going crazy." A pause, his nose dragging against your skin. "Is that... is that actually because of me?"

"What do you think, 'Toru," you chuckled.

But your voice came out softer than intended and you honestly couldn't take the hovering anymore. More. You needed more. More touching. More kissing. More everything. More all of it. You grabbed both his violently shaking wrists and physically slammed his massive palms flat onto your bare skin.

You dragged his hands up your waist, high up to the curve of your tits and pressed down hard, forcing those long twitchy gamer fingers to finally, finally sink straight into the softness.

Satoru let out a sound like a dying tea kettle directly into your neck. His lips brushed your collarbone as he made it, the deep vibration shooting straight down to your lower belly and pooling there nice and warm.

"Holy fucking shit," he whimpered, hands twitching helplessly against your chest. "You're— you're so soft. Like mathematically impossible levels of soft. I literally cannot believe you're actually letting me— that you're actually—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence. 

"Good." You tilted his chin up. "Because I want you to feel this too."

You didn't give him a single second to brace himself. One hand grabbed his trembling wrist again and shoved it straight down between your legs. The other wrapped dead around his cock and started pumping.

Satoru’s head literally slammed back against the ikea headboard with a hollow thump. Throat bared, eyes rolling completely into the back of his skull the second he registered how fucking slick and hot you were against his fingers. And a hand, your hand, not his hand, someone else's hand, finally wrapped around his dick. Both at once.

Feeling how actually horny you were for him while you touched him so perfectly was genuinely sending him to another dimension. His fingers moving through the wetness, tickling the soft flesh so so nicely.

"Toru..." You leaned in and bit down hard on his earlobe.. "Feel how wet I am? This is all for you."

“Is this…” He was stammering, completely losing his entire mind in real time. “Is this level of fluid leakage biologically nor—”

“Do not,” you warned, voice dropping dangerously, “ever use the word ‘leakage’ during sex again.”

The threat dissolved into a yelp when his clumsy, untrained fingers violently slipped and mashed directly against your clit because the implication alone made his toes curl. So you two were actually going to have sex. And more of it in the future? This was better than winning the fucking lottery.

It was so chaotic and uncoordinated, but holy shit, it worked.

"What—" Satoru yanked his hand back and stared at it like it had just performed unauthorized black magic. "What was that? Did I just— wait." Eyes going wide. "Did I just hit a hotkey?"

You shot him the most withering glare known to mankind but did not bother answering. Because what the fuck was even that question? 

You just lifted your hips, grabbed his cock, and guided it straight to your entrance. God. It was a literal struggle. He was so unreasonably, stupidly large. Like, "did you illegally 3D-print this in a basement lab?" levels of large. 

You let out a sharp staggered gasp as you tried to sink your weight down onto his lap and had to stop halfway. You wrapped both arms tight around his neck and buried your face in his shoulder, gritting your teeth, just trying to accommodate.

Breathe, girl. You lowered yourself another inch. Physically forcing your body to accept the hardware upgrade one excruciating millimeter at a time. Like trying to parallel park a Hummer into a compact spot or something. You poor pussy wall stretching as his tip bullied its way inside.

"Oh my fucking god, Satoru," you gasped, the words literally punched clean out of your lungs. "You're so fucking— just. Just give me a second."

His hands convulsively dug into your waist like he was dangling off the edge of the Grand Canyon by his fingertips and you were the only rock face within reach. His spine gave an actual audible pop as he arched aggressively off the headboard. Neck straining and eyes rolling back so far into his skull you could literally only see the whites.

He looked like he was getting abducted by aliens and they were beaming him up by his dick. 

"I see the literal light," he whispered, voice raw and trembling into your ear like a Victorian orphan succumbing to tuberculosis on a particularly cold Thursday but not derogatory. "I see the math. I can actually see the Fibonacci sequence. I..." A full body shudder. "I've wanted this so bad it has been actively ruining my life." A pause. "I think I'm literally in love with you. Please tell my mother I died bravely."

You froze completely, fingers digging into his messy white hair. "...Wait." Your voice came out very carefully. "What the fuck did you just say?"

But Satoru couldn't answer. Bro was gone, officially offline, blue screen of death. Mouth hanging wide open in a silent brain-dead gasp, soul visibly and physically ejecting from his body in real time as you sank the rest of the way down, you wall enveloping him so so nicely and kissing you cute cervix.

"DON'T MOVE—!"

The shriek cracked across three separate octaves, as he was literally crushing your waist so desperately his knuckles went pure white.

"If you move I'm going to instantly bust! The friction coefficient is way too high! I literally cannot handle the sensory input! You're squeezing my dick so fucking hard—!"

"Too bad," you hummed mercilessly.

You started to grind slowly. Up and down, then circle, finding a rhythm that made his dick inside feel like a freaking magic.

Satoru whimpered every single rotation. His glasses had slid so far down his nose they were basically resting on his bottom lip. His face flushed such pretty red that kinda looked medically concerning.

"Satoru," you panted, pulling back just enough to glare down at his completely wrecked face. "You are not watching porn right now. You are the ride. Fucking touch me again!"

"I don't know how!" he wailed. "It looked way easier in the videos! The professionals make it look like a perfectly seamless cutscene! I am operating on manual controls here! There's no tutorial! I never did the tutorial!"

But you desperately needed more. Frustrated, needy and sweating, you reached right down between your bodies. Fingers finding your swollen clit instantly, exactly where it had been grinding into his pelvis. Satoru's eyes snapped violently to your hand. He went dead. Fucking. Silent. 100% of his processing power diverted, from pure screaming panic straight into hyper-observation mode. His eyes locked onto the circular movement of your fingers with the laser-focus of a sweaty esports pro who'd just spotted a single enemy pixel from across the map. 

Locked in.

He watched your face change. Saw your head tip back. Your lips parting in this desperate wordless oh. Heard that sharp jagged intake of breath, that filthy little noise that you caused, not him. Watched you actively get yourself off while fully riding his dick. Look it was the hottest shit he had ever seen, hands down. But the rusted gears in his genius brain started grinding together. And something sharp and sudden spiked through him. Indignation.

Wait. Wait a damn minute.

His brain frantically crunched the numbers. Eyes cutting to your hand doing all the actual work. Then down to his own hands, which were currently just kneading your pretty boobs.

"Hey," his voice dropped and not in the cool sexy anime-boy way either. No no no. This was the aggressively grumpy petulant drop of a toxic gamer who'd just gotten blue-shelled at the finish line in Mario Kart and was absolutely not okay with it.

He swatted your hand away. "Move,” he grumbled. "Move. Let me actually try."

You bit the absolute shit out of your inner cheek. Mastermind. You were a literal mastermind. Because the absolute last thing you'd actually wanted was to rub one out while straddling a guy who, approximately five seconds ago, hadn't known where to put his own clammy hands without looking like he was frantically trying to defuse a bomb. You didn't want to do it yourself.

You needed to trigger his competitive streak. You needed him to get in the freaking game.

He shoved your hand completely out of the way and slapped his own massive thumb down. 

Bro was pressing waaaay too hard at first. Mashing your poor clit like he was desperately trying to skip an unskippable cutscene that the developers had deliberately made unavoidable. His thumb was slipping everywhere, he was dead-ass glaring at your dripping pussy like he was trying to mentally calculate the square root of Pi through sheer force of will.

But he hit the spot just right again. The exact second a genuine filthy moan ripped out of your throat.

And Satoru didn't just feel encouraged, he felt god-tier. His fragile male ego, which had been in a state of catastrophic multi-system failure for the past twenty-four hours, surged back to full capacity like a phoenix rising from the ashes of his own ruined sweatpants.

Ding. 

PLAYER 2 HAS ENTERED THE GAME.

A hyper-competitive glint flared up behind those fogged-out lenses. And it wasn't just a mental buff either. He felt it directly in the hardware. The sudden frantic spasm spasm flutter of your pussy wrapping around his dick, your pulsing plushy wall against him in a way that zero hours of 4K VR porn could have ever prepared his virgin ass for.

The ultimate premium haptic feedback. It sent a massive fucking shockwave straight from his dick directly into his brain and in the same second, Satoru had a full-blown religious experience.

Right then and there, he made a decision. He needed to feel this exact specific sensation until the literal heat death of the universe. Wanted to live inside this flutter. Wanted to be permanently buried inside this wet mushy and perfect reality until the servers shut down for good. Forever.

"Hypothesis—" He was panting, this manic absolute shit-eating grin splitting violently across his sweaty face. "Fucking confirmed." 

"I've officially mapped the inputs. My dexterity stats are waaay higher than originally calculated." He looked down at you. "Step aside, amateur."

"Amateur?!" You barely managed to get the word out before he clamped his fingers down on your waist and with the sudden display of someone who regularly lugs a 40lb custom PC rig up three flights of dorm stairs strength he shifted his weight and violently twisted his hips to completely flip you over.

"Excuse the fuck out of—?!" 

Aaand the entire room did a barrel roll. You hit the mattress, hair sprawling across the pillowcase. And diplomatically speaking you were fucking gagged.

Because you had plans for this man. Massive. Long-term. Devious-ass plans.

You'd fully intended to spend the next six to eight business months systematically dismantling his virgin innocence piece by piece. Just carefully digging until you finally unearthed the depraved feral perverted monster you just knew was hiding somewhere beneath the pathetic layers of "I have a 2D waifu" and "I forgot to use deodorant today."

You were supposed to be the mentor here. The mastermind. But apparently apparently Satoru had decided to skip the base campaign entirely and just buy the endgame DLC.

You had been trying. Sweating. Putting in 110% elbow grease, grinding down on his dick with the full calculated intention of keeping his ass completely pinned and overwhelmed this entire time. And yet three measly strokes and one lucky-ass thumb placement and bro had successfully speedrun the entire goddamn power dynamic.

His glasses so violently fogged up he was legally blind. White hair a static-charged dandelion puff of pure chaos standing in every direction simultaneously. Straddling you with the focus of a speedrunner who could smell the global World Record.

His fingers finding purchase on either side of your head. Settling in and locking half-lidded eyes.

"The latency issues have been resolved."

He leaned down and licked this wet scorching-hot stripe right from your collarbone straight up to your ear. His tongue was hot and surprisingly firm and nicely ticklish and before your brain could even begin to process the sensory input he sank his teeth right into the soft junction where your shoulder met your neck.

Not a cute gentle romantic nibble either. No no no. This was a feral hungry I am permanently claiming this hardware bite that instantly curled your toes and made a muffled horny shriek die completely in your throat before it could escape.

"'Toru—!" you gasped, fingers knotting desperately into his sweaty hair.

"Mine," he mumbled right against your skin.

And that shit went right between you legs again, making you pussy sing out in agreement to this. He clamped his teeth down again, just hard enough to leave a mark before dragging his open wet mouth slowly across your pulse point.

But then he stopped as he went fully rigid. His head popped up so fast it was like someone had triggered a fire alarm directly inside his skull.

And that hot confident glint was completely gone too and replaced by the panic of a guy who had just realized he might have accidentally violated a major societal contract without reading the terms and conditions first.

"C-can I actually call you mine?" he squeaked out terrified. "Is that— is that allowed? I haven't read the updated EULA for this dynamic! I don't want to violate the user licensing agreement. Was that way too aggressive?! Did I just sound like a possessive fedora-tipping creep on a Discord server?! People say a lot of crazy shit in porn n' I just thought it would sound cool! Oh my fucking god—" A full body shudder of horror. "I'm being a literal Nice Guy, aren't I?!"

He looked existentially horrified. Both hands hovering awkwardly in the air above your chest like he was completely terrified to make contact without a legally binding notarized consent form signed in triplicate. 

"Satoru," you groaned.

You reached up, grabbed a fistful of his hair, and yanked his panicked face right back down to yours. "We are naked." A beat. "I put your dick inside me." Another beat. "I have wanted this for months." You stared directly into his terrified blues. "I am literally yours. It was incredibly fucking hot. Keep going."

Satoru blinked at you and his eyes were so so soft. Because you were his. You. And him. Together.

God. God. Neither of you were making it out of this bed until the end of the world, or at least until the Finals start and that was just a fact now.

"Administrative privileges..." he wheezed, his entire massive body trembling so hard the cheap headboard rattled. "...fully granted."

Oh lord have mercy, he was such a nerd it truly does hang between fucking hot and wanting to slap the fuck out of him to just shut him up.

"Ownership confirmed." His voice dropped an entire octave on its own. "I have the master key. I'm the only fucking user with root access."

He dove straight back into your neck, mouth wide open and starving. Sloppy hot tongue laving right over the red mark he'd just bruised into your skin like he needed to physically taste the fact that you belonged to his nerd ass.

But he wasn't camping in one spot anymore. Oh no. Now that he had official root access Satoru was data-mining. His wet mouth was wandering everywhere. Leaving sloppy scorching kisses along your jawline, teeth dragging over your collarbone, biting down the slope of your shoulder.

And then leaned down and just shamelessly dragged his hot wet tongue directly into the curve of your ear and the wet movement sent a literal 10,000-volt electric shock straight to your goddamn clit.

And the noise that ripped out of your throat wasn't some cute curated porn-star moan. It sounded bit concerning, if I’m being honest, but it felt just that good. It was super loud and totally wrecked and completely embarrassing and you could not have stopped it if you tried. 

Your walls clamping down around his dick so so hard, squeezing so aggressively you could literally feel his pulse thrumming against your own.

What the actual fuck. Your skull slamming back into the crusty pillowcase. What the ACTUAL fuck.

Your pussy was just completely milking this man. Acting out on some deep feral instinct you didn't even know you possessed. The mastermind top persona was dead. Buried. A distant memory. You will not be missed. RIP.

Are you both having a catastrophic spiritual awakening right now? Is this giant trembling nerd actually a sleeperagent sex god? Are YOU actually just an irredeemable degenerate? Have you seriously been holding back this insane level of combined freakiness this ENTIRE time?

Satoru's reaction to getting aggressively squeezed was this strangled groan that felt like a literal car subwoofer detonating directly against your chest.

"Do that again," he panted. "Squeeze me like that again."

He did not pull away. Obviously he did not pull away because why would he?

If anything the premium haptic feedback just made him more of an animal. He bit down hard on your earlobe and started thrusting with this renewed intensity that had absolutely zero chill left in it whatsoever.

He wasn't testing variables anymore. Bro was farming the spawn point like his entire life depended on it.

His hips finding a rhythm, a terrible one, but yet just perfect rhythm.

He was a sweaty mess. You were a drooling mess. His entire bedroom was a disaster zone of kicked-off sweatpants and aggressively glowing RGB electronics and approximately zero dignity left between the two of you.

But as he drove his hips back into you, gamer fingers digging deep into your hips, keeping you completely pinned under him, you realized the tutorial level was over.

"God, Satoru, seriously—" you gasped. "Just shut the fuck up and fuck me or let me get back on top!"

The command didn't just register, it was processed as a Priority 1 Override Directive.

Satoru's fried motherboard, already overclocked way past its safe operating limit, finally, finally stopped trying to verbally narrate the gameplay.

He let out this low growl straight into your neck. A noise that was like 5% actually sexy and 95% a giant nerd who had just achieved his ultimate final form. He abandoned the theoretical approach entirely and just leaned in. He kissed you. It was just full of spit and licking and biting and he still had absolutely no idea what to do with his tongue and none of that mattered at all because he started thrusting with actual terrifying frame-dropping velocity, hitting thatsweet spot inside so so nicely.

Every time he drove back in, his glasses rattled so violently against the bridge of his nose that they finally just flew off to clatter! against the headboard before vanishing into the void behind the mattress.

"Going dark—!" he wheezed.

His vision was nothing but a smear of blinding colors and your pretty face. But that was enough for him, that was everything. He didn't need to see to feel the way you were completely wrapped around him or the way he was bottoming out with every single messy thrust.

Aggressively kissing your cervix or whatever the narrator would say in some of those smutty ass romance books. 

Satoru it felt like he was actively trying to clip through the world geometry just to get closer to you. Like the normal rules of physics didn't apply and he was exploiting that.

"Critical—" His voice almost inaudible. "Hit." He buried his sweaty face deep into the crook of your neck, breathing in ragged desperate lungfuls of you. "I'm— I'm hitting the level cap! I can literally see the credits rolling—!"

His rhythm turned frantic, sweaty, desperate — chasing the final achievement with everything he had left. His hips snapped up hard, lap dragging over your swollen clit with every thrust while his chest ghosted your nipples with every rotation. The knot in your belly pulled tighter and tighter, ready to snap in the best way possible.

"Satoru, I'm— I'm close! Right now—!"

"NOT WITHOUT ME—!" he moaned out, because fuck it was actually happening. "I'm not— I'm not letting you finish solo! We extract together!"

A pause. The most unhinged pause in human history.

"TELL MY DISCORD MODS I DIED A HERO!"

…Is he deadass for real now? Lol.

He buried himself inside you even deeper, like that was even possible. Every muscle in his back straining, visibly shaking, giving it absolutely everything his CPU had left in the tank. Teeth grazing your skin one last time.

Triggering the endgame cutscene and you unraveled completely.

Screamed his name, and absolutely milked the shit out his dick. And oh my, he didn’t know his name could sound so heavenly like this. Your body arching off the mattress as you clamped down around him with this crushing force that permanently changed his entire worldview. Satoru's eyes rolled completely into the back of his skull and his body went as rigid as a frozen PC mid-render.

"OH GOD— ERROR! SYSTEM DOWN!"

He shook. No, wait. He didn't just shake. He vibrated. Like a cell phone buzzing on bare tile at 3AM. And somewhere in the middle of all that his brain tried to send him one last coherent thought.

Wait did i just— am I about to— should I ask— her walls are so— focus FOCUS— Shoko will know what to do, Shoko always— god you feel so— SATORU GOJO FOCUS— What if you want to— NO you wouldn't— Would you— Just ASK—

"Can I—"

You could literally hear his entire thought process just from his eyes. "Yes. Jesus, Satoru. I'm getting the shots."

The relief that crossed his face was genuinely profound. Like a man who had just been pardoned three seconds before his own execution.

"Oh—"

And then he just poured himself into you. Safe and protected and inside and the warmth of it was just heavenly. The kind of warmth he couldn’t even express using the thickest dictionary in the world.

And then he tipped forward. All 190 centimeters of sweaty dead weight right on top of you.

You let out a muffled gasp of air as Satoru's lanky body crushed you directly into the mattress. He was heavy and aggressively damp and currently heaving like a marathon runner.

You were staring up at the ceiling. Feeling up the aggressive aftershocks twitching through your thighs and wondering if your ribs were still in their correct anatomical positions.

Satoru lifted his head just enough to rest his chin between your boobs. White hair sweaty and god knows what else. Without his glasses his pretty blue eyes were wide and glassy and filled with so so much love.

You looked up at him and this sudden massive surge of something warm and stupid and completely inconvenient hitting you directly in the chest. He looked so painfully vulnerable that it actually made your heart do something embarrassing.

You reached up, threaded your fingers deep into his hair, and yanked him down to kiss him.

"I think I love you too, dork," you whispered, foreheads still pressed together.

But the buff was instantaneous. That confession injecting directly into his system like an illegal mod and his ego just surged. Satoru jolted and you felt him 

Satoru's frame gave a sudden violent jolt and you felt him throb right back to hard inside you.

"Oh," he wheezed.

"Oh, that's..." A pause. "...that's a very dangerous thing to say to a man."

He lifted himself up blindly squinting down at you. His starry eyes full with this cocktail of worship and a newfound level of main character energy.

You were in trouble. Significant trouble.

"But seriously," he rasped, fingers sliding right back down to caress your hips. "We gotta find my glasses." 

"Why?" you panted, feeling his cock actively expanding inside you all over again.

"Because," he grinned and it was way too goddamn confident for a man who thought he’s gonna die a virgin like twenty minutes ago.

"I'm a visual learner," his hips shifted lightly. "I want to see exactly how I fuck my pretty girlfriend for round two. And I need 4K resolution on this achievement unlock."

Pretty girlfriend. He said it so casually. Like it was already a fact.

…I mean, it was a fact? This little — okay, tall — fucker had you wrapped around his finger for months and he didn't even know. And it WILL stay that way. His ego would swell up so much he'd become even more insufferable.

Suddenly the bedroom door rattled violently on its hinges.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

"CONGRATULATIONS, ROMEO."

Shoko's voice pierced through the wood and it sounded utterly unimpressed. The voice of a woman who had been expecting this and was somehow still annoyed it had happened.

"We are all very proud that you've officially retired from the virginity league." A pause. "But can you both be like. At least 50% less fucking noisy?"

Satoru completely froze. His entire face turned a shade so hot that practically outshined the RGB setup.

"Some of us are actively trying to survive a hangover out here without hearing the Fibonacci sequence moaned out!" Her footsteps receded slowly down the hallway. "Keep the volume down or I am literally changing the Wi-Fi password."

Satoru stared at the door. Dead-eyed and unblinking then slowly looked back down at you.

"She's just jealous," he whispered, voice cracking only slightly as he tentatively tentatively started rolling his hips again. His newfound god-complex only momentarily dampened by the existential threat of losing internet access. "She's just a hater." A roll. "I'm a ranked pro now." Another. "I have a girlfriend."

"Let’s just find your glasses, Satoru," you laughed, reaching up to yank his sweaty ass back down toward you. His hands tightened to bruise-level hard the exact second he felt you pulse around him and the need for 4K visuals instantly lost the battle against being buried deep inside you.

"Actually—" he mumbled, lips already finding your neck. "Fuck that." Dive. "I can find them before round three." His teeth grazing your skin. "Right now I'm playing on instincts."

[You]: are you fucking serious right now? i had to find out from HER?

[My Husband 🥰]: what are you talking about?

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

[My Husband 🥰]: babe pick up the phone

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

[My Husband 🥰]: what the fuck are you even talking about? find out WHAT???

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

[My Husband 🥰]: BABE

[My Husband 🥰]: PICK UP THE FUCKING PHONE

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

Missed call from My Husband 🥰

The only reason why the phone calls stopped was because you blocked him, but he would’ve kept calling until his phone died. It’s happened before.

Soon you get a Zelle notification.

R. Sukuna has sent you $200.00.

Memo: unblock me.

You sent R. Sukuna $20.00.

Memo: you can keep your fucking money

R. Sukuna has sent you $20.00.

Memo: you can’t just tell me to keep my money but then pocket more than half of it. and what the fuck am i gonna do with 20 dollars??

You sent R. Sukuna $2.00.

Memo: and now you have 2, see what happens when you don’t appreciate what you have?

R. Sukuna has sent you $2.00.

Memo: what the fuck does that even mean?? can you just unblock me already?

You sent R. Sukuna $0.50.

Memo: no

R. Sukuna has sent you $100.00.

Memo: JESUS FUCKJNGCHRIST UNBLOCK ME

You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.

Memo: NO

You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.

Memo: we’re out of sugar and creamer btw don’t forget to grab some on your way home

R. Sukuna has sent you $100.00.

Memo: wait so im not in trouble?

You sent R. Sukuna $0.01.

Memo: why would you be in trouble?

Nanami Kento was a jealous man, and it shows in these moments, the way his hips snap to yours, the way he grips your waist, the way his hand slides from your shoulder to your neck. Applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. This was a side of Nanami only you got to see, the barely contained beast beneath his composed exterior.

"Kennto~ my tummy.." you whimper as he hits impossibly deep, it feels like he’s churning up your insides, trying to fuck into your womb, making your brain scramble.

His hot breath ghosts over your ear, crisp dress shirt rustling against your bare skin, "Isn't this what you wanted?" One strong hand grips your ass, lifting for a better angle, "Showing up here begging for attention..., Was this morning not enough, dear?"

No. It's never enough. You're addicted to everything about him- his controlled power, his clenched jaw when you test him, those perfect strands of hair falling in his eyes when you act like a brat.

"Ah~Al-ways... always m’need you..." you manage between moans, “my Kento~”

He presses tender kisses along your shoulder, a deep contrast to the way he was currently fucking you. He knows you're his alone, his perfectly devoted dear, but still… Gojo always tries. The white hair sorcerer saying things like, "Commme on~ isn’t Nanami sooo old-fashioned? You can have so much more fun with me~!! Come out and play with me sometime." with that dumb expression on his face, the way his eyes would flit from you to Nanami, purposely getting under his skin.

The thought of breeding you right now- fucking a child into your willing womb floods his mind as he fists your hair. How you'd look waddling around heavy with his child, breasts swollen and leaking… Shit… that might cause more unwanted attention.

But still, Nanami himself enjoyed the vision. The thought of you as a mother filled him with a domestic warmth he didn’t know he had, and he was grateful you couldn’t glimpse the rosy blush that spread across his face as he dreamed of sampling your motherly milk. He imagined it would taste like warm honey and fresh cream, rich with nurturing sweetness.

You moan his name so beautifully, and it drives his hand to wonder towards your lower belly, pressing firmly, imaging his seed taking root, a son or daughter kicking happily under his hand.

Nanami's breath was ragged, nearing his end, and the thing that did him in was the sound of your needy little plea, "c-cum in me ~ wanna walk home with y-your cum in me, please!"

With a low growl, he yanks your head back and slams deep, cock pulsing as he empties his hot load inside you, hoping and secretly praying for your womb to drink it up. You can feel each spurt of his sticky cum painting your gummy walls, and it sets you off, your orgasm washing over you as you squeeze around his length.

Your entire body goes limp against the wall, supported only by his strong arms as he catches his breath. His forehead resting against the back of your head, hot panting breaths causing your hair to move as he stays buried in your fluttering heat.

"Sorry…," his voice was soft, his grip loosening.

"For what?" You sigh.

"That was... I got carried away."

"Mmmm... I like it when you get carried away~" You smile.

With a gentle kiss to the top of your head, your gentle Nanami returns, whispering praises he’s only said to you. You're so beautiful, so perfect, and his.

You get about six or seven seconds of drifting consciousness before Satoru tuts, unable to go on living and breathing without your constant attention as he pouts, "So that's how it is, huh, sweetheart? What, no answer for your poor, neglected husband?"

(You're entirely unsurprised that he can't take what he dishes out.)

A smile threatens the corners of your mouth into complaceny despite your best efforts at maintaining a resting poker face. "You've survived over thirty years with constant, and I mean constant, ass-kissing and validation," you murmur around another yawn. You wish you could crawl back in bed for some more snuggles, but alas, duty calls; this is what you get for binging alien sci-fi films with Satoru until the odd hours of the morning. "I'm certain you'll survive a second without me indulging you."

"I can't even last half of one and you know that." The answer arrives so decisively sulky that it nearly makes you snicker. "I could care less about what my family and all the other syndicates out there have to say about me. I'll wither away if it's not you singing pretty in my ear." His grip cinches ever so slightly around your waist as Satoru presses a supplicatory kiss to the weak spot behind your ear, trying to strong-arm your attention instead of patiently waiting for it to come around.

Greedy bastard.

Exhaling through your nose, you crack your eyes open to the mirror projecting the striking couple you as husband and wife make. While you're both quite the sight (and you're especially stunning, you toot your own horn), it will always, always be Satoru that magnetizes your stare into being drawn towards his gravitational pull.

He looms over your shoulder, beam broadening with an exuberance to rival the sun itself when your gazes lock through the glass. Damp ivory strands frame a face too handsome for his own good, falling in featherlight wisps across his forehead and with several rebellious tufts curling in whichever direction they so please, impossibly soft against the ethereal geometry of his face. Crystalline blue eyes— those eyes that have toppled hardened men twice his age into obedience, but never you— admire you from the tips of your platform Mary Janes to your blinking lashes.

Satoru is the breaking ocean at dawn, a dropless blue sky curling around the world like a lawless cat lousing around in a sunbeam. He is beautiful, he is untouchable, and he is wholly yours, in sickness and in health.

"I love when you stare at me like that," Satoru murmurs, oozing besotment on every syllable. He steals an unblushing second to snuffle dreamily at your perfumed neck, licking a stripe over the tendon and breathing a smile into you when you wrinkle your nose. "But I can't say I love that you still haven't answered me."

You pick your way backwards through the conversation. "Yeah, fine. The vibe for today?"

"The vibe for today," he confirms, pointing at your various bejeweled decorations in front of you.

"Hmmm. What's the vibe for today, indeed. I think…" you thoughtfully cock your head, fingers skimming the velvet-lined drawers chock full of jewelry. "Simple, yet classy and pretty. The usual."

Satoru's brows jump in mild surprise. "Simple?" He, with great emphasis, looks your reflected self in the mirror up and down. He's practically shouting "you're outshining everyone with a look you call simple?" without actually straining his vocal cords to do so.

"You sound like a parrot today, always repeating back what I'm saying," you mutter with an amused little scoff, proudly reposing in Satoru's sunlit laughter that's pitched low and rich enough that you feel the tenor of it quake through his chest before you even hear it chuffing at your ear. "We're meeting with Suguru, not attending a royal wedding or showing some ass at the club."

He blazes over your quip with a stupefied shuttering of his once easygoing, now slighted expression, childishly scowling your way through thinly lidded blue eyes. His irises are harder than diamonds, and all the more beautiful for it. "You're getting pretty for Suguru?" Satoru quibbles, lips pressing downwards.

"I am dressing professionally for our meeting to discuss business procedures with Suguru, because that's what the corporate dress code calls for," you draw out slowly, reaching back to squash the tip of his nose with your finger. You can only hope that the contact zaps some lucidity back into him. "And I am simultaneously toeing the line with elaborate jewelry and somewhat revealing dresswear so that firstly, I feel like the bad bitch that I am, and secondly but least importantly—" you break for a long pause to deal 500 points of psychic damage to his ego before continuing, "to make sure you don't get bored to death without me as your quote unquote eye candy to keep you stimulated."

As if he were never miffed by the most ludicrous assumption he's come up with recent memory, a flattered grin tugs his lips apart and shows his pearly canines. "D'awww, my wifey's always spoiling me. You make me feel like a million yen, dollars, and pesos all at once." Satoru stamps a loud mwah on your cheek.

You suspect— no, you're certain that Satoru was never jealous to begin with; his performance had all the sincerity of a child forcing out crocodile tears over a scraped knee just to coax a kiss from his mother. He's evidently incapable of resisting any opportunity to manufacture a situation where you'd sweeten his tooth, even if it meant pretending to be scandalized by the thought of another man appreciating your appearance.

Yeah, you wouldn't change his freak ass for the world. Not even the hundred plus counts of murder on his hands could drag you away from him. What a married life that you lead…

"Just help me pick a few pieces out, would you?" You sigh, patting the back of his hand where it remains suctioned to your waist. He cheerily hums his interest, perking to the task as if its of great importance.

Morning sunlight pours through the towering windows of the walk-in closet— occupying nearly the same square footage as your first apartment post-college ever had— in molten ribbons, spilling across polished walnut cabinetry and racks filled with hangers, and catching on glass shelves lined with velvet display stands.

Naturally, the room rings with the high-pitched glassy tune of sumptuousness in answer.

Diamonds fracture the light into tiny stars that wander over the walls; gold radiates the rich warmth of honey; platinum reflects the daylight with cool, silvery precision; emerald slyly winks your way; pearls band together like the light foam of the ocean.

One entire wall became your jewelry collection over the years— one you haven't quite grown accustomed to having at all. If anything, it will eternally boggle your mind that you own such a plethora of finery.

There had been a time when stepping inside a boutique just to look at pieces like these had felt like you were committing theft in broad daylight, your body language unconsciously becoming shifty out of nerves in front of the security doing laps around the room. You used to admire jewelry through immaculate glass display cases accompanied by tiny white price cards that looked more like telephone numbers than costs, privately wondering what kind of lives the women wearing six-figure necklaces must lead. Owning even just one beautiful piece seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime milestone.

And now… now, you peruse a collection of what feels like hundreds of rows upon rows of jewelry. Those same display cases you refused to put your hands on when you were younger, too terrified to even breathe too hard in their direction, currently take up storage space in your own home— just one perk of being Gojo Satoru's wife and the object of all his overly earnest affections, you suppose.

(Fuck a runway, you could host the entirety of Paris Fashion Week in here.)

You've been gifted countless pieces over years of birthdays, anniversaries, successful negotiations, spontaneous shopping sprees, and Satoru's incurable habit of spying something pretty, thinking fondly of you, and considering that reason enough to offer you yet another obscenely expensive present.

You've even splurged on yourself a few times as well using yours and Satoru's shared bank account, though in the past you'd wobbled on more than one purchase. It's not like he lets you angst over whether your wants (not needs) justify such flabbergasting prices anymore, anyways; Satoru has taught you to ignore it all and just go for whatever you desire, no matter if it's silly. In fact, he begs you to spend what is also your money.

After a few minutes of presenting various jewelry (sapphire studs from Harry Winston, a silver Pandora cuff bracelet, a Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra ring fashioned from gold and luminous mother-of-pearl, three matching Mejuri bangles you don't recognize which prompts you to squint suspiciously at your husband) to Satoru for his personal input, he finally stops you at a delicate silver Bulgari Serpenti watch. "This one," he declares, leaning dangerously far over your shoulder to grab and hold onto it for you.

"Good choice," you praise, glancing over the rest of your selections. "Earrings?"

"You can't go wrong with Tiffany," Satoru points out. "You could wear your dancing diamonds set. I haven't seen them on you in a minute; you make them look reaaaaal pretty."

You're sufficiently swayed, flattered by the honeyed confidence in his voice when he insists that you're lending the diamonds their beauty instead of the other way around— the distinction does wonders for your gooey heart. "I'm down," you decide.

With a soft hum, you step to the left (Satoru, still clinging, shuffles with you), lifting the tip of one Tiffany & Co. diamond drop earring with your fingernail; it merrily scatters light as it quivers in place. The matching necklace hangs below it, its platinum-encrusted diamond similarly cascading.

Your husband finally detaches from you, gently grasping your shoulders for a brief second as he steps around you to wander along the displays. Shamelessly, you appreciate the broad shift of his back through his suit jacket as he bends at the waist to better observe the options, rubbing his jaw as he goes. His pert ass, too, receives the full brunt of your ogling.

"And... hmm…” Satoru confidently reaches for a slim Cartier Juste un Clou piece, a winding bracelet that twirls elegantly around the wrist like liquid gold, plucking it from its casing and twisting it between long slender fingers. He turns to you with a beam, dangling the watch and bracelet from both hands and looking every bit the untouchable heir born into old money and even older power. "Just the one bracelet, and then I think you're good to go," he asserts.

"No rings?" You ask, crossing your arms.

"What’s the point? You already wear two." His gaze drops meaningfully toward the engagement ring and wedding band permanently curling a home around your finger, which you tap lazily against your elbow. “You don't need competition, sweets,” he sniffs with equal parts petulance and pride.

The corners of your mouth soften before you even realize it. Fond as all hell, you briefly close your eyes and shake your head. "I suppose you're right." Fluttering your lashes open, you hold your hand up to the light, admiring the glittery play of your most treasured gifts crowning it.

The oval-cut center diamond of your engagement ring is nestled in a cathedral of prongs and embellished with even smaller pavé diamonds, each faceted surface flinging prisms over your skin. Beneath it, your platinum wedding band curves snugly around your finger in an unbroken promise of precious metal and devotion, an engraved message for your eyes only ringing the inner part.

They’re more than just breathtaking, anyone with eyes could see that, but their greatest luxury lies in the man who'd slid them there, nothing but pure emotion begetting the winking tears at his lashlines on both occasions. One ring asked a question about an obtainable forever, and the other had promised that forever.

With a hopelessly devoted smile, you lay your gaze on Satoru, who unblinkingly matches your expression from beneath a tousled fringe of candy floss hair. "Why wear other rings when these are the ones that matter most to me?" You muse.

For a rare moment, he has nothing clever to say. He only meanders over and reaches for your hand, turning it palm-up before bringing your knuckles to his lips in a sugary kiss, his thumb brushing over the familiar bands with unmistakable reverence. In the same breath, Satoru fastens the Cartier Juste un Clou to your left wrist, the Bulgari Serpenti watch to your right, twisting them so the embellishments face forward. The jewelry burns coolly into your skin for only a moment before warming with your body heat.

You turn to find the correct velvet-lined stands housing your Tiffany & Co. set when Satoru beats you to them with infuriating speed, plucking the earrings from their perch before holding them just out of reach like a toddler. "Aht."

"You've got clever hands," you note dryly, not bothering to put up a fight. You expectantly press into him instead, flattening a hand to his rapidly beating chest— it's cute, really, how affected he is by you even after all these years. You don't doubt that your heart is matching his pace, irreversibly twined together as you are.

"All the better to decorate you with," Satoru claims with a lazy wiggle of silvery brows.

"Alright, Big Bad Wolf." You roll your eyes with all the falsified long-suffering of someone who has been married to Gojo Satoru long enough to recognize there is no practical value in resisting the harmless whims that seize him after breakfast. You're bracing for him to hit you with a smartass comment in return, but instead—

"I'd like the honor of putting on the rest of your jewelry, too," he keeps pushing, soft-soaping with the most adorable pout to his plush lips. No wonder he always gets his way— you could just gobble him up.

"How sweet," you comment lightly, turning your head for him. "Go ahead."

Minty fresh breath wafts over you as Satoru leans in close. The infamous Gojo-gumi oyabun whose name alone unsettles rival organizations and whose hands have slaughtered countless men weaves the first earring through your lobe with almost absurd concentration, tongue caught against the inside of his cheek as though fastening jewelry requires the precision of a bomb technician. Gentle moments like these always strip away the intimidating reputation he'd cultivated so effortlessly. Satoru's just as precise in securing the second earring and its backing, fingers sparking heat at your ear.

His knuckles cascade along your jaw before he gently cups your cheeks, turning your face left and right to watch the diamonds do what they do best— dance. Not once does he cut eye contact as Satoru sways back on his heels to evaluate his work with a satisfied little nod. "All good," he says with a peck to your forehead.

You rotate in place to face the mirror and smooth your hair to the side to make way for the necklace's chain that slips along the sides of your neck. Satoru reaches around you to drape the dancing diamond over your heart, pulling back to thread both ends of the necklace at your nape all while you watch the frankly adorable dedication poured into his reflected self's movements. He snaps the clasp into place with a satisfying click.

"There you go," Satoru murmurs. "Prettiest girl in the world, I'm telling you."

Like the sea glass painting Fort Bragg’s coast, his eyes catch every wandering beam of sunlight filtering through the room, throwing flecks of oceanic cerulean across irises that rival the diamonds twinkling at your throat and ears. His eyes refuse to settle on your jewelry for long before climbing back to your face through the mirror. Satoru studies you down the line of his nose with the boyish endearment of having been allowed to tend to you in yet another tiny, ordinary way.

"Good?" He asks, voice vibrating pleasantly against your back, chased immediately by the rooting brush of his nose through your hair with an impossibly pleased sigh, once again sniffing you like the dog that he is as you check yourself out.

The effect of your jewelry is exact; it lends you enough flair to elevate your outfit without overwhelming the low-necked blouse and high-waisted charcoal pencil skirt flattering your figure. Lips pursed with pride, you shift from foot to foot to check yourself out from both sides.

"Perfect. Thank you, baby," you croon, reaching back to give him a very deserved pat on his cheek. He nuzzles into your palm for but a moment before spinning you by your waist like a princess, puckering his lips like he deserves a reward and whining under his breath when you smush a finger to his mouth instead of locking lips.

"Wait, and be patient for once in your life. It's your turn," you sing-song, drawing that same nail down his chin, his Adam's apple, the beginnings of his sternum that crops up from beneath his pressed open shirt.

Lost, he scrunches up his nose and flattens his eyes. "Hah? Mine?" Satoru looks down at his wedding band that matches your own. He used to wear a few rings per finger like a set of brass knuckles to really fuck people up when he beats them to massy pulps on the ground, but now he typically sticks to just the one. "I have all that I need right here."

While that's enough to worsen your terminal case of lovesickness, his blindness towards his own appearance takes you out. This is a man whose face has launched negotiations in his favor before he'd even opened his mouth, whose smile had charmed politicians, CEOs, other oyabuns, and elderly ladies in grocery stores alike, whose family had spent decades raising him— despite his protests and escapades— to carry the impossible weight of the Gojo name with immaculate presentation. Yet ask Satoru how he looked, and he'd shrug as though he were discussing the weather.

Perhaps it's because he's never needed to think about it. Beauty settled over him as naturally as breathing. Annoying.

You sigh, "Come here."

"I am here?"

"Closer."

One word from you and the feared oyabun of the Gojo-gumi closes the remaining distance without the slightest hesitation and dips his chin, squaring himself in front of you so that the polished toes of his Italian loafers kiss your Mary Janes. His smile's unbearably smug as he crows, "I knew you couldn't resist me."

"More like I couldn't resist fixing whatever tragic excuse you made for getting ready," you snort out before you can help it. "Honestly, baby…"

"What?" Satoru asks, unfazed, lips already quirking before you get to the punch.

You trail your gaze over him with deliberate slowness. His suit is, predictably, immaculate beneath your hands that you smooth along his lapels, flattening borderline microscopic wrinkles. The charcoal fabric— some sort of stupidly expensive imported wool that matches your skirt— molds beautifully over broad shoulders and his killer narrow waist before disappearing beneath pressed trousers that manage to make his legs, already unfairly long, appear even longer.

Only his silk tie hangs crooked beneath the collar of his immaculate white dress shirt, blatantly the hurried handiwork of a husband who had evidently been more interested in wandering off in search of his wife than finishing getting dressed after his shower. You can't find it anything but endearing.

You pinch the loose knot between two fingers and suck your teeth. "Did you tie this while looking at your reflection in a spoon?"

"No, but I was a little distracted," Satoru admits, remaining still as you loosen the knot with precise tugs.

"By?"

"You." He breathes it with the same exasperation as someone saying 'duh, obviously.'

"I would love to study your brain," you remark. The expensive silk slides smoothly beneath your fingertips as you rebuild the knot from scratch, looping the tie through in practiced motions. Satoru's eyes don't follow your hands for long before drifting back to your face, quietly admiring the tiny furrow between your brows whilst you focus. He's watching you the same way he had while fastening your jewelry, as if doting on each other is somehow the most fascinating thing either of you could be doing with your spare time. "Considering I wasn't even the same room when you tried to hang yourself with this tie."

He laughs, summer-bright and carefree. His Adam's Apple bobs around the musical tune as you finally pull the fresh tie snug at his crisp white collar. "I have an excellent imagination, princess, and you know it. I was daydreaming about that cute, sexy scowl you get when you're on top of me and started giggling to myself and playing with my tie."

"Were you, huh? The day's only just begun, but I already know how I want it end," you sing-song, tucking that particularly good idea away for later. If today doesn't produce a headache of an emergency gone down on one of the Gojo-gumi's many territories, you'll be giving it to Satoru good the second you return home.

Satoru's throat rumbles again (this time with a sound akin to a purr) when you stroke back and forth through his white hair, just because you can— and also to distract him from what you said, melting his brain down to a puddle incapable of thoughts other than meow, mrow, purr. "Look at that. There she goes, distracting me againnn… yes, right there." He nudges his hand into your palm, beatific.

"You should really charge rent for the amount of time I spend in your head, mister businessman. You'd make a killing off of me," you tease with a chuckle. Treating his scalp to one more generous rake of your nails, you then give the knotted tie one last approving pat. "There. You're now presentable."

"Yay!" He cheers with exaggerated joy, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Now gimme that sweet, sweet reward that I've earned. Please?"

"You mean for surviving the strenuous task of standing still? Oh, poor thing," You drawl, hating that you're fully intending on following through on it despite the way you jab at him.

"It was super exhausting and emotionally taxing," Satoru bemoans, but he doesn't put any effort into playing up his false wounds; he's too busy puckering his lips again and making obnoxious kissy noises through his teeth.

Smirking, you reach up to catch his chin between your fingers and run your coconut-balmed lips over the curve of his ear with a wispy little murmur, “I'll have to remember that next time you try telling everyone you're the terrifying head of the largest syndicate in Japan."

"I can be terrify… ing…” Satoru croaks, throat working out a wounded noise that you swallow up with a thorough, drawn-out kiss. You warm him up indulgently, your hand settling against the clean line of his jaw while his own instinctively finds your waist once more, fitting there with the ease of long habit. Mint lingers pleasantly against his tongue, chased by the faint warmth of coffee.

When you finally separate, Satoru looks at you as though you've personally hung the morning sun beyond the windows. "Can you make sure that I'm not floating through the ceiling?" He whispers dreamily, touching the corner of his lips.

You join in on his helpless laughter, smoothing one final wrinkle from the front of his jacket. "Both feet are still on the floor, you're clear. Now, is Ijichi outside? We need to go. Suguru's probably already wondering why we're late."

Satoru greedily reaches for your hand to intertwine your fingers while the other fishes his phone out of his slacks, halfheartedly glancing over his texts without even the slightest hint of guilt. "Apparently, he's been waiting out there for a long… minute."

"Poor guy, we left him hanging," you faux pout, just as much a menace as your husband is. Making Ijichi dawdle in his car was worth every minute spent with your husband. "Let's get to it, then."

"Sure thing. My lady," Satoru dips to gild the back of your hand in one last glossy-lipped kiss, your wedding bands clinking. His eyes gleam over the ridges of your knuckles as he purrs, "Your chariot awaits."